THE public outrage over tree-cutting in Metro Manila has awakened a spirit of civic environmentalism among many urbanites. Between the government that regulates and issues permits, and the private contractors tasked to deliver infrastructure projects on time, lies a difficult balancing act of making way for development, environmental protection and public welfare. This tension reflects what urban planners call the sustainability trilemma — the same conundrum that affects many leaders and governments. This is the complex act that involves trade-offs and compromises, all within the constraints of law, engineering, budgets and public necessity. As someone who has planted trees and also regularly uses the Skyway, I understand the complexity. But is there a better alternative?
While grieving the loss of mature narra trees, with complete understanding of Department of Environment and Natural Resources (DENR) policies, I am seeing a little hope in the awakened spirit of grassroots urban activism. Suddenly we saw words like “urban heat island effect” coming to the forefront of online discussions. I’ve been writing about this for years. Metro Manila residents are becoming more emotionally and politically attached to urban greenery. For decades, trees were treated as disposable obstacles to road widening, utilities, parking or development. In my Parañaque subdivision, I fought against the unauthorized cutting of four narra trees by a “contractor” who had an illegal chainsaw. I remain vigilant watching over our trees. But many residents view trees as a hindrance, they say it cracks sidewalks. Some consider the falling leaves and flowers an annoyance, something they have to sweep away every afternoon.
The public backlash suggests a cultural shift is happening though. Metro Manila citizens are increasingly recognizing trees for their services on climate, public health, flood mitigation, urban cooling and civic assets. This awakening matters because it could encourage tactical urbanism that does not begin with design, but with public consciousness. Cities change when people start noticing what has been taken away from them — shade, walkability, silence, biodiversity, public space — and begin demanding alternatives.
I’d like to see the conversations and discussions go toward solutions, citizen-led environmental advocacies and awareness of environmental laws and services of the DENR. Citizens can respond through small-scale, immediate and community-driven interventions that physically reshape public space. We can start with our own neighborhoods. Take stock of the native trees, map them out and protect them. When possible, plant replacement trees. Start a community seedling nursery. I have made a hobby out of growing narra seedlings from pods I pick up. Ask me how. I’ll help. Create pocket gardens, install movable planters and green sidewalks. Start a small project converting a temporary barren space into a greener public space.
This got me thinking about the concept of tactical urbanism. In urban planning, tactical urbanism is city-making in its quickest form. Unlike traditional urban planning that relies on lengthy studies, research and huge infrastructure projects, tactical urbanism operates like an urban prototype. It is fast, flexible, reversible and deeply participatory. At its core is a radical but increasingly urgent question for cities like Metro: What if public spaces were designed first around human life instead of traffic? Think, the Carless Ayala Sundays.
I’ve participated in Carless Ayala Sundays, and it has always left me hopeful. For a few hours in the morning, Ayala Avenue transforms into the kind of city many Filipinos did not realize they were hungry for. It is a mix of diverse people of all ages who run, stroll, skate or bike together in one direction culminating in the Ayala Triangle lined with temporary booths, activities and food stalls. It is a dynamic urban community bustling with activity set amid old acacia trees and Philippine native trees like the dita, in the country’s largest financial district. The Makati architecture with new glass skyscrapers and 1970s brutalist low-rise buildings feel softer for a few hours. And people linger and have brunch at the village markets and cafés. It is fascinating and inspiring.
What makes Carless Ayala Sundays so compelling is not just the absence of vehicles. It is the realization that urban space can feel different — calmer, greener, safer, more humane — than what we have long accepted as normal in Metro Manila. “Pwede pala.”
The public reaction to the cutting of mature trees along Quirino Avenue was deep and emotional. People mourned the loss of shade as though mourning something personal. And to me, it is. In a city defined increasingly by heat, concrete, congestion and the risk of climate-related disasters, trees are no longer decorative elements. They are survival infrastructure. Breathing space.
For decades, Metro Manila’s urban development followed a familiar logic: widen roads, prioritize traffic flow, clear obstacles, build faster. Trees were often sacrificed in the name of mobility and modernization. Sidewalks became secondary. Public space became incidental.
But something is shifting in the civic imagination. People are becoming more protective of the urban environment we live in.
We’ve waited long enough for the grand infrastructure projects and master plans — the subway, the mass transit systems, spillways, roads and bridges. What we need are smaller acts of urban repair. A tree-lined sidewalk. A safe bike lane. A clear and clean estero. Adaptively reused heritage buildings. Weekend markets. These are the little projects that make people love their cities. It’s not about perfection. We want a city that is softened, healed, made human and cooled by trees.