Short Story by Geo Niko Villarta
These are the last words I heard from Congressman Casiano as he ended his speech in Congress. He talked about how we must protect the environment. That mining should be stopped. That the building of a huge dam in our area will relocate a lot of Indigenous Peoples who are fighting for their ancestral domain.
I admire Cong. Casiano. He is very humble, very kind, and very brave. He is willing to offer his life to protect the environment.
Right after his speech, my brothers and I talked about what we could do to save the Sierra Madre. It was a mountain range in the Philippines where I served. Frater Romel, one of my Franciscan brothers, said that we can conduct an information drive so that people will know the dangers of mining and its effects on the local community.
Frater Alejandro also suggested we do it online for a more significant audience. All of them had good suggestions.
We were in the middle of a discussion when one of the altar servers ran toward the kitchen.
“Frater! Frater! A girl fell into the mining pit!” he exclaimed as he approached us.
We were frightened upon hearing the news. As an automatic response, we stood up and followed the boy as he directed us to where the girl was. Her name was Olivia. When we arrived at the scene, a man was already carrying the poor child on his way to the nearest hospital.
I was destroyed by the fact that the irresponsible miners left the pit unguarded. Nobody saw the child enter the perimeters, and when they saw her, it was already too late. What angered me more was that they tried to say it wasn’t their fault. That it was the child’s parents who were at fault for letting her leave their home alone.
Our group was so mad that the next thing we knew, we were on the streets rallying for the permanent closure of the mining pit. Sadly, there were only a few of us. I, two of my brothers, three members of the girl’s family, five members of the Gaddang tribe, and five more concerned students. We shouted our demands in front of the provincial capitol. We shouted until our lungs burst. We shouted even if nobody listened. We shouted until it was time to go home, back to our daily routines.
It saddened me that it was the only thing that we could do. Shout. So the next day, I wrote a letter to our bishop. I told him that St. Francis would have fought for the environment and for the children. That it was only right that we do something about it. The bishop agreed.
Next Sunday, no priest in the province will say their own homily. They read the bishop’s letter to the people. It went something like this.
Brothers and sisters, it is true that mining has made a lot of its workers financially stable. But that stability has its end. Soon, the wealth of the earth will dry up. The money will no longer flow into your pockets. You will leave the pits filled with chemicals. The land will be barren, and we won’t be able to produce food to feed our children. They will be the ones to suffer the consequences of our actions. If we do not demand the people in charge to stop now. We will have nothing.
It was a powerful message. I saw a lot of parishioners nodding in approval to the bishop’s words. But the fight does not end there.
Felizia Domingo, the owner of the mining company, dropped by Olivia’s home a few days after the incident. She gave them money to compensate for the child’s death. Soon after, the people’s anger about mining faded. They thought that with the parents accepting the money from Felizia, justice had already been served. But still, a lot of people were determined to push through with our demands. Just after the gossip spread about the compensation and the family signed an agreement that they would no longer talk about the incident in public, the leader of the Gaddang tribe paid us a visit in the convent.
The old man with short white hair told us how mining affected the Indigenous community in the area. Olivia died because she fell into the pit. But the Gaddangs have been sick because of the chemicals in the water. They can no longer fish from the river or hunt wild animals because the miners disturbed the forest. Domeng warned that if that continues, his people will go down from the mountains and beg for money in the cities. A very disgraceful act for their tribe that they have to do to survive.
Because of his story, I, along with a few brothers and the bishop, accompanied Domeng to the office of Cong. Casiano. As I have said before, I admire this man. To meet him would be a great pleasure. There, Domeng narrated the same story to the congressman with the same frail smile and sadness in his heart as the miners were destroying his home.
Cong. Casiano spoke with great reverence for Domeng. He assured us that he would continue his fight for the environment. That he will propose bills in Congress to control mining in the country further and will launch an investigation in Congress regarding the violations of Felizia’s company.
After we left Congressman Casiano’s office, I saw a familiar figure walking gracefully toward the office we just left while letting her assistant carry what seemed to be a heavy bag. It was Felizia.
Geo Niko Villarta is a Filipino writer and poet who got his degree in Communication from the University of the Philippines Baguio. He writes short stories, flash fiction, and poems. He was also a student journalist who served as editor-in-chief of school publications like the Ang Diwa, The Shade and Shield, and the Reconciliatrix.
