The hazards of giving

The words “hazard" and “giving" are not often used in the same sentence. But on the morning of September 30, 2009, I knew first-hand what a strange mix it indeed was. It had been five days since tropical storm “Ondoy" dumped a month’s worth of rain in six hours, leaving many parts of Metro Manila in a sorry, submerged state. Covering Marikina City and neighboring Rizal province in the last four days, looking for post-“Ondoy" “face" stories, already felt like a year’s worth of heartbreaking stories. We reporters were taught to maintain an emotional distance from the subjects we cover. But the devastation we were made to cover was too much. And like dams, we have our spilling levels. My assignment was a relief distribution effort in Sitio Nagpayong in Barangay Pinagbuhatan, Pasig City. The city I knew mainly for its malls and the Ortigas business district was one of the areas badly hit by “Ondoy." We tagged along the city government’s relief operations team, aboard a 6X6 military truck loaded with goods for the flood victims. On the way to the area, I knew I was in for a good story. Sitio Nagpayong, bordering the towns of Taytay and Cainta in Rizal, was a depressed area and perennially flood-prone. On top of that, help was on its way for the first time in five days. So I kept my eyes wide open for possible angles. Should I go for another tear jerker? Or should I lighten up a bit? After all, it had been five days of crying. A brief light moment wouldn’t hurt. The sitio was 10 kilometers away from the control base of the relief operations at Eusebio High School. The truck passed through roads where people waded through knee to waist-deep floods. And so I told my ever reliable cameraman Kim Sorra to watch out for creative modes of transport. “If it floats, then chances are you will find it in Pasig" was the mid-spiel running in my head. Kim’s lens captured all that I needed: People on top of banana trunks tied together to form a makeshift raft. A floating rickshaw made up of plastic drums, a chair and a beach umbrella, manned by two chiseled bodies. Like cars, flood transport instantly had trims and variants. Economy and business class. Clever. But that did not prepare me for what lay ahead. Our truck cruised through the flooded streets, until it was getting harder and harder for us to proceed. Seeing that the truck carried relief goods, people blocked our way. But the goods were not for them—yet. Journalists often encounter images that stand out and tell a story. What I saw were some of them. Instantly, I knew that my AV (audio-video package) would be full of ironic images. Some people were selling stuff, but no one had the money to buy. People wanted to go back to work and make money, but couldn’t. People did not want to overcharge others for extraordinary transport services, but had to compensate for their own needs. So the truck went on, literally inching its way through the streets to reach its destination. We finally made our way to Sitio Nagpayong. The water was waist deep. Down I went, hoping to get the killer sound bites — audio clips from interviewees that drive home the point. The best sound bites came when the first of about 800 relief bags were given out. People were restless, even rowdy. Gutom. Hungry. Representatives of the city government, with Army escorts, tried to put some order into the distribution. But after a while, everyone knew it was impossible. It was then that I felt panic. People swarmed our truck, climbing from all directions. For a moment there, I thought they could turn the truck over. Some of them were pleading to be given one bag. But most had that determined look of a person who had been reduced to his most basic instincts. It was then that I realized that giving is not as easy as it seems.
“Ano nga ba ang batayan ng pamimigay ng tulong? Edad ba? Kasarian ba? Paano kung lahat sila, ilang araw nang nakikipagtuos sa lamig, pagod, uhaw at gutom?" my script read. (How does one set a standard in giving? What will you consider? Age? Gender? What if all of them had been contending for days with the cold, fatigue, hunger and thirst?) Amid the chaos, I had to ask one of the soldiers who were busy passing bag after bag of goods to outreached hands. He told me, "Tayo na po umintindi. Kawawa naman sila. Nagugutom na sila e!" As reporters, we should maintain a safe, detached distance from the story—to facilitate our impartiality and insulate us from emotion. But I was not able to steel myself against that sea of hungry people, their eyes burning with eagerness to grab whatever was within reach. There was an old woman slugging it out with others in the waiting crowd. When a bag thrown at the throng landed near her, she held it with all her might, as if her very survival depended on it. There were many others like her, old people pounding the truck’s sides, begging. There were burly men cajoling. Some even carried small children. When I could no longer ignore the hands and fingers poking my sides, asking for a bag, I grabbed some and gave them away. We all felt safe as soon as we handed out the last bag of goods. That day, I probably handed out 50 bags, fed 50 families. But I disappointed at least 50 more families. In the end, we didn’t have enough to give. - GMANews.TV