The images from Kara David's recent documentary on an Ayta ancestral domain turned into a dumpsite are not easy to forget. Beyond the mountains of garbage lies a quieter tragedy: a community wondering whether its water is still safe, whether its land can still sustain life and whether the damage left behind will ever truly disappear.
The documentary reminds us that waste does not end where we throw it away. More often than not, it ends in places where people have the least power to refuse it.
Related Stories
Public discussions on waste management usually revolve around collection, segregation, sanitary landfills and compliance with environmental laws. These are important conversations. But they often overlook a more difficult question:
What happens after a dumpsite is closed?
That question has stayed with me for many years.
In 2013, I conducted a study on heavy metal concentrations in the soil and corn (Zea mays) growing in a closed dumpsite in Manila. Published in 2014 as "Heavy Metal Concentration of Dumpsite Soil and Accumulation in Zea mays (Corn) Growing in a Closed Dumpsite in Manila, Philippines," the research was driven by a simple curiosity: Does contamination end when dumping stops?
The findings suggested otherwise.
Detectable levels of heavy metals remained in the soil and corn growing on the site accumulated some of these contaminants. Although concentrations varied across sampling areas, the study reinforced what environmental scientists have long understood: contaminants introduced into the environment do not simply disappear because a dumpsite has ceased operations. They remain in the soil, move through water and may eventually enter the food chain.
Years later, while studying communities affected by abandoned mining sites, I encountered the same lesson in a different setting. Mining and municipal waste are different sources of pollution, yet they leave behind remarkably similar environmental legacies. Heavy metals such as lead, cadmium, mercury and chromium persist in soils and waterways. They do not biodegrade. Without proper remediation, they can remain in the environment for years, even decades.
Nature does not distinguish where contamination comes from.
Whether the source is an abandoned mine or a former dumpsite, the environmental processes are much the same.
This is why I have always been cautious whenever I hear a dumpsite described as "closed."
Closure is an administrative decision.
Environmental recovery is another matter altogether.
A closed dumpsite is not automatically a safe place. Nearby communities may continue to rely on groundwater, cultivate crops, or raise families on land that still carries the legacy of years of waste disposal. Unlike smoke or foul odors, heavy metal contamination cannot be seen or smelled. It requires scientific monitoring, environmental testing and sustained public attention.
This is perhaps the deeper message behind Kara David's documentary.
It is not only about garbage.
It is about environmental justice.
For Indigenous Peoples such as the Ayta, land is more than property. It is history, identity, livelihood, culture and memory. When ancestral domains become repositories of waste, the loss extends beyond ecology. It diminishes dignity, threatens cultural continuity and places future generations at risk.
The documentary also challenges us to rethink what environmental awareness should mean.
For years, we have encouraged waste segregation, recycling and community clean-up drives. These efforts remain essential. But environmental responsibility should not end once our garbage leaves our homes.
We must also ask where it goes.
Who lives beside it?
And what remains long after it has been taken away?
These questions deserve greater attention not only from scientists and policymakers but from all of us. They remind us that waste management is not merely about disposal. It is about protecting ecosystems and the communities that depend on them.
This is where research becomes indispensable.
Scientific studies should not remain confined to journals or conference proceedings. They should inform environmental policy, guide rehabilitation programs, strengthen land-use planning and help communities understand risks that are otherwise invisible. Evidence matters because environmental damage is far easier to prevent than to reverse.
Kara David's documentary should not end with sympathy alone.
It should prompt us to ask how many other former dumpsites across the country continue to affect communities long after public attention has faded. It should encourage stronger environmental monitoring, more meaningful rehabilitation of contaminated sites and greater accountability for decisions that place vulnerable communities at risk.
As researchers, we must continue producing evidence.
As educators, we must help translate that evidence into public understanding.
As citizens, we must insist that environmental responsibility does not end when the garbage trucks leave.
Because the true measure of responsible waste management is not how quickly we remove our waste.
It is whether we restore the land we have asked to carry it.
---
Leah Amor S Cortez (cortez.las@pnu.edu.ph) is an associate professor of science education at the Faculty of Science, Technology and Mathematics. The views expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the official position of PNU.