Every year, the Philippines braces itself for typhoons, with an average of 20 tropical cyclones pummeling the country annually. Yet despite the frequency and relative predictability of these natural catastrophes, it seems the government and its agencies are perpetually unprepared.
When the winds calm and the floods subside, familiar scenes of devastation emerge: homes destroyed, roads flooded, and families displaced. And, unfortunately, so does the finger-pointing among government agencies and officials, each deflecting blame for the lack of preparedness that has, tragically, become a yearly tradition.
One glaring example is the continued mismanagement of flood control funds. Billions are allocated every year to projects aimed at mitigating the impact of typhoons, yet where does this money go?
What we have are cases of misused or underspent funds, leading to half-finished drainage systems, unmaintained flood barriers, and riverbanks in dire need of reinforcement. Instead of functional infrastructure, we’re left with roads that flood (or worse, collapse) after a night of heavy rain and communities that are perilously close to rivers and waterways without adequate protection. The funds are there (or supposed to be), but projects remain either unfinished or poorly executed.
Then there’s the issue of relief goods, a crucial element of any emergency response plan. Despite numerous warnings and ample time to prepare, local relief centers often fall short when it matters most.
Instead of a coordinated response, the distribution of food, water, and medicine is usually delayed and limited. It’s often the Filipino people who step up where the government falls short. Private citizens, NGOs, and corporations rally together to raise funds, donate food, and provide shelter to those affected. They fill the gaps left by government agencies that should be leading the charge, not scrambling to catch up.
But this lack of preparedness isn’t just about typhoon response—it’s a reflection of the broader state of Philippine politics. Leaders may prioritize projects and policies that grab headlines and make them look good (earning “pogi” points), but the less glamorous work of preparing for typhoons and disasters often takes a back seat.
Infrastructure projects that could protect communities are either delayed, underfunded, or compromised by corruption. Short-term political gains take precedence over long-term solutions that could genuinely safeguard people’s lives and homes.
And when things go wrong, what do we see? Politicians deflecting responsibility, blaming bureaucracy, and pointing fingers at other agencies. It’s a game of passing the buck, with little regard for the consequences faced by the people who lose their homes, livelihoods, and loved ones. The same cycle repeats, and instead of accountability and improvement, we get inaction, underscored by the hollow promise that “next time” will be different.
So, as residents of Baguio, Benguet, and beyond, what can we realistically expect?
As it stands, we often find that we can only depend on ourselves and the generosity of our fellow Filipinos. The government’s response, though important, proves insufficient time and again. And unless we demand accountability, this cycle of unpreparedness, mismanagement, and blame will continue.
With typhoons being a natural part of life in the Philippines (further aggravated by climate change), disaster response should be second nature. But as long as political priorities and short-sighted gains overshadow practical solutions, we’ll remain vulnerable, relying on the strength and kindness of ordinary people who understand what it means to endure.
And must we endure ineptitude, dishonesty, and lack of accountability at all?
