By Cynthia Shank
Silliman University’s (SU) acacia trees stand in silent vigil long before the first bell rings and the campus comes alive with footsteps and conversation. Their sweeping branches, tall and ageless, have given shade to both past and present from afar.
These trees have been more than just a feature of the environment for years; they have silently observed student revolutions, romantic whispers, and the gradual passage of time along the campus. However, as modernization transforms Dumaguete, concerns arise like acacia roots during a storm: how can we respect a tree’s life while pursuing the future?
Planted a year after the then-Silliman Institute was founded, the acacia trees are more than just decorative greenery. They are quiet witnesses to a century of history and are some of the university’s oldest surviving residents.
International Students Office Head and longtime Silliman legacy storyteller, Kuya Moses Joshua Atega claims that these magnificent trees have a Pacific origin story. “They were planted in 1903 with seeds from Hawaii, along with them were the original hibiscus hedges that are also cuttings from Hawaii. At their peak, there were 308 acacia trees dotting the campus.”
Even though fewer remain, Silliman’s identity is still defined by them. The acacias, which tower above iconic landmarks like Guy Hall, Hibbard Hall, and the Amphitheater, provide a living canopy that cools the walkways and provides a haven for both people and natural inhabitants.
With roots that run deep in the campus, these trees serve as both historical landmarks and environmental resources. On their way to school, students might pass beneath them without noticing that they are actually walking in the same shade that their great-grandparents might have a century before.
They are interwoven in many ways with the story of what it means to study and grow at Silliman. These trees have seen it all: poetry readings, rallies, long walks home, first kisses, breakups, and thesis breakdowns.
As the university continues to expand and change, how are we preserving the very roots that have long held us in place?
Despite their beauty, acacia trees can be dangerous. Old limbs may fall during strong storms if they are not maintained, and their extensive root systems may damage concrete walkways. Due to disease, natural calamities, or the need for clearing, some trees have been lost. But the gradual vanishing of century-old trees poses concern that each person must account for.
For many alumni and environmental activists, a chapter in a living book is lost with each acacia death. These strong ties with SU’s natural frame sparked advocacy for a strategy that strikes a balance between sustainability and heritage, even when campus developments are significant.
As of latest, Silliman University’s 62-hectare campus is home to over 300 acacia trees.
The preservation of acacia trees is a cultural as well as an environmental concern. Careful tree assessments, smart pruning as opposed to cutting, and a proactive dedication to planting new trees that will eventually grow into the same giants that adorn vintage university postcards are woven into it.
Above all, the Silliman community must collectively recognize the urgency of environmental preservation.
Consider the legacy you are a part of the next time you stroll beneath their soaring branches or take a seat on a bench shaded by them. These trees are more than simply scenic backdrops. They are in the past. They are recollections. They are vital.
And there they remain, silent, sturdy, and waiting for the next generation to take notice.
