By AYA MINERVA
Bulatlat.com
Juan (not his real name) fixes his boat by the shore. There are small holes on each side and other signs of disrepair underneath its frame. In economics, when the value of an asset decreases over its useful life, it is called depreciation. In this case, it might qualify for sabotage. Juan is just one out of many fisherfolk unable to make a living from the sight that greets them in the morning and lulls them at night. When reclamation started in Manila Bay and in Bulacan Aerotropolis, it meant finding source material for dumping, and there is no need to look farther than Cavite whose coasts are rich in black sand. High in iron content, the black sand can be used for concrete and asphalt production—a vital ingredient for built infrastructure.
Ironically, to build something, there is a need to destroy. Since the onset of operations last December 3, 2023, the promised development has degraded habitats, displaced communities, and upended livelihood across the province which once cradled the Philippine Independence.
Rosario, Cavite is hardly a small, sleepy town in the Tagalog landscape. It is a first class municipality with a dense population of 16,473 per square kilometer. It also houses an economic zone managed by the Philippine Economic Zone Authority. Locals refer to its old name—Export Processing Zone Authority (EPZA) which serves as a major employer for the community. As Rosario is flanked by Manila Bay in the north, another source of livelihood for its coastal dwellers is fishing.
Rich harvests, usually of demersal fish, crustaceans, and shellfish, inundated their waters, marked by the numbers of basnig in the horizon. The natural abundance allowed for the establishment of pandawan (also known as bulungan, fish landing center) and soon, the industry of tinapang salinas (smoked fish) flourished. The faithful attributed this blessing to a shipwrecked statue of Our Lady of La Naval, otherwise known as Nuestra Senora del Rosario. Salvaged from the typhoon and harsh waters, the Lady became the town’s patron saint, and fluvial processions were conducted in her name. This worship translated into precautionary yet sustainable behaviors which can be best described as allowing mangroves and reefs to thrive and not participating in illegal, unreported, and unregulated (IUU) fishing. High marginal profits eventually attracted migrants from other islands. In our visit, we encountered people from Samar, Leyte, Cebu, Negros, Iloilo who uprooted their lives and decided to settle on the shores of Luzon.
Cultural anthropology places weight on worldview and external participation. While it comes off as regionalistic, native residents would say it is the outsiders’ refusal to worship and believe in Our Lady of Most Holy Rosary that led to the proliferation of IUU fishing and eventual degradation of resources, an obvious symptom of Malthusian overfishing. However, other theories present the opportunity for assimilation where adoption of socio-cultural practices occurs. There is some truth to this when we look at ‘migrant’ families whose kids have treated the shore, rocks and waves as their expansive playground. With at least two generations in, they have also borne witness to the changing seascapes of Rosario—experienced the floods, the retreating of the coastlines, and the barrage of wastes from the metro. The sea has equalized them. Regardless of origin, for these people, the only worth of the black sand is the value to be called home.
The onset of dredging triggers a domino effect. The municipality, while considered as the capital of tinapa and a major source of dried fish, prefers to use imported fish as base material rather than local varieties due to supply and price advantage. Basnig has been prohibited and would not be allowed if existing given the stipulations in Fisheries Code. Fishers have not been allowed to sail, citing safety reasons. Those who tried found the waters already abandoned by fishes who have lost their homes; coral reefs and mangroves have both been destroyed. Other fisherfolk feared the hunger more than apprehension by authorities, and so they sailed across cities and municipalities to seek bluer waters. And then there were those who gave up and uprooted their lives to other shores—this time, not of their own volition. The compensation offered by San Miguel Corporation and Boskalis amounted to a measly range of P2,500 ($45) per month compared to an average fishing income of P10,000 ($179). Households with no boats but depended all the same on Rosario’s waters did not receive any assistance.
The combined plight of human and environment brought together organizations and volunteers under Agham’s lead to conduct a community immersion to the municipality of Rosario, Cavite last December 3, 2023. The visit intended to scope the perceived dredging impacts to both physical and socio-economic landscape of the area. Initial observations will be used as guidance in crafting the methodology for a research output which will be critical in providing evidence of reclamation and dredging impacts. The team plans to return to affected areas to carry out a more comprehensive field visit, and assist the communities’ call for a just compensation and permanent suspension of all reclamation and related extractive activities, in the hopes to let their black sand simply be home. 
The author is a policy researcher by day and a full time cat mom by night. She graduated with a Master of Environment and Natural Resources Management in UP Open University and BS Economics in UP Visayas. Her research interests include coastal resource management, disasters and climate change, indigenous peoples, and waste management.
