Taliptip Test
1.
One could easily pretend to be on a getaway to a nearby province, that one that is about fresh air and the endless sea, with meals of freshly caught fish and seafood, and the kindness of strangers who will share their homes and stories with you. On my social media accounts, I posted videos of the boat ride we took from the pier to the sitio, as I posted photos of a school, a church, a basketball court—whole communities of fisherfolk—right on the river. There is a seeming quiet here, a calm that is in spaces where everyone knows each other, small as they are, bound as they are, to the river and their tiny patch of land in the middle of it.
But this was no getaway, and the story of these sitios, of this village called Taliptip, is one that is not so much about tranquility as it is about poverty, and the threat of violence on 5,000 fishers and saltmakers, because government favored big business instead of the people.
2.
While it would be easy to judge the area for its poverty, what one realizes about Taliptip and its sitios is that it’s actually a self-sufficient and productive community. Families survive on fishing, and generations have been able to build homes, send their children to school, and sustain livelihoods through the sea. Even by city standards, earning 10,000 pesos a month on fishing is not something we can ignore, and while this might be seasonal, the communities learn to make ends meet during lean seasons, making salt, living off whatever the sea can provide. And where there are generations of fisherfolk families, there is culture and heritage, one that is as important as any other.
Taliptip is also a great environmental treasure. It is a mangrove habitat, a critical one, even more so in the midst of a climate crisis and pandemic. It is considered as an important bird and biodiversity area. It is a major food source not just for Bulacan but for neighbouring towns and even restaurants in NCR, providing us with fish, mussels, crabs, and shrimp, among others.
But this productive, self-sufficient community, and the environment and biodiversity it protects and lives off, is being threatened with the construction of a massive airport right on its waters. This is a reclamation project that will ruin our seas, environment, and food source, as it has displaced thousands of fisherfolk families. This is violence like no other, and in the midst of a pandemic, it is even more heartless.
3.
Bulacan seems farthest away now, more than ever. And who even knows of this small coastal town that is Taliptip? But the urgency of the situation, the realness of it, makes it seem nearer. I go back to pictures and memories of having visited there in 2019, and wonder which of those homes are now gone, how the communities left behind have changed. One cannot help but imagine what it will be like when construction on this airport starts, when it reclaims over 2,500 hectares of our waters, affecting our seascape and sea life, ravaging the environment in more ways than one.
They will insist that the question is about whether we need this airport or not. To me, the real question is: are the lives and livelihoods it will affect, is the degradation of our sea, is the sacrifice of our biodiversity—is it worth it? Is it worth building a massive airport for? My answer to that is no. The problem with air transport traffic we can solve by proper management and utilization of existing airports. But the repercussions on life and livelihood and environment of this airport? Irreversible. ***
