Beneath the skyline

20 March, 2026 I By Allaine Ysabelle Bautista

Cities rise like forests of steel, but somewhere beneath their shadows are families still living under roofs as fragile as fallen leaves.

Truth be told, cities are storms of concrete, and for decades, thousands of Filipino families have survived them in houses built like paper boats, drifting through urban tides that rarely slow for the poor.

Across the Philippines’ expanding urban corridors, survival has long taken the shape of improvisation. In places such as Metro Manila and nearby provinces, informal settlements cling to the edges of the metropolis—homes stitched together from plywood, rusted metal, and stubborn endurance. These communities sit like fragile clearings beneath towering skyscrapers, where a strong typhoon or a single eviction order can scatter lives overnight. In the relentless machinery of urban growth, these families survive like leaves caught in a restless current.

These informal settlements gather in the narrow spaces that rapid urban growth leaves behind: along riverbanks, beside railway tracks, beneath elevated highways, and at the edges of construction sites. From a distance they appear as dense mosaics of tin and timber pressed against the skyline. Up close, they reveal lives arranged in tight corridors and improvised rooms, where rain slips through patched roofs and dampness settles into the walls.

Now the government is preparing to build something sturdier within that landscape. The Department of Public Works and Highways (DPWH) will undertake ₱1.8 billion worth of resettlement housing projects for informal settler families across Metro Manila, Calabarzon, and Central Luzon this year. Funding from the 2025 General Appropriations Act will turn policy into poured concrete, transforming lines on paper into roofs capable of holding back rain, heat, and uncertainty.

An order issued on January 22 directs regional DPWH offices to oversee projects under the Comprehensive and Integrated Housing Program (CIHP) and the resettlement program of the National Housing Authority. What begins as a government directive slowly becomes architecture—blueprints hardening into foundations, foundations rising into walls.

Metro Manila will host three of the seven projects, carrying a combined ₱700 million allocation: a ₱300-million CIHP development in San Juan and ₱200-million projects in Manila and Navotas. In the dense geometry of the capital, these structures will rise like newly planted trees—roots sunk deep in concrete, branches stretching toward permanence.

Further south, construction will spread across Calabarzon. Rosario, Batangas will see the construction of a ₱300-million multi-purpose building for the housing program. Naic, Cavite will receive another ₱300-million facility, while Bacoor City will host a ₱200-million structure under the resettlement effort. Piece by piece, the scattered architecture of survival begins to give way to something sturdier.

The effort reaches north into Central Luzon, where San Ildefonso, Bulacan will receive a ₱300-million multi-purpose building for resettlement. Where improvised houses once stood like twigs after a storm, new foundations will sink deep into the earth.

Public Works Secretary Vince Dizon has directed regional DPWH offices to coordinate closely with the National Housing Authority and other concerned agencies to ensure the projects move forward.

In reality, a city’s conscience is measured not by its towers, but by the roofs it gives the poor—and by whether those roofs can endure the storms that once defined their lives.

For families currently living in makeshift dwellings, relocation projects carry the promise of sturdier walls, reinforced roofing, and planned neighborhoods where basic services can be more easily delivered. Access to secure housing often shapes access to other necessities—education, employment opportunities, and consistent utilities.

Within the broad arc of urban development, housing remains one of the most consequential forms of public infrastructure. Over time, these structures will become part of the living fabric of the regions where they stand—new addresses on familiar streets, homes where families settle into rhythms shaped less by uncertainty and more by the steady presence of shelter.

And in that moment, the forest of steel no longer towers over forgotten lives—it grows roots deep enough to shelter them.