When progress comes with a blast
For many Filipinos, Christmas is a sound—music blasting from speakers, firecrackers echoing through the streets as December approaches. But for a Masbateño like me, that sound is different. It is a blast that brings fear and judgment. We have grown used to it, even learned to live with it, though not many people outside our community know this side.
Every day, around 12 noon, it happens.
There is an announcement. A siren sounds before the blast, loud enough to reach nearby houses and barangays. It serves as a warning that blasting is about to begin.
When we hear it, people stop what they are doing. Some go inside their homes. Others stand still, waiting. Children are told to stay put. We already know this routine by heart. After the siren, the blast follows. The ground shakes, the air feels heavy, and for a few seconds, everything pauses.
This does not happen in just one place, but in several barangays in the Municipality of Aroroy.
One of them is Brgy. Panique—a land rich not only in people, but also in natural resources, especially gold. Because of this, Panique has long been a hot spot for mining operations. For more than a decade now, one mining corporation has been responsible for the scheduled blasting that has become part of our daily lives. It is so regular that many of us can tell the time simply by listening for the siren.
Filminera Resources Corp. is one of the country’s largest operating gold ventures. Since it began operating in Aroroy in 2007, it has reportedly contributed billions of pesos in taxes. These contributions are often cited as a reason why Aroroy became more economically active over the years. Jobs were created, local revenues increased, and the municipality was often described as “progressing.”
Alongside its operations, the corporation introduced its Social Development and Management Program. Through this program, scholarships were offered to students, livelihood projects were introduced in communities, and free medical checkups were made accessible. These initiatives are real, and for many families, they are helpful. They ease certain burdens. On paper, they reflect responsibility.
But the question remains—are these enough?
Enough to cover the fear we live with every single day? Enough to compensate for the anxiety that comes with listening for a siren before noon? This reflection comes from someone like me, someone who cannot simply reject these programs, yet cannot deny the weight of living in a place where the ground is expected to shake daily.
I still remember last October 2025, when Masbate was hit by one of the strongest typhoons, “Opong.” Many of the affected barangays were left exposed. The land was bare, almost naked. With fewer trees and natural barriers left, the wind came stronger than what many residents had experienced before. Houses were damaged. Some were completely destroyed. Belongings, things families had worked years to build, were lost in a matter of hours.
It makes you wonder. If these areas had retained more green spaces, would the damage have been less severe? No one can answer that with certainty. But the question itself is difficult to ignore. It also brings attention to accountability not only of the mining corporation, but of local officials who benefit from the taxes and revenues generated by these operations.
For almost a decade now, the development promised to the affected barangays of Aroroy still feels unclear, even distant. Progress is often mentioned in reports and public statements. Yet on the ground, fear remains. The siren still sounds. The blast still comes. The shaking is still felt.
So who should be held accountable? The mining corporation that continues to operate and profit? Or the administration that granted permission and continues to allow these operations in the name of development?
This is not written to attack anyone. But rather to open a conversation—for people outside Masbate, and for those who have never experienced what we experience here every single day.
In barangays like Panique, Christmas does not only come with lights and music. Long before December arrives, we already understand what it means to live with a blast that sounds nothing like a celebration.
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Joshua B. Marqueza, 21, is an economics student, a campus journalist, and a student leader from Masbate.
