TWO weeks ago in Incheon, Korea, I had the honor of speaking at the Asia Pacific Economic Cooperation (Apec) Senior Officials’ Meeting 3, where I joined the Technical Working Group on Sustainable Tourism. Invited by Peru’s Ministry of Foreign Trade and Tourism, I sat on the Workshop on Land Use Planning for Sustainable Tourism and shared stories from the Philippines, starting with a river, but soon flowed into a broader conversation about land, identity and the power of community stewardship.
At the heart of my presentation was a key question for many Apec economies: How can we ensure that tourism development honors, not erases local culture, ecosystems and community decision-making? Across the region, tourism often outpaces land management systems, leading to displaced communities, degraded environments and the quiet erasure of the stories that once gave places their meaning. The real challenge is this: How do we build social, ecological and cultural resilience in places where tourism presents both promise and peril?
To ground that abstract challenge, I shared the journey of Bojo River in Aloguinsan, Cebu, a small village facing big threats two decades ago: illegal fishing, mangrove depletion, outmigration and plans for mining and oil drilling. But rather than give in, the villagers organized with the help of the local government. They built a tourism model rooted in ecological care and community control. They didn’t wait for big projects and politicians to define their future; they planned it themselves.
What they created was more than a tour. It was a governance model rooted in ecological care and community control transforming threats and risks into a resilient local economy that honored their land and identity.
Through participatory mapping and inclusive dialogue, residents, mostly fisherfolk, farmers, women and elders marked cultural and ecological zones. They formed an organization and managed operations with accountability and transparency. Every member had a role. Every decision reflected local knowledge.
And the results speak volumes. Today, over 70 percent of tourism income remains in the community. Illegal fishing ended in just three years. Mangroves, corals and marine life have rebounded. Men who used to work as security guards and laborers now work as river guides, craft makers and ecological stewards. Children go to college. Village traditions are revived.
Sixteen years later, and with six global awards to its name, the Bojo model has inspired similar efforts across the Philippines. In Leyte, before the pandemic, I worked with the community at the Mahagnao Volcano Natural Park, a protected area that has three crater lakes, home to the endemic Philippine wild duck. The women guide visitors through nature trails and engage in shinrin-yoku or forest bathing. In Sibalom Natural Park in Antique, I was privileged to work for the United Nations Development Programme with locals and volunteer forest wardens to guard ancestral lands and biodiversity hotspots while offering cultural experiences to guests. And in Sipaway Island, San Carlos City, Negros Occidental, I worked alongside pandemic-displaced OFWs, fisherfolk and their families and habal-habal drivers in protecting Tañon Strait by opening homestays and conducting mangrove tours. In each case, tourism became a tool not just for income, but for dignity.
These stories are not just feel-good examples. They offer serious lessons for land use governance in tourism destinations across the Apec region. In each case, we see resilience in action, communities adapting to change while safeguarding their ecological and cultural foundations. First, planning must begin with land dialogue, treating land as heritage and not just as property. Second, local knowledge must guide development, not be treated as an obstacle. And third, communities must be granted real authority over how their land is zoned and used, especially in areas seeing rapid tourism growth.
I concluded my talk with a proposal: that Apec economies invest in training programs on participatory land use planning, particularly for emerging destinations. Because in the end, sustainable tourism isn’t about showcasing landscapes. It’s about empowering those who call them home.
These villages remind us that tourism can regenerate both people and place but only if it is grounded in memory, stewardship and shared responsibility. These destinations and local communities teach us that real planning begins not with maps, but with voices.
