“We Got No Answers”: How a Regulated Landfill Killed 36 People—and No One Could Explain Why

When the Binaliw landfill collapsed on January 8, killing at least 36 people, the tragedy did not end with the recovery of bodies. It deepened when environmental regulators appeared before the Cebu City Council and admitted they had “no answers” on regulatory compliance, monitoring, or enforcement.

In environmental governance, the absence of answers after a mass-casualty disaster is not neutral—it is incriminating. It reveals that the systems meant to protect life and the environment were either ignored, unenforced, or reduced to paperwork long before the collapse occurred.

The Moment Accountability Collapsed

The Cebu City Council hearing was supposed to clarify what went wrong. Councilors asked basic questions any regulator must be able to answer after a disaster of this magnitude:

Was the landfill operating in compliance with its Environmental Compliance Certificate (ECC)?
Were inspections conducted?
Were geotechnical risks evaluated?
Were warning signs detected and acted upon?

The response—by the regulators’ own admission—was that they had no clear answers.

That moment matters more than any press release or leadership change. When agencies tasked with protecting life and the environment cannot explain how a regulated facility failed so catastrophically, the problem is no longer technical. It is institutional failure.

This Was Foreseen—And Documented

Binaliw did not fail in ignorance.

As early as 2015, the JICA Roadmap for Solid Waste Management in Metro Cebu warned against continued reliance on upland landfills, citing slope instability, environmental limits, and disaster risk. It called for reducing pressure on upland sites and transitioning to safer, metropolitan systems—treating upland facilities as temporary, not permanent infrastructure.

Nearly a decade later, Cebu remained dependent on upland disposal—turning a stopgap into a structural risk. What happened followed the very chain JICA warned about:

upland overloading → slope instability → collapse → disaster

In fact, the Mines and Geosciences Bureau Region VII conducted detailed geohazard mapping in 2012, later validated in 2013, which identified multiple sitios in Barangay Binaliw — including Sitio Binaliw 3, Mansawa, and Campo — as highly susceptible to landslides due to steep slopes and unstable geology. MGB geologists not only flagged these risks but also advised communities to avoid the area until it was declared stable. Despite this documented vulnerability, such geotechnical warnings did not translate into meaningful land-use controls, zoning restrictions, or regulatory limits on waste facility siting.

A Pattern of Unanswered Environmental Risks in Central Visayas

Binaliw is not an isolated failure. It is part of a pattern of unresolved environmental risks across Central Visayas, where hazards were known, documented, and repeatedly raised—yet left inadequately addressed.

Across the region, the same warning signs have appeared again and again:

Upland and hillside developments, where cumulative slope modification, altered drainage, and increased runoff proceeded without adequate assessment of combined, long-term impacts;
Recurring flooding, increasingly tied to watershed degradation and land-use decisions that ignored natural drainage and topographic limits;
Liquid waste incidents, most notably the industrial wastewater spill in Bais City that contaminated the protected Tañon Strait, triggered fishing bans, and led to a declaration of calamity—exposing gaps in monitoring, containment, and emergency response;
Persistent community complaints about foul odors, leachate seepage, and water contamination near waste facilities—complaints that accumulated but failed to prompt decisive enforcement.

In each case, the laws existed.

The plans were written.

The risks were identified.

What was missing was not policy—but decisive, transparent implementation, sustained enforcement, and—critically—the ability of institutions to explain their actions when things went wrong.

Binaliw did not expose a lack of knowledge. It exposed a failure to act on knowledge.

Why “No Answers” Is the Real Scandal

The most disturbing aspect of the Council hearing was not disagreement—it was silence.

Regulatory agencies exist to anticipate risk, enforce safeguards, and account for decisions when harm occurs. When they cannot do so after dozens of deaths, public trust collapses—and rightly so.

Leadership changes in the DENR may follow, but they are a response to lost credibility, not its resolution. Accountability does not begin with reshuffling names. It begins with answers.

Engineering Cannot Override Geography

One hard truth emerges from Binaliw:

No engineering solution can fully overcome a fundamentally unsafe upland location.
No permit can substitute for ecological limits.

This is not ideology; it is geotechnics and hydrology. Ignoring CLUP cautions and JICA warnings does not make development safer—it postpones the consequences.

When Freedom of Contract Yields: Article 1306, Public Markets, and the Lessons from Baguio

The withdrawal of SM Prime Holdings from the proposed public market redevelopment in Baguio City has often been framed as a failed deal or a breakdown in negotiations. In truth, it offers a far more instructive lesson—one rooted in contract law, urban planning, and the statutory nature of public markets. It shows how freedom of contract, when confronted with planning policy and public welfare, is legally designed to yield.

At the center of this lesson is Article 1306 of the Civil Code, which enshrines freedom of contract but only within firm boundaries. Parties may stipulate as they see fit, but only so long as their agreements are not contrary to law, morals, good customs, public order, or public policy. This conditional structure matters greatly in contracts that affect public interest. Public market redevelopment is one such contract.

Public markets are not ordinary commercial properties. Under Section 17(b)(2)(viii) of the Local Government Code (RA 7160), public markets are expressly classified as basic services, on the same statutory footing as health and welfare facilities. This classification is decisive. Once an activity is defined as a basic service, it cannot be governed solely by profit logic or treated like a private mall. The law itself embeds a social function into the space.

The Local Government Code reinforces this social character through the general welfare clause in Section 16, which authorizes local governments to exercise police power to promote public welfare, social justice, and economic stability. This power includes regulating stall rentals, fees, access, and conditions of use in public markets—even when a private entity is involved through a public–private partnership. Sections 147 and 151 further authorize LGUs to impose reasonable fees and charges, a standard that is explicitly normative, not market-driven. Reasonableness is measured against livelihood capacity and public welfare, not revenue maximization.

When these statutory provisions are read together with Article 1306, the legal architecture becomes clear. Freedom of contract exists, but only within a planning and policy framework already defined by law. Contracts governing public markets are therefore not insulated private arrangements. They are subordinate to public policy as articulated in statutes, urban plans, and zoning ordinances.

In Baguio’s case, the public market has long functioned as a livelihood hub and cultural anchor. Planning objectives—affordability, protection of long-time vendors, and preservation of the market’s public character—were not incidental concerns raised late in the process. They are inherent in how the space is planned and governed. Once these planning constraints were asserted, the scope of permissible contractual discretion narrowed, exactly as Article 1306 anticipates.

From a legal standpoint, SM Prime’s withdrawal was not a failure of freedom of contract. It was a recognition of its limits. Article 1306 does not guarantee that a contract affecting public interest will remain commercially viable under all conditions. It guarantees only that parties may contract subject to existing and continuing public policy constraints. When those constraints—rooted in the Local Government Code and the city’s planning framework—made mall-type economics incompatible with the social function of the public market, withdrawal became the lawful and rational outcome.

This dynamic carries important implications for other cities contemplating similar redevelopments. In places like Cebu, where public markets are likewise embedded in CLUPs and governed by zoning ordinances, contracts cannot be used to bypass planning intent or displace intended beneficiaries through pricing and access mechanisms. Article 1306 ensures that contractual autonomy remains a tool for implementing urban policy, not a mechanism for undoing it.

Ultimately, the Baguio market episode affirms a principle that is often overlooked in infrastructure and redevelopment debates: not all urban spaces are meant to behave like malls. Public markets are planned spaces with statutory social functions. When private contracts collide with those functions, the law does not bend planning to contract. It bends contract to the plan. That is not an aberration in the legal system—it is the system working exactly as designed.

In this sense, the Baguio case demonstrates that Article 1306 does not guarantee the profitability or finality of a public-market contract. What it guarantees is a framework within which private agreement must remain aligned with law and public policy. When alignment becomes impossible—when the commercial model required by the private party cannot coexist with the social function of the public market—the legally correct outcome is not coercive enforcement, but withdrawal.

This dynamic is precisely why the Baguio withdrawal is instructive for other public market projects. It shows that contracts over public markets survive only if contractual autonomy serves, rather than defeats, livelihood, equity, and the common good. Article 1306 does not compel private parties to stay in such contracts at all costs; it simply ensures that they cannot insist on terms that override public policy. Where those terms are essential to the private party’s participation, exit becomes the lawful and rational option.

Seen this way, the Baguio market episode is not an anomaly. It is a practical manifestation of Article 1306’s deeper logic: freedom of contract exists, but in public-interest settings, it yields to social regulation—and when that yield is too great for commercial viability, withdrawal is the system working as designed, not failing.

How CLUPs and Zoning Ordinances Set the Real Limits of Freedom of Contract

Urban planning gives concrete institutional form to the limits that Article 1306 places on contractual autonomy, and this is most clearly expressed through the Comprehensive Land Use Plan (CLUP) and the Zoning Ordinance. These planning instruments are not merely technical documents; they are the local government’s formal articulation of public policy in space. When a contract concerns land or facilities governed by an approved CLUP and zoning ordinance, the contract does not operate above these instruments—it operates within them.

Under Philippine planning law and practice, the CLUP establishes the intended social, economic, and spatial function of land. Zoning then translates that intent into binding regulatory controls on use, intensity, and character of development. When a public market is designated in the CLUP as a civic, institutional, or special commercial use—particularly one oriented toward livelihood and public service—that designation carries legal consequences. It signals that the area is not meant to function as a purely market-driven commercial zone akin to a mall district. Instead, it is planned as livelihood infrastructure, embedded in the city’s social economy.

This is where Article 1306 and planning law converge. Article 1306 allows parties to stipulate freely, but only so long as those stipulations are not contrary to law or public policy. In the urban planning context, the CLUP and zoning ordinance are the most authoritative local expressions of public policy. A redevelopment contract that effectively transforms a public market—planned and zoned as a socially oriented urban facility—into a space governed by mall-type economics may comply with the text of the contract, yet still conflict with the CLUP’s planning intent. When that happens, Article 1306 ceases to protect contractual discretion and instead becomes the legal basis for regulation, recalibration, or even non-continuance of the agreement.

The Baguio public market episode illustrates this clearly. While the proposed contract with SM Prime Holdings may have been commercially sound, it ran into a planning reality grounded in Baguio City’s land-use objectives. The public market’s role in the city’s CLUP—as a livelihood hub, cultural space, and civic anchor—meant that zoning and planning policies necessarily imposed limits on rental structures, vendor displacement, and land-use intensity. Once the city asserted these planning constraints, the contract could no longer be treated as a purely private commercial arrangement. Under Article 1306, stipulations inconsistent with those planning objectives lost their normative force.

From an urban planning standpoint, this outcome is not accidental; it is structural. CLUP and zoning compliance function as ex ante filters on what kinds of contracts are viable in particular locations. They ensure that cities do not contract away their planning mandate through long-term agreements that lock in spatial outcomes contrary to adopted plans. Article 1306 provides the legal bridge that makes this possible by subordinating contractual freedom to public policy as expressed through planning instruments.

This has important implications for other cities contemplating public market redevelopment, including Cebu City. If the CLUP and zoning ordinance characterize Carbon Market as a public market, special commercial zone, or civic space with explicit livelihood and social functions, then any PPP or joint venture must be interpreted—and if necessary, regulated—through that planning lens. Contracts cannot be used to bypass zoning intent, intensify commercial use beyond what the CLUP envisions, or displace intended beneficiaries without violating public policy. When conflicts arise, Article 1306 does not protect the contract; it protects the plan.

In this sense, CLUP and zoning compliance are not secondary considerations that follow contract execution. They are preconditions that define the legal environment in which contracts operate. The Baguio withdrawal shows that when planning objectives are clear and consistently enforced, private parties make rational decisions: they either adapt their contractual expectations to the plan or withdraw. Both outcomes preserve the integrity of the planning system.

Ultimately, the lesson for urban governance is clear. Planning leads; contracts follow. Article 1306 ensures that freedom of contract remains a tool for implementing the CLUP, not a mechanism for undoing it. When cities take their planning instruments seriously, contractual autonomy aligns with urban policy—or yields to it.

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.

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.

CLUP/ZO SERIES – PART 1

Why Cebu City’s Housing Plan Cannot Work: A Critical Look at the CLUP’s Most Serious Weakness

This article begins my multi-part series on Cebu City’s new Comprehensive Land Use Plan (CLUP) and Zoning Ordinance (ZO).
Over the next few weeks, we will look closely at what this plan gets right, what it gets wrong, and how its flaws shape Cebu’s future — for better or for worse.

We begin with the sector that affects all others: HOUSING.

Because where people live determines how they move, how they work, how communities grow, and ultimately whether a city becomes livable — or collapses under its own weight.

And right now, Cebu City’s housing plan is on the wrong path.

The Huge Gap Between Housing Needs and Housing Reality

The City estimates that 865,725 housing units are needed to address the backlog and future demand.
To accommodate that number, the CLUP calculates that Cebu City would need 15,169 hectares of additional residential land.

But here is the problem:

Cebu City does not have 15,169 hectares of buildable land.

It doesn’t even come close.

Cebu is not a flat province like Cavite or Laguna.
It is a mountain city with narrow slopes, rivers, steep terrain, coastal hazards, and protected watersheds.

Only about 25–30% of Cebu’s total land is actually suitable for safe residential development.

In other words:

The very formula used to compute Cebu’s housing demand does not fit Cebu’s geography.

It’s like measuring a mountain with a ruler designed for plains.

And because the method is wrong, the strategies that follow also fall apart.

So Where Will Cebu Build? The CLUP’s Answer: SRP

Because Cebu lacks large, flat, safe tracts of land, the CLUP turns almost entirely to the South Road Properties (SRP) — a reclaimed area exposed to storm surge, subsidence, and liquefaction — as the primary relocation site for the urban poor.

The City actually owns 313 hectares of land across 211 parcels.
But a massive 240 hectares (76%) of this land is in SRP.

This explains the CLUP’s insistence on building:

Temporary housing in SRP
Permanent high-rise housing in SRP
Social housing clusters in SRP

SRP is the easiest to access politically.
But it is also one of the most dangerous places to house the poor.

Relocating families from riverbanks and hazard zones only to place them in a coastal hazard zone is not progress — it is risk transfer.

It moves people out of danger… and into another kind of danger.

The “Permanent Housing” Plan Is Even Harder to Believe

The CLUP describes an ambitious “South Coastal Urban Development” (SCUD) project:

5-storey, 10-storey, and 20-storey MRBs
Long-term leases “like Singapore”
Thousands of families relocated to high-density towers

But the proposed site is still underwater.
The land does not exist yet — it must be reclaimed first.

Even if the concept is good, the location and timing are not.

It will take years before the land is ready.
And billions upon billions before the buildings rise.

Which brings us to another uncomfortable truth.

The CLUP Claims ₱26 Billion Per Year for Housing — Cebu’s Budget Is Only ₱13 Billion

The CLUP states that the City is allocating ₱26 billion annually for MRB construction.

But Cebu City’s entire 2026 budget is only ₱13 billion.

Meaning:

The housing plan requires twice the city’s entire budget
No one knows where the money will come from
No financing model, PPP structure, or national commitment is presented

It is a beautiful idea with no financial backbone.

Housing towers may be drawn on paper,
but they cannot be built with numbers that do not exist.

So Why Not Use the City’s Other Land?

Outside SRP, the City owns:

66.37 hectares

Used for schools, barangay halls, and urban poor housing.

These areas could be transformed into strategic mid-rise communities connected to jobs and transport.
But the CLUP does not propose land consolidation, urban regeneration, or vertical redevelopment.

6.79 hectares

Remain idle — mostly upland, steep, or constrained.

These lands are unsuitable for housing and should remain ecological buffers.

The Housing Plan Is Isolated — Not Integrated With Transport, Jobs, Commerce, or Water

Housing is not a standalone sector.
It must align with:

transportation systems
BRT corridors
commercial centers
industrial zones
water supply
hazard maps
drainage systems

But Cebu’s housing plan exists in a silo.

It does not place housing near jobs.

It does not place housing near BRT stations.

It does not expand residential areas near commercial centers.

It does not address water scarcity for 865,000 new units.

It does not protect uplands from overdevelopment.

It does not calculate relocation impacts on transport or flooding.

It treats housing as if it floats above the city, unaffected by everything else.

That is not how cities work.

What We Are Left With Is a Housing Plan That Cannot Succeed

❌ The method is wrong for Cebu’s geography

❌ The land available does not match the land required

❌ The largest landholding (SRP) is hazard-prone

❌ The permanent housing site is underwater

❌ The budget is twice the city’s capability

❌ The plan does not integrate with transport, jobs, or water

❌ The uplands cannot support more sprawl

❌ The poor are relocated to isolation

This is not simply an imperfect plan.
It is a plan built on structural contradictions.

Cebu needs a housing strategy grounded in:

vertical development
transit-oriented planning
safe, accessible locations
integrated public land redevelopment
financial realism
environmental science
climate resilience

The CLUP does not offer that.

Not yet.

What Comes Next in This Series

In the next articles, we’ll dive into:

Part 2 — Transport & Mobility: Where the CLUP Went Wrong

Why the BRT is disconnected from land use, and how transport planning became an afterthought.

Part 3 — Commercial & Industrial Zones: Misalignment and Missed Opportunities

A look at the political economy of zoning.

Part 4 — Environment, Flooding & Watersheds: The Consequences of Poor Planning

How upland mismanagement worsens lowland floods.

Part 5 — Governance, Variances & Loopholes: How the Zoning Board Can Override Everything

The silent powers shaping Cebu’s future.

This is the beginning of a deeper conversation —
one Cebu desperately needs.

Why I Choose to Speak Out on Upland Development — And Why the Public Must Be Informed

In recent days, a former Cebu City planning official publicly commented on the concerns surrounding the Monterazzas development. This matter has become widely discussed in both local and national circles. The issue is already the subject of a Senate investigation, and the local government has likewise initiated its own review. The former official advised that concerns should not be raised through Facebook or media. Instead, they should be brought exclusively through formal government channels.

I acknowledge that formal complaints are important, and official processes must indeed be followed. In fact, formal complaints are now being prepared for submission to the appropriate national agencies. But urging silence does not resolve the issue.

But I must also be honest: flooding has reached communities that have never experienced it. Upland slopes are being altered without clarity on compliance with national laws. Environmental decisions affect thousands of people downstream. Staying silent is not an option. Speaking only within bureaucratic channels is not enough.

And what is worse, this approach shifts the focus away from the actual environmental and legal issues. It focuses on silencing public participation. This happens even as thousands of residents in the lowlands are dealing with unprecedented flooding. Urging people to stay quiet does not resolve the problem; it only deepens public confusion and delays accountability.

I speak publicly because environmental governance in the Philippines is built on public participation, public disclosure, and public vigilance. Our own laws require it. PD 1586 (the EIA System) underlines the public’s rights. RA 9729 (Climate Change Act), RA 11038 (ENIPAS Act), and RA 10587 (Environmental Planning Act) also support these rights. Additionally, even the 1987 Constitution itself emphasizes the public’s right to know what is happening in their environment. It also stresses their duty to stay informed.

Environmental harm does not happen in isolation. It does not wait for paperwork. And it does not confine its effects to the offices where documents are filed. It spills into homes, businesses, rivers, roads, and ecosystems.

The recent flooding in Cebu City’s lowland barangays is a painful reminder of this reality. People who never experienced flooding in their lifetime suddenly found water inside their homes. They deserve clear answers—not after months of internal review, but now. They deserve transparency on upland developments. They need clear information on slope stability and ECC issuances. It is necessary to confirm if laws like PD 705 and PD 1998 were followed. This is especially crucial in areas where slopes exceed the 18% restriction.

Public discussion does not undermine government processes. It strengthens them. It forms a record and mobilizes awareness. It gives voice to communities. They may not know how to navigate official channels. However, they certainly feel the consequences of development decisions made in the highlands.

Yes, I will file formal complaints. That is being done. But informing the public, raising awareness, sharing technical findings, and inviting civic discussion are equally necessary. They are not acts of defiance—they are acts of democratic participation. These actions are fully protected by our Constitution’s guarantee of access to matters of public concern. It also ensures the right to a balanced and healthful ecology.

To the many who asked why I speak up: I speak because the public deserves the truth. I speak because environmental planning is not merely about documents—it is about people, communities, watersheds, and future generations. I speak because what happens in the uplands affects what happens in the lowlands. And I speak because silence, when there is a clear environmental risk, would do more harm. It would be a greater disservice than discomforting a few.

Transparency protects communities. Silence protects no one.

Why Cebu Must Value Both Use and Non-Use Benefits of Its Uplands

Public discussions on Cebu’s upland resources often rely on a narrow and misleading definition of “economic value.” For years, local discourse has focused on equating economic worth with the revenues earned from quarrying and extraction. This creates the persistent and dangerous misnomer that natural wealth is measured solely by use value.

This belief is repeated in public forums, policy pronouncements, and fiscal reports. It suggests that whatever Cebu can extract, haul, crush, or sell represents the true economic contribution of its uplands. In reality, economics does not define wealth this way. Modern environmental economics evaluates natural systems differently. True economic valuation includes use values. It also includes non-use values. Ignoring non-use values results in incomplete analysis. This leads to flawed public policy. It causes environmental decline. It exacerbates climate vulnerability.

Before addressing this conceptual flaw, the scale of Cebu’s mineral economy must be clearly understood. The province is not operating a ₱600-million quarrying industry, as public officials often portray. It is operating a ₱20-billion extraction economy per year. When metallic and non-metallic activities are combined, the actual size of Cebu’s mineral economy becomes undeniable: ₱20.18 billion in 2024, ₱21.53 billion in 2023, and ₱19.32 billion in 2022. This is the real magnitude of extraction occurring in the uplands—far larger than what provincial income statements suggest.

Cebu’s quarry operators, processors, haulers, and construction supply chains transact between ₱7.5–₱12.5 billion annually in non-metallic sales alone, while metallic operations consistently exceed ₱18 billion per year. By contrast, government revenue—₱628 million in 2023—represents only 2–4% of Cebu’s total mineral economy. Thus, a massive private extraction economy generates billions in sales and profit. Meanwhile, public income is thin. It is too small to offset the environmental and social costs borne by the public.

This fixation on quarry revenue—and even the broader ₱20-billion extraction economy—reveals the deeper misconception underpinning current policies. It is the assumption that the value of natural resources lies primarily in what can be extracted from them.

This is not how economics works. Modern environmental economics, natural resource theory, and the Total Economic Value (TEV) framework all provide important lessons. They teach that real economic worth consists of use values and non-use values. Use values include quarrying, water extraction, timber, and agriculture. Recreation and tourism are also included. These activities are easily monetized and prominently appear in financial statements. Yet these represent only a fraction of total wealth.

Non-use values, although invisible in budgets and COA reports, are economically real. They represent the benefit of simply knowing that forests and watersheds exist (existence value). They also include the value of leaving ecosystems intact for future generations (bequest value). Non-use values cover the value of keeping nature available for future or unknown uses (option value). They encompass the value derived from knowing that other communities benefit from intact uplands (altruistic value). These are precisely the values Cebu loses. This happens the moment a mountain is cut, a slope is excavated, or a watershed is bulldozed.

The consequences of ignoring non-use values are visible today in the worsening flooding across Metro Cebu. Cebu’s intense focus on use values and extraction leads to destruction. This destruction affects the non-use values that sustain long-term stability. When uplands are stripped, infiltration declines; runoff accelerates; sedimentation increases; river capacity shrinks; and flood peaks intensify. This is why Metro Cebu now floods even without typhoons and why ordinary rainfall brings cities to a halt. Every ton of aggregates removed from Cebu’s uplands reduces the natural economy. This reduction affects flood mitigation, slope stability, groundwater recharge, biodiversity, and climate regulation.

In short, this is the heart of Cebu’s political economy of flooding:

A ₱20-billion extraction economy drives upland degradation.
A ₱600-million public revenue creates the illusion of fiscal benefit.
A multi-billion-peso ecological loss is imposed on the public.
A non-functioning natural protection system results in chronic flooding.

Short-term extraction is displacing long-term security.

These losses constitute ecological depreciation—the downward adjustment of natural capital from human activity. Government does not record this depreciation. However, households and businesses pay for it. They endure flooded homes. Business districts are paralyzed, and infrastructure is damaged. Transportation is disrupted. There are lost workdays, medical incidents, and increased LGU emergency spending. Against these losses, quarry revenues are negligible.

The core economic argument is simple: Cebu is counting the small gains and ignoring the massive losses. The province records quarry taxes, permit fees, operator sales, and extraction-based employment. However, it does not account for the loss of watershed integrity, slope stability, and infiltration capacity. It also overlooks groundwater reserves, biodiversity, and climate resilience. Social cohesion, cultural heritage, and intergenerational equity are ignored too. This is not just incomplete economics—it is incorrect economics. One cannot claim economic benefit from quarrying while ignoring the far greater economic harm caused by upland degradation. A ₱20-billion extraction economy is running alongside a collapsing natural economy. The outcome is predictable. The province gains short-term financial flows but accumulates long-term environmental debt.

This dynamic lies at the heart of Cebu’s political economy of flooding. A ₱20-billion extraction economy continues to drive upland degradation. A ₱600-million public revenue stream creates the illusion of fiscal benefit. A multi-billion-peso ecological loss is imposed on the public. And a weakened, fragmented natural protection system results in chronic flooding across urban and peri-urban areas. Short-term extraction has displaced long-term security, and the costs are borne disproportionately by downstream communities—not the operators who profit upstream.

Moving forward, Cebu can no longer afford a development model that counts quarry revenue but ignores watershed collapse. The province must make rational, future-oriented decisions. To do so, it must abandon the misnomer that use value alone defines economic wealth. The real economy of Cebu’s uplands includes their role as natural flood buffers. These uplands function as water towers and contribute to climate regulation. They have cultural and identity significance. Their value is also crucial to future generations. Cebu cannot call itself progressive if it treats natural capital as expendable. It cannot claim resilience if it undermines the uplands that protect the lowlands.

Economics is not about extraction. It is the total value—use and non-use, present and future, private gain and public cost. Until Cebu adopts this full accounting, it will continue to profit in pesos. However, it will lose wealth in floods, landslides, and ecological decline.

36 Years Later: Why Association of Small Landowners v. Secretary of Agrarian Reform Matters?

Thirty-six years since its 1989 ruling, Association of Small Landowners v. Secretary of Agrarian Reform remains the cornerstone of Philippine expropriation law—defining “just compensation” as the full and fair equivalent of property taken, not merely its cash price, and proving that reform and fairness can coexist under the rule of law.

It has been more than three decades since the Supreme Court decided Association of Small Landowners in the Philippines, Inc. v. Secretary of Agrarian Reform (G.R. Nos. 78742, 79310, 79744, 79777, July 14, 1989). Yet, the echoes of that landmark case still resonate across today’s debates on land rights, expropriation, and social justice. The case remains a constitutional compass for expropriation and land valuation. It guides the ongoing struggle to harmonize social justice with property rights.

This 1989 decision — penned by Justice Isagani A. Cruz — did more than uphold the constitutionality of agrarian reform under President Corazon Aquino. It defined how the State must pursue justice without committing injustice.

The 1989 decision, penned by Justice Isagani A. Cruz, arose at a pivotal moment. The Philippines had just ratified the 1987 Constitution. This called for genuine agrarian reform as a cornerstone of social justice. Acting under that mandate, President Corazon Aquino issued Proclamation No. 131 and Executive Order No. 229, launching the Comprehensive Agrarian Reform Program (CARP). These measures authorized the compulsory acquisition of private agricultural lands. Payment was provided not solely in cash. It also included government bonds, shares of stock, and other financial instruments.

Many landowners objected, arguing that such payment schemes were confiscatory and unconstitutional. They contended that agrarian reform could not override the constitutional protection of private property. They insisted that compensation must be paid in full and in money. The case reached the Supreme Court. The issue was not the legitimacy of reform itself. Instead, it was about the manner by which it was to be carried out.

Justice Cruz spoke for the Court. He upheld the constitutionality of the government’s agrarian reform measures. He delivered what would become one of the most defining interpretations of the Constitution’s takings clause. He explained that agrarian reform is “police power in purpose but eminent domain in method.” It is justified by the public welfare. Yet it involves the taking of private property. Therefore, it requires the payment of just compensation.

🟩 “The measure of compensation is the full and fair equivalent of the property taken from its owner by the expropriator. The word ‘just’ is used to intensify the meaning of the word ‘compensation,’ to convey the idea that the equivalent to be rendered for the property taken shall be real, substantial, full, and ample. Such payment need not always be made in money. It may be in other things of equivalent value, as long as it is real, substantial, and just.”
— Justice Isagani A. Cruz, Association of Small Landowners (1989)

The Court emphasized that the question of just compensation is judicial in nature. Courts have the final word on what is fair and just, not any administrative or legislative body. This passage marked a turning point in Philippine constitutional law. It did not abandon market value as the measure of compensation. Instead, it broadened the understanding of how justice may be delivered in its equivalent form.

Justice Isagani Cruz, writing for the Court, clarified that the measure of compensation remains the property’s market value. This is the price that a willing buyer would pay to a willing seller under normal conditions.
What the Court changed was not the measure, but the form.

The Court held that just compensation need not always be paid in cash. The owner must receive the full and fair equivalent of the property’s market value. This means that payment can be made through bonds, stocks, or other financial instruments, provided they reflect true, realizable worth.

The logic was both constitutional and practical. Implementing agrarian reform on a national scale would have been impossible. This task involves millions of hectares. It would not be feasible if the government were required to pay every landowner in full cash. The Court allowed flexibility. However, it insisted that the total value received must be real, substantial, and equivalent to what was taken.

In other words:

The market value remains the yardstick,
while equivalent value is the means of payment.

The Court recognized that the price paid must reflect the full and fair value of the property taken. It should be the true market value. However, under exceptional circumstances, the government will pay through instruments of equivalent value. These instruments can be bonds or shares, as long as their worth is real and realizable. This doctrinal shift was both pragmatic and principled. The State can pursue a massive redistribution of land. It did so without collapsing under fiscal burden. Meanwhile, it safeguarded the constitutional rights of landowners to fair recompense.

Later decisions, including Land Bank of the Philippines v. Wycoco (2004) and Land Bank v. Honeycomb Farms (2009), reaffirmed this doctrine. Courts must determine just compensation based on market indicators, which include comparable sales, income potential, and zonal valuations. This holds even if the payment is made through other equivalent means. Thus, while the form of payment may vary, the standard of fairness does not. The Small Landowners decision preserved the essence of justice. It ensures that the value taken must be replaced by the same value returned. This must be done in whatever lawful form.

Beyond its technical rulings, the case represents a moral and constitutional reconciliation. It proved that reform need not be confiscation. Social justice must operate within the boundaries of the rule of law. The State may pursue redistribution and public welfare. However, it cannot deny fairness to those from whom the property is taken. In that balance lies the very heart of constitutional democracy.

More than three decades later, the decision continues to influence modern expropriation cases, such as Republic v. Arellano University (G.R. No. 260038, 2025), where the Court reaffirmed that just compensation cannot be based merely on administrative valuations or outdated schedules of market values. It must reflect all relevant market conditions. It should consider the property’s location and potential. Other factual considerations must make compensation truly fair. These modern cases, while dealing with urban development and public infrastructure, trace their constitutional lineage directly to Small Landowners.

The ruling’s wisdom resonates today in broader contexts. These include urban redevelopment, socialized housing, and environmental expropriations. It is also present in discussions on carbon markets and the just transition. Its enduring message is that reform must be fair, and fairness must be real. The law may adapt to new social challenges, but its foundation in justice and due process remains unchanged.

Association of Small Landowners remains a testament to the idea that progress and fairness are not adversaries but partners. The decision did not merely uphold agrarian reform; it humanized it. It emphasized that while the State may right historical wrongs, it must ensure the integrity of law is preserved. Thirty-six years later, it continues to serve as a reminder to both the government and citizens. Social justice should not be pursued at the expense of constitutional justice. No taking, however noble its purpose, is truly just without just compensation.

Why It Matters Today

The decision remains a bedrock precedent in property law, agrarian reform, and expropriation. It clarified the balance between individual property rights and collective welfare. This decision shapes how courts interpret “just compensation” in modern takings. These include cases from agrarian lands to urban redevelopment, road widening, and environmental expropriations.

In contemporary jurisprudence (e.g., City Government of Pasay v. Arellano University, 2025), the same principles continue to ensure that landowners are fairly compensated, while allowing the State to pursue inclusive, socially just development.

For further reading:

Association of Small Landowners in the Philippines, Inc. v. Secretary of Agrarian Reform (1989) https://lawphil.net/judjuris/juri1989/jul1989/gr_78742_1989.html

2. City Government of Pasay v. Arellano University, 2025 https://sc.judiciary.gov.ph/260038-city-government-of-pasay-vs-arellano-university/

Clarifying “Market Value” in the Supreme Court’s Pasay–Arellano Decision Post

The Supreme Court of the Philippines recently released a press statement. It is titled “SC: Just compensation in land expropriation must consider all relevant factors, not just market value.” This statement refers to its decision in G.R. No. 260038 (City Government of Pasay v. Arellano University).

The ruling reiterates a fundamental principle in expropriation law. Just compensation must be real, full, and fair. It is determined not by a single administrative figure, but through judicial evaluation of all circumstances surrounding the property.

However, the Court’s post also offers a chance to clarify a common terminological confusion. The use of “market value” as cited in the post does not refer to true open-market value. Instead, it refers to the Schedule of Market Values (SMV). Local assessors use this administrative instrument for taxation purposes.

Arellano University owned an 805-square-meter parcel of land in Barangay San Isidro, Pasay City. The City Government turned this property into a public road. It is now known as Menlo Street. This was done without expropriation proceedings or payment of just compensation.

The Pasay City Assessor’s Office had assigned the land a value of Php200 per square meter. This was based on its 1978 Schedule of Market Values. The trial court later used this figure to compute compensation.

The Supreme Court, however, clarified that such assessor-based valuations are not determinative of just compensation. They can guide fiscal assessments, but they are not substitutes for market evidence or judicial determination.

Market Value vs. Schedule of Market Values

This distinction lies at the heart of both valuation and constitutional law.

Concept	Meaning	Purpose	Authority
Market Value	The price a willing buyer would pay to a willing seller in an open market. Both parties act knowledgeably and without compulsion.	Reflects real market behavior, used in appraisals, investments, and expropriation.	Defined under PVS 102 and IVS 104; affirmed in Republic v. CA, G.R. No. 146587 (2002).
Schedule of Market Values (SMV)	A uniform benchmark value prepared by the local assessor for tax assessment purposes.	Ensures equity in real property taxation under the Local Government Code.	Authorized under Sections 212–216, LGC of 1991.

The PVS (Philippine Valuation Standards) and IVS (International Valuation Standards) define market value as:

The estimated amount as the price for which an asset exchanges between a willing buyer and a willing seller. This occurs in an arm’s-length transaction after proper marketing. The parties act knowledgeably, prudently, and without compulsion.

In contrast, the Schedule of Market Values is an administrative tool. It is updated every few years. It is designed to standardize taxation but not to represent real-time market dynamics.

The Supreme Court has consistently drawn this line in cases such as NPC v. Manubay Agro-Industrial Corp. and Republic v. CA: the SMV may be indicative. However, it cannot replace the judicial process of valuation. This process ensures constitutionally mandated just compensation.

My Letter to the Supreme Court

To support accurate public understanding of this distinction, I have respectfully written to the Supreme Court Public Information Office.
My letter explains that the “Php 200 per square meter market value” is mentioned in the decision. It comes from the 1978 Schedule of Market Values. This should not be mistaken for actual market value as understood in valuation and jurisprudence.

You may read my full letter here.

In essence, my correspondence acknowledges the Court’s sound reasoning. It emphasizes the need to maintain terminological precision. This principle is crucial not only to valuation professionals but also to the legal system itself.

The phrase “market value” may appear technical. However, in matters of public taking, it defines the line between administrative convenience and constitutional fairness.
When government takes private property, just compensation must reflect the property’s true worth—its economic value, not its tax-assessed figure.

Ensuring this distinction honors both the rule of law and the integrity of valuation practice. It safeguards landowners’ rights and guides courts, assessors, and appraisers toward a shared language of fairness and precision.

The City of Pasay v. Arellano University decision reinforces a timeless principle:

Just compensation is not a matter of administrative convenience—it is a constitutional right grounded in fairness and factual valuation.

As valuation professionals, we have a responsibility to ensure that public discourse around “market value” remains technically accurate. It must also be legally sound. Clarity in language leads to clarity in justice.