Readings for the rainy days
THE RAINS last week brought about by Tropical Storm “Falcon” and the southwest monsoon or habagat opened our eyes to things that had quietly come our way recently and at the same time reminded us of things we have yet to do, among them, to definitively solve the flooding problem that has been haunting us for centuries.
Pagasa surprisingly gave advance and accurate weather bulletins that seemed to have restored the “fore” in “forecast.” The Department of Education cancelled on Thursday evening Friday’s classes for the primary and secondary schools in the National Capital Region (it used to call off classes only after the kids had left for school). When the waters did come, those in flood-prone areas had willingly sought refuge in well-stocked evacuation centers, no longer worried about the availability of adequate food and water during their temporary stay. Human casualty did not seem as heavy as it used to be in previous storms.
At the same time, we were reminded by the Metropolitan Manila Development Authority that to blame for the floods, too, besides Friday’s 147.3 millimeters of rain (14 times the daily average of 10 mm recorded every June), were the clogged drainage systems, unfinished road repairs and diggings in our mega city. And, if I may add, our inability to manage the growth of settlements in our cities that now teem with structures that impede the flow of the waters to the sea.
This state of unmanaged urban growth, which is seen also in the favelas of Brazil, the kampungs in Indonesia, the katchi abadis in Pakistan, and wherever else life is devoid of basic human services, is due to what is known as “urban informality,” a mode of living by huge numbers that disregards norms mandated by the law and the social order. And because this way of existence thrives on the outside, the life lived therein is marked by various degrees of extreme deprivation, such as families confined in very limited space, potable water hardly available, energy supply very meager, bad roads prevalent, and infrastructure for sewage disposal sorely inadequate. The lot of having to wallow in flood waters is on the list, too.
Economists debate among themselves the whys and wherefores of “urban informality” in their typically boring facts and figures, but fortunately for the rest of us, we get a chance to see the face of urban informality in excellent volume of text and pictures entitled, “Lungsod Iskwater.” Subtitled “The Evolution of Informality as a Dominant Pattern in Philippine Cities,” the book, which was put together by the Luis A. Yulo Foundation for Sustainable Development Inc. early this year, traces the formation of informal settlements from pre-Spanish times through the Spanish and American regimes and all the way to the post-independence years, interrupted for a while by the Marcos dictatorship, and into the Erap and GMA eras.
With this chronology as base, it proceeds to detail the human difficulties attendant to an informal settlement, its physical deficiencies, economic structure, directions of development. The final chapters give its history, design, economics, and an account of the recent efforts at amelioration on the part of both the government and NGOs.
“The thrust of Lungsod Iskwater tempts the reader to abandon hope for the flooding solution on the thinking that, because informal settlements have always been out of control, then for us all, in the end, all is lost.
As antidote, I recommend yet another book also published last year: “Where the Children Are.” This book by Gizela M. Gonzalez tells of the aspirations of 10 children in various places in the country. Aninia of Bentangan, North Cotabato, dreams of becoming a teacher of the children of her tribe. Rachelle, living with her family in Bagbag Cemetery, Caloocan City, talks of her dream house of two stories with a garden of potted plants. Hoping to be a doctor someday, Jelwin, staying with his grandmother in Lumban, Laguna, spends hours embroidering his own designs on piña cloth that is to be sewn into barong tagalogs. Paul of Payatas, Quezon City, wants to be a policeman.
They, together with sisters Rochelle and Releonor who string sampaguita garlands that they sell in Manila, Simon who plays the violin under the tutelage of Coke Bolipata in Casa San Miguel, Nelson, a Badjao living with his people by the sea, blind from birth Aaron and also blind schoolmate Czarinah of Ramon Magsaysay High School, and others hold our liberation from our self-inflicted scourge of urban informality.
The rains may come and soak their clothes, the floods may rage to chill their feet, but in their soft faces, bearing though they do the marks of society’s kindless hurts, are eyes that glow with the will and want to live in a better future and a better life.
