by: Santine Mauritius Susa
Copyedited by: Orange Alcaraz
Publication by: Chesca Domondon

When I look toward the hills of Angono, I remember when the gentle slopes—cresting into rich brown and dark green, used to be thick with trees that softened the rain and shielded the lowlands from floods. “The Sierra Madre is our protector,” as most of the elders say, recalling how storms once arrived with less fury. Now, with parts of the range carved away by quarrying to fuel urban development across Luzon, I noticed a stark difference: rivers swell faster, the ground stays waterlogged longer, and the floods feel deeper every year. For many in Barangay San Isidro, the quarry that has operated for nearly a decade is not just removing rock—it is chipping away at their last line of defense.

The Sierra Madre mountain range has long been called the “backbone” of Luzon, acting as a natural shield that weakens typhoons before they reach the country’s population centers. In Rizal, the range’s foothills not only protect lives but also stabilize soil, regulate water flow, and host diverse ecosystems. Quarrying disrupts this balance. Vegetation loss and soil removal expose slopes to erosion, sending sediment into rivers and narrowing channels downstream. For the communities around San Isidro, these changes have turned typhoon season into a recurring threat, where heavy rains no longer just test resilience—they overwhelm the practice of it.

Economically, quarrying remains a contentious trade-off. The industry provides jobs and supplies construction materials essential for urban growth. In Angono, trucks leaving the quarry feed the demand for gravel and stone in Metro Manila’s rapid expansion. Yet the short-term gains stand against long-term costs: repeated flood damage, declining farmland productivity, and increased spending on disaster recovery. For residents, the equation is simple but urgent—how much economic benefit justifies the degradation of natural defenses like the Sierra Madre?

The political dimension complicates matters further. While local officials and residents have renewed calls for the quarry’s closure, authority over large-scale mining operations rests with the Department of Environment and Natural Resources. This means municipal leaders can lobby, pass resolutions, and amplify public pressure, but they cannot enforce a shutdown. The situation exposes the gap between community will and national policy, a gap often exploited by industries with economic clout and political connections.

Internationally, the fight has gained a new legal framing. The recent International Court of Justice advisory opinion affirmed that climate-vulnerable nations like the Philippines have the right to seek reparations from major polluting countries.

While the ruling does not directly halt quarrying in Angono, it strengthens the argument that local environmental harm is part of a global chain of accountability. It reframes the quarry dispute as not only a land-use issue, but also a test of climate justice—whether communities on the frontlines can demand both domestic and international action.

Environmental scientists warn that losing even small segments of the Sierra Madre’s protective cover has cascading effects. Floodwaters that used to be slowed by dense vegetation now rush unhindered toward lowland cities. Sediment-laden rivers reduce water quality and increase maintenance costs for dams and reservoirs. Over time, these compounding impacts could make future typhoon damage both more frequent and more severe—turning what is now a local hazard into a national liability.

As machines in Barangay San Isidro continue their work, the quarry stands as a crossroads between two futures: one where economic growth continues to be measured in truckloads of extracted stone, and another where the value of intact forests, stable slopes, and protected communities is placed higher on the ledger. Whether the Sierra Madre remains a living shield or becomes a memory, like the ones inhabitants near the range are clinging to, will depend on decisions made not only in Rizal, but in Manila’s halls of power—and perhaps, in the courtrooms of the world.