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The
Local Government Code (LGC) was passed in order to
achieve autonomy for the villages, towns, cities and
provinces throughout the archipelago. By handing these
local government units—referred to as LGUs in this
acronym-crazy country—the authority to levy taxes on
certain businesses in their jurisdiction, proponents of
the LGC—there we go again—had hoped they would develop
self-reliance and achieve a measure of self-sufficiency.
In a
number of cases, that goal has been reached. Quezon City
(QC), for instance, has managed to dig itself out of the
financial hole it has been stuck in for decades. Under
the enlightened leadership of Mayor Feliciano “Sonny”
Belmonte Jr., QC has expanded its tax base, settled its
outstanding obligations and pooled more funds for its
roads, schools, day-care centers, health facilities and
law enforcers, among others. QC has become such an
economic bright spot it has managed to generate budget
surpluses on a regular basis. Its business-friendly
policies have made it a preferred location for
investors; notice the rapid development of Eastwood in
Libis and North Triangle along Edsa, among other places.
With the
judicious use of its autonomy, Quezon City continues to
show what a local government can do on its own as it
tries to improve the quality of life of its
constituents—without having to go knocking on the doors
of the national government with the proverbial hat in
hand, or worse, with a threat of withdrawal of support
for whoever happens to occupy Malacañang.
Unfortunately, the LGC has not only helped realize the
potential of certain LGUs, it has also given rise to
petty tyrants who evidently regard their jurisdictions
as their personal fiefdoms. Worse, some of these local
overlords have imperiled major business ventures in
clear violation of established national economic policy.
Take the
case of Nueva Vizcaya Gov. Luisa Lloren Cuaresma, who is
demanding P30 million in so-called quarry fees from
Oceana Gold Philippines Inc., which provincial
authorities say has been extracting gravel and sand from
its mining site in the northeastern Luzon province.
Oceana
Gold executives, however, claimed they are not in the
quarrying business. What the earth-moving activities
that Cuaresma and other Nueva Vizcaya officials allude
to are merely part of the company’s development of its
processing site. Quarrying, by definition, is the trade
in materials extracted from the ground for commercial
purposes—and this, Oceana Gold executives insist, they
are not doing.
But
Cuaresma is apparently adamant and unwilling to
entertain any explanations from the mining firm. Oceana
Gold—understandably concerned over the fate of the
billions of pesos it has earmarked for its Nueva Vizcaya
project—has sought the intervention of the national
government.
At
first, mining company officials were worried about
appealing to Manila. After all, the top man at the
Department of the Environment and Natural Resources (DENR)
is Angelito “Lito” Atienza, who, not too long ago,
ordered a stop to a mining project in Romblon because of
the environmental threat it posed to a national park.
The former Manila mayor has developed the reputation of
being a “tree-hugger,” which pleases environment
advocates but not hardnosed businessmen.
As it
turned out, Atienza and the DENR were able to grasp the
fundamental issues in the conflict between Oceana Gold
and the Nueva Vizcaya authorities.
For one,
the DENR noted that Oceana Gold’s operations are allowed
and governed by Republic Act 7942, otherwise known as
the Philippine Mining Law. As a holder of a financial
and technical assistance agreement (FTAA), the mining
company is exempt from quarrying fees. Moreover, it has
the right to extract and remove sand, gravel and other
loose materials without need of a permit.
The
government has granted the Australian-owned Oceana Gold
an FTAA, allowing it to mine for gold and copper ore in
barangay Didipio in the municipality of Kasibu. The
mining company has initially committed an investment of
$180 million—or about P7.8 billion—for its Nueva Vizcaya
project.
Apprised
of the real score, Atienza ruled that Oceana Gold can
use the materials from its earth-moving activities to
build structures at the project site because the mining
company is allowed to do so under its FTAA.
Nueva
Vizcaya officials responded to Atienza’s opinion by
filing a resolution in the provincial board giving the
DENR chief a kalabasa award.
Undeterred by the provincial authorities’ insult and
defiance, Atienza ordered the resumption of the Didipio
mine project, insisting that the provincial order
stopping it was illegal in the first place. Meanwhile,
Nueva Vizcaya officials have vowed to continue blocking
the project.
The
matter, evidently, is bound to reach the courts. And as
in many other like cases, it will probably stay there
for some time, which could prove disastrous to the
mining project’s investors. The disturbing signals such
protracted litigation sends out to prospective investors
are well documented—and we have the province of Nueva
Vizcaya to thank for transmitting even more static to
the world business community.
Also,
egos have been bruised in this dispute. The
protagonists, in true puerile fashion, could be expected
to dig in and maintain their respective positions—no
matter what ruling the judicial authorities finally
issue.
In the
end, the biggest losers in this childish tiff are the
people of Nueva Vizcaya themselves. If the mining
project is allowed to go full swing, Novo Vizcayanos
stand to benefit from the billions of pesos in royalties
to the province that Oceana Gold would be obligated to
pay out. But because Cuaresma, et al., insist on
collecting a mere P30 million in quarry fees, the boon
that gold and copper mining promises to deliver are in
grave danger of remaining in the realm of the
possible—never to be realized.
As the
old Tagalogs would say:
Kuwarta na, naging bato pa. |
