How do you dramatize the global crisis on food? On environment destruction? On climate change?
This question lingered in the mind like a hangover from drinking too much tuba after I passed by the Coastal Road recently on my way to visit a relative in Las Pinas. What I saw at the Manila Bay coastline had me truly alarmed. Underneath the lush mangrove forest that had miraculously repopulated the once barren coast and which now act as protective cover from the harsh wind and the raging waves are trash—plastic trash—that threaten to suffocate whatever marine life that thrives beneath.
From afar, it is invisible to the naked eye. But the greenery is deceptive. Come close and you will see how garbage—tons of it—float idly by and cover the water surface, in effect barring any sunshine through.
This reminds me, once again, of the trash that undisciplined ship passengers and even more undisciplined port residents heap—ging babalibang in Asi--upon the once pristine waters of our ports in Romblon, Magdiwang, Odiongan, Cajidiocan, Looc, and in fact, in almost all coastal places in the country.
Hapak is the Asi adjective for someone who seems to throw just anything around, someone who can’t keep order, particularly of personal things. The Tagalog term is burara, but I prefer because it captures best what many Filipinos—and, sorry, some Romblomanons—are: hapak.
Throwing just anything around off as thrash without regard for its dire consequences is the culprit in the degradation of the environment, certainly in the accumulation of garbage in the waters of Manila Bay. And since the trash—broken bottles, Styrofoam food containers, plastic wrappers, etc. are not quickly noticeable under the Coastal Road vegetation, there is no effort whatsoever to clean them up. They remain there as I write, invariably contributing to the pollution of the environment.
This is not all. Side by side with the trash along the coastline exists another reality: extreme poverty. Thousands of families, certainly small fisherfolk whose livelihoods are tied up to the generosity of the sea, have built and live in makeshift hovels along the coastline.
I don’t worry much about these huts of very light materials being an eyesore. I worry more about the inhabitants living in them. A light rain, or a mild storm, can decimate these houses, exposing the occupants to the elements, but no one, not the government, seemed to care. The government, with its priorities tied up with some other matters, certainly does not seem to worry what or if they eat either. And given the sky high prices of food, one can assume that these poor citizens can’t afford to buy sufficient or nutritious meals to survive.
The Asi term for poor is kubos. There are also many kubos in Romblon, but because of the size of the population and the rural make-up of the provincial economy, the kubos in our province could be described as relatively well off than their counterparts along the Coastal Road or elsewhere.
The kubos in Romblon are not so desperately poor that they would build huts along the coast. At least they own small patches of land on which their houses stand and which they could cultivate to some crops and vegetables. They are poor, though, in the social and technical definition of the phenomenon for they don’t have safe water and enough food, no access to affordable healthcare, and cannot send their children to school.
This brings to mind the suggestion of Malaya publisher Amado Macasaet who wrote that in these times of surging food prices, Filipinos must be creatively industrious to be able to survive. He was suggesting that we plant more to be able to eat.
He has a point. Really, we have so many jobless people sitting idly by on idle lands. We are not really working, contrary to the prevalent notion that we are very industrious as a people. In Taiwan, where I had the privilege of studying as a scholar of the Taiwan government a few years ago, not so much land lay idle and uncultivated or not planted to something edible or used for something productive. Idle lands in many countries are taxed higher, whereas in the Philippines, idle lands are used as garbage dumps or even dumping grounds of victims of vendetta killings.
Katamhoy is the Asi adjective for lazy. In these times when oil prices are bursting through the roof, our leaders are demonstrating extreme katamhoyan in not exploring alternative source of fuel to mitigate the wide-ranging impact of high oil prices in the lives of the people.
Luckily, a Filipino scientist has come up with a novel discovery that yumot—the ubiquitous green algae that grows anywhere where there is stagnant water, has the potential of an alternative oil source. There is oil in yumot, the scientist whose name escapes the mind at the moment, said, and we must study and explore how to exploit this possibility and put the results to good use.
Yumot is ignored in Romblon and everywhere else as a nuisance. If a fishing boat is yumuton, chances are its owner is tamhoyan and not using the boat as often as he should.
Yumuton ka igot is an Asi metaphor for someone who is lazy or sampidaton, the Asi term for a slow-to-move, slow-to-react guy. If the sea is yumuton, it’s polluted most likely, and marine life is scarce. The coastline of the Manila Bay is so full of yumot that it is unsightly—kadupit--or even unhealthy to swim in its waters.
Now that the scientist’s discovery had been made public, we ought to reconsider our attitude toward theI yumot. Sa yumot yaki ay de yaman if this discovery proves to be true.
So if this article inspires you, roll up your sleeves. Baghutan nang katamhuyan, tanom ag punpunon nang likot agor indi ig yumuton ka igot.
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