Boracay to PHP8-Billion Bridge Plan: ‘Thank U, Next’

The Sangguniang Bayan of Malay, Aklan, did more than just pass a resolution last month; it drew a line in the sand—a line that was first traced in 2018 with the grit of political will and the pain of economic sacrifice.

By withdrawing its support for the P8.01-billion Boracay bridge, the local government sent a clear message: the hard-won lessons from the island’s six-month rehabilitation will not be paved over for the convenience of a concrete shortcut.

This decision should not be misconstrued as a vote against development. Rather, it is a resounding vote for survival. It is a defense of the fragile, finite, and incredibly valuable ecosystem that makes Boracay a global treasure. To understand the council’s stance is to remember the ghost of 2018, a past that is not as distant as we might like to believe.

Before its closure, Boracay was famously, and shamefully, labeled a “cesspool.” Unchecked development, illegal structures encroaching on easements, and raw sewage overwhelming the island’s capacity had pushed its environment to the brink of collapse. The 2018 rehabilitation was a painful but necessary reset. A key outcome of this intervention was the establishment of a scientific, data-driven carrying capacity.

A study by the Department of Environment and Natural Resources (DENR) and the University of the Philippines concluded that the island could sustainably handle only 19,215 tourists at any given time, which translates to about 6,405 new arrivals per day. This number is a red line dictated by the island’s physical space and its ability to process waste and provide clean water.

A 1.2-kilometer bridge, by its very design, is an instrument to shatter this limit. It creates a funnel for uncontrolled access, rendering the concept of a carrying capacity functionally meaningless. It prioritizes volume over value, a philosophy that nearly destroyed the island once before.

Beyond the macro issue of over-tourism, the physical construction of the bridge poses an existential threat to the marine life that is the bedrock of Boracay’s allure. The Malay council’s resolution explicitly cited “potential damage to marine habitats, increased coastal erosion, and disruption of the island’s fragile ecosystem.” These are not vague fears; they are documented risks.

For a stark preview, we need only look at the ongoing controversy surrounding the Samal Island-Davao City Connector Bridge. Marine biologists and environmental impact assessments for that project have warned of the catastrophic effects of construction. The primary risk is sedimentation. The process of drilling, dredging, and driving piles into the seabed kicks up massive plumes of silt. This sediment drifts with the currents and settles on nearby coral reefs, literally smothering the delicate polyps and blocking the sunlight they need to survive.

A 2023 Mongabay report on the Samal project warned that the target landing site’s reef – a crucial spawning ground for fish – would not survive the five-year construction period. The very currents that bring life to the reef would, during construction, deliver its death sentence in the form of silt. Are we to believe Boracay’s reefs, still recovering from years of pollution, would fare any better? The construction would inevitably destroy portions of the seabed, obliterating seagrass beds that serve as vital nurseries for countless fish species.

Proponents will argue that modern engineering can mitigate these impacts. But some ecosystems are too sensitive, and the stakes too high, for such gambles. The Environmental Impact Assessment for the Samal bridge classified it as an “environmentally critical project.” The proposed Boracay bridge is no different. The potential for irreversible damage to the very attraction that fuels its economy is a risk that offers no commensurate reward.

The Malay LGU’s decision is an act of foresight, not obstruction. It recognizes that true progress for Boracay lies not in building more ways to get in, but in strengthening the protection of what people come to see. Sustainable alternatives, like modernizing the jetty port and enforcing the science-based limits on arrivals, respect the island’s boundaries. The bridge scoffs at them.

The red line drawn in 2018 was a lesson written in economic loss and ecological shame. The Malay council has shown that it remembers. In choosing to protect its natural heritage over a questionable megaproject, it has not closed the door on Boracay’s future, but ensured it will have one worth visiting.