Who’s to blame for Boracay?
It was Ric Ramos, the head of Task Force Boracay during the Cory administration, who told me about the “zoning” that both residents and tourists applied on Boracay.
Station 3, which lies on the southernmost tip of the island, is “Quezon City,” quiet with a few small- to medium-sized resorts and restaurants. Station 2 in the center of White Beach is the busiest (and noisiest) part of the island, chock-full of small hotels, hostels, restaurants, bars, commercial establishments and even discos. At the back of these establishments can be found the seamier side of Boracay: boarding houses, sari-sari stores and dubious structures. Thus, Station 2 has been dubbed the “Tondo” of Boracay.
Station 1 and adjacent areas are known as the “Forbes Park” of the island, for it is there where most high-end hotels and resorts are located, with the least-crowded stretch of White Beach. It is also the most quiet and tranquil.
But regardless of where a hotel, resort, restaurant, or shopping center can be found, an establishment on Boracay will have to close shop before the month is through, when the six-month “closure” of the biggest tourist draw in the country takes effect.
Expectedly, investors, business owners and residents of Boracay are up in arms.
In a statement, Boracay Foundation Inc., to which many business leaders on the island belong, expressed concern about the implications of the six-month closure, which was decided upon only after brief consultations and after President Duterte called the island—or rather, the waters around it—a “cesspool.”
The BFI wanted to know the “specific closure and rehabilitation plan and timeline” of the rehabilitation project. After the government said it would provide for “calamity funds” to tide over everyone affected by the closure, the businesspeople wanted to know exactly how the recipients of aid would be identified, and on what basis.
And what of investors who had taken out loans for their operations or construction plans? “Will the government intervene for businesses who will be unable to pay due to loss of income?”
The business community also wanted to know how the island would be run once threatened sanctions are applied on local government officials. And if Boracay is reopened before the deadline, “what benchmark should be met so this can be achieved?”
But stakeholders in Boracay should have expected this dismaying development. After all, for the past 20 years, as this paper’s research department documents, environmental issues have hounded Boracay, from coliform bacteria and human waste in the swimming water and water supply, that both the government and the private sector had sought to address by providing a sewerage system.
Despite this intervention, only a little over half of the establishments and 25 percent of the households chose to connect to the system, leading the President to attach the “cesspool” tag on the island. Then, too, overbuilding and encroachment on the beach led to overcrowding that tested and strained the island’s “carrying capacity.”
Adding to the strains felt by everyone in Boracay was the news that despite the purported “concern” over the fate of the island, the government had already allowed the construction of a massive casino-resort complex owned in part by Chinese investors. If the intent is to “save” Boracay, then shouldn’t subsequent government decisions be directed toward easing the strain on Boracay’s environment and resources, and not burdening it further with massive complexes?
Boracay residents and investors—as well as allied industries like airlines and travel agencies—are facing the pain not just of massive financial losses but also of losing their future, should the six-month closure fail to address the island’s basic problems.
And they are not alone. Boracay is today responsible for the bulk of the Philippines’ tourism income, a “sunshine” industry in this country. We have already lost ground to our neighbors as far as tourism is concerned. The closure of Boracay could very well eliminate us from the race altogether.
