A False Mask of Hope: The Filipino Obsession on Resiliency
SMALL TRIGGER WARNING: Some images may show depictions of damage brought by natural disasters. Please proceed with caution.
Growing up in a part of the country where I meet more destructive typhoons than dates in a year has shaped me a certain way — and I never even noticed it until now.
My hometown, situated within a region that’s starkly at the east, just sitting right next to the Pacific, is definitely no stranger to calamity, especially when it comes to the weather. I've been on way more typhoon signals than dates in my lifetime; I practically grew up feeling the effects of some of the most destructive typhoons to my community, if not annually. I have vivid, unmistakable memories of events that played out during a typhoon, all playing somewhat of a role in my upbringing; I can tell you stories of some parts of our roof flying off, or how our glass windows almost shattered because of the strong winds, or even narrate a detailed step-by-step procedure of how my family prepares for bad weather with all of the times we’ve had to do it. Now, as a young adult, looking back, they’ve all contributed to how I grew up, like oddly-specific markers of my childhood. Living with that many typhoons shapes you, undoubtedly, and that never occurred to me until now.
As a young kid, admittedly, I didn’t think much of the three or four tropical depressions that come to visit each time, because, like any other kid, I didn’t really know better. Apart from the fact that I lived in a safe, stable home that was always likely able to withstand a strong typhoon, with relatives by his side, I’d also gotten so used to the fact that they were always going to come no matter what that expecting them was a routine, and letting them ravage through was something we would foresee at the beginning of the year. But one thing that I've always managed to take sure notice of even when with the privileged outlook I had was the way calamities like these were shown to the rest of the world. And now that I’m older, it seems to make a lot more sense.
Being indifferent to a catastrophe that affects thousands at a time is one thing for a kid, but growing up a part of a narration that’s highly unlikely and all the more unreal, and undeniably twisted? That’s a much more different experience.
It’s hard to understand when you’re young; I never got why, with the weight of receiving the inevitable damage a typhoon will bring, people are always quick to mask the bigger picture with brighter, clearer pictures of hope, and pride, and the never-to-be-left-out bayanihan. You’d figure maybe we don’t want to dishearten the victims any more than they already are disheartened, but it’s just as shallow as it is illogical. But as a college student forcing himself to get through an entire semester online with little to no means of getting work done, it seems just as clear: it’s all a facade. In reality, most don’t want anything to do with you, or the damage it all has cost you.
Getting hit by a typhoon — three, to be exactly honest; I’ve dealt with them my whole life but three in a row is another level of douchery for the year 2020 — means hearing the same words and seeing the same things all over again. Media networks would flood with clips of houses being flushed away by floods, or trees being ripped by winds, or families forcing their way through mud and neck-level water to get to safety and get another chance to live, edited and revamped with slow, inspirational music. Politicians will all take to either a government office or social media to express concerns, donate thousands of relief goods packed and plastered with their faces and names, with encouraging words useful for the next election. Victims are interviewed depending on the severity of the effect on them, called ‘resilient’, ‘lucky’, and ‘strong’, and broadcasted across the country, where people will start telling their children to start praying more and work harder. And that’s where it all usually ends: the people get the message of hope always lying beneath every crevice of the Filipino spirit, how we will always manage to get up and smile no matter how many catastrophes may come our way, and we’ll all move forward. That is, until the next typhoon, or earthquake, or dire national emergency comes, where it will all play out again.
And from the tip of my tongue, I just want to say this: it’s incredibly stupid. As someone who deals with this shit every single time my community is damaged, which I watch from within how it almost never recovers, it’s tiring to hear. I’d prefer you shut up.
An over sensationalized image of hope and resiliency has engraved a sense of false pride and unprecedented foolery in the majority of Filipinos. I prefer to call it an obsession; countless images like these flood us every time tragedy hits, and every time, a lot of us would think, Well, it’s all going to be over soon, right? It’s only temporary. We’re going to get through this. And yet, I always think to myself, it will be over soon, sure, but how are we so sure that the effects it leaves behind are not of great magnitude enough to leave an impact? How are we so sure that those affected will recover? For most of us, questions are almost out of the line, and I can’t say I blame people for having this mindset; it’s always because of the way our media likes to spread messages like these that bury the message within even deeper. We’d rather be fooled by toxic positivity than think for ourselves why sentiments like these do more harm than what we know of, and it’s getting agitating.
For one, images of people hounding for their survival should not be a source of inspiration. They’re fighting for their lives; we should be concerned and alert, but we’re being tricked into thinking it’ll all be better.
The very same people who use hope to describe a tragic situation are either those who are easily influenced by the media they consume or those who are relatively unscathed by its effects, or at least have the capacity to move forward. They wouldn’t have to think about rebuilding their homes, or ensure their family members are alright, because they most probably are. They’re more content in creating this bubble of brightness to cover up so much of the bad things that have happened. They’d rather have people thanking the sky that they were spared, or have people look up to the victims as heroes or survivors. The whole narrative of resiliency, one that’s never used sparingly, is almost just as much an excuse as it is a message of supposed hope. If this and that can pick themselves up after a big storm, you and I can sure as hell do, and we didn’t even get hit. It’s just a matter of lakas and diskarte, like the good ol’ Filipino fighting spirit. Pick yourself up, because it’s your life on the line; don’t rely on the government. That’s it, right?
No. No, it isn’t. I hate to be the one to burst that bubble, but Filipinos have never been resilient. Take it from me — we don’t survive and move forward from a typhoon because we all can. We move forward because we don’t have a choice; I’m sure you, not even the government, would bat an eye for things that would make things easier. Families who are fighting for their lives or can barely stand up from all the damage has cost them don’t keep on going because they’re hopeful, but because they will starve to death if they stop going on. And when you say that things will eventually get better for us, kumare, you’re not only masking the damage the community has received with cheap hope, you’re also letting those who have an upper hand on it all slip away through the back door.
I am fully aware that the government is not composed of some full-force deities ready to put an end to natural disasters, if that’s the logic you want to put out there. But as the main institution that governs an entire nation, they have more than a large say on how that nation will deal with tragedy. And judging by the way they’ve decided to manage it (you know, like the President vanishing in thin air, or how they slashed the NDRRMC budget by about 4 billion in 2020, or how they’ve consistently neglected the Disaster Risk Reduction and Management Programs the past few years) it seems like they don’t want anything else to do but tell the people that they’ll be alright. It’s like a beautiful reference to another old Filipino attitude: shutting up and doing what you’re told. And by resorting to convincing people that recovery is on its way, without actually doing the proper precautions to prevent these things from happening over and over again, not only are we relieving them of the accountability of which they should be demanded, we’re also allowing them to let this happen to us again and again, for as many typhoons or natural disasters that may come. It’s a repeated slap on the face that we allow to happen every single time.
Hope, as important as it is in our lives, is not a solution, and surely it cannot be used to make us believe that it’s all up until here — we need to demand accountability.
There is no fault in looking for the ray of light in every dark situation. For one, hope is a powerful thing, and it can do so much greatness in a person who possesses so much of it. But having hope isn’t enough in some situations, and using this same bright thing to blind yourself to what’s actually happening is where we’re all supposed to draw the line. We can’t keep silencing ourselves to the notion that the government is ‘already doing enough’, because the one root of their job is to make sure that the country is meeting its needs, and make sure those needs grow as the nation grows as well. It will always be one of our rights as citizens to make sure that those on top do the right thing for those at the bottom, because one would not reach the top without the support of those at the bottom. Clearly, if one is refusing to do their due, when their due is outright service, something is wrong — and it’s not anyone else’s fault but their.
I, as an individual, truly believe that there will always be a reason to move forward, as life naturally comes by and goes away. But being forced to move forward from being held back due to uncontrolled circumstances is far beyond for anyone, regardless of where they are in a social spectrum. That is not, in itself, resilience at all, but an imposed state of neglect outside one’s self. The problem does not lie within the strong winds of a typhoon, or within any shaking of a damaging tragedy — it lies within the fault of those who should be responsible, and can be seen beyond the mask of false smiles.
