Before the Sierra Madre becomes a headline, it is already speaking.
On September 26, the Prelature of Infanta, through its Social Action Center, gathered communities for Mass at St. Mark and Infant Jesus Cathedral, followed by a motorcade toward the General Nakar boundary bridge. People’s organizations, youth, Indigenous Peoples, clergy, and lay leaders joined.
This was more than an observance. It was a public act of memory and participation. It asked whether affected communities are genuinely heard.
We have learned to remember the Sierra Madre in fragments. We remember it when storms arrive or flooded streets appear on our screens.
But the mountain does its work when the sky is clear. Its forests and terrain help moderate winds, regulate water, hold soil, and sustain communities.
For Infanta, General Nakar, and neighboring areas, it is water, food, work, protection, and ancestral home.
September 26 is not arbitrary. Proclamation 413 declared September 26 Save Sierra Madre Day and called the society and government to protect the mountain. It reminds us of what the Sierra Madre does for the country, and what the country continues to do to it.
The memory of late November 2004 remains impossible to dismiss. Heavy rains associated with Tropical Depression Winnie and succeeding weather systems triggered landslides and flash floods across Infanta, General Nakar, and Real.
One documented account records 165 deaths in Infanta alone. Rainfall may trigger disaster, but vulnerability is shaped by terrain, watershed condition, exposure, and decisions made long before the water rises.
Yet national attention often arrives only after disaster. Once the images disappear, the communities disappear with them. Many places carry environmental burdens that never enter the national conversation.
This indifference is a social cancer. Environmental questions are not secondary to politics or economic hardship. Ecology is the ground on which public life stands.
Participation must therefore mean more than a hearing held for compliance. Under applicable environmental and Indigenous-rights rules, participation requires timely information, accessible documents, a genuine chance to question and respond, and a process that can take people’s concerns seriously.
A consultation that begins after decisions have hardened may satisfy paperwork while failing the democratic purpose of participation.
The concern over the Kaliwa Dam must not be reduced to a contest between progress and opposition. The need for water is real. The project is intended to provide an additional 600 million liters of raw water per day for Metro Manila.
But so are the questions involving its watershed, its project area in General Nakar and Infanta, and the rights and welfare of Dumagat-Remontado communities.
Water security cannot treat the watershed’s people as an afterthought.
The same seriousness must be brought to quarrying. The first thing people see is the trucks: dust, traffic, danger on public roads, and the burden placed on communities.
But the trucks are not the beginning of the story. They are the visible consequence of decisions made long before they appeared on the roads.
The deeper questions concern clearances, consultation, environmental and engineering assessments, enforcement, and whether agencies act before harm becomes ordinary.
This is not a rejection of legitimate business or development. Communities need water, energy, jobs, and investment.
What must be rejected is greed disguised as development, consultation reduced to ritual, and bureaucracy bent toward convenience. A permit may show that a legal step was taken. It does not, by itself, settle the larger question of legitimacy.
The same standard must apply to wind energy. Renewable does not mean impact-free. Environmental Management Bureau records list approved Environment Compliance Certificates for wind projects in the wider area, including a proposed 200-megawatt wind farm in Minahan Sur, General Nakar, and a 600-megawatt project covering parts of Infanta, Real, and General Nakar.
These records begin public questions about ecological compatibility, cultural practices, cumulative impacts, and the common good.
These concerns can be held together by three Filipino words: ‘Kalikasan, Kamalayan, and Kalooban.’
Kalikasan is the living world that sustains us. Kamalayan is the capacity to see what is happening, remember beyond disaster, and allow affected people to participate. Kalooban is the moral condition of those who speak, organize, oppose, and decide.
Indignation has its place. It shows that conscience is alive. But it cannot be reduced to noise or become hatred. A movement that refuses to listen to disagreement may reproduce the closedness it condemns.
This is not a search for enemies. It is an invitation to remain open, including to those who differ from us.
We do not claim to be right all the time. Our process and intentions must also be examined and purified. A movement is measured not only by the volume of its protest, but by its fidelity to truth, willingness to listen, and capacity to seek justice without losing charity.
The Church’s role is not to manufacture an enemy or sanctify one side. It is to accompany communities, awaken conscience, widen dialogue, and help citizens and institutions listen more honestly.
Here lies the double betrayal. First, society weakens the natural defenses that protect communities. Then the institutions meant to hear warnings and protect those exposed fail to act with courage and responsibility. The first wound is ecological. The second is institutional.
The September 26 movement is, therefore, not noise for its own sake. It is a knock on the doors of government, a call for records to be opened, decisions examined, communities heard, and action taken while prevention is still possible.
We cannot remember the Sierra Madre only when floods make it national news. We must defend it while the sky is clear, beyond the camera’s gaze. It is not a backdrop, but an active condition of life.
To defend it is to defend water, homes, livelihoods, cultural survival, and the right of communities to shape their future. The mountain remembered only after the flood is one we have failed to hear.
On Save Sierra Madre Day, may Kalikasan, Kamalayan, and Kalooban taught us to listen before the next flood.