We saw it coming – Boracay becoming a cesspool. Napariwarang paraiso. Its popularity became the noose around its neck. Overcrowded with the unmanaged number of tourists, visitors, workers, and carpet baggers pouring in and out. Walwalan bottles dotting the sand. Establishments encroaching on the beach. The noise pollution. The serious sewage problems.
If there is something I will credit President Duterte with, it is how he used his iron hands to save Boracay from going under. The former executive said that heads in the local governments and line agencies will roll for their neglect and abuse. He even hinted of corruption in the granting of permits to companies and individuals in erecting establishments that clearly violated environment, engineering and sanitary controls.
The lockdown and the two-years of pandemic fears that followed allowed the island to rest and heal. The authorities with the help of big corporations reclaimed and cleaned up the wetlands. Violating structures were razed down. Sections of the main roads were widened into two-way lane with wide-enough sidewalks. Nowadays, only public utility e-trikes are allowed to ply the routes. Going in and out of the island became more organized.
Boracay is back in business. Big business. The middlemen. The same capitalist cast now easing off the mom-and-pop entrepreneurs into the fringes. No more kubo as lodges for hire. The fishermen have become dark-glasses vendors or boatmen for tourists. The women into chamber maids or masseuses. Enough of romanticizing island paradises; that is how a civilization is transformed.
Unlike Bali, Boracay has no strong cultural foundation. It is tabularasa. It has no stone carvers nor wood craftsmen. It has no textile weaving nor baskets making. It has no identifiable music nor dances. Not even in the Aetas - if you could classify them as true natives. They are now under the care and protection of nuns who have introduced to them a Western religion.
In Boracay, the kind of “native” music they know is reggae. In pubs there may be Taylor Swift and in small cafes there may be Diana Krall. In the souvenir stores – from D’Mall to the talipapa – they offer the same shirts and clothes. The machine-knitted halters and laced-like shorts for ladies, for instance, you can find in Divisoria. Then there are the same ref magnets and keychains. The same snake bone or pearl bracelets. Clearly, the middlemen have taken over.
I used to find gorgeous bamboo chimes from Palawan and fine hardwood cabinetries from Bacolod in some of the stores on the beach front. I even stumbled upon a sculpture of Angelo Baldemor of Paete. That was a promising mix of Filipino creativity coming together but, now, it is gone.
Since fishermen are also gone, the middlemen have also taken over. They have cornered the supply of lobsters, prawns, and sea fish almost everywhere. Sold by grams or by kilos. Choose your own trap.
When you look at pulsating Boracay, picture the beaches as the skin of the industry, and the inland as the flesh and innards of it. Tourists are basking in the sun, or gorging on glorious food, well and good, but there are hundreds of Filipinos in the island struggling, trying to keep hunger at bay by picking up morsels from the rich spread. Let us take a look at that next week.