Natural Capital Accounting and the Apo Quarry Case

The recent tax dispute between the Province of Cebu and Apo Land and Quarry Corporation (ALQC) has highlighted the legal limits of provincial taxation authority over quarry operations. The initial assessment of approximately Php1.218 billion was reduced to a proposed Php211 million compromise settlement, now under review by the Provincial Board. While the legal aspects of the dispute revolve around statutory limits on quarry taxation, the case also raises a broader question: how should the economic value of natural landscapes affected by quarry extraction be measured?

The Philippines has recently institutionalized ecosystem and natural capital accounting through Republic Act No. 11995, commonly referred to as PENCAS. This law recognizes ecosystems as economic assets whose value should be reflected in national and local policy decisions. When applied to quarry operations, natural capital accounting allows policymakers to estimate the economic value of ecosystem services that may be affected by extraction activities.

Under the PENCAS framework, the economic value of a natural resource landscape can be expressed as the Total Economic Value, which combines both market output and ecosystem services.

Component	Description
Market value	Commercial value of extracted minerals
Natural capital value	Ecosystem services such as watershed protection, slope stabilization, and flood mitigation

While traditional taxation captures only the market value of extraction, natural capital accounting attempts to quantify the value of ecosystem functions that support environmental stability and community resilience.

The Apo quarry operations cover an estimated 406 hectares under mining agreements. However, quarry sites typically disturb only a portion of the concession area at any given time. International mining and quarrying studies suggest that active disturbance commonly affects 30–40 percent of the concession area. Applying a mid-range estimate of 35 percent disturbance, the approximate area of affected landscape may be calculated as follows:

Indicator	Value
Total concession area	406 hectares
Estimated disturbance ratio	35%
Estimated disturbed area	142 hectares

Global watershed valuation studies—including the The Economics of Ecosystems and Biodiversity (TEEB) Initiative and the widely cited work of Costanza et al. (2014) Changes in the Global Value of Ecosystem Services—estimate the bundled value of ecosystem services such as watershed protection, flood regulation, erosion control, and groundwater recharge at approximately US$3,000 to US$20,000 per hectare per year depending on ecosystem type.

Also, ecosystem service valuation studies conducted in watershed environments worldwide estimate the value of environmental services such as flood regulation, erosion control, and groundwater recharge at approximately US$10,000–US$20,000 per hectare annually. Converting this range into Philippine pesos results in an estimated Php500,000 to Php1,000,000 per hectare per year.

Using a conservative midpoint estimate of Php900,000 per hectare annually, the potential ecosystem service value associated with the affected landscape may be estimated as follows:

Calculation	Value
Disturbed area	142 hectares
Estimated ecosystem value per hectare	Php900,000/year
Estimated ecosystem service value	Php127.8 million per year

This estimated ecological value offers a useful point of comparison with the proposed compromise settlement in the Apo tax case. If the Php211 million settlement is distributed across the approximate 16-year coverage period of the assessment, the provincial fiscal recovery corresponds to roughly Php13.2 million per year.

The comparison between fiscal recovery and estimated ecosystem value may be illustrated as follows:

Indicator	Estimated Value
Ecosystem services value	Php127.8 million / year
Provincial fiscal recovery	Php13.2 million / year
Fiscal capture ratio	≈10% of ecosystem value

It is important to emphasize that this comparison does not imply a legal liability on the part of the quarry operator. Rather, it illustrates the difference between the fiscal instruments currently available to local governments and the broader environmental value associated with landscapes affected by extraction activities.

Mining agreements in the Philippines typically operate within a 25–30 year timeframe. If the estimated ecosystem service value were projected over a 30-year operational horizon, the cumulative value of ecosystem services associated with the affected landscape could be estimated as follows:

Projection	Value
Annual ecosystem value	Php127.8 million
30-year horizon Estimated ecosystem value	Php3.8 billion

This simplified natural capital ledger helps place the Apo quarry case within a broader economic context.

Component	Estimated Value
Limestone production value (Cebu quarry sector)	~Php225 million/year
Ecosystem service value	~Php128 million/year
Estimated 30-year ecosystem value	~Php3.8 billion
+ Carbon sequestration	+Php8 million
Proposed tax settlement	Php211 million

From a policy perspective, the significance of this analysis lies not in assigning additional financial liability but in recognizing the economic importance of ecosystems within resource governance.Carbon sequestration offers a strong “alternative use” valuation for quarry-disturbed lands like Apo (upland Cebu forests), quantifying foregone climate benefits as an opportunity cost in your natural capital ledger.

The Apo case illustrates the structural characteristics of the Philippine mining governance framework. Mineral resources are owned by the State and administered by the national government, while environmental impacts and land-use implications are often experienced locally. As a result, local governments may face environmental management responsibilities while having limited taxation authority over extraction activities.

Natural capital accounting offers a complementary tool that allows policymakers to understand the broader economic landscape within which resource extraction occurs. Instead of relying solely on traditional taxation mechanisms, governments can use ecosystem accounting to guide policies such as watershed restoration programs, rehabilitation funds, and long-term land-use planning.

In this sense, the Apo quarry case highlights an important shift in public policy thinking. While taxation measures the financial revenue generated from extraction, natural capital accounting helps quantify the environmental assets that support economic activity and community resilience.

As Cebu continues to grow as an economic center in the Visayas, integrating natural capital accounting into resource governance may provide a more comprehensive framework for balancing development, environmental stewardship, and long-term sustainability.

The purpose of this estimation is to illustrate how ecosystem accounting can complement traditional fiscal metrics. While tax assessments measure the financial revenues associated with extraction activities, natural capital accounting helps quantify the environmental services that landscapes provide to surrounding communities.

In this sense, the Apo quarry case underscores the potential policy relevance of ecosystem accounting under Republic Act No. 11995, PENCAS. By recognizing ecosystems as economic assets, natural capital accounting allows policymakers to better understand how natural landscapes contribute to long-term environmental resilience and sustainable development.

The Apo Quarry tax dispute reveals a critical gap in Philippine resource governance: while provincial taxes capture only a fraction (~10%) of extraction’s market value, natural capital accounting under PENCAS quantifies the far broader ecological ledger—Php128 million/year in ecosystem services plus Php8 million/year in foregone carbon sequestration across 142 disturbed hectares.

Integrating these metrics exposes structural imbalances, where local governments bear environmental burdens from nationally administered mining without commensurate fiscal tools. This analysis demonstrates NCA’s power not as a liability hammer, but as a policy compass—guiding watershed restoration bonds, progressive rehab fees, and land-use plans that align development with Cebu’s natural assets.

Beyond the Apo Tax Settlement: What the Case Reveals About Quarry Governance in Cebu

Every day in Cebu, the equivalent of 500 dump trucks of limestone leaves the province’s quarry sites. Over a year, that amounts to roughly 3.6 million tons of limestone—enough trucks lined up bumper to bumper to stretch from Cebu to Manila and back.

Yet a recent tax dispute between the Province of Cebu and Apo Land and Quarry Corporation ended with a compromise settlement of Php211.56 million, far lower than the original Php1.218 billion assessment. The tax dispute arose from differing interpretations of the province’s authority to impose quarry extraction taxes.

At first glance, the reduction appears dramatic. But the outcome reflects an important legal reality: the taxing powers of local governments are limited by national law and Supreme Court jurisprudence.

Understanding the Apo quarry case therefore, requires looking beyond the headline numbers. It reveals how law, economics, and natural resource governance intersect in a rapidly developing province like Cebu.

According to reports, the Province of Cebu initially assessed Apo Land and Quarry Corporation approximately Php1.218 billion in quarry-related taxes, fees, penalties, and interest covering operations from around 2006 to 2022. After legal review, the assessment was recalculated and reduced to a proposed Php211.56 million compromise settlement, leaving a difference of roughly Php1.006 billion. When this proposed settlement is spread across the coverage period, the provincial recovery corresponds to roughly Php13.2 million per year. The compromise, however, is not yet final and is currently under review by the Cebu Provincial Board, which must decide whether the negotiated settlement should be approved.

The Cebu Quarry Ledger

One way to understand the Apo quarry case is to view it through a simple economic ledger that compares physical extraction, economic value, and fiscal recovery.

Category	Indicator	Approximate Value
Physical extraction	Limestone production	~3.6 million tons per year
Logistics equivalent	Dump truck loads	~180,000 trucks per year
Daily extraction	Truck equivalent	~500 trucks per day
Production value	Quarry output	~₱225 million per year
Provincial recovery	Settlement equivalent	~₱13.2 million per year
Fiscal capture ratio	Provincial share	~6%

The reduction of the assessment was largely driven by the legal limits of provincial taxation powers. Provincial governments derive their authority to levy quarry taxes from the Local Government Code of 1991, which allows provinces to impose taxes on sand, gravel, and other quarry resources extracted from public lands or public waters. Apo Land and Quarry Corporation operates limestone quarries under Mineral Production Sharing Agreements (MPSAs) issued by the national government pursuant to the Philippine Mining Act of 1995. The Supreme Court clarified the limits of provincial quarry taxation in Province of Bulacan v. Court of Appeals (G.R. No. 126232, 1998), ruling that provinces cannot impose quarry extraction taxes on minerals extracted from private lands covered by mining agreements. Because part of the original Cebu assessment involved such extraction taxes, those components could not be legally sustained. Once they were removed, the remaining obligations consisted mainly of monitoring fees, environmental charges, penalties, and interest.

To appreciate the scale of quarry operations in Cebu, it helps to examine limestone production data. According to records of the Mines and Geosciences Bureau, Cebu produces roughly 3.6 million metric tons of limestone annually. Production reached about 3.91 million tons in 2022, 3.47 million tons in 2023, and 3.62 million tons in 2024, for a total of roughly 11 million tons of limestone extracted over three years.

Apo’s reported production value has been approximately:

Php225 million per year.

Compared with the provincial recovery under the proposed settlement:

Indicator	Amount
Annual production value	~Php225 million
Average provincial recovery	~Php13.2 million
Estimated fiscal capture	~6%

It should be noted that other taxes—such as corporate income tax and excise tax on minerals—are collected by the national government, not by the province.

The Apo case highlights a structural feature of Philippine resource governance.

Numbers of this scale can be difficult to visualize. If a typical quarry dump truck carries 20 tons of limestone, Cebu’s annual limestone production would require approximately 180,000 truckloads per year. Spread across the year, this corresponds to roughly 500 dump trucks of limestone leaving quarry sites every single day. If these trucks were lined up bumper to bumper, the line would stretch approximately 1,440 kilometers, roughly the distance from Cebu to Manila and back.

The production value associated with these operations is also significant. Apo’s reported quarry production value has been approximately Php225 million annually. When compared with the proposed provincial recovery under the compromise settlement—about Php13.2 million per year—the province’s fiscal capture represents roughly six percent of the reported production value. It should be noted, however, that other taxes such as corporate income taxes and mineral excise taxes are collected by the national government, not by the province.

The Apo case illustrates a structural feature of Philippine resource governance. Mineral resources are owned by the State and administered by the national government through mining agreements and permits. While extraction activities occur within provinces and municipalities and may have local environmental and land-use implications, the authority to regulate mining operations and collect major fiscal revenues largely rests with the national government. As a result, extraction occurs locally, environmental impacts are experienced locally, but taxation authority may be limited locally.

The compromise settlement in the Apo case therefore highlights a broader issue in how the economic value of natural resources is measured and governed. Taxes capture only part of the economic activity associated with extraction, and they often do not reflect the environmental systems that support development. This is precisely the gap addressed by the Philippine Ecosystem and Natural Capital Accounting System Act, which institutionalizes ecosystem and natural capital accounting in the Philippines. Natural capital accounting provides a framework for recognizing ecosystems—such as watersheds, forests, and karst landscapes—as economic assets that contribute to long-term development.

For provinces like Cebu, where quarrying occurs in upland landscapes and watershed areas, natural capital accounting can provide a more comprehensive understanding of the economic context in which resource extraction takes place. While taxation remains an important fiscal tool, ecosystem accounting helps policymakers recognize the value of environmental systems that sustain communities and economic activity.

As the Provincial Board reviews the proposed compromise settlement, the decision involves more than simply approving a negotiated amount. The board must weigh the legal sustainability of the original assessment, the fiscal risks of continued litigation, the potential precedent that a settlement may create for other cases, and the broader need to strengthen governance of natural resources within the province.

The Apo quarry tax case is therefore not merely about the reduction of a tax assessment from Php1.218 billion to Php211 million. It reflects the complex interaction between national control of mineral resources and local responsibility for land use and environmental management. As Cebu continues to grow as an economic center in the Visayas, the challenge will be to ensure that resource extraction contributes to development while maintaining responsible stewardship of the landscapes that sustain communities and ecosystems.

The lesson of the Apo case is that while taxes measure the revenue generated from extraction, natural capital accounting helps us understand the value of the landscapes from which those resources are taken.

The dynamics of quarry extraction also raise a broader political-economic question. While limestone extraction generates private economic returns for firms and supports industrial production, the environmental risks associated with landscape modification—such as altered drainage patterns, erosion, and increased flood vulnerability—are often experienced downstream. In many resource economies, economic gains from extraction are concentrated at the site of production, whereas environmental risks, such as flooding, may be borne by downstream communities.

This article analyzes publicly available information and policy issues related to quarry governance and natural capital.

Cebu’s CLUP and the Problem We Refuse to Map: Waste Disposal

Today, I attended a meeting where solid waste disposal finally took center stage. At one point, a lawyer asked me a direct question: If we are against the use of Binaliw as the city’s final disposal site, then where should Cebu put its waste?

I was a bit surprised—not because the question was hostile, but because it reflected a familiar assumption in our planning conversations: that an unsafe site somehow becomes acceptable simply because there is no immediate alternative.

My response was straightforward. If Binaliw is geologically unsafe, environmentally prohibited, or legally non-compliant, then it must be closed or phased out—even if there is no instant replacement yet. The absence of an alternative does not legalize a dangerous site. It only exposes the failure of long-term planning.

That exchange captures the heart of Cebu’s waste dilemma. We are repeatedly forced to choose between maintaining a risky status quo and confronting the harder task of planning properly. In truth, solid waste disposal is not merely an operational problem—it is a land-use problem. And unless it is clearly integrated into the city’s Comprehensive Land Use Plan (CLUP), we will keep asking the same question every time a crisis occurs: If not here, then where?

Waste Is Not a Side Issue. It Is a Planning Constraint.

Every land-use decision produces waste. Higher density means more garbage. Commercial expansion means more packaging waste. Mixed-use zones mean round-the-clock waste generation.

Despite this, solid waste management in Cebu has often been treated as a sectoral concern, discussed in a separate plan, handled by a different office, and enforced at the barangay level—while the CLUP proceeds as if waste were invisible.

This separation is a fundamental planning error.

Under Philippine planning law, solid waste is not optional, operational, or secondary. It is a land-use issue that must be integrated into the CLUP itself.

What the Law Already Recognizes

Republic Act No. 9003, the Ecological Solid Waste Management Act, is explicit: solid waste management must be integrated into local development and land-use planning.

This is not theoretical. The Department of Human Settlements and Urban Development (DHSUD) enforces this principle every day.

A subdivision cannot be approved without:

a Materials Recovery Facility (MRF),
a waste management plan,
and a clear disposal arrangement.

If DHSUD requires this level of scrutiny for a single subdivision, then it follows logically—and legally—that a city-wide CLUP must meet a higher standard, not a lower one.

Yet many CLUPs, including Cebu’s, expand urban development without clearly mapping:

where MRFs will be located,
where transfer and processing facilities will go,
how buffer zones will be enforced,
or how increased waste volumes will be safely handled.

The Inayawan Closure and the Illusion of Disposal

Cebu City once relied on the Inayawan Sanitary Landfill. That facility is now closed following environmental and legal challenges.

What replaced it is not a new landfill within the city—but dependence on external disposal arrangements.

There is nothing inherently wrong with regional disposal. In fact, for a dense island city like Cebu, regional solutions often make sense.

But here is the planning problem:

The CLUP does not clearly acknowledge or spatially integrate this dependency.

If waste is transported out of the city, the CLUP must still plan for:

transfer stations,
waste logistics corridors,
processing and diversion facilities,
environmental safeguards along the way.

Ignoring these realities does not make them disappear. It simply pushes them into unsafe locations.

Binaliw and the Cost of Planning Silence

The presence of waste-related facilities in upland barangays like Binaliw—and the landslide incidents associated with them—should be a wake-up call.

These are not isolated operational failures. They are predictable outcomes of weak land-use integration.

RA 9003 prohibits waste facilities in environmentally critical and geologically unstable areas. Cebu’s own studies identify upland zones as landslide-prone and ecologically sensitive.

When waste facilities end up there, it is not because the law is unclear. It is because the CLUP failed to make waste a binding spatial constraint.

Barangay Conflicts Are Symptoms, Not Causes

Recent disputes between barangays and City Hall over waste segregation and collection protocols highlight another consequence of poor integration.

Barangays are asked to enforce “no segregation, no collection” policies—but without:

sufficient MRFs,
zoning support,
land reserved for facilities,
or clear citywide spatial guidance.

This creates friction, confusion, and inconsistent enforcement. It also undermines public trust.

A CLUP that integrates waste properly does not leave barangays to improvise. It provides spatial clarity and institutional backing.

Regional Solutions Require Local Responsibility

Some argue that final disposal should be regional, not city-based. That may be true.

But regional scale does not excuse local planning.

Even if the landfill or waste-to-energy facility is outside Cebu City, the CLUP must still:

prohibit unsafe siting within the city,
reserve land for waste processing and transfer,
link development intensity to waste system capacity,
and protect watersheds and communities from downstream impacts.

Planning ends not at jurisdictional boundaries, but at impact pathways.

The Real Question the CLUP Must Answer

A credible CLUP must be able to answer this simple question:

As Cebu grows denser and more complex, where—and how—will its waste be safely managed?

If that answer is not visible on the zoning map, then the plan is incomplete.

Urban resilience is not built only with roads and buildings. It is built by managing what cities produce—especially what they discard.

Closing Thought

Garbage is not glamorous. It does not attract investors or ribbon cuttings. But it is one of the most honest indicators of whether a city’s planning is grounded in reality.

If waste management is mandatory at the subdivision level, it must be central at the city level.

Because in the end, a land-use plan that cannot account for its waste is not planning for sustainability—it is planning for crisis.

Planning Is Preventive Law

By the end of 2025, one idea became clearer—not because it was new, but because it finally had a precise legal shape.

Years of working around land use, valuation, environmental constraints, and governance had already revealed a recurring pattern: disasters rarely begin with the event itself. They begin much earlier, quietly, through decisions that shape space, density, and exposure. What the Bar year did was not introduce this reality for the first time, but give it doctrinal clarity.

I came to understand that what we often treat as planning policy is, in truth, law operating in advance.

Planning is usually described in technical terms—maps, zoning colors, land-use matrices, projections stretching years into the future. Because of this, planning questions are often dismissed as administrative or premature, as if they sit outside the core concerns of law. Legal accountability, we are told, comes later—after damage, after injury, after loss.

But this way of thinking misunderstands what planning actually does.

Once a land use plan or zoning ordinance is adopted, it immediately produces legal effects. It authorizes certain uses, prohibits others, and—most importantly—determines where risk is allowed to exist. When residential use is permitted in flood-prone areas, exposure is not accidental. When development is allowed on unstable slopes, vulnerability is not unforeseen. When natural drainage paths are narrowed or built over, flooding is no longer a surprise.

These outcomes do not begin with nature.
They begin with decisions.

Planning as Preventive Law

Preventive law is not an unfamiliar concept. Building codes exist to prevent collapse. Fire regulations exist to prevent loss of life. Health and sanitation laws exist to prevent outbreaks. None of these wait for injury before they matter. Their legal force lies precisely in their ability to act before harm occurs.

Planning belongs to the same family of law, but it operates earlier and more quietly. It governs a stage where future occupants are unknown, where affected communities cannot yet assert their rights, and where consent to risk is rarely informed. That is exactly why the law requires planning to be rational, evidence-based, and compliant with statutory standards.

Seen this way, planning is not optional policy guidance.
It is a preventive legal duty.

The Legal Foundations Already Exist

This understanding is not theoretical. Philippine law already treats planning as a legally mandated function designed to prevent harm.

The 1987 Constitution, particularly Article II, Section 16, obliges the State to protect and advance the right of the people to a balanced and healthful ecology. This duty is preventive in nature. It does not wait for environmental collapse; it requires governance decisions that avoid it.

The Local Government Code (Republic Act No. 7160) reinforces this by vesting local governments with police power and the authority to enact zoning ordinances in the interest of public safety, health, and general welfare. Police power, by definition, is exercised to prevent harm—not merely to respond after the fact. Land-use regulation is one of its clearest preventive expressions.

The Urban Development and Housing Act (Republic Act No. 7279) explicitly requires rational land use and the avoidance of danger areas for human settlements. Allowing communities to be established or intensified in known hazard zones is therefore not just a planning lapse; it is a failure to comply with a statutory preventive mandate.

Environmental laws strengthen this framework. The Philippine Environmental Impact Statement System (Presidential Decree No. 1586) requires environmental impact assessment before project approval. The purpose of the EIA is not remediation but anticipation—to inform decisions so that environmental harm is avoided at the outset.

More recent legislation, such as the Climate Change Act (Republic Act No. 9729) and the Disaster Risk Reduction and Management Act (Republic Act No. 10121), explicitly require risk-informed and hazard-based planning. These laws translate scientific knowledge into legal obligation. Where climate and disaster risks are known or knowable, planning institutions are required to integrate them into land-use decisions.

With the enactment of the Philippine Ecosystem and Natural Capital Accounting System Act (Republic Act No. 11995), the preventive character of planning is made even clearer. By requiring the integration of natural capital considerations into policy and planning, the law recognizes that future environmental loss must be accounted for before decisions are made—not after damage is done.

What the Supreme Court Has Already Said—Implicitly

Philippine jurisprudence has long supported this preventive approach, even if the Court has not always used the term “preventive law.”

In Oposa v. Factoran, the Supreme Court recognized the right of present and future generations to a balanced and healthful ecology, allowing legal action to proceed even before irreversible harm had occurred. The case stands for the principle that environmental protection is anticipatory, not merely remedial.

In MMDA v. Concerned Residents of Manila Bay, the Court emphasized the State’s continuing obligation to protect and rehabilitate the environment. The duty recognized was not episodic or reactive; it was ongoing and proactive—consistent with the idea that governance failures upstream are legally relevant.

In Resident Marine Mammals v. Reyes, the Court applied the precautionary principle and underscored the importance of environmental compliance at the planning and approval stage. While framed in terms of precaution, the decision affirmed that legality is assessed before harm occurs.

Similarly, in West Tower Condominium Corp. v. First Philippine Industrial Corp., the Court focused on risk creation and foreseeability. The ruling made clear that where risk is foreseeable, and proximity exists, a duty arises—even before catastrophic damage fully unfolds.

Taken together, these cases show a consistent judicial posture: the law does not require disaster as a precondition for accountability. Where duty, foreseeability, and legal authority intersect, courts are prepared to intervene upstream.

Why Planning Is Not a Premature Legal Question

The argument that planning issues are “premature” usually rests on the absence of visible injury. But preventive law does not require collapsed homes or lost lives before it can be questioned. If it did, building codes, environmental clearances, and zoning regulations would only become relevant after failure—rendering prevention meaningless.

Once planning is mandated by law and formally adopted, a duty already exists. Once hazard maps, flood histories, and climate data are available, foreseeability already exists. And once plans authorize exposure to known risks, the legal issue is already present.

Damage does not create the breach.
Damage merely confirms what planning already allowed.

Planning, Climate Risk, and Accountability

Climate change has only sharpened this reality. Risk today is rarely uncertain. Flood pathways are mapped. Rainfall patterns are documented. Slope hazards are classified. Climate projections are publicly available. In legal terms, this means that discretion narrows and responsibility expands.

True adaptation does not mean learning to live with avoidable harm. It means adjusting plans, zoning, and land-use decisions so that foreseeable harm is not embedded into future development. Improving evacuation plans while allowing the same dangerous land uses is not adaptation; it is accommodation of failure.

A Closing Reflection

Understanding planning as preventive law changes how accountability is framed. Zoning maps become evidence, not background. Hazard studies become proof of foreseeability, not optional references. Planning approvals become legally reviewable acts, not purely political choices.

Justice should not begin with compensation after loss.
It should begin with decisions made when harm is still avoidable.

That is the perspective 2025 clarified for me—not as a new discovery, but as a consolidation of experience, doctrine, and observation. As we move forward in an era of climate risk, planning must be treated for what it truly is: the law’s first and most consequential opportunity to prevent harm.

Long before the waters rise, the law already has something to say.

Why the Issuance of the PENCAS IRR Is a Win for Lawful and Sustainable Planning

The recent issuance of the Implementing Rules and Regulations (IRR) of the Philippine Ecosystem and Natural Capital Accounting System (PENCAS) Act by the Department of Human Settlements and Urban Development (DHSUD) marks an important milestone for environmental governance and land-use planning in the Philippines. For those of us who have long argued that development planning must finally reckon with the real value of ecosystems, this moment is both a validation and a turning point.

But it is important to be clear about what this development means—and what it does not.

The IRR is not the beginning of PENCAS compliance. It is the formal operationalization of a legal obligation that already existed.

PENCAS Was Already Law Before the IRR

Republic Act No. 11995, or the PENCAS Act, was signed into law on May 22, 2024. By its own effectivity clause—Section 17—the law took effect fifteen days after publication. From that point on, the policy direction of the law was already binding on government agencies and local governments alike.

The IRR, ceremonially signed on May 22, 2025 and officially published on October 17, 2025, did not create the obligation to comply with PENCAS. It merely provided the technical guidance, standards, and institutional coordination mechanisms to ensure consistent and systematic implementation.

This distinction matters. In Philippine law, the absence—or later issuance—of an IRR does not suspend the effectivity of a statute. The law commands; the IRR explains how to comply.

Why This Matters for Land-Use Planning

Land-use plans, particularly Comprehensive Land Use Plans (CLUPs) and zoning ordinances, are not historical documents. They are forward-looking instruments that shape development decisions for decades. They authorize what can be built, where it can be built, and—just as importantly—what should not be built at all.

Once PENCAS became law, government planners were already required to recognize ecosystems and natural capital as economic assets, not externalities. At the very least, this meant avoiding irreversible land-use decisions affecting forests, watersheds, protected areas, and other ecologically critical systems without accounting for their value.

Total silence or omission is not compliance.

Why the Cebu City CLUP Raised Red Flags

It is against this legal backdrop that concerns were raised over the Cebu City CLUP 2023–2032 and its accompanying zoning ordinance.

On December 15, 2025, amid DHSUD’s ongoing review of the CLUP, I filed a formal notice and reservation of objection addressed to DHSUD Secretary Jose Ramon Aliling. The purpose was straightforward: to seek a formal review of the plan on the ground that it was not compliant with the provisions of the PENCAS Act.

As I explained in interviews, including to InsiderPH, the objection was filed to flag planning risks arising from the failure to integrate natural capital accounting into land-use decisions—particularly those affecting ecologically critical areas. These were not technical quibbles. They were questions of law.

The argument that PENCAS could not be applied because its IRR had not yet been issued was never convincing. The law was already in force. The CLUP was still under review, endorsement, and intended implementation. These are continuing governmental acts that must comply with the law in force at the time of decision.

What the IRR Changes—and What It Confirms

The issuance of the IRR removes any remaining ambiguity. It now provides planners and reviewing agencies with concrete tools, standards, and coordination frameworks for ecosystem and natural capital accounting.

More importantly, it confirms what should have been clear from the start: that PENCAS is meant to be integrated into planning and decision-making, including CLUP review and approval. The IRR does not reset the clock. It strengthens the obligation.

For CLUPs and zoning ordinances that are still pending approval, refinement, or implementation, the path forward is now unmistakable. Compliance with PENCAS is no longer debatable—legally, administratively, or morally.

A Win for Law, Not a Loss for Development

This moment should not be framed as anti-development. On the contrary, it is a win for lawful, science-based, and future-oriented planning.

Development that ignores ecosystem value is not efficient; it is deferred cost. Flooding, landslides, water scarcity, and climate vulnerability are the downstream consequences of planning that treats nature as expendable. PENCAS simply asks us to account for what we have long taken for granted.

By issuing the IRR, DHSUD has taken a critical step toward aligning land-use planning with ecological reality. The next step is ensuring that pending and future plans—especially those governing highly urbanized and environmentally sensitive areas—are realigned accordingly.

Looking Forward

The challenge now is implementation with integrity. PENCAS should not be reduced to a box-ticking exercise or an annex buried in technical volumes. It must inform zoning decisions, constrain risky land conversions, and reshape how we define “development success.”

If this happens, then the issuance of the PENCAS IRR will not just be a bureaucratic milestone. It will be remembered as the moment when planning finally caught up with law, science, and common sense.

And that is a win worth declaring.

Green on Paper, Wet on the Ground: How Multiple-Use Zoning Shapes Cebu’s Flood Risk

The Cebu City Comprehensive Land Use Plan (CLUP) 2023–2032 is often defended on the ground that it significantly expands environmental protection because more than half of the city is now classified under the National Integrated Protected Areas System (NIPAS) Central Cebu Protected Landscape. On paper, the figures appear impressive. Forest land drops from 9,312.31 hectares, or 31.08 percent of the city’s land area in 2020, to just 2,892.91 hectares, or 9.65 percent, while a new category—NIPAS CCPL—suddenly expands to 15,102.10 hectares, or 50.40 percent. At first glance, this seems to suggest that forest loss has been offset by a dramatic increase in protected area coverage. In reality, this shift is largely a reclassification, not a conservation gain.

Forest Reduction and NIPAS CCPL Expansion under the Cebu City CLUP (2020 vs. 2023–2032)

Land Use Category	2020 Area (ha)	2020 Share of City (%)	2023–2032 Area (ha)	2023–2032 Share of City (%)	Change (ha)	Change (percentage points)
Forest	9,312.31	31.08%	2,892.91	9.65%	–6,419.40	–21.43 pp
NIPAS CCPL	—	—	15,102.10	50.40%	+15,102.10	+50.40 pp

The crucial detail lies in how the NIPAS CCPL is treated internally under the CLUP and its implementing zoning ordinance. The protected landscape is not governed as a single protection category. It is subdivided into Strict Protection Sub-Zones and Multiple-Use Zones. These two sub-zones have radically different legal and ecological effects, yet they are collapsed into a single “NIPAS CCPL” figure in the comparative land-use table. This aggregation creates the impression of expanded protection while concealing a fundamental change in how large portions of the uplands are actually regulated.

Strict Protection Sub-Zones are designed to keep ecosystems intact. They prohibit roads, structures, utilities, and settlement, allowing only limited scientific or educational activity. By contrast, Multiple-Use Zones explicitly allow settlement, agriculture, agroforestry, infrastructure, utilities, livelihood activities, and even extractive uses, subject to conditions, variances, and environmental impact assessments. In practical terms, strict protection constrains development, while multiple use manages development. Treating both as equivalent under a single “protected area” label obscures this distinction.

The land-use data strongly suggest that much of what was previously classified simply as forest in 2020 did not become strictly protected. Instead, it was absorbed into the NIPAS CCPL category and then zoned as Multiple-Use Zone. Only a smaller core—typically the most intact, high-elevation, and least accessible forest blocks—could realistically have been placed under strict protection. Areas closer to barangays, with existing settlements, road access, or development pressure, could not have been placed in strict protection and were therefore zoned as multiple use. This includes large portions of the former forest cover at the urban–upland interface.

This permissive framework is further reinforced by the city ordinance’s treatment of socialized housing within the Multiple-Use Zone. Even within the protected landscape, the zoning ordinance allows socialized housing projects to proceed if they are deemed “essential” and are claimed to have minimal environmental impact. In such cases, the proponent is required to seek variances and exceptions from the Zoning Board, supported by an Environmental Impact Assessment and an Environmental Impact Statement, which must be presented prior to the issuance of an Environmental Compliance Certificate by the DENR–Environmental Management Bureau. The project must also be certified by the Department of Human Settlements and Urban Development as a socialized housing project. Where granted special authorization, development is limited to single-detached units on lots of at least 64 square meters and a maximum building height of seven meters.

While these conditions appear restrictive on paper, they underscore the deeper structural issue: land that is otherwise acknowledged as ecologically sensitive and disaster-prone is rendered negotiable through administrative discretion. The safeguards operate at the project level, not at the landscape or watershed level. They assume that environmental risk can be mitigated case by case, rather than avoided altogether through strict land-use exclusion. In a steep, erosion-prone watershed, even low-rise, low-density housing introduces roads, slope cuts, drainage alteration, and cumulative runoff effects that no project-specific EIA can fully neutralize. In this sense, the socialized housing exception does not soften the impact of Multiple-Use Zones—it institutionalizes it.

What Necessarily Went Into Multiple-Use Zones (MUZ)

MUZ is the only CCPL sub-zone where the zoning ordinance allows:

settlement and relocation sites,
agriculture and agroforestry,
infrastructure and utilities,
agro-industrial activities,
sale and disposition of titled land,
and even sand and gravel extraction, subject to EIA.

As a result, any part of the CCPL that:

already had settlements,
lay adjacent to barangays,
had road access,
or was earmarked for housing, utilities, or livelihood expansion,

could not have been placed in SPZ and was almost certainly zoned as MUZ.

The CLUP zoning maps explicitly identify CCPL Multiple-Use Zones (MUZ) in at least 22 upland barangays, including Adlawon, Agsungot, Babag, Buhisan, Guba, Sirao, Sudlon I and II, Tabunan, Taptap, Toong, and others. These are not peripheral areas. They are headwaters, slopes, and watershed interfaces directly influencing river systems that drain into Cebu City’s urban core.

Functionally, this represents a downgrade in protection. Forest converted into strict protection retains its hydrological and ecological role. Forest converted into a multiple-use zone does not. Even if development is limited to 30 percent of the land area, that 30 percent often consists of roads, access cuts, building pads, and slope modification. These interventions fragment the remaining vegetation, reduce infiltration, increase runoff velocity, destabilize slopes, and raise sediment loads. Hydrologically, a multiple-use zone does not behave like a forest. The correct comparison, therefore, is not forest versus NIPAS, but forest and strict protection versus multiple use. Measured this way, the CLUP reflects a net weakening of upland and watershed protection.

This matters because the uplands of Central Cebu are not just scenic backdrops. They are natural flood infrastructure. Forested slopes slow rainfall, store water, stabilize soils, and regulate downstream flows. When zoning allows these functions to be negotiated away through settlement, roads, utilities, and extractive activities, flood risk is displaced downhill. The cost is borne by lowland communities that experience more frequent and more severe flooding, even as upland development is justified as “controlled” or “sustainable.”

The zoning ordinance itself makes the contrast unmistakable. In the Strict Protection Sub-Zone (SPZ), the City recognizes that certain upland areas must be treated as non-negotiable ecological infrastructure: no roads, no utilities, no structures, and no human activity beyond science and education, precisely because these areas are highly erodible, disaster-prone, and critical for soil, water, and flood regulation. Yet within the same protected landscape, the Multiple-Use Zone (MUZ) operates on the opposite logic. It allows settlement, roads, utilities, land disposition, and even extraction—subject only to conditions and approvals—on the premise that environmental risk can be managed rather than avoided. The contradiction is stark: SPZ accepts that some areas must be left alone to reduce flooding and disaster risk, while MUZ assumes that development in equally sensitive upland watersheds can be negotiated without consequence. Floodwaters, however, do not distinguish between zones. What is permitted in MUZ ultimately undermines what SPZ is meant to protect.

Question of Legal Authority

There is also a legal dimension to this shift that is often overlooked. NIPAS allows multiple-use zones only to the extent prescribed in the Protected Area Management Plan approved by the Protected Area Management Board. Local governments are required to align their plans with these prescriptions, not replace them with their own discretionary zoning regimes. By defining allowable uses, authorizing variances, and substituting zoning-board discretion and project-level environmental assessments for management-plan limits, the ordinance exceeds the authority delegated to the city under national law. In legal terms, this is an ultra vires act—an exercise of power beyond what the law allows. Environmental compliance certificates and impact assessments cannot cure this defect, because procedural safeguards do not legalize land-use policies that are unlawful at their core.

The implications extend beyond technical planning debates. When a land-use plan presents an apparent expansion of protected areas while quietly converting large portions of former forest into multiple-use zones, it creates an illusion of environmental progress. The label changes, but the watershed function deteriorates. In a city repeatedly hit by flooding, this distinction is not academic. It is the difference between treating the uplands as non-negotiable ecological infrastructure and treating them as a managed development frontier.

Ultimately, the question is not whether development should occur in Cebu, but where, how, and under whose authority. When forest protection is diluted under the banner of multiple use, the consequences do not stay in the uplands. They flow, quite literally, downhill.

A Welcome Pause — But One That Exposes a Deeper Contradiction

The recent announcement of a moratorium on upland development is, at first glance, a welcome development. It signals an overdue recognition that what happens in the uplands does not remain confined there. Upland activities—slope cutting, land conversion, quarrying, and hillside construction—directly affect runoff, sedimentation, and flood risk downstream. After years of recurring floods, this acknowledgment matters.

But a pause alone is not the same as reform. And taken together with the current planning situation, the moratorium exposes a serious institutional contradiction that cannot be ignored.

At present, the Cebu City Comprehensive Land Use Plan and Zoning Ordinance (CLUP–ZO) 2023–2032 remains pending review and approval by the Department of Human Settlements and Urban Development (DHSUD). This is important. A CLUP is supposed to be the city’s definitive spatial framework—one that integrates land use, environmental constraints, hazard data, and long-term development direction.

Declaring a moratorium while allowing the CLUP to continue through the approval process sends mixed signals. On one hand, the City is saying that upland development policies, zoning ordinances, and risk assessments require comprehensive review. On the other, it is permitting a plan—prepared under those same assumptions—to move forward as if those concerns did not exist.

These two positions are institutionally inconsistent.

A moratorium is not merely a pause in permitting; it is an implicit admission that something in the existing planning framework is flawed or incomplete. Allowing the CLUP–ZO to proceed while simultaneously questioning its foundations risks locking in the very policies now being reconsidered. If the review is serious, the planning document built on those policies cannot be treated as settled.

More importantly, the value of the moratorium will depend entirely on what happens during the pause.

A meaningful review must go beyond surface-level policy checks or inventorying existing regulations. It must confront the structural causes of flooding, which did not arise overnight. This includes revisiting historical zoning amendments enacted without adequate technical studies, particularly those that incrementally intensified upland development. It also requires a cumulative assessment of upland impacts on downstream flooding, rather than treating each project or permit as an isolated case.

For decades, zoning decisions were often made in fragments—project by project, amendment by amendment—without basin-wide hydrological analysis or long-term carrying capacity studies. The downstream consequences of those decisions are now visible in flood-prone communities. Any review that fails to reckon with this history risks becoming procedural rather than corrective.

Finally, all findings from the moratorium review must be anchored to an EO 72–compliant Comprehensive Land Use Plan. Executive Order No. 72 was designed precisely to prevent piecemeal land-use decisions by requiring that zoning be subordinate to a comprehensive, technically grounded plan. Flood risk, hazard exposure, and environmental limits must be integrated at the CLUP level—not appended as afterthoughts.

If the moratorium results in a genuine reassessment of upland policies, a review of past zoning decisions, and meaningful revisions to the CLUP before it is resubmitted for approval, then the pause will have served its purpose.

If not, the moratorium risks becoming a symbolic gesture—a temporary halt that leaves the underlying planning framework unchanged, while flood risks continue to accumulate downstream.

A pause is welcome.
But integrity in planning demands consistency, accountability, and correction—not just restraint.

A Brief Context: Years of Zoning Without a Comprehensive Plan

To understand why the moratorium has become necessary, it helps to revisit how Cebu’s land-use rules evolved.

For much of the past three decades, zoning ordinances and amendments moved ahead in the absence of a fully EO 72–compliant Comprehensive Land Use Plan (CLUP). Instead of zoning being the implementing tool of a comprehensive plan, the process was effectively reversed: zoning became the primary mechanism through which land-use decisions were made.

Beginning with the 1996 Zoning Ordinance, and continuing through numerous subsequent amendments, land-use classifications were adjusted incrementally—often in response to specific proposals, developments, or economic pressures. These amendments were typically stand-alone actions, not products of basin-wide hydrological studies, cumulative flood modeling, or carrying-capacity analysis.

Over time, this resulted in:

Incremental intensification of upland and slope areas, approved project by project;
Fragmented land-use decisions, evaluated individually rather than cumulatively;
Absence of technical backup studies linking upland approvals to downstream flood risk.

Each amendment, taken alone, may have appeared manageable. But collectively, they reshaped watersheds, increased surface runoff, and weakened natural flood-regulating functions—without those impacts ever being fully measured or accounted for.

The flood overlay zones now reflected in the CLUP 2023–2032 are, in many ways, a delayed recognition of this history. They acknowledge risks that accumulated gradually through years of zoning decisions made without a unifying, science-based framework.

Seen against this backdrop, the current moratorium is not a sudden shift in policy. It is a corrective response to a long period of planning through amendments rather than through a comprehensive, EO 72–compliant CLUP.

Bringing PENCAS to Cebu: A Legal Challenge to the City’s New Land Use Plan

Environmental planner and economist Gus Agosto has taken a significant step in Cebu City’s ongoing land‑use debates by filing a formal notice and reservation of objection with the Department of Human Settlements and Urban Development (DHSUD). The notice focuses on the review of the Cebu City Comprehensive Land Use Plan (CLUP) 2023–2032 and raises an issue that has been largely absent from local public discussion: compliance with the Philippine Ecosystem and Natural Capital Accounting System (PENCAS) Act, or Republic Act No. 11995, and its Implementing Rules and Regulations.

At the heart of the filing is a simple but powerful question: can Cebu City still afford to plan growth as if its ecosystems, watersheds, and floodplains are external to the economy? For Agosto, the clear answer is no. RA 11995 declares that “natural capital” – including land, ecosystems, and the services they provide – is a measurable economic asset of the State and its political subdivisions. This is not a mere policy preference. Under PENCAS, natural capital accounting must be integrated into planning and decision‑making, particularly where long‑term land use, infrastructure, and public‑private partnerships are involved. In practice, this means a CLUP can no longer be just a map of zones and a bundle of sectoral plans; it must demonstrate how land‑use allocations respect ecological thresholds, risk patterns, and the economic value of environmental services.

The Cebu City CLUP 2023–2032, as currently framed, does many things right on paper. It outlines sectoral strategies for housing, commerce, industry, transport, and water supply. It references hazard maps and acknowledges flooding and slope risks. But, as Agosto points out, these elements remain largely compartmentalized. The plan stops short of weaving them into a cohesive, risk‑sensitive spatial strategy that clearly shows how development is constrained by carrying capacity, hazard exposure, and environmental limits. The result is a document that appears procedurally complete—boxes ticked, chapters present—but substantively misaligned with the integrated, law‑driven planning model now required under Executive Order No. 72, DHSUD’s own guidelines, and PENCAS.

This critique matters because Cebu City is not planning on a blank slate. It is a dense, highly constrained urban area, bounded by steep uplands and a vulnerable coastline, with a well‑documented history of flooding, traffic bottlenecks, and informal settlements on marginal land. In such a context, “sectoral” planning without genuine spatial integration is not a minor technical flaw; it can translate into very real, very costly risks for communities. If new commercial or residential intensities are allowed in upland or mid‑slope areas without full accounting of downstream flood impacts, the city effectively subsidizes risk—transferring the costs to low‑lying barangays that will experience deeper and more frequent inundation.

PENCAS adds another layer. By requiring natural capital accounting, RA 11995 insists that decisions about where to build, what to conserve, and how to structure public‑private partnerships must be informed by quantified assessments of ecosystem services and environmental limits. Watersheds, coastal zones, and floodplains do not merely host development; they regulate water flows, buffer storms, and sustain fisheries and livelihoods. When these are degraded or overbuilt, the “loss” is not just aesthetic or ecological—it is economic, measurable in damage to infrastructure, loss of productive days, and increased public spending on disaster response. Natural capital accounting is a way of making these hidden costs visible before, not after, decisions are taken.

Agosto’s filing is also a reminder of DHSUD’s central role in ensuring that local planning complies with national law. Executive Order No. 72 designates the CLUP as the primary basis for zoning, infrastructure provision, and land development decisions, and gives national agencies like DHSUD the responsibility to review local plans for conformity with national standards. With PENCAS already in effect, DHSUD is now expected not only to check format and basic legal compliance, but to ask whether plans show evidence of natural capital accounting: have ecosystems been valued, thresholds identified, and risks internalized into zoning and land‑use regulations? Approving a CLUP that treats PENCAS as optional would weaken the law at precisely the moment it is meant to change planning practice on the ground.

Crucially, the notice is not framed as an attempt to stop development or to delegitimize Cebu City’s efforts to adopt a long‑term land‑use plan. Instead, it positions itself as a rights‑based and policy‑grounded reminder to strengthen the CLUP. Agosto emphasizes that the objective is to align Cebu’s growth strategy with three converging realities: the legal obligations under RA 11995 and EO 72, the ecological constraints of a flood‑ and hazard‑prone city, and the long‑term public welfare of residents who will live with the consequences of today’s zoning maps and infrastructure decisions. In other words, the call is not “no development,” but “no development that pretends nature and risk do not count.”

For local stakeholders, planners, and advocates, this intervention offers a preview of what the PENCAS era will look like in practice. Formal plans, joint ventures, and big‑ticket infrastructure will increasingly be assessed not only on their financial terms and engineering feasibility, but also on whether they recognize natural capital as part of the economic equation. Cebu City’s CLUP review is an early and important test case. Whether DHSUD chooses to treat Agosto’s filing as a technical annoyance or as an opportunity to put PENCAS into meaningful operation will say much about the future of urban planning and environmental governance in the Philippines.

Environmental Rights Are Human Rights: Why Cebu Must Defend Its Constitutional Right to a Balanced and Healthful Ecology

HUMAN RIGHTS DAY MESSAGE

Today, the world commemorates International Human Rights Day, marking the anniversary of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights.

But in Cebu, this day carries a deeper, more urgent meaning. In our island—where critical watersheds are shrinking, fragile slopes are carved for profit, rivers are choked with silt, and communities drown in entirely preventable floods—one fundamental human right is under unprecedented threat:

The Right to a Balanced and Healthful Ecology.

This is not a political slogan or an aspirational ideal. It is a constitutional mandate, enshrined in Article II, Section 16 of the 1987 Philippine Constitution:

“The State shall protect and advance the right of the people to a balanced and healthful ecology in accord with the rhythm and harmony of nature.”

This right is further affirmed by the Supreme Court in the landmark case of Oposa v. Factoran (1993), which established that environmental rights are intergenerational, enforceable in court, and impose a mandatory duty on all government officials to protect the environment for present and future generations.

I. Environmental Neglect is a Human Rights Violation

Human Rights are not solely civil and political; they are inextricably environmental, social, and economic.

Cebuanos cannot fully enjoy their right to life, security, livelihood, or safe housing if their communities are systematically placed in harm’s way by governance failures, including:

Scientifically unsound land-use decisions.
Approval of upland developments in known hazard-prone areas.
Zoning ordinances that ignore hydrological and watershed limits.
Failure to integrate mandatory hazard maps and natural capital accounting.
Non-compliance with national laws such as RA 11995 (PENCAS) and RA 11038 (E-NIPAS).

When a city tolerates policies that exacerbate climate risks and disaster intensity, the resulting flooding and landslides cease to be “natural disasters.” They become human rights violations caused by official negligence, abuse of authority, and systemic disregard for public safety.

The government, by transferring disaster risk from developers and decision-makers onto the most vulnerable communities, violates the people’s constitutional right to: Health, Security, Safety, Due Process, Life, and Environmental Equity.

II. The Human Cost of Environmental Injustice in Cebu

Recent disasters, such as the flash floods caused by Typhoon Tino and similar weather events, tragically revealed the truth Cebuanos have felt for years: Catastrophic flooding is not inevitable. It is the direct consequence of human decisions—of upland reclassification, politically influenced zoning, weak enforcement, and the dangerous disregard for the island’s carrying capacity.

In areas like Bacayan, Mananga, Compostela, and Subangdaku, lives have been lost, homes destroyed, and families displaced. These are not isolated tragedies. They are symptoms of a profound governance failure, violating both the tenets of environmental protection and the principles of social justice.

III. Accountability Mandated by Law: The PENCAS Defect

The law requires more from our leaders, particularly following the enactment of the Philippine Ecosystem and Natural Capital Accounting System Act (RA 11995).

PENCAS, effective in May 2024, made it mandatory for all government units to:

Integrate natural capital valuation in all planning.
Consider ecological thresholds before approving developments.
Quantify environmental losses and risks to protect critical ecosystems.

However, the recently approved Cebu City CLUP and Zoning Ordinance 2025—passed after PENCAS took effect—demonstrates an alarming failure to integrate these mandatory principles.

This is not only a profound legal defect but, more importantly, a human rights crisis. When planning willfully ignores ecological science and mandatory laws, the people ultimately pay the price with their lives, homes, and livelihoods.

IV. Environmental Justice is Human Rights Justice

The Constitution demands “harmony with nature.” Conversely, our current planning trajectory is in direct conflict with nature.

Scientific data consistently shows that the uplands contribute 55–60% of Cebu’s floodwater runoff. Yet, land-use decisions continue to open these crucial slopes and midlands to:

Excessive reclassification and rezoning.
Expansive subdivisions and commercial sprawl.
Aggressive road cuts and quarrying.

This pattern is not development; it is risk accumulation. Every time a watershed is weakened, a slope is destabilized, or a flood basin is paved over, we fundamentally undermine the people’s rights to safety and a sustainable future.

Environmental Justice demands that:

Those who benefit from development must not be allowed to inflict harm on those downstream.
Government decisions must be based on science and must not endanger the public they swore to protect.
Vulnerable communities must not be sacrificed for private gain and political expediency.

V. A Call for Action and Accountability

On this International Human Rights Day, we stand together to assert that:

Flood safety is a Human Right.
Compliance with environmental law (RA 11995) is a mandatory duty.
Hazard-informed planning is a legal requirement.
No zoning ordinance should contradict science, and no public official has the authority to gamble with ecological security.

We assert our right to demand accountability, transparency, correction of defective plans, and the unwavering protection of our uplands and watersheds.

We look forward to A Cebu That Honors Human Rights: a city built on the right to safe communities, flood resilience, and ecological integrity.

Environmental Rights ARE Human Rights. Justice for Cebu.

LEGALESE

Why the CLUP Cannot Be Overridden by a Simple Ordinance

In conversations about Cebu City’s development, one dangerous misconception keeps circulating:

“The CLUP is just a tool. The City Council can always pass a new ordinance to change it.”

This idea is not only false —
it is illegal, misleading, and destructive to long-term planning.

The CLUP is not a casual instrument.
It is the foundation of the city’s entire land-use system, backed by national law, Supreme Court jurisprudence, and technical standards.

This explainer breaks down, in clear language, why the CLUP cannot be casually altered, and why it must remain the city’s controlling land-use document.

1. The CLUP Is a Legal Mandate — Not an Optional Planning Tool

The Local Government Code (RA 7160) is explicit:

“Local government units SHALL prepare their comprehensive land use plans…
which SHALL be the PRIMARY and DOMINANT bases for land use.”
(Sec. 20, RA 7160)

Let’s unpack this:

✔ “SHALL” — means mandatory, not optional

✔ “PRIMARY and DOMINANT” — means superior to all land-use ordinances

✔ “Bases for land use” — means all zoning and land decisions MUST follow it

The CLUP is NOT:

a guideline
an advisory document
a flexible policy tool

It is a statutory requirement and it shapes every land-use decision the city makes.

2. The CLUP Is Approved by National Agencies — So a Simple Ordinance Cannot Override It

Under Executive Order 72 and DHSUD/HLURB Rules, the CLUP must pass through:

Technical planning
Public consultations
CPDO review
City Council adoption
Regional Land Use Committee (RLUC) approval
NEDA oversight

This makes the CLUP part of the national planning system.

A regular ordinance:

does not undergo national review
does not pass through RLUC
does not require technical studies
is not evaluated for hazards, transport, drainage, or environmental impact

Therefore:

A local ordinance cannot overrule a document that required multi-level approval.

The CLUP is a nationally aligned, technically vetted plan.
A zoning amendment is not.

3. The Zoning Ordinance (ZO) Is Only Valid if It Conforms to the CLUP

This is often misunderstood.

The Zoning Ordinance is the implementing arm of the CLUP.
It cannot contradict the CLUP — it must FOLLOW it.

The Supreme Court has said this in black-and-white:

A. Rizal v. Mandaluyong (2005)

Zoning must conform to the CLUP; otherwise, the ordinance is invalid.

B. Fernando v. St. Scholastica’s (2008)

Any deviation from the CLUP requires a CLUP amendment FIRST.

C. Hacienda Luisita v. DAR (2011)

Land-use changes must be consistent with the approved CLUP.

These rulings make one thing clear:

A zoning ordinance that contradicts the CLUP is illegal and void.

So the common LGU practice of “rezoning by ordinance” without CLUP amendment is contrary to law.

4. The CLUP Protects Cebuanos Against Dangerous, Arbitrary, or Politically Driven Land-Use Changes

This is the purpose of having a legally binding CLUP.

Without a strong CLUP:

developers can lobby for spot zoning
upland areas can be converted illegally
floodplains can be reclassified as commercial
hazard zones can be opened for construction
transport systems lose their logic
water supply planning collapses
disaster risk increases
the environment becomes negotiable

The CLUP ensures decisions are based on:

science
terrain
hazard maps
environmental limits
water capacity
transport systems
long-term growth

—not political influence.

A casual ordinance bypasses all of these safeguards.

5. Changing the CLUP Requires a Full, Regulated Amendment Process — Not a Shortcut

Can the CLUP be amended?
YES — but only through a formal, technical process, not by a simple ordinance.

CLUP amendments require:

updated technical studies
barangay consultations
environmental and hazard assessments
CPDO evaluation
Sanggunian approval
DHSUD regional approval
RLUC/NEDA conformity

That takes months, sometimes years.

A zoning ordinance alone takes a few weeks —
which is why some LGUs prefer shortcuts.

But these shortcuts are illegal and expose the city to legal, environmental, and governance risks.

6. The CLUP Has Constitutional Weight

The 1987 Constitution guarantees:

“The right to a balanced and healthful ecology.”
(Art II Sec 16)

Land use planning is one of the main instruments used by LGUs to fulfill this constitutional mandate.

If officials bypass, ignore, or override the CLUP, they violate:

Constitutional policy
Environmental safety
National planning standards
Due process
Risk reduction principles

This is why the CLUP is not a tool —
it is a constitutional obligation.

7. What Happens If Cebu Treats the CLUP as “Just a Tool”?

The consequences are immediate and severe:

✔ legally void zoning ordinances

✔ invalid permits

✔ increased liability for LGU officials

✔ misaligned infrastructure

✔ worsening flooding

✔ unregulated upland development

✔ breakdown of transport logic

✔ worsening housing crisis

✔ environmental degradation

✔ higher disaster risk

Cebu City cannot afford these outcomes —
not with its limited land, growing population, and worsening climate hazards.

The CLUP Is the City’s Land-Use Constitution

It is:

mandated by national law
affirmed by the Supreme Court
integrated with national planning bodies
approved through RLUC
the basis of zoning
the backbone of environmental protection
the anchor of water, transport, and infrastructure planning
the legal safeguard against arbitrary land-use decisions

When officials say:

“We can override the CLUP with a new ordinance,”

they are misunderstanding —
or ignoring —
the entire Philippine land-use legal system.

Cebu deserves better.
Cebu deserves planning grounded in law, science, and long-term vision —
not shortcuts.