Are Filipinos waterproof?
Resilience just doesn’t cut it anymore. (Image: CNN)
A week ago, super typhoon Noru, which was locally named Karding, hit the Philippines. The northern group of islands, Luzon, was particularly devastated. Locals were warned of heavy winds and dangerous rainfall that could cause catastrophic flooding.
At around 5 p.m. on a Sunday, Karding made landfall in the Polillo Islands and then hit the municipality of Burdeos in Quezon province. Later on, the super typhoon’s destructive power visibly decreased. According to ABS-CBN News resident meteorologist Ariel Rojas, Karding’s speed and the Sierra Madre mountain range were able to weaken its impact.
Nevertheless, the typhoon barreled through Luzon and put the lives of thousands at risk. Classes in all levels and work in many government offices were suspended due to the storm. Many were stranded, flights were canceled, and some even had to evacuate their homes. The rice and corn crops of local farmers were also put at risk, with more than half possibly affected by the rainfall.
When the going gets tough
As disaster struck, President Bongbong Marcos posted a vlog on his recent trip to New York. Later on, in a briefing, he addressed the situation, saying “I think it's clear from what we did these last two days is that very very important is preparations, get people out of areas of danger, put all of your assets that you're going to use pagka mag-rescue, mag-relief, put them in place as much as possible."
He also attributed the minimized number of damages to "luck" and local government units' various plans of action.
On average, the Philippines is hit by 20 typhoons every year, and five of those are considered destructive. Data like this show just how vulnerable the country is, and luck and small-scale recovery efforts just aren’t enough to prevent damages. With people still calling on the national government to increase its budget for calamity response, there may be a long way to go towards disaster risk reduction.
Fortunately, non-governmental organizations contribute significantly to the recovery of affected communities. They often organize donation drives and relief operations, powered by volunteers who have the time and resources to spare. They’ve saved thousands of lives, but they shouldn’t be expected to replace large-scale government action.
Quitting resilience porn
The term bayanihan was coined to define these community-wide efforts to do heroic acts for others without expecting anything in return. Derived from the words bayan (community) and bayani (hero), these acts can turn ordinary Filipinos into heroes when times get difficult. When their countrymen don't have anywhere else to turn to, they turn to each other.
Does this narrative seem familiar? We've seen it before with the way pandemic frontline health workers were regarded as modern-day heroes. They were praised by officials, yet many groups of healthcare workers expressed their frustration over the lack of government support they’ve received.
The romanticization of bayanihan, often instilled during times of hardship, perpetuates a narrative of resilience as a replacement for accountability.
We might cope with jokes about Filipinos being waterproof, and they can definitely lighten the mood. Still, it holds true that Filipinos are resilient because they’ve had to be.
It might be easy to romanticize the bayanihan that emerges from hardships, but we might also want to keep in mind that the root word bayan encompasses everybody in the country—citizens and government alike who have important parts to play.
