“Walang araw na hindi pula ang lupa,” said Ken, who requested anonymity to protect his mining company-sponsored scholarship.

Much of Ken’s life in Rio Tuba, Palawan, has been hounded by passing ore trucks and endless clouds of laterite dust that coat Macadam Road in a reddish tinge. The dust triggers his asthma, a condition common among locals in Rio Tuba.

This image of Palawan is different from the forested, green spaces of Puerto Princesa and El Nido—places we’re all familiar with. While much of the north is untouched and is home to several tourist attractions, the south has been pillaged by mining companies threatening to expand and displace more Indigenous Peoples (IP).

After graduating from a private school in Rio Tuba, Ken entered UP Diliman as a business administration student, with portions of his educational expenses covered by a scholarship fund. These endowments are sourced from Rio Tuba Nickel Foundation Incorporated, the joint fund between Rio Tuba Nickel Mining Corporation and Coral Bay Nickel Corporation.

I had the opportunity to talk to Ken again, years after we last saw each other in Rio Tuba. We went to the same school and we were both beneficiaries of mining’s destructive practices. Despite Ken’s scholarship benefits, he has lived a childhood in a pro-mining community full of asthmatic triggers, ore trucks, and dusty afternoons.

For decades, Nickel Asia Corporation, the parent company of Rio Tuba Nickel Mining Corporation, has pushed for the idea of “responsible” or “sustainable” mining, terms that have long been considered irreconcilable with mining’s destructive practices. (Alex Lauricio/Philippine Collegian)

We once believed in the existence of “responsible” mining, a claim already debunked by environmental advocates, yet promoted by mining companies and repeatedly drilled into our heads as kids being raised as pro-mining beneficiaries. 

But when Ken first set foot on half-flattened mountains years ago in mine rehabilitation activities, he soon realized that he was standing on the deforested homes of now-displaced Tagbanua. Later on, it registered with him that mining is not as responsible as the companies said.

These detriments of mining, however, are not considered by some of Rio Tuba’s residents, whose background was just like Ken’s—those who benefited from an extractive system, grown dependent on company infrastructure and facilities. As a new generation of beneficiaries settled in the privilege and comfort of the south’s mining stronghold, anti-mining dissent among some has been stifled.

Such division of the community is part of a broad pattern of tactics used by companies to appease their beneficiaries to mask the externalized effects of mining in the region, such as IP displacement, land grabbing, and environmental degradation.

Patterns of Control

Before mining put Rio Tuba on the map, it had been said that there were few establishments and little commerce in the area. My father, once an employee in Rio Tuba, called it a “ghost town” when we first moved in 2010. 

Rio Tuba’s population has more than quadrupled since the 1990s to more than 20,000, as migrants from different parts of the country flocked toward the mining companies in search of jobs. Alongside the success of the nickel exports, the mine has also expanded its operations in Mt. Bulanjao and the base of Mt. Mantalingahan.

One of these migrants, Kevin Caesar Palay, is another scholar under the Rio Tuba Nickel Foundation Inc. He graduated from UP Manila in 2024 with a BS Biochemistry degree. His relatives were originally from Taytay and went to Rio Tuba to work. He resided in the townsite, a corporate town of company employees in Rio Tuba.

Mining has heavily contributed to the income of the municipality of Bataraza, where Barangay Rio Tuba falls under. This has turned Bataraza into a first-class municipality, according to a claim by Nickel Asia, the parent company of Rio Tuba Nickel Mining Corporation.

With access to quality education inside the townsite, Kevin was exposed to different opportunities that would not have been available to him otherwise. Employees migrating often bring their families, who also become recipients of these opportunities. They are called “taga-Loob” because they usually have a company house inside the townsite.

Mike Cruz and Manong Tan, the latter’s identity anonymized to protect his employee status, have been working for at least a decade at Rio Tuba Nickel and Coral Bay Nickel Corporation, respectively. They have also long reaped the benefits of being “taga-Loob” with their families. 

Manong Tan has a family of five, two of whom graduated from the private school inside the townsite and are now in college. Their mother runs a bakery shop in their three-room duplex. “Maraming guminhawa dahil sa minahan,” said Manong Tan.

Mike, on the other hand, has a family of six under his care, and is comfortably sending them to college one by one in Puerto Princesa City.

Because of these developments, Mike and Manong Tan have grown dependent on the mining companies for many of their needs. This dependency may lead residents, like others in mining towns, to minimize resistance against mining’s externalized repercussions because they enjoy the company’s fulfillment of their family’s basic needs. When companies deliberately do this, they engage in corporate paternalism as a method of control.

Mike and Manong Tan’s loyalty to their mining company brought wage benefits to the table. Unlike their lives before they entered mining jobs, the two are now able to save money due to the company’s salary going beyond the minimum provincial wage. 

Despite their salaries, however, the Coral Bay Nickel employee noted that the starting salary for a mine site employee now is P367 a day, which is below the P430 a day minimum mandated by the National Wages and Productivity Commission. The Collegian has yet to receive a response from the company to comment on this issue.

Critical facilities like potable water supplies, electricity, and health care were also supplied by the companies to their employees. For most migrants from different parts of Palawan, as well as native Molbog and Tagbanua, this would be their first exposure to such infrastructure.

But these facilities were not readily accessible to outsiders or members of the community who are not affiliated with any mining company. “Kailangan na rin namin mag-subscribe sa local water service provider. As for the kuryente, may binabayaran kami doon,” said Ken, who lived in Macadam outside of the townsite, as neither of his parents is an employee.

This is because these critical facilities are concentrated inside the townsite. The accessibility of facilities inside, such as the wet market, recreational park, and fine dining establishments, privileges company employees, allowing only limited access for outsiders. This includes the discounted rates and the close proximity of the only level one hospital from Balabac to Bataraza.

Access to the townsite is mediated through two security checkpoints, which require a valid company-sponsored ID or any related documents before allowing entry. These checkpoints separate the gated community inside from the rest of Rio Tuba, which they call “Labas.”

Duplex houses line the streets of Townsite. These houses, in particular, are painted white to distinguish Coral Bay Nickel employees from Rio Tuba Nickel Mining Corporation. Electricity, potable water supply, and waste collection are all subsidized by the companies. Alex Lauricio/Philippine Collegian)

I’ve long been classmates with some of these employees’ kids and spent afternoons in many of the company-sponsored amenities, such as the park, which is readily accessible for “taga-Loob.” Our taga-Labas friends would have to devise excuses to get past the checkpoints.

Ordinances set by the company take effect in the townsite, and is much safer compared to Macadam, according to Kevin: “May sinusunod na curfew, may rules and regulations na kailangan mag-abide by yung mga tao.” 

No ore, methanol, or sulphuric acid trucks drive inside Townsite. The last traces of any remaining laterite can be seen on this road past the first checkpoint. (Alex Lauricio/Philippine Collegian)

The clean, gray roads of Loob are a sharp contrast to the roads of Macadam, the immediate community outside of the townsite. Minimal traces of laterite soil can be found on the roads, as no trucks are allowed inside the gated community. 

From Dust ‘til Dawn

The “Labas” is a dirty place. Houses and establishments are coated in a thin layer of laterite dust, spewed by passing industrial trucks making their rounds along the civilian roads. The orange dust is as much a sanitation issue as it is a health hazard.

“Araw-araw, ‘pag nasa Rio Tuba ako, lagi ako sinisipon. Kung hindi man sinisipon, inuubo. And among other pollutants, syempre, mahirap lumabas. So, doon ko nang narealize na mali ‘to,” said Ken. The soot and laterite dust from the trucks commonly triggered Ken’s asthma and was one of his earlier driving forces to be critical about mining.

While Ken experiences some form of benefit as a mining company’s scholar, such as access to potable water supplies and developed electricity infrastructure, he is still an outsider. 

Much of the Macadam community are subjected to the whims of the mining company that has complete ownership of the road. “Normal na ang mga sasakyan na tumitigil kapag dumaan ang mga sulphuric na truck,” said Lorena Albarico Capilitan, a resident of the local coastal community, Marabahay, who sees these trucks often on the way to the pier.

A sign at the start of Macadam tells motorists to yield to passing ore trucks and sulphuric acid trucks. These vehicles start their journey from the mine site and end in the export facilities at the pier.

Ore trucks are a common sight in Rio Tuba. They are heavily coated in laterite dust, as excess soil from the wheels is readily dropped on the roads of Macadam and adjacent communities, contributing to its orange-red tinge. (Alex Lauricio/Philippine Collegian)

“Along the main highway ako, kung saan dumadaan talaga yung mga trucks na minahan. So, walang araw na hindi maalikabok, walang araw na hindi pula ang lupa. Gigising ako, yun [alikabok] na yung makikita ko, at matutulog ako na yun din yung makikita ko,” Ken said. He would sweep the floor for as much as eight times a day, as any less would be a risk for his lungs.

Adjacent communities like Sitio Kayasyasan and Sitio Kinurong are similarly coated in the orange dust. When it rains, laterite sticks to the wheels of these trucks, eventually depositing the loose bits and chunks of the orange soil on the roads of these communities.

Farther from adjacent communities are Gawad-Kalinga homes, relocation sites for displaced IPs affected by mining, mostly populated by the Tagbanua. 

A Greenwashed Rio Tuba

These relocation sites are popular destinations for donation drives and outreach programs by the company. These are rows of cement houses, brightly colored and ill-suited for an IP family of four to six people. 

“Tinuturuan namin sila kung paano maghugas ng kamay, paano maligo, paano mag-toothbrush,” said Kevin. Though seemingly innocent, some IPs are driven to assimilate into a culture disparate from their tribal roots in the mountains after being displaced from their ancestral lands due to predatory deals between tribal leaders and mining companies.

But the normalization of these outreach programs gives mining companies a greenwashing leverage to displace IPs and locals without much retaliation from mining beneficiaries and IPs alike. This is especially relevant in 2017, when the two mining companies slipped through the large-scale mining shutdowns in Palawan initiated by the late Department of Environment and Natural Resources Secretary Gina Lopez. 

“Pwede pala, kaya pala natin. This sets the bar,” Lopez said in an interview with Rio Tuba Nickel, allegedly praising the company’s responsible mining practices. 

Perhaps what led Lopez to that point was the exclusive development she saw in certain parts of the region, undermining the other ecological and displacement consequences of mining there. Residents attribute the accelerated infrastructure development and economic growth of the region to Rio Tuba Nickel Mining Corporation, and later, Japanese-owned Coral Bay Nickel Corporation.

But these attempts to legitimize mining despite its harmful effects on the environment and IPs are a form of greenwashing. Such initiatives have long been criticized by rights groups, including a 2023 report by Europe-based Electronics Watch, and faced local resistance in the same year.

As mining permanently alters the forests, even a rehabilitated mine site will not guarantee the return of IPs’ livelihoods. Non-timber products, such as Almaciga resin, rattan, and honey, would take decades to regrow and become sustainable again. 

Nickel Asia is even exploring options to turn rehabilitated mine sites into eco-tourism projects with little guarantee to return the land to IPs after the mining permit ends. In its mine site in Rio Tuba, their expansion operations toward a protected site, Mt. Mantalingahan, do not align with its supposed thrust for “responsible” mining.

“Back then, I was pro-responsible mining kasi nga, I thought there was a thing called responsible mining. Pero, syempre, upon further study rin, upon exposure rin sa kung ano ba talaga ang katotohanan… nakapag decide rin ako na there's no such thing as responsible mining and there's no such thing as sustainable mining,” said Ken.

Until now, Nickel Asia perpetuates a “responsible” mining narrative, a term ill-defined by the company and lacking a formal definition in the law, according to rights group Alyansa Tigil Mina. Apart from environmental obligations, part of being “responsible” is allowing the equitable distribution of development brought about by mining, according to UP College of Social Work and Community Development researcher Richard Eco.

“Kanino ba napupunta yung resources na ine-extract ng mga malalaking kumpanya, malalaking corporation kagaya ng Nickel Asia? Napupunta ba yun para ma-industrialize yung Palawan?” said  Eco.

For Eco, who has experienced being an employee of Rio Tuba Nickel Mining Corporation, one should not discount nor compare the externalized effects of mining on different communities. That is, the effects of mining are not the same whether it be the impacted barangays, IPs, or employees.

Such is the reason why the discourse around environmental justice and green energy transition must also include workers whose livelihoods were made dependent on mining. Current calls to shift to green energy must consider the welfare of these retiring or transitioning sectors so that they won’t be left behind, according to environmental watchdog Center for Energy, Ecology and Development.

To do so, environmental groups proposed the People’s Mining Bill, a legislation aimed at reorienting current mining practices toward national industrialization, with several provisions that mandate the state to assist workers whose livelihoods will be affected by mining bans and moratoriums.

For everyday workers like Mike and Manong Tan, they have too few options for economic opportunities to pick from in Rio Tuba, where they’ve seen a community transformed despite mining’s long-term consequences for the environment and locals. The exploitative dependency on mining is rooted in a region starved of economic resources and opportunity. Ken and I’s realization, after all, came long after we had left the laterite-laden soil of Rio Tuba.

To move forward, a people-centric approach in mining based on the concerns of IPs and locals must replace the current exploitative systems that prioritize profit and obedience over genuine community needs. Only then can both mining beneficiaries and displaced residents of Rio Tuba unite under the banner of a sustainable model of development already initiated by the 50-year mining moratorium. ●