This partner, Dee, and I were making plans for Valentine’s. We were arguing about who to spend the day with. Dee and I have celebrated the past three Valentine’s together, so I figured I could spend this year’s Valentine’s with another partner, Rane, who I’ve been with for almost a year now.

But Dee has a thing for specific dates. Things like Christmas on December 25, or Valentine’s on February 14, etc., mean a lot to her. I suggested celebrating “our own Valentine’s” on a different day so that I could celebrate the 14th with Rane instead. And Dee was open to the idea.

“But I honestly can’t say I’m totally okay with not celebrating the 14th with you,” she said.

Dee explained that she was happy about how we spent the last three Valentine’s.

“I’m confident we will celebrate another Valentine’s in the future,” she said. “But this is just me sharing my honest feelings. I’d prefer if we could celebrate on the actual 14th.”

I thought for a moment.

“What if none of us celebrate on the 14th? So it’s fair for everyone and there are no resentments.”

Dee pouted. She wouldn’t be happy with that at all. Then, her face lit up.

“Or, you can just invite her to spend it with both of us,” she said. “If she’s okay with it, then I’m good too.”

I raised an eyebrow. Dee and Rane know each other and are on relatively good terms. But with their contrasting personalities, they never hang out.

Rane likes to wear light-colored frilly dresses in the gothic, Lolita-core fashion. She’s soft-spoken, demure, and into sewing and cute cafés. Dee, on the other hand, prefers to pursue the eradication of human rights problems. She sports either artsy or corporate aesthetics. And she’s not soft-spoken or demure at all. “Strong-willed” would be more suitable.

“I’ll ask Rane,” I said.

“No,” Rane answered later, when I asked. “I’d prefer to spend Valentine’s with you only.” She explained that, as long as it’s within February, she’d be happy to celebrate on any other day. “I don’t put weight on the actual day,” she said.

Finally, the Valentine’s dilemma is solved! I tell Dee that we can have the 14th together.

“What makes you think I don’t have a date with another person on that day?” She demurred. “ASK me to be your Valentine. Then, I’ll CONSIDER it!”

“Okay. Will you be my — “

“Actually, never mind that,” Dee interrupted. “Let’s avoid the man-asks-girl norm. I’ll be the one to ask.” She paused for dramatic effect. “Will you be my valentine?”

I smiled. “I shall be your February 14th valentine, yes.”

“By the way, if Eira doesn’t have a date, would you be okay spending Valentine’s with her too?”

“Of course,” I replied.

Eira is Dee’s girlfriend. The three of us share, for the lack of a better term, a throuple-ish dynamic when together. I met Eira two years ago, but she and Dee spend more time together. Recently, Eira started seeing someone new, and it wouldn’t be surprising if she chose to spend Valentine’s with her new partner instead.

In ethical non-monogamy, there’s a term for this: New Relationship Energy. It carries the risk of unintentionally neglecting other partners. And it’s something that individuals in polyamorous relationships must learn to navigate. Honest and open communication is crucial, as it is in any relationship.

Hence the lengthy Valentine’s talks. We always want to avoid resentment, which is the silent killer of relationships, whether monogamous or ethically non-monogamous.

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Our conversations weren’t always this smooth. Back when Dee, Rane, and I just started, we’d often have fights. The biggest lesson I learned from handling multiple relationships is, strangely, how to understand a partner’s “Personal Vocabulary.”

Words have a dictionary meaning. But people also attach their own interpretations, biases, and connotations to different words. This forms their Personal Vocabulary. When people get together without understanding each other’s Personal Vocabulary, that’s when relationship problems arise. Or so I’ve learned the hard way.

For example, when Rane says, “It’s okay,” I often have to probe deeper because that phrase can be synonymous with, “I don’t really like it. But I don’t dislike it enough to reject it outright.” This is important when we’re deciding things like ordering an expensive salmon steak. It would be a waste to spend so much on something we didn’t love enough to eat.

Dee, meanwhile, has no problem expressing her dislike through groans and facial cues. She sometimes does that whenever I order a healthy, vegetarian dish for both of us, after a weekend of cholesterol- and calorie-rich debauchery.

Eira. Well. She eats anything and everything. Among all of us, she has the biggest appetite. Probably because she’s the youngest. She’s also the tallest and longest-limbed. She loves vanilla-scented perfumes because, according to her, “It’s the only thing vanilla about me.”

And so went the planning.

Rane and I celebrated Valentine’s on the 10th and 11th, a weekend. We did things we haven’t yet tried despite being together for almost a year: Watching Quentin Tarantino’s Pulp Fiction, playing the Unstable Unicorns card game, bowling. She gave me chocolates and I gave her flowers and a cake from the bakery she likes. For dinner, I cooked salmon steak. We had wine and cheese. We read manga in bed.

February 14 is a Wednesday. Which means Dee has morning work and evening classes. We scheduled an early dinner at a local chef’s house. Terrace seats so we can watch the sunset too. I ordered a custom daffodil-designed cake from a friend. We can have that with our wine and cheese, after her classes. Then I’d gift her a book for the first time: Edith Nesbit’s The Railway Children, hardcover edition. I know she’d enjoy it. If Eira is free that day, she could join us.

Friends often wonder if it’s pricey to have multiple partners. Last Christmas, I splurged on multiple gifts, and now I’m shelling out for multiple Valentine’s. Here’s my answer: it depends on the people involved. Neither my partners nor I are into fancy jewelry, gadgets, or designer clothes. Most of our date budget goes towards food, transportation, and accommodation (for out-of-town trips). These expenses might be a bit above average, but we also earn above average compared to the median income in our city. In a way, we’re simply living within our means.

I’ve been in both short-term and long-term monogamous relationships. And I can say that my partners and I function like any other monogamous couple. We have, roughly, the same issues, concerns, jealousies, even fights.

The only difference is that there is more than one person involved. That’s it, really. That’s what it’s like to celebrate Valentine’s with multiple partners. – Rappler.com

John Pucay, 28, is a full-time writer from Baguio City. His novel on 2020s dating and sex, Karinderya Love Songs, was named a Fully Booked Reading Allies’ Favorite Read of 2022. He writes about relationships, life, polyamory, and running. More details at johnpucay.com. Send him your thoughts at john@johnpucay.com

For one, it was impossible then to have my husband beside me; instead, I was in a room of PPE-clad health professionals, total strangers witnessing my life’s most momentous occasion after a 21-hour ordeal of “Will we cut her open, or will we not?” (They ended up cutting me open.) I also wanted to see my baby and hold her as soon as she came out; instead, I passed out, resorting to viewing photos hours after, thanks to the kind anesthesiologist who sought my permission to take my phone right before the procedure. Lastly, they asked me what I had wanted to hear in the delivery room; I requested Yo-Yo Ma and his cello, but they played Boyce Avenue covers instead. Indeed, a woman can’t have it all.

I named my daughter Hiraya: a name that already came up in Messenger conversations years before she was even conceived, between me and my then-boyfriend, now husband and father of my child. We already knew deep in our hearts that this was the name we wanted for the child we wanted to have in the far, far future. Sources say that her name is in archaic Filipino, which translates to, “fruition of our heart’s deepest desires.” Her dad and I were also no strangers to a popular TV show which also has her name; it says, “May your wishes be granted!” And she did exactly that.

Being mother to Hiraya has changed me in ways I did not think possible. For one, the pregnancy came as a surprise. I had ambivalence towards being a mother, having claimed that I was okay not to have a child. Having Hiraya was the Universe’s way of telling me that it was a lie and perhaps I was, indeed, meant to be a mother. While motherhood did not come to me naturally right away – especially in the first few weeks of dealing with breastfeeding (Really? It wasn’t just a matter of sticking it out and giving it to my baby?), postpartum blues, nursing my own Cesarean wounds while nursing and rocking my daughter to sleep, and coping with the help of BTS songs and videos – I have learned to embrace it.

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Sometimes I sit with it to talk with it and understand its challenges. I had to fight for who I was – or whoever I thought I was – while also embracing the new reality of being responsible for another human being. I had to accept this new person born out of the person for whom I gave birth – organs displaced and then rearranged to give way to something bigger than myself.

Clearly, neither playbook nor my diplomas could have prepared me for the sheer amount of courage and love I had overnight. I was floored with all the love I suddenly could muster – especially as one who almost always just thought about herself. I also found myself capable of carrying a heavy mental load both at home and at work. Everything I did, in one form or another, became related to her and was made possible because of her: promotions, a new home, and the audacity to have big, big dreams. I made sure to check developmental checklists. I made sure her vaccinations were on time. I made sure she had enough ground to cover as she learned how to walk. I did what I could within my capacity. That said, it can be taxing, but as I read somewhere, “Parenting is hard for the good ones.”

It helps that motherhood in the 21st century has its own set of unique perks. There are a plethora of support pages. On Instagram, there are accounts solely devoted to helping mothers realize that they are not alone and they are not being bad mothers for feeling depleted and delighted at the same time. As I learn to be a mother without my own mother, I can only look back on how it was for me and my Mama; not once did I hear her complain. I did grow up in the ’90s though, rife with its baby commercials that perhaps might have given me the wrong impression that it was easy and peaceful, filled with background music of some angelic nursery rhyme’s orchestral version. As I discover, it is far from that – as it is demanding, noisy, and messy – but never have I felt this kind of fulfillment, too. I dare say that motherhood also made me a better person, a better leader, and a better partner. 

With its many iterations, I have also learned that no form of motherhood is better than the other; no one is easier than the other. It may sound condescending – coming from me, a working mother – but I know it in my heart to be true, holding all mothers in high regard. I know how it is like to wrestle with contradictions and guilt as we long for a semblance of normalcy in the everyday. There are mothers more skilled than I am who are at home, while there are mothers like me working so hard while wishing for more time with their sons and daughters. 

On another important note, today exists the widely contested version of motherhood, with its extended babysitter: The Screen. Parents nowadays are divided with regard to its use, while parents then only had the good old TV with no Cocomelons and Teacher Rachels. We know it: more health professionals have started to correlate the impact of screen time on children’s development. We also know it: being parents is hard enough; we should not judge what others decide to do. The Screen, at least for us, turned out to be a flaw.

In January this year – a few months away from her third birthday – my husband and I had to receive the difficult news that my daughter has Global Developmental Delay. While she is adept in many areas of development (cognitive, adaptive), there are gaps in her speech development. There are also behavioral challenges, such as stranger anxiety, that we had to address.

Suddenly, I found myself booking appointments with an inclusive preschool, an occupational therapist, and a speech therapist. We had to rethink our routines at home. The iPad had to be dead, and tantrums we thought long gone were resurrected. And just like when she was born, new forms of guilt and self-doubt engulfed me as I still tried to hold on to silver linings. I questioned myself if I was responsible for the delay, even if I knew all other related factors. I regretted all the times I gave her a screen just to have a few more minutes of sleep. Did I do this to my child? Should I have stayed at home? There were so many decisions I replayed in my head and for a while, in the midst of frantic search for resources and answers, I still could not be initially consoled by testimonies and pieces of evidence that the interventions do work. Even the developmental pediatrician told us, “Good job kayo” for having the initiative to have her. Did we, really?

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It is good that everything I have shared above – in this essay of motherhood I will continue to write through life – gives me grace to be kind to myself. I have done what I can and I will continue to do what I can, considering I have the best support system. That said, I think of all the mothers who may want to get help, but do not know where to start. I think of all the mothers who had to give up something for their child. I think of all the mothers with no support systems. I think of all the mothers who are raising their child on their own. Without invalidating my own struggles, I think of all the mothers who may have even bigger struggles. 

Because while this era may have its perks, it is also hard to be a parent in a day and age when comparison is too easy due to social media and when there is too much information to digest. It seems so easy for others to take what one said differently or take a quick peek at your feed and feel like they know you even when they don’t. You work – you are questioned; you stay at home – you are questioned. You gain weight – they say you’ve failed to take care of yourself, even as you face the gargantuan task of parenting. I think there is so much more the world can do beyond these erroneous and harsh assumptions; there is so much kindness and strength it needs, especially from mothers who know how to empower others.

For now, what I do know is that there might be some delay in my daughters’ skills, but in the delay, there is a lot of development. I find myself more conscious about how I spend my time with her, given the limited period of time outside work hours and during weekends. I find my husband and I communicating more with each other regarding how best to support our daughter. I find myself more aware, more empathetic, and more open towards the plight of others, especially those whom I might have dismissed so easily when I did not know any better. I find myself less judgmental and more discerning, less impulsive and more patient. 

Because of this delay, we are being developed into even better, more compassionate versions of ourselves; we get to pause and reflect on what is most essential. See, my daughter did that – and I know she can do so much more as we catch up and equip her with the best possible care we can give. And while I may not really have it all, it’s okay, for my daughter has given me so much more. – Rappler.com

Ryza Martinez-Solaña, 33, is a senior manager and school-based administrator for PHINMA Education, a network of schools in the Philippines and in Indonesia.

Undoubtedly, teachers will inevitably come under scrutiny, as much of the issue may be attributed to the quality of teaching. However, the quality of teachers is contingent upon the caliber of teacher education institutions responsible for producing graduates who will join the educational system as teachers.

In its first report for the year 2023, the 2nd Philippine Congressional Commission on Education (EDCOM II) highlighted, among various considerations, the imperative of harmonizing policies and programs across key educational bodies. Specifically, the report underscores the necessity of synergy among critical stakeholders responsible for regulating and shaping teacher education in the country. These stakeholders include the Commission on Higher Education (CHED), which establishes the minimum requirements for teacher education institutions offering programs; the Professional Regulation Commission (PRC), tasked with overseeing the licensing of teachers teaching at the elementary and secondary levels; and the Department of Education, the largest employer of teachers.

Examining the performance in licensure examinations, the Professional Regulation Commission has noted a concerning trend, stating that the passing rates of the Board Licensure Examination for Professional Teachers (BLEPT) are consistently lower compared to other professional board examinations. Over the period from 2010 to 2022, individuals taking the Bachelor of Elementary Education (BEEd) consistently achieved the lowest passing rates among all professional board examinations, with only around one-third of takers successfully passing the exams. Simultaneously, those taking the Bachelor of Secondary Education (BSEd) fared slightly better, yet the data still indicates that less than half of the candidates demonstrated the requisite qualifications to become teachers (Philippine Business for Education, 2023, p. 10). This concerning pattern raises critical questions about the efficacy of teacher education programs and the readiness of graduates entering the teaching profession.

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Are Teacher Education Institutions (TEIs) effectively equipping future educators with the necessary skills for the demands of the basic education system? Or is the Department of Education, instead of receiving well-prepared teachers, consistently faced with the challenge of re-training a continuous influx of ill-prepared teachers to meet basic requirements? Despite the Department of Education’s ongoing teacher development initiatives, such programs operate more as corrective measures when TEIs persist in producing graduates who fall short of the required competence. This prompts the crucial question: What preventive measures are in place to break this recurring cycle and ensure a stream of adequately prepared educators from TEIs?

While Teacher Education Institutions (TEIs) may bear some accountability for the issue of ill-prepared teachers, regulators must also assess their role. After all, teacher education functions as one interconnected ecosystem. Take, for instance, the Commission on Higher Education (CHED), which has delineated the Policies, Standards, and Guidelines (PSG) for Bachelor in Elementary Education (BEEd), Bachelor of Secondary Education (BSEd), and Bachelor in Early Childhood Education (BECEd) through Memorandum Circulars No. 74, 75, and 76 respectively. Despite ongoing reforms by the Department of Education aimed at enhancing Teacher Quality and the basic education curriculum, CHED has yet to conduct a comprehensive review or revision of its PSGs issued in 2017.

It’s crucial to recognize that the transformative impact of the pandemic, which began in 2020, has accelerated changes in learning delivery methods. This underscores the urgent need to overhaul the teacher education curriculum, aligning it with contemporary needs, and integrating technology effectively. Meanwhile, the Profession Regulation Commission (PRC) is responsible for licensing elementary and secondary level teachers. However, there is a gap as there is no licensing examination for early grades teachers. This gap persists because RA 7836, enacted in 1994, which prescribes licensure examinations for teachers, has not been reviewed and updated to align with the reforms instituted by the Department of Education.

Regulatory policies, by their nature, require time to adapt, which can potentially impede the agility of Teacher Education Institutions (TEIs) to respond promptly and effectively. Given the imperative for a radical shift in the education ecosystem, the regulatory framework must pivot towards incentivizing high-performing TEIs to innovate, enabling them to adjust their programs without being constrained by compliance requirements. After all, quality should stand as the sole criterion. 

To ensure that education systems are adequately prepared for the future, fostering an innovation mindset is paramount. Rather than solely emphasizing compliance, our regulators should actively promote and support innovation within the education sector. This requires a shift towards deregulation, allowing for greater flexibility and creativity in educational practices and policies. – Rappler.com

Dr. Feliece I. Yeban is a teacher-educator and professor of Human Rights Education at the Philippine Normal University. She is one of the recipients of the 2023 UP President Edgardo J. Angara Fellowship researching on education access as one of the priority areas of the 2nd Philippine Commission on Education (EDCOM II).

BARMM communities have long struggled with armed groups, clan tensions, natural resource depletion, and poverty. Climate hazards like typhoons, flooding, and drought threaten livelihoods and contribute to resource scarcity. These overlapping stressors occur while a fragile peace process occurs in hopes of stabilizing the region. 

Limited resources constrain the ability of the BARMM’s transitional government, the BTA, to respond to climate impacts. The transition period will end in 2025 with elections that could shape the region’s future stability. So, the BTA must consider climate change now. 

To better understand the risks posed by both conflict and climate change in the region, humanitarian, climate, and peace experts recently convened at a workshop organized by the Harvard Humanitarian Initiative and Mindanao State University-Iligan Institute of Technology in Iligan City, Mindanao to discuss climate change impacts on conflict dynamics and how collaboration across sectors is key to solutions moving forward. Their insights offer lessons for BARMM governance and support for vulnerable communities. 

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Context matters 

One of the key issues highlighted at the workshop was the political, economic, social, cultural, and environmental differences within the BARMM that must be taken into account when addressing climate change, and environmental and conflict impacts. 

For example, Maguindanao is dealing with violent land disputes over the Ligawasan Marsh, which is home to a rich biodiversity of species that supports the livelihoods of more than 300,000 people. Illegal fishing, deforestation, development of agricultural land, dumping of solid waste, and a changing climate threatens the marsh’s resources which could impact livelihoods and increase the potential for unemployed youth to join non-state armed groups.  

Lanao del Sur and communities around Lake Lanao face displacement, poverty, and resource depletion from large-scale conflicts like the Marawi siege and rido or clan feuds, as well as climate change impacts. The lake, which provides key resources and livelihoods, is at risk of depletion from climate change, illegal mining, and logging. While the Ranaw Development Authority aims to protect Lake Lanao’s resources, all contextual factors must be considered regarding the simultaneous impacts of conflict, degradation, and climate change. 

Although both provinces face intersecting challenges, the contexts and risks vary greatly between them, requiring different policy and practice approaches. Furthermore, a community’s individual experience of the compounding challenges must be understood to adequately address them. One-size-fits-all solutions will not work given the contextual differences of the BARMM. 

A need for community-level data 

Speaking of communities and contextualization, government policies and NGO programs require an understanding of local attitudes, concerns, and aspirations related to these issues. Gaining insights directly from communities across the BARMM can fill knowledge gaps and provide information on how residents perceive and experience overlapping climate and conflict risks. This local, community-level approach would ensure policies and interventions do not exacerbate vulnerabilities or tensions.  

Unfortunately, climate data is limited in the BARMM, hindering informed decision-making of government and humanitarian actors. Without reliable local evidence, well-intended actions could harm communities or be ineffective. 

To adequately address BARMM’s complexity, decision-makers must use community-level data to consider how climate impacts intersect with peace-building and resource sustainability. This contextualized information from impacted areas is needed for effective and equitable responses. 

In addition, collaboration across sectors that is inclusive of women, indigenous peoples, people living with disabilities, and religious leaders is needed in the shaping of development policy and programming. Key stakeholders from local government, humanitarian and development agencies, climate and environmental professionals, and peace-building efforts must be sensitive to one another’s work and approaches to avoid inadvertently exacerbating local conflict dynamics. Holistic solutions are needed. 

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The way forward 

With elections looming in 2025, the BTA has a critical window to establish climate-sensitive foundations for lasting peace. But community-level, evidence-based, collaborative action is urgently needed. This is crucial especially that the communities’ safety and livelihoods depend on the support they get and their own ability to cope with intensifying and intersecting climate, conflict, and environmental risks. Thus, understanding local realities through data and inclusive dialogue should shape how the BARMM government addresses this complex challenge for a future that is stable, at the very least. – Rappler.com

Kendra Sterneck is a Graduate Research Assistant of the Program on Resilient Communities at the Harvard Humanitarian Initiative (HHI) and a Master of Public Health student at the Harvard T.H. Chan School of Public Health. 

Vincenzo Bollettino, PhD is the Director of the Program on Resilient Communities at HHI and a Senior Research Scientist in the Department of Global Health and Population at Harvard T.H. Chan School of Public Health. 

The steady influx of encounters shared by victim-survivors prove that circumstances remain apt for predators despite enactments such as Republic Act No. 11313, better known as the Safe Spaces Act or the Bawal Bastos Law. 

Since its establishment in September 2022, youth organization Enough Is Enough has recorded at least 61 cases of incidents of harassment, abuse, and other forms of sexual violence from campuses all over the country since the Safe Spaces Act was passed five years ago. Even still, it is certain that there is an even greater number that remains unreported, and this continues to be the dominant narrative for victim-survivors everywhere, which is often a decision born out of a multitude of reasons, such as factors relating but not limited to lapses in legislation and the lack of accountability measures in our schools. 

While these aforementioned legal and administrative obstacles are the most concrete and visible ones in the struggle, they persist because of an even larger withstanding issue, and this is the stigma and discrimination tied to those who have experiences of abuse and harassment. Beyond the weight of their traumatic encounters, they are often left to suffer in silence due to school administrations, churches, and even family members who do not understand their plight. 

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All too often, a victim-survivor does not receive the support needed from all the ends through which they seek justice. For instance, they may resort to exposing their harasser on social media as a sort of recourse before they are contacted by school heads who fear their reputation at stake, requesting that the report “undergo proper channels,” when their first course of action is not an impulse but a reaction to what they understand is the most plausible and accessible form of justice they can receive. 

Another example is a victim-survivor making the choice to go through the challenge of filing a case against their abuser, and running into a wall when they are discouraged by their own family and friends who would prefer “peace,” afraid of possible repercussions such as expulsion and cancellation. 

It is clear that such responses to the affected person’s pursuit of justice only results in their added discomfort and distress, which likely ends in them withdrawing with a greater feeling of defeat in seeing how the odds seem to be stacked against them. In all these scenarios, the apparent pattern is that the victim-survivor is isolated, a recurring tactic employed to push them and their story into the margins. 

Given that this is the face met by those who have experienced sexual violence, it is no wonder that there are more who have yet to come forward. When one is gaslit, censored, and intimidated by those in power, it is done with the intention of not only silencing one person, but also many others who decide for themselves that they do not wish to meet the same fate as their fellow victim-survivors before they even try. 

Such is the survival of the patriarchal status quo. To sustain this system means to stomp on all attempts of justice because it needs to appear unattainable and perpetually out of reach, even more so for those who are on the lower end of power dynamics at play in various institutions, be it schools and workplaces, just to name a few. If stigma and discrimination are barriers that are already difficult to breach, the question of financial, legal, and psychosocial support is another that hangs over the heads of victim-survivors who cannot afford it. 

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This is why the campaign for genuine safe spaces must reject the myth of the individual narrative. For a victim-survivor to share their story takes courage, and it is courage that spreads to others with shared experiences. While effective legislation and proactive anti-violence mechanisms in our schools are certainly crucial, beyond them, these are the most striking and lasting wins in the long-term struggle, for it is the kind that cannot be extinguished by predators and enablers alike who are counting on fear in order to continue the cycle of impunity that keeps them around. 

These combined efforts generate collective action, the driving force towards a reality where safe spaces are a given for all, especially for the most vulnerable sectors of society. To participate in collective action means to turn the tides for everyone, because it is built not on token rules and regulations or the legal triumphs of a select few, but on the will and power of those in the movement. 

To learn more and get involved, this Saturday, February 10, Enough Is Enough, in partnership with Partido Pandayan Organizing Committee, is holding a forum entitled Safer Spaces Now: Eradicating Campus Predators and Dismantling Enabling Institutions, with the aim of weaving all local struggles into a national and sectoral struggle. Those who wish to participate can reserve their slot via bit.ly/SaferSpacesForum. – Rappler.com

Sophia Beatriz Reyes, lead convenor of Enough Is Enough, likes to spend time writing, sewing, and going on walks.

Preparations for the 2025 FBF are underway. Local publishers scramble to put together their catalogs, organize their stocks, and equip themselves with knowledge on translation rights, contracts negotiation, and so forth.

As a Filipino small press publisher who also had the privilege to attend the FBF years ago, I find the timing of the country’s “prestigious position as Guest of Honor” disturbing at the least.

Disclaimer: In 2019, I was a fellow in FBF’s “Invitation Program for small publishers from countries with a developing book industry.” We attended seminars on contract writing and book design, and were allocated a booth in the International Pavilion. Prior to traveling to Germany, I had thought that the FBF was a simple bookselling fair and, given the prohibitive cost of shipping, a great opportunity to bring our books to Filipinos in Europe. As I later learned, the FBF and, I suppose, all the other international book fairs are spaces established primarily for doing business: to meet authors, publishers, distributors, and suppliers, or to acquire and sell publishing or translation rights to the works of foreign authors.

Reflecting on the experience immediately after, I wrote that the FBF showed how mainstream publishing operated. One, it celebrated individual authors, especially bestsellers and prize winners. Two, it was motivated by profit. Among the books I brought to the FBF were cookbooks to support campaigns on the Marawi Siege and the NutriAsia Strike; a poetry zine written by peasant women; and life narratives of nurses, farmers, and migrant workers. I did not really set out to offer the books for anything other than a few euros, but needless to say, not one title was picked up for translation. Anyway, our booth was visited by ordinary fairgoers, not agents or business people.

Small press publisher friends observe that the NBDB’s main interest seems to be “to absorb small presses into their agendas instead of supporting them in endeavors that may be outside the entrepreneurial.” In hindsight, this just looks like a localized version of what the FBF has been doing, with its “Invitation Program for small publishers from countries with a developing book industry!” Said countries are located in Africa, Latin America, the “Arabic World,” and Asia.

The same friends recall the Creative Industries Law in which the government pledges to support the various creative industries for “economic growth and nation-building.” One product of this law is the Young Creatives Challenge through which, said DTI Secretary Alfredo Pascual, “we are promoting our own culture and bringing it to a stage where it can be commercialized.” Pascual said that commercialization of “competitive” artworks will contribute to the country’s GDP. “Mas maganda kung exported,” he added.

(Incidentally, Philippine Creative Industries Month is September, the month in 1972 when Martial Law was declared, during which a “Bagong Lipunan” was envisioned by the president’s dictator father.)

On January 28, Marcos Jr. launched his “Bagong Pilipinas” campaign with an ostentatious rally at the Quirino Grandstand in Manila. According to the presidential memo, all government agencies “shall be guided by the principles, strategies, and objectives of the ‘Bagong Pilipinas’ brand of governance and leadership in planning their programs, activities, and projects.” The NBDB released a social media post expressing its support for the campaign.

I wonder how the “Bagong Pilipinas” brand will translate to the mini-Philippines that the NBDB and its curators are bringing to Frankfurt.

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The campaign “calls for deep and fundamental transformations in all sectors of society and government, and fosters the state’s commitment towards the attainment of comprehensive policy reforms and full economic recovery.” Could the “fundamental transformations” have something to do with the Charter Change proposal that some politicians are again vigorously pushing for? Proposed amendments to the Constitution would give way to 100% foreign ownership of educational institutions, advertising companies, and public utilities.

Seeing that the Marcos government has done nothing but open our country’s resources to foreign investments, could the Philippine Pavilion at the 2025 Frankfurt Book Fair end up being just one big advertising gimmick for the Philippines? Reports say that the president’s frequent trips abroad raked in P4-trillion worth of investments. Meanwhile, more Filipinos are hungry, more agricultural lands are converted into businesses, and the country’s reliance on importation has worsened the problems of farmers working in backward conditions.

The Philippines’ position as Guest of Honor at the Frankfurt Book Fair at this time fits well with the government’s image as an imperialist lackey. Last October, the Philippines was among the 46 countries that abstained from voting on the UN resolution for a humanitarian truce in Gaza. Instead, it acknowledged Israel’s “right to self-defense” and stayed silent on Israel’s atrocities in Palestine.

This follows a long history of the Philippines blindly supporting Israel and its occupation of Palestine. Aljazeera reports that the Philippines is among top buyers of arms from Israel, spending $275 million as of 2022 on weapons used in the decades-long counterinsurgency campaign which has only intensified in recent years.

Germany itself has increased the amount of military equipment it exported to Israel and is likely to deliver 10,000 tank shells more. Like the Philippines, the German government has been nothing but supportive of the US-backed Zionist genocide of the Palestinians.

Early in January, cultural workers launched the Strike Germany campaign in response to Germany’s silencing of pro-Palestine voices. The Strike Germany website exposes: “Palestine solidarity protests are mislabeled as anti-Semitic and banned, activist spaces are raided by police, and violent arrests are frequent…. The countless, invisible instances of repression have been punctuated by high-profile scandals [such as] the Palestinian novelist Adania Shibli [being] disinvited from receiving the LiBeraturpreis at the Frankfurt Book Fair…. [The] German cultural and academic sectors’ complete reliance on public funds has increasingly transformed cultural production into an extension of state policy.”

Isn’t this brand of cultural production similar to what is happening with the “Bagong Pilipinas” charade and other state-sponsored cultural initiatives? Rappler reports that the government spent at least P16.4 million for the “Bagong Pilipinas” kick-off rally alone. I wonder how much of the people’s money will be spent for the Guest of Honor stint.

Meanwhile, the Philippines is at the bottom of the latest math, reading, and science literacy survey conducted by the Program for International Student Assessment. One kilo of rice could cost P70. The death toll in Gaza has just crossed the 26,000 mark.

We call on Filipino authors, publishers, and cultural workers to remain vigilant on how the deceptions of imperialists and their servants manifest in our sector. Only with the continued struggle for national sovereignty and genuine solidarity with other oppressed peoples can a new Philippines truly emerge. – Rappler.com

Faye Cura is a writer, editor, and an advocate of peasant women’s rights and welfare. She is the publisher of Gantala Press, a feminist small press founded in 2015.

Unemployed or paid meager wages, crushed by the increasing cost of living, and cut off from social services, so many of us still struggle to make ends meet, find time for our loved ones, and cultivate our talents. Hunger and homelessness remain rampant. Women are still deprived of control over their bodies; LGBTQ+ continue to live second-class lives; people with disabilities are still denied not only amenities but also respect. Climate change is accelerating; our planet is burning. All this as tons of food rot in warehouses, thousands of houses stand empty, and billionaires wallow in luxury.

The root cause of this civilizational decay — one we have been experiencing within and beyond our country — is not merely “bad governance” or “corruption.” We are witnessing ecological collapse and we suffer from various forms of degradation in the midst of abundance because capitalism — the system which prevails in our country and across the globe — is inherently destructive and dehumanizing. Together with sexism, racism, ableism, and other forms of domination and discrimination, this system is driving us towards climate apocalypse while crippling us all and keeping us in chains.

It should be clear by now that simply reforming capitalism will not suffice to resolve this crisis. The problem is systemic so the solution must also be systemic: what we need is to build a socialist society that is founded on justice, solidarity, equality, democracy, and dignity for all.

But for us to make more progress, a deep re-evaluation is also needed. Why, despite the immense sacrifices of its adherents, has the Left become even more marginalized — while right-wing forces are gaining ground? Is it time to consider new strategies for building the new world we envision?

Changed material conditions call for a new strategy

The world we seek to transcend has changed profoundly. The proportion of wage and salary workers among employed persons in the Philippines has surged from only 33% in 1960 to over 60% today. Services now account for 60% of the country’s output, employing almost 57% of the workforce. The share of food and raw materials in the country’s total exports has also declined from 90% to just 10% while the share of manufactured goods has soared from around 5% to 80%. From a food exporter, the Philippines has become one of the world’s biggest rice importers. 

For all its much-lamented “weakness,” the state has also become stronger. Unlike tsarist Russia’s or pre-revolutionary China’s, it no longer just relies on coercion to secure people’s submission; it has also become capable of wielding concessions, disciplinary conditioning, and symbolic violence. Working with or as part of civil society, it has succeeded in narrowing people’s imagination and channeling their grievances away from revolution.

Given these developments, does it still make sense to think of our country as a “semi-feudal” or “backward capitalist” society – and, hence, to still seek to establish capitalism as our immediate “project?” Can the state still be defeated through immediate insurrection? The party we are forming does not claim to have all the answers — or to be certain that we have the better ones. But instead of doing things over and over again while expecting a different result, might it help to test out new hypotheses in the actual laboratory of struggle?

Now that capitalism has become thoroughly established in its own distinctive way in the Philippines, we start out from the premise that our immediate task now is to make capitalism at least less vicious than it is — while simultaneously creating the conditions for its abolition now rather than in some constantly postponed future.

We also begin from the view that the repressive forces of the Philippine state cannot be opposed through strategies that always subordinate other forms of struggle to the imperatives of rural or urban armed struggle. Buttressed by both coercion and hegemony, this state can only be overcome through long-term, open mass mobilizations aimed at first countering its ideological, disciplinary, or infrastructural ramparts before eventually targeting its coercive core.

In line with this, we propose a different path: what we call “revolutionary democratic socialism.”

Socialism because we seek to establish a society in which the means of production are owned collectively and managed as part of the commons. Democratic because we seek to establish not a “dictatorship of the proletariat” but a democratic leadership of the oppressed, capable of preventing the oppressors from coming back to power and upheld by the consent of the freed. And revolutionary because while we pursue non-violent forms of resistance under present conditions what we seek are not just reforms but nothing less than an entirely new civilization.

We believe this entails a multi-pronged, undogmatic, and always mutable approach. For one, it means participating in elections in a new way: by campaigning autonomously from liberal parties, by openly professing our identities as socialists, and by measuring victory not in terms of number of votes gained but in terms of number of minds freed.

Beyond elections, we will establish our own network of socialist cooperatives, social centers, community gardens, disaster relief channels, cultural and sports clubs, and so on. In short, we will build alternative institutions from within capitalism in order to supersede capitalism.

The goal is not to capture state power in the misguided belief that one can bring about socialism through an accumulation of reforms but to achieve collective self-liberation: to free the spirits of the oppressed from the prisons built by oppressors and to help create new subjectivities — ones that are willing and able to engage in the protracted struggle to build a new civilization.

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Towards a prefigurative party

To accomplish all this, we seek to found a qualitatively different party: an openly and proudly socialist party that is above-ground but still radical in its orientation.

Such an organization, to be most effective, must be grounded in the oppressed. It must be vigilantly autonomous from elites. It must uphold the autonomy of social movements. And it must build on lessons from other socialist projects, break with the self-defeating practices of the past, and dare to build nothing less than a new culture within and beyond the Left.

In line with this, we have adopted a Party Charter that introduces a number of innovations. To ensure that rank-and-file members are empowered, we shall assign leadership roles partly through sortition. We shall have not one chairperson but three “over-all facilitators” with limited terms in office and who are always subject to recall. And we shall put in place processes to ensure zero tolerance for all forms of violence and to attack cisheteropatriarchy in our own ranks. This is the prefigurative politics we seek to put into  action — a party that by its very practices already gives us a glimpse of the free society we envision.

While our “mass base” is still narrow, we shall strive to expand beyond our current middle-class core. But more than that, we seek to try new ways of building such a movement — one in which everyone becomes their own leader and one in which the very act of participating in struggle becomes an act of collective self-liberation.

We recognize that we will face obstacles encountered by those just starting out and trying to do things differently. But we also hold that to not try at all because we are still small or new is to lose without even fighting. As we go through the birth pains of building a mass movement, we will welcome criticism and strive to be a party constantly seeking to renew ourselves.

Some will argue that it would be best to create a new party under better conditions. But we can’t afford to wait. Today, the apocalypse has already become a reality for all but the most sheltered. Even for those whose heads are still above water, life has become a daily struggle for dignity. 

Fortunately, the old world is crumbling and a new one is struggling to emerge, its foundations having been built in part through the heroic accomplishments of existing socialist parties. To help make this world finally rise from the ground, we must ask questions long unasked and embark on routes previously shunned. The stakes could not be bigger. To borrow from Rosa Luxemburg and other comrades: we have a world to win and a world to defeat. – Rappler.com

Pang Delgra used to work for a multinational corporation before becoming a full-time climate justice activist. Francyn Evardome is a working student, currently employed at a global healthcare services company, who campaigns on issues affecting the urban poor. Eunice Santiago is a recent graduate of UP Diliman who advocates for women’s rights and gender equality. All under 30 years old and assigned female at birth, Pang, Francyn, and Eunice were designated to be the spokespersons of the newly formed Partido Sosyalista. They wrote this essay together with all other founding members of the party.

Closer to home, there are well-known Filipino immigrants such Maria Ressa, Jose Garcia Villa, and Rachel Ann Go. But they are the exceptions.

Most immigrants are enveloped with anonymity in their new home. This is not necessarily a bad thing nor a disadvantage. But it is part of the reality one has to contend with when relocating abroad.

Friends in a bar in a faraway land

On a chilly Thursday evening, I found myself chatting in a cozy bar and restaurant in the middle of Washington, DC with Filipino lawyer-friends who are working in the area. As in years past, we talked, drank, ate, and always had wonderful experiences socializing and reminiscing. One topic we casually discussed was – comparing the spans of our legal careers with our contemporaries from UP and Ateneo Law Schools back home – there is considerable obscurity which immigrants generally encounter.

We philosophized on “what could have beens.” Where we would have ended up had we gone back home after our respective Masters programs (LL.M.) or if we have never immigrated to the US or elsewhere at all. Would we have been elected as partners of the large law firms we were working for before we left? Would we have served as General Counsels (GCs) of large companies? Would we have been running legal departments at this time? Started businesses? Or would some of us have served in elective or appointive government positions? Our storylines and career trajectory would have surely been different.

As in any profession, people tend to look and see where their friends or contemporaries are and how far they have fared. Yes, it is not always productive to be comparing because of the notion that people have their own timing and timetable. No one is really late in reaching this or that milestone as it all depends on the individual’s circumstances, fate, and effort.

Then again, in freewheeling discussions among lawyer-friends (note: you can easily substitute for nursing-friends, doctor-friends, engineer-friends, school mates, college buddies, roommates or province mates), it is commonplace to talk about other colleagues’ accomplishments particularly in a safe and relaxed environment. You are with Filipino friends anyway in a faraway land.

Obscure life abroad

One main topic discussed is the degree of obscurity overseas. When you move to another country, whether it is for work or further studies, one normally succumbs to the trappings of obscurity. It’s not by design as it just happens. With further studies, developed expertise, and the Asian work mentality, one can indeed go further up the corporate or societal ladder. But considering the vast size of your employer or the vast sea of your industry, it is still very conceivable to feel and actually be anonymous.

Being obscure does not mean no one knows you. Being anonymous does not mean you are not accomplished. On the contrary, your colleagues, clients, and management teams know you and the work output you produce. But you are just one of the many.  

In the case of my DC circle of lawyer-friends, we are but several of the many lawyers in our respective companies. Or just one of many law practitioners (or just one of the many nurses, doctors, engineers, teachers) in our chosen field.

Obscurity as a liberating gift 

Obscurity in a large and expansive country like the US is not at all bad. It can be a gift and can be liberating.  

I was once conversing with a friend from my former law firm in Makati City who completed the LL.M. program at Harvard. He is a California-based attorney. He and I discussed our career paths many years after leaving the country. He told me, which I fully support, that coming to a new country like the US allows a Filipino lawyer to go into any direction or field he would like to be in.  

There is that freedom to mold your future in a foreign country. That you can reinvent and reengineer yourself into the lawyer, law practitioner, or other professional you truly want to become. You can work in almost any profession or job, and you may or may not use your legal training or lawyer background. With little to no judgment from peers and other people. There is no pressure to be a law firm partner. There is “no deeply embedded notion of what success in the legal profession looks like” when abroad.

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Reverence to professions and the ‘titulado’ mindset

Back home, lawyers and other professionals are typically bestowed with all sorts of prominence and reverence. Perhaps because of the “titulado” concept: professionals in the Philippines are called Attorney Reyes, Engineer de la Cruz, Dr. San Diego, Architect Garcia, and so forth. There is much emphasis on titles. Banners are set up whenever they pass the board or bar exams. Being a board or bar topnotcher is a useful tagline throughout their professional careers.  

The abbreviated designation “Atty.” is a currency to be capitalized on. But in the US, apart from doctors, professionals are simply called Mr. or Ms. something. You don’t really use “Esq.” and neither does it matter. You can be working with or for someone for some time and yet they do not even realize the higher level of education you have attained.

Talking to lawyer-contemporaries who chose to stay in the country, they are for the most part highly successful law firm partners, GCs of prominent companies, heads of legal departments, working in the government, teaching in law schools, or run their own law firms. Others started their own business or ventured into an industry related to the legal profession. Absolutely a great job by these fine people.

They are able to leverage the various connections they innately have – their close circle of friends, their classmates and dormmates, the alumni of their school clubs and Greek letter organizations, the friends of their family, parental contacts, the people they grew up with, and the list goes on…and on.

As a result of their hard work and higher level of education, coupled with built-in connections and the Filipino reverence for professional titles, they elevate their professional practice and businesses to greater heights. Prominence will vary by individual professional but they are rarely obscure.

More freedom in various career paths for professionals abroad

The difference in the US and other countries is that an immigrant lawyer (or immigrant doctor, nurse, engineer, teacher, and others) can choose to work in almost any field. It can be work for a law firm, in legal compliance and operations, for a non-profit entity, for a large multinational, for a Human Rights defender, for international organizations, in a CPA firm, in the consulting world, in banking, for a school or university, and many other areas. Work can be performed as a full-fledged and bar-admitted lawyer, as a paralegal, as a CPA, or as a corporate officer with no requirement of a law degree. There is professional and career freedom which is not necessarily found back home.  

A comparative analysis between an immigrant professional’s career abroad versus a contemporary who chose to stay in the country is inevitable. As first-generation immigrants are still very much connected to the people, politics and happenings back home, it is inevitable to be curious on how your origin country is doing and what your friends have been up to. It is but human nature to compare.  

One thing for certain though is that after comparing – then justifying and reasoning out as to why immigrant professionals are still abroad – the individual immigrant will still do what he or she believes is best for the family, career, lifestyle, well-being, and happiness.  

If for some reason immigrant professionals feel they are missing out on the “what could have beens” back home, note that there are others who chose to stay in the country but are wondering if staying was the right thing to do and rethinking if they can work overseas.

The immigrant journey comprising of persistent visa challenges, educational successes, board/bar exam trials, professional sacrifices and promotions, children’s schooling and better future, relative economic stability, personal difficulties, loneliness, homesickness, and life rebuilding, is something that cannot be replicated back home. The immigrant journey is humbling and fulfilling. It is a journey worth taking.

At bottom, this is just life and the choices we make for betterment. – Rappler.com

Carlo Osi is an Adjunct Professor of Law at Georgetown University and NYU School of Law. He works in the tax operations and consulting industry as the US Payroll Tax Director of the largest hotel chain in the world. He lives and works on the East Coast.

I opened the cardboard box and found four chunky tubes in muted shades of blue, red, yellow, and green. The colors, once scraped gingerly upon the cement, became bright under the sun, highlighting underlying metallic particles embedded in our driveway. When I was about 7 or 8, the sidewalk chalk my mother had given me was special. The other kids on my block used flimsy sticks that fractured practically the moment they touched the pavement. 

My neighbors, “Tara” and “Dotty,” came over to play one morning. Tara, who was around my age, made a comment about how many toys I had, while Dotty, who looked two years my junior, remained quiet. I showed off my unbreakable sidewalk chalk, as we squatted outside and drew little figures on the ground. Tara asked me if she could borrow them “overnight.” I trusted her and figured that lending her something presented a good reason for her to come back and visit.   

Tara and Dotty did not return the next day, nor the day after that. After several weeks, I had forgotten about the chalk and moved on to newer toys. One afternoon, Tara appeared at our gate with a plastic bag containing bits of white chalk. It looked as though she had gone to different classrooms collecting the remnants teachers had left under their blackboards. I accepted her offering and invited her inside to play.    

My mother passed by and asked Tara where Dotty was. Barely looking up, Tara answered that Dotty had been sold by her father. 

I heard what had happened to Dotty — binenta siya ng tatay niya — but did not process the meaning until much later. It was as though Tara had spoken to my mom in an unknown language; she had said something adult and I was, at that moment, still hung up on why she had not kept her word about giving back my chalk. After that, she stopped coming by the house.

Sex tourists  

Context for the sidewalk chalk incident began to form when I was about 14. A relative was talking about her friend who would patronize a brothel where he could have sex with minors. I suddenly felt my eyes well up. At seeing my reaction, the relative said flippantly, “He thinks if it’s with girls your age, he won’t catch any STDs. He doesn’t get that everyone else who goes there has the same idea.”

A year later, on a family reunion to Boracay, I went out to a restaurant-slash-bar with my cousins. I felt cute in my spaghetti-strapped top and exhilarated by the idea of not being accompanied by parents, titos, or titas. The place was packed with revelers. I found somewhere to sit while my cousins were at the bar. A young local woman tapped my arm and asked me to get up, pointing to a middle-aged white guy next to her. “That’s his seat,” she said. The man touched my shoulder and told me to stay. I nodded, but instead of removing his hand, he stroked my exposed back before walking away with his companion. 

I saw this man again in other iterations when I went to college in Manila, not far from the red-light district. He strolled with an air of “I don’t give a fuck,” accompanied by a girl half his age. He argued loudly with sales clerks and taxi drivers. He stumbled out of one of the many seedy karaoke bars lining the side streets. My friends and I never acknowledged the “for-ranger.” We didn’t want him looking at us either, not that he cared about what girls like us thought of him. 

Girls, but not like us

In my 20s, an ex had talked about going to strip clubs. He admitted that a club he used to frequent had been raided once. The youngest girl they found there was 11, and it wasn’t uncommon for girls around 16 to entertain him and his friends. I believed him when he said strip clubs were only a part of his past — a past he had learned from, a past he deserved to live down. 

My ex told me that in any case, going to strip clubs “isn’t really about the girls, but male bonding.” To his point, the Hangover films, which were big at that time, were mainly about the wolf pack’s shenanigans. In the sequel set in Thailand, the brown-girls-with-straight-black-hair were part of the set design, though still crucial for punchlines involving trans people and ping-pong balls.

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Blonde kids

When I worked in Texas, close to the Mexican border, a co-worker told me about how he used to worry that his children stood out. He would pick them up at school and immediately see their golden heads shining in a small sea of dark hair, since the town’s population was mostly Hispanic. He was so sure that any trafficker who saw his kids would try to smuggle them into Mexico. Of course, his underlying line of thought was that his white children were just so obviously more precious than the brown ones. 

It struck a nerve. Because I had seen the real ways in which such exploitation occurs. I had witnessed it play out in my post-colonized home country. Research suggests that my co-worker’s notion of superiority is the very thing that provides white children like his with more protection against human trafficking compared to children from marginalized communities.

According to the United Nations, aside from being gendered, human trafficking is linked to racist ideologies. The US Department of State has also released a document, stating that such biases “were created as a way to dehumanize certain racial communities to justify their exploitation and exclusion, and to hinder progress in anti-trafficking efforts because they lead to racially disparate assumptions about who is a trafficker and who should have access to victim protection and services.”

Looking back, I’d like to think that by being “sold,” Dotty was actually taken in by loving parents, even though global data indicates that illegal adoption occurs in only 0.3% of trafficking cases. The overwhelming majority of trafficked people are forced into labor and sexual exploitation. Whatever happened, I hope that Dotty grew up okay and has lived down her past.  

I am still haunted by stories like Dotty’s, but more so by the world’s indifference to them. I wrote Stray Cats, a young adult novel about the heroism of girls in the face of exploitation, to shed light on the issue. In it, the protagonist traverses immense danger to find her missing friend. The book is my attempt at finding answers, knowing that the real search takes a greater collective effort. 

It has been over 30 years since Tara, Dotty, and I played together. I have a new life in a distant country.  When I am not writing, I provide occupational therapy to children in their homes. I sometimes see chunky tubes of sidewalk chalk — next to abandoned doodles on suburban driveways, strewn across the steps front porches, sold by the bucket in discount bins — and I remember an innocent age when I thought these were special. – Rappler.com

Irene Carolina Sarmiento is the author of three books – Spinning and Tabon Girl, both published by Anvil, and Stray Cats, published by Ateneo de Manila University Press. Her stories have won awards from The Palanca Memorial Foundation, Philippines Free Press, Philippine Graphic/Fiction Awards, and Stories to Change the World.  She is an occupational therapist with a master’s degree in Applied Cognition and Neuroscience.

I entered Gaza as part of a team of Doctors Without Borders specialists on November 14. We were met with scenes of alarming desperation. Trapped civilians. No fuel, no food, no water. No ambulances. Attacks on hospitals are a fact of life. And people are becoming more and more desperate.

My first hours in Gaza were marked by the constant buzz of the drones Israel uses to surveil the enclave. The stressful, loud sound can be heard non-stop, all day and even at night. I also saw landslides, collapsed buildings. Even though I knew about the dire conditions in Gaza ahead of time, it was still shocking to see everything in ruins and people looking for food under the rubble and waiting in endless lines to get some bread. There isn’t a place in Gaza that doesn’t have a shattered building.  

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Prepared to provide as much medical support as possible, the team went to work at Nasser Hospital in Khan Younis. At the time, Nasser had become the largest functioning hospital in Gaza following relentless attacks on Gaza City’s Al-Shifa Hospital in the enclave’s north. But it had twice as many patients as it could handle, and people were setting up tents to shelter from the air strikes and shelling elsewhere. Some patients have had their homes destroyed and have nowhere to go after being discharged. Many get stuck in the hospital, where at least it’s warm and there is drinking water.

On day three, a missile landed in a refugee camp less than a kilometer away from the hospital. We felt the building shake, the windows creaking. Within 10 minutes, ambulances started arriving, and in less than an hour we received 130 patients. The saddest thing was that more than half of them arrived lifeless. About 30 children died that day. Instead of seeing children playing or napping, what we saw was heartbreaking: children in very poor condition, with some amputations that will require long-term, intensive physiotherapy.

A week later, after treating as many patients as possible, the team moved to Al-Aqsa Hospital in Gaza’s Middle Area, where there was also intense bombing. It has a capacity for 200 stretchers, but because of the high number of patients, the hospital had to set up 650 beds. There, our team supported triage — the process of identifying patients according to the severity of their condition — and carried out consultations and surgeries, managed wound care, and provided physiotherapy and mental health care for patients dealing with war-related trauma. 

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On January 6, however, Doctors Without Borders had to evacuate our staff from Al-Aqsa after the area received evacuation orders from the Israeli military. Prior to evacuation, drones and snipers injured family members of our staff, a bullet heavily penetrated the intensive care unit, and intense fighting impeded staff from accessing the hospital as it got closer to the facility. Doctors Without Borders has urged Israeli forces to protect the patients and staff still working and being treated inside the hospital. On January 7, a drone targeted the administrative building of the hospital and people in the hospital courtyard.  On January 10, 40 people were killed and more than 150 injured by airstrikes on buildings located at the very entrance of Al Aqsa hospital. Al-Aqsa remains the only partially functioning hospital in Gaza’s Middle Area, serving a large community in Deir Al-Balah, including several refugee camps.

It’s not easy to move around within Gaza, not even to get to work. The morning we moved to the Middle Area, two Israeli tanks cut the main route and divided the south of Gaza into two parts. So many people were stuck where they live or work, without access to food and other supplies on the other side. The only way to cross was through one road next to the beach, but without a car and gasoline, people were trapped. And we all had to deal with frequent telecommunications cut-offs.

In the Middle Area, drones and bombings were present 24/7. Every day, two to three times a day, bombs would fall not far away, followed by a rush of injured or dead arrivals at the already overcrowded hospital. The attacks were very powerful and those affected arrived with severe brain trauma, unconscious, and without a leg or an arm. Many patients were dealing with the loss of close relatives or their house on top of the physical pain. 

Some of my most trying moments in Gaza were during the 20 to 25 surgeries I performed each day. I had very young patients who were the sole surviving members of their family and arrived at the hospital alone. I had cases of children one and two years old, victims of bombing, with traumatic amputations of the leg, at the level of the groin. Due to the high number of children arriving without any family members, we began to use the acronym WCNSF, meaning “wounded child, no surviving family.”

Every day, I saw these children alone and devastated. Some said they were playing just before they were attacked. After the amputation they are left depressed, not wanting to talk. It’s a dramatic situation because it’s not just surgery — it’s everything that comes after that. Even if they are discharged, they hang around because they don’t know what to do and have nowhere to go. They may get better physically, but mentally they are destroyed.

Before I left, the people I met in Gaza asked me to share what I saw and did during my time there, and the pain they are in. They want people around the world to know what is happening to the Palestinians of Gaza and what they are going through. I saw for myself the heartbreaking aftermath of three months of this terrible war. Each and every day, more lives are being lost and the human desperation deepens. This siege and the indiscriminate violence it begets must stop now. – Rappler.com

Dr. Aldo Rodriguez is originally from Mexico and began working as a surgeon in the humanitarian world in 2018. Before going to Gaza in November, he completed an assignment in Khartoum, Sudan, where intense fighting has displaced millions of people since April 2023, and he has worked in other countries experiencing acute violence and forgotten crises, including Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC), Burundi, and Yemen.