In Talisay, a rural town in the northeastern Philippines, Raynaldo Dejucos asked his wife and children to stay safe indoors during a storm, worrying about common hazards like lightning or slippery roads. But landslides weren’t on his mind. For Talisay’s 40,000 residents, landslides had never been a concern in their lifetime. Yet, when Dejucos left home last Thursday to check his fish cages in nearby Lake Taal, a mudslide suddenly cascaded down a steep ridge, burying about a dozen homes, including his.
Talisay, situated about 70 kilometers south of Manila, was one of several towns devastated by Tropical Storm Trami, the deadliest of the 11 storms to hit the Philippines this year. The storm left a path of destruction, killing or displacing over 5.9 million people across northern and central provinces before heading toward Vietnam across the South China Sea. In Talisay, Dejucos’s wife was breastfeeding their 2-month-old baby when the disaster struck, and his children huddled together on their bed. “I was calling out their names repeatedly – ‘Where are you? Where are you?’” Dejucos said, now mourning in a municipal gym where five white coffins held his entire family.
The catastrophe highlights a worsening reality for the Philippines, considered one of the world’s most disaster-prone nations. Each year, about 20 storms barrel through its archipelago of over 7,600 islands, some with immense force. Along with frequent typhoons, the country’s location in the Pacific “Ring of Fire” makes it vulnerable to earthquakes and volcanic eruptions. Many poor communities are pushed to settle in risky areas, such as landslide-prone mountains, active volcano slopes, or coastal zones. During a recent conference, UN Assistant Secretary-General Kamal Kishore warned that escalating disasters in Southeast Asia, exacerbated by climate change, could disrupt the region's progress unless governments invest more in disaster prevention.
The picturesque resort town of Talisay lies just north of Taal Volcano, one of the country’s 24 active volcanoes. The fertile lands surrounding Taal are both a tourist attraction and a source of livelihood for poor settlers like Dejucos, who have flocked to the area over the decades. Its villages have grown up along a ridge with an average height of 600 meters. Fernan Cosme, a 59-year-old village councilor, mentioned that the ridge had never caused major concerns, with most residents focusing on Taal Volcano’s unpredictability. Taal's last eruption in 2020 forced the evacuation of thousands and even shut down Manila’s main international airport due to ashfall. But this time, it was the landslide that claimed lives unexpectedly.
Kervin de Torres, a carpenter, had hoped his daughter Kisha could live somewhere safer. However, his wife, who had since separated from him, had bought a house near the Talisay ridge, where Kisha stayed. She was buried by the landslide while her mother survived. On Saturday, de Torres stood by as police and volunteers dug through the debris with backhoes, recovering a black body bag containing the remains of his daughter.
Other villagers, like Doris Echin, faced close calls. She barely escaped the landslide, carrying her two daughters as mud engulfed her home. Now, standing by her half-buried hut, she wonders where her family will go. “If we relocate, where will we get the money to build a new house? Which employer will give us jobs?” she asked. “If we stay, we’ll be living between a volcano and a crumbling mountain.”
(This story has been slightly reworked from an auto-generated PTI feed.)
