Letter from the dark heart of the Philippines

The stars were out on Thursday night, November 7, as if there were no super-typhoon brewing in the Pacific and about to hit Tacloban City. That was what my mother remembers about that night.

A friend, meanwhile, tweeted that it was so calm it was eerie. Obviously, the calm before the storm.

I read the news about the super-typhoon and, at 11 o’clock that night, asked my sister if they had enough food supplies. She assured me they had. That was my last contact with her before Yolanda (“Haiyan” outside the Philippines) hit.

Six hours later, sustained winds of 315kph and gusts as strong as 380kph blasted through the coastal city where I grew up in and lived until high school, bringing storm devastation on a scale never before seen anywhere, even by Filipinos used to typhoons blowing in every year.

My mother had planned to do the groceries the day after the storm, but it was not until my sister walked to downtown Tacloban that they realised the full extent of Yolanda’s wrath. Walking for at least two hours, my sister saw debris and dead bodies in a place she likened to a “zombie land”. She returned home in tears and told my mother: “Tacloban is no more. We need to get out of here!”

As Yolanda unleashed its wrath, water and electricity were quickly gone and communication lines were down, cutting off everyone from the outside world. It was not until day four that we finally received much-awaited word from my sister via a text message. She had to climb onto the roof of our house to get a signal, and while it was huge relief to know they were alive, the SMS was nevertheless worrying: “We need help.”

That same day, Philippine President Benigno Aquino III declared a state of calamity, making many wonder why it took the government so long to arrive at such a decision, when soon after the super-typhoon struck it was evident that the damage was of epic proportions.

Our subdivision, about half an hour away from Tacloban Airport, suffered no deaths and only minimal flooding and structural damage to houses. It was one of the few communities that continued to function. But with looting going on in the city, food supplies were running out, nearby groceries had nothing to sell, ATMs were ransacked and, even if you had cash, money had no value. Cloaked in darkness after the sun set, paranoia began to grip the populace as reports of crimes were passed by word of mouth in the absence of radio and television.

But it was not until day five after the typhoon hit that my family finally decided to leave the city. By then, thousands more like them were desperate to leave as dead bodies began to decay on the streets and relief goods had yet to reach affected areas.

On day three, Aquino had flown to Tacloban, the centre of trade and banking for Eastern Visayas Region. Instead of delivering an inspiring message to the public, particularly to the Yolanda victims who had lost not just their homes but their loved ones as well, Aquino spent his time berating local officials for not being prepared.

Ironically, Aquino had sent Cabinet officials to Tacloban days before Yolanda hit to oversee preparations and the relief and rescue operations that were sure to follow. Interior Secretary Manuel Roxas II, who had to give way to Aquino in the 2010 presidential elections, said himself that no amount of preparation could have countered the strength of Yolanda. Roxas is being positioned by the ruling party as a presidential candidate in the 2016 elections and he has been at the centre of the operations in Tacloban. But he has also taken flak for the slowness of relief and rescue operations, after his power struggle with Tacloban Mayor Alfred Romualdez.

Historically, the city with a population of 220,000 has always been home turf for the Romualdez family, who count among their number Imelda, former first lady to deposed dictator Ferdinand Marcos. As a child, I remember participating in the parade for the city fiesta in June, dancing on the streets in various costumes for “Madam”. It didn’t matter that I went to a private school, which also happened to be Imelda’s alma mater. Everyone had to perform for Madam.

Twelve years after Marcos was deposed, Imelda’s younger brother Allfredo “Bejo” Romualdez was elected as mayor of Tacloban, serving until 2007. He is the father of the current mayor.

It is this political dynamic between the Romualdezes and the Aquino administration that exacerbated the situation in Tacloban. There has been an outpouring of aid from foreign countries and international organisations – including the Nation Group with Bt2 million raised so far – and yet the government has been slow in responding to the disaster. What could be more ironic than the absence of relief goods at Tacloban’s Daniel Z Romualdez Airport, where they were dropped off, while people who survived the super-typhoon were in danger of dying from hunger and disease?

In contrast, Palo – the town immediately next to Tacloban and also hit hard by Yolanda – had noticeably faster recovery and relief operations. The town mayor, Remedios Petilla, is a political ally of Aquino.

Petilla’s son, Jericho, is the energy secretary. He has promised to restore electricity in the typhoon-ravaged areas by December 24 or Christmas Eve, a very important occasion for the mostly Christian Philippines. Jericho said that if electricity is not restored by then, he will resign.

For now, Tacloban and the other areas hit by Yolanda remain under darkness at night. What has become as clear as that night before Yolanda hit, is the ugliness of Philippine political games and how they always sacrifice the welfare of Filipinos.