Lopez warned that environmental destruction would directly translate into human and economic losses. Critics dismissed her as emotional and impractical. Seven years later, the evidence — measured in destroyed infrastructure, displaced communities, and disrupted economies — has proven her right.

Lopez, by contrast, argued that protecting ecosystems was a prerequisite for long-term development and social stability.

Her rejection by the Commission revealed a systemic flaw in policymaking: the dominance of short-term, extractive economic thinking over sustainability and equity. Legislators and lobbyists viewed forests, rivers, and minerals as commodities.

When Gina Lopez appeared before the Commission on Appointments in 2017, she was not only defending her appointment as secretary. She was defending the integrity of environmental governance and the idea that natural resources are national assets held in trust for future generations.

As successive storms batter the country, the devastation caused by Typhoon Tino in Cebu and Negros stands as a clear vindication of Lopez’s message. If forecasts hold, Uwan — the next major storm — may once again expose how environmental neglect amplifies disaster risks across Luzon.

The floods, landslides, and collapsed communities across the Philippines are not random acts of nature. They are the cumulative result of weak environmental regulation, inconsistent enforcement, and the capture of public institutions by private and political interests.

Their vigilance has forced national attention on practices that deepen erosion, threaten marine life, and worsen flooding.

Their work shows that communities can defend nature even when powerful forces stand against them. Their struggle deserves national support.

Fisherfolk, church leaders, and environmental defenders, organized through the Zambales Ecological Network (ZEN), have stood firm to protect coastal ecosystems and livelihood waters.

We also see resistance taking root.

In Zambales, communities are courageously opposing destructive dredging and mineral extraction justified as reclamation support.

Cities like Cagayan de Oro and Davao now flood in ways unimaginable decades ago because their watersheds have been compromised.

Across Luzon, floodplains in Bulacan and Pampanga are being reclaimed despite sinking land and rising seas.
In Mindanao, upland forests have given way to plantations, logging concessions, and mining.

Harassed, threatened, and challenged legally, it has persisted. In a country where protected areas are routinely violated, Masungi proves that stewardship, science, and public interest can prevail. For this, it is often punished rather than supported.

We need more Masungis, not fewer.

When storms strike, Marikina Valley floods quickly and deeply because the mountains meant to hold the water have been opened and weakened.

Metro Manila is no different.

The Upper Marikina watershed is a lifeline for millions, storing rainfall, preventing erosion, and protecting communities in Marikina, Pasig, Quezon City, and Rizal.

Yet powerful interests have carved pieces of it for quarries, resorts, and gated estates.

Floods that were once rare now arrive regularly, while officials aligned with business interests keep approving permits in areas for example by rivers where nature cannot protect itself.

We see this clearly in Cebu.
Upland quarries and high end subdivisions have multiplied in fragile zones.

Forests that once absorbed rain and slowed runoff have been replaced by exposed slopes and concrete.

Their projects are sanctioned by weak regulators, shielded by political allies, and marketed as progress.

This is development aggression, growth that bulldozes ecosystems and communities and disguises exploitation as modernization.

We blame informal settlers for blocking waterways, a narrative that absolves the powerful. But real drivers of environmental degradation are not the poor.

They are developers, quarrying companies, oligarchs, & political clans who have carved up mountains, rivers, & floodplains for private gain.

From Cebu to Metro Manila, across Luzon and Mindanao, the story is the same.

When the rains fall, the truth rises. What drowns us is not simply water. It is governance failure.