This originally appeared in the author’s FB page, dated October 29, 2024. We thank the author for generously sharing his experiences and points of view. He is one of several experts in their fields who have stepped up and are contributing to the drafting of proposals to strengthen disaster risk and recovery governance under Tarabangan Bicol, the disaster volunteer network that has transformed into a DRRM policy formulation community.

Part 1: A Preview of our New Normal

As I write this, the waters from Typhoon Kristine are still receding in Naga City (and very slowly does in nearby towns), leaving behind not just mud and debris, but shattered lives and urgent questions about our future.

Along Peñafrancia Avenue, I visited Tia Rose’s family last night – people I’ve known since my law school days. Their small sari-sari store, once a lifeline for their modest family, was submerged in mud and water. The flood waters rose so rapidly that they couldn’t save anything except a portable generator, which my kumpare desperately carried upstairs, suffering a deep cut in his foot during the rescue. With pharmacies cleaned out of supplies and transport routes to Manila cut off by flooding, his wound remained untreated for days. My heart aches knowing that Tia Rose, already vulnerable because of her heart condition, and their daughter who needs special care for her mental health, were trapped as the waters reached a staggering 9 to 10 feet.

Their story of survival is haunting: no rescuers could reach their community, forcing my kumpare to wade through dangerous waters to his sister’s house in San Felipe just to find food for his family. They went hungry for days. Their neighbors fared even worse. These aren’t just statistics – these are real people, our people, facing the raw brutality of our changing climate…there are thousands of worse stories than theirs…

Recent research has revealed a deeply concerning shift in atmospheric rivers – massive aerial channels of concentrated water vapor that act like rivers in the sky, each carrying roughly the equivalent of the Amazon River’s water flow. Over the last four decades, these atmospheric rivers have shifted 6 to 10 degrees toward the poles. For the Philippines, positioned at the western edge of the Pacific where these atmospheric rivers frequently make landfall, this shift is catastrophic.

Here’s what this means for our country: These shifting patterns are creating what scientists call “new normal” in our weather. When atmospheric rivers collide with our traditional typhoon patterns, they’re supercharging our storms with unprecedented amounts of rainfall. Areas like Naga City, which once had predictable flood patterns, are now seeing rainfall volumes that overwhelm our existing flood control systems. The shift also means that when these atmospheric rivers hit us, they’re carrying more moisture than ever before, leading to the kind of flash flooding that trapped Tia Rose’s family and their neighbors.

For the Philippines, this isn’t just about more rain – it’s about radical changes in how and when that rain falls. Areas that once rarely flooded are becoming inundation zones. Traditional safe zones during typhoons are no longer reliable. Our agricultural calendar, based on generations of weather patterns, is becoming increasingly unpredictable. The rice fields around Naga that feed our communities are facing erratic rainfall patterns that can either drown or parch our crops.

Kristine isn’t just another storm. It’s a preview of our new normal.

To our policymakers: We need more than band-aid solutions. Our current disaster response protocols were designed for a climate that no longer exists. We need comprehensive updates to our early warning systems, evacuation procedures, and infrastructure standards. When atmospheric rivers shift, they don’t just bring more rain – they bring rain in patterns we haven’t prepared for.

To our local government units: Every barangay needs a climate-resilient disaster preparedness plan. The old playbook won’t work anymore. We need elevated evacuation centers, reinforced drainage systems, and community-level emergency response teams trained for these new weather patterns. We need better systems for medicine and food distribution during disasters.

To our volunteers and first responders: Your heroism during Kristine has been inspiring, but you shouldn’t have to be heroes quite so often. We need to equip you with better tools, better training, and better support systems for the challenges ahead.

The science is clear: more Kristines are coming. The atmospheric rivers that feed our typhoons are changing course, promising more extreme weather events, unpredictable rainfall patterns, and greater challenges to our water resources.

Families like Tia Rose’s shouldn’t have to choose between saving a generator or vital medicines. Parents shouldn’t have to risk their lives wading through floodwaters just to feed their children. Communities shouldn’t be left stranded without basic medical supplies.

Let Kristine be our watershed moment. Let it be the storm that finally pushes us to update our disaster preparedness from the barangay level to national policy. Because the next Kristine isn’t a matter of if, but when.

To everyone reading this: Call your local officials. Attend disaster preparedness meetings. Volunteer for training. Share this message. The time for preparation isn’t after the next super typhoon – it’s now.

Part 2: When Rising Waters Break the Economic Backbone

Driving through Naga City’s public market yesterday, the heart of our local economy lies silent. Where vibrant voices once haggled over fresh produce and daily necessities, there is only the sound of water dripping from damaged stalls and the occasional scrape of mud being cleared away. The market, usually teeming with life before sunrise, tells the story of our city’s economic paralysis in the wake of Typhoon Kristine.

Just as the flood waters reached 9-10 feet in areas like Peñafrancia Avenue – where we witnessed Tia Rose’s family nearly lose everything – they also drowned the dreams and daily bread of countless small entrepreneurs. Each empty stall represents more than lost inventory; it represents families facing impossible choices. Many vendors here operate on the five-six lending system, borrowing each morning to stock their stalls, paying back each evening with a little profit to feed their families. Now, with both goods and stalls destroyed, they face crushing debt with no means of recovery.

Our local eateries – the lifeblood of workers, students, and families seeking affordable meals – tell an equally heart-wrenching story. The flood didn’t just take their perishable stock; it destroyed expensive equipment that took years of savings to acquire. Insurance, for most of these small business owners, was always a luxury beyond reach. Now, they’re left wondering how to rebuild from scratch.

The ripple effects touch every corner of our city’s economy. At both public and private schools, where floodwaters climbed to second-floor classrooms, we’re seeing more than just water damage. Years of teacher-developed materials, carefully curated libraries, and essential educational technology are ruined. Each damaged book and water soaked computer represents a setback in our children’s education.

Our healthcare system, already stretched thin, now faces a perfect storm of challenges. While medical professionals work tirelessly in overwhelmed health centers, they’re fighting against a critical shortage of supplies. The disrupted supply chains mean even basic medicines are scarce – a reality that transforms minor health issues into potential crises.

The scene at our evacuation centers reveals another layer of this complex emergency. Traditional community support systems are buckling under unprecedented pressure. Food banks meant to last months are emptied in days. Volunteer networks, though tireless, are overwhelmed by the scale of need.

Perhaps most concerning is the state of our local government resources. The reality is stark: our calamity funds, designed for “normal” disasters, simply cannot match the magnitude of what we’re facing. As one city official confided, speaking on condition of anonymity, “If this is our new normal, our current disaster funding model is unsustainable.”

The impact on our urban poor communities is particularly devastating. Near our riverbanks, families face an impossible dilemma: rebuild in danger zones or face homelessness. Their children’s education has been disrupted for weeks, creating an educational gap that widens with each passing day. The tools and equipment they use for daily survival – earned through years of hard work – now lie rusted and ruined.

This crisis has exposed critical vulnerabilities in our city’s systems.

Our disaster financing mechanisms are woefully inadequate for this new climate reality. Small businesses, the backbone of our local economy, operate without safety nets. Our infrastructure, designed for previous generations’ weather patterns, can’t handle these new challenges.

Yet, within this crisis lies an opportunity – a crucial moment to transform how we approach urban resilience:

We need to reimagine disaster funding to match our new climate reality. This means creating accessible insurance systems for small businesses, updating our building codes to withstand stronger storms, and reforming urban planning guidelines to protect our most vulnerable areas.

At the local government level, we must expand our emergency response capacity, strengthen early warning systems, and develop robust alternative supply chains. Most importantly, we need programs specifically designed to help small businesses recover and rebuild.

Every neighborhood needs its own emergency response team. We need community food security programs that can withstand supply chain disruptions. Local support networks must be strengthened and formalized.

The shifting atmospheric rivers that triggered Kristine’s unprecedented flooding aren’t just a meteorological phenomenon – they’re a wake-up call. Each flooded store, each ruined school supply, each depleted emergency fund tells us the same story: we cannot simply rebuild. We must transform.

The next major storm isn’t a question of if, but when. Our response today will determine whether our city’s economic and social fabric can withstand tomorrow’s challenges. The time to act isn’t after the next disaster – it’s now.

As night falls over our still-recovering city, the lights slowly coming back on in some areas tell a story of resilience. But resilience alone isn’t enough. We need systemic change, innovative solutions, and a complete rethinking of how we build economic resilience in the face of climate change.

For Tia Rose’s family, for our market vendors, for our schoolchildren, for every Nagueño – we must create a future where our city doesn’t just survive these storms, but emerges stronger from them.

Part 3: A City’s Soul Under Water

Walking through Naga City’s flooded streets after Typhoon Kristine feels like navigating through layers of interconnected stories of survival, each one revealing how deeply this disaster has cut into the fabric of our community.

The scene at the several churches tells a story bigger than just another flooded structure. This isn’t just about water-damaged walls and soaked pews. It’s about how our churches – traditionally our strongest bastions during disasters – are themselves overwhelmed. Parish priests are trying to feed thousands with resources meant for hundreds. Church volunteers, many victims themselves, continue serving others while their own homes lie submerged. Their halls, usually alive with prayers, now echo with the voices of displaced families seeking shelter.

At other religious centers across Naga and nearby municipalities, a similar story unfolds. Mosques and Christian churches have opened their doors beyond capacity, their leaders turning holy spaces into emergency shelters while wrestling with damaged facilities and depleted resources. These institutions, which have weathered countless storms through generations, now face unprecedented challenges in their mission to provide spiritual and physical sanctuary.

The transport crisis adds another layer of complexity to our city’s suffering. Jeepney and tricycle drivers, who usually keep our city moving, now stand helpless beside their submerged vehicles. These aren’t just damaged vehicles – they represent lost livelihoods, dreams drowning in floodwater. The few functioning transport routes are overwhelmed, and with bridge approaches damaged and roads compromised, even emergency vehicles struggle to reach those in dire need.

But perhaps the most profound impact is visible in our health sector, where the story of Tia Rose’s family – struggling to find medical care and supplies – multiplies a thousandfold across the city and beyond. Hospitals operating on emergency power are performing a delicate ballet of priorities. Medical staff, many unable to reach their facilities, work extended shifts while dealing with their own flooded homes. The shortage of basic medical supplies, from antibiotics to bandages, turns minor emergencies into major crises.

The mental health toll is perhaps the most invisible yet pervasive impact. Behind every flooded home and lost livelihood lies a deeper wound – the psychological trauma of living through such devastation. Counseling services are disrupted just when they’re needed most, and mental health professionals report a surge in anxiety and depression cases. For families like Tia Rose’s, caring for members with mental health needs becomes an overwhelming challenge when basic survival takes precedence.

Our PWD community faces uniquely harsh challenges. Imagine being dependent on a wheelchair when your streets have become rivers, or requiring regular dialysis when transport systems have collapsed. Special needs equipment, often expensive and essential, lies ruined in flooded homes. Emergency communications systems, rarely designed with PWD accessibility in mind, leave many isolated and vulnerable.

The elderly, another vulnerable sector, face their own battles. Many are trapped in upper floors of their homes, their maintenance medications washed away or spoiled. Their usual caregivers, unable to reach them through flooded streets, worry helplessly from a distance. The familiar challenge of mobility becomes a life-threatening obstacle when every street is a rushing river.

Single-parent households, already walking a tightrope of work and childcare, now face impossible choices. Do they leave their children alone to try to save what’s left of their small businesses? How do they rebuild with no safety net?

For our street dwellers, the crisis is existential. With no permanent shelter to begin with, they’ve lost what little they had to the floods. Many lack the documentation required to access formal aid systems, becoming invisible victims of this calamity.

As I write this, the waters of Kristine are slowly receding, but they leave behind cities and municipalities across Bicol Region grappling with more than physical damage. The shifting atmospheric rivers that scientists warn about aren’t just changing weather patterns – they’re reshaping the very nature of urban survival.

Yet, amidst these cascading crises, we see glimpses of hope:

• Religious leaders of different faiths coordinating relief efforts together
• Healthcare workers setting up mobile clinics in flood-hit areas
• Community mental health volunteers offering psychological first aid
• PWD organizations creating innovative emergency response systems

The YOUTH, ang ating pag-asa ng bayan, comprises the greatest number of volunteers (my children among them), efficiently working day and night, reaching areas and families that the government could not service.

But hope isn’t enough. We need action. We need:

• Emergency protocols that consider every sector’s unique needs
• Infrastructure that protects our most vulnerable
• Communication systems accessible to all
• Healthcare systems with built-in redundancy
• Transport networks designed for climate resilience

The next storm is coming. The atmospheric rivers are shifting. Will we be ready? Will we have built a city/municipality where everyone – from the jeepney driver to the church volunteer, from the PWD to the single parent – has a fighting chance?

This isn’t just about disaster response anymore. This is about reimagining urban resilience through the eyes of our most vulnerable. Because when the waters rise again – and they will – no one should be left behind.

The featured photos dated October 25, 2024 are courtesy of Zalrian Sayat, a photo journalist with the European Press Photo Agency and Filipino Freelance Journalists Guild. He is from Bulan, Sorsogon. The featured header images were captured from the aerial video taken by Rhoem Daduya along the Mabolo, Naga City to Milaor, Camarines Sur route.

About the author

ANGEL R. OJASTRO III is a Professor at the Ateneo de Naga University College of Law and Senior Partner at Ojastro Savilla Savilla & Associates Law Office. He was Undersecretary, Housing and Urban Development Coordinating Council  (HUDCC), Senior Consultant at World Bank in the Philippines, and Senior Policy Consultant at the National Anti-Poverty Commission. He studied Economics at Catanduanes State University.

A follow up article by the author about the formulation of DRRM policy will follow Beyond Kristine: Parts 1-3.