Migration and resettlement

Yesterday’s (Monday) editorial in this paper pointed to an emerging problem in the wake of Supertyphoon “Yolanda”: the growing number of evacuees rendered homeless by the cataclysm, including those who have fled Leyte, Samar and other locales to seek shelter elsewhere and build a new life.

Where have they gone? Cebu officials are said to be mulling the creation of a “tent city” to accommodate the hundreds, if not thousands, who have fled the worst-hit areas and sought refuge in Cebu City and environs. The Pasay City government has also offered temporary accommodations in tent cities to be put up in different locations, but only for 80 families or 400 individuals, “not nearly enough” as the editorial points out.

But we’re only talking about the evacuees who have been duly registered and counted by officials. So many more have made their way to alternative sites without bothering to consult with officials or to have themselves counted. Then there are those left behind, rendered homeless, cobbling together temporary housing from remnants of scrap they collect, or sheltering in churches, schools, gyms and evacuation centers.

And we’re only talking of Leyte and Samar. Other areas were also hit by Yolanda, and it is not inconceivable to imagine many of them fleeing the scenes of devastation and seeking to relocate elsewhere.

As the editorial explains: For the estimated 3.6 million displaced and rendered homeless by Yolanda and living outside of evacuation centers, “the longer it takes for conditions in their areas to stabilize, for relief operations to turn into rehabilitation, the more (they) will decide to leave Palo or Ormoc or Leyte or Guiuan to start over in another place.”

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For many, that “other place” will be either Metro Manila or Cebu, the two biggest urban centers which for decades have been magnets for migrants seeking shelter, livelihood or opportunities long before their hometowns were devastated by Yolanda.

Certainly the local governments in the National Capital Region and in Cebu would do well to brace themselves for the influx of refugees and migrants. This influx will not be in a constant trickle, as it was in the days before Yolanda, but in a flood, as people flee hunger, disease, dislocation and uncertainty, along with criminality.

That means, at the very least, more than a million folk crowding into our already overcrowded cities, further burdening already overburdened public services, from traffic control to garbage management, from water supplies to sewerage, from power supply to public housing.

The solution, of course, starts with getting things back to normal as soon as humanly possible in Tacloban and elsewhere. With Yolanda-hit areas rendered livable once more (Tacloban seemed a most charming city in the few times I was able to visit in the past), the less likely it will be for families to migrate to places where conditions are uncertain and opportunities scarce. I’m sure many residents, once their cities or hometowns rise from the damage, will want to stay or return and start life anew. But relief efforts must be followed soonest by rehabilitation and reconstruction.

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In this we can learn lessons from the “towns” that rose up in Pampanga, Tarlac, Zambales and other areas in the wake of the widespread destruction caused by the eruption of Mt. Pinatubo in June 1991.

I admit I haven’t visited these resettlement sites in quite a while. But I do remember campaigning (for the partylist Abanse! Pinay) in several such townships in 1997, and marveling at how community life had managed to spring up, with neighborhoods organized around a civic center, with, as this paper’s reporter Tonette Orejas cites, “schools, police stations, flea markets, clinics, and day-care centers.”

A disturbing development, though, is that Orejas’ report came out as recently as Oct. 26, 22 years after the eruption and lahar flows had wiped out entire towns in Central Luzon, when Vice President Jejomar Binay distributed land titles in the resettlement sites to 750 settlers. The new land title-holders were living in settlement areas in Mabalacat, Magalang and San Fernando, evacuees from Bacolor, Minalin, and Mabalacat.

Perhaps the fact that it took over two decades for the resettled families to gain titles to their home lots could explain why, in the interim, says Orejas, many residents had “sold or leased (their units) and returned to their original villages.” In the intervening years, almost 15,000 titles have been awarded to residents, but this is but a portion of the more than 48,000 families resettled.

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Another study, published in 2008, cites the need for planners and implementers to consult with future settlers on their particular needs and preferences, otherwise, the result can only end up in a waste of government resources (as residents abandon their resettlement sites) and further dislocation, if not alienation. Proper planning for “resurrecting” Yolanda-hit areas could also lead to a new template for disaster risk reduction and more efficient (and equitable) city and town planning.

This early, may I strongly suggest that women, especially, be consulted on their needs and preferences for new housing, including addressing their needs for security (such as street lighting), and even just the design of kitchens and laundry areas.

Yolanda is not the first, nor will it be the last disaster to strike our shores in these times of environmental upheaval. But there are many lessons out there on how to do things better, and many opportunities to get the voices of survivors heard and heeded.