Typhoon Tino tore through the Negros Islands with a vengeance, leaving behind a trail of destruction that claimed 44 lives, left 53 missing, and displaced over 130,000 people. It was the kind of devastation that the Philippines has grown all too accustomed to, but it was also a painful reminder of something we all know too well—Filipino “resiliency.”

Resiliency. It’s a word we’ve heard time and time again, often wielded like a badge of honor. We’re told it defines us. It’s what gets us through natural disasters, what enables us to rebuild in the wake of calamities, what we take pride in when the rest of the world marvels at our ability to “bounce back.” But the truth is, this overused word is beginning to ring hollow—especially when the lives lost and the devastation experienced by the survivors are treated as mere statistics, a footnote in the narrative of resilience.

When Typhoon Tino hit, it was a reminder of the fundamental problem with the way we view resiliency. A storm came, wrecked everything, and people died. And then what? We rebuild. We get back on our feet, somehow. We’re resilient, right?

But at what cost?

According to the Provincial Disaster Risk Reduction and Management Office (PDRRMO) of Negros, the death toll from Typhoon Tino reached 44, with 53 still missing. More than 130,000 people were affected by the storm, and 141 individuals were displaced. These numbers are staggering—and in some ways, they’re just a glimpse of the deeper, often overlooked impact on people’s lives. It’s easy to talk about resiliency when you’re discussing numbers in a report, but how does one put into words the human lives behind these figures? The lives that have been broken, torn apart, and lost.

Yes, people will rebuild. Yes, the government will provide relief, and aid will come in from different places. But will the systems be in place to ensure that the people who have suffered the most won’t just be left to “bounce back” like they always do? Typhoon after typhoon, the people of the Philippines find themselves in this cycle of rebuilding, only to be destroyed again, over and over.

To call Filipinos “resilient” is to place the blame on them for the circumstances they endure. It’s like saying, “You are strong, you can handle it,” without asking why it is that year after year, Typhoon after Typhoon, this country remains vulnerable to such devastation. It’s like saying, “Don’t worry, you’ll survive,” without confronting the systemic failures that make survival a constant struggle for millions.

Resiliency is a quality to admire, but it shouldn’t be used as an excuse to ignore the underlying problems. Why are these communities constantly at the mercy of disasters? Why are homes built in places where storms will always hit hardest? Why does it take so long for aid to reach the affected areas? Resiliency is not a solution to these problems—it’s a survival mechanism in the face of a broken system.

If we are truly going to honor the lives lost in Typhoon Tino, we have to stop romanticizing resiliency and start asking the hard questions. How many more lives have to be lost before we address the root causes of this perpetual suffering? How many more families have to lose their homes, their loved ones, their sense of security, before we acknowledge that the cycle of rebuilding and surviving is not enough? When will our government finally take serious actions?

It’s time we shift the narrative from “resilient Filipinos” to one that demands accountability from our government, from our leaders, from the systems that perpetuate this never-ending cycle of destruction. Filipinos are resilient, yes. But they should not have to be. The people who lost their lives in Typhoon Tino didn’t die because they lacked strength—they died because they were placed in harm’s way time and time again without the proper infrastructure, planning, and response.

Instead of celebrating the idea that Filipinos “bounce back” from disaster, we should be advocating for a world where they don’t have to. A world where disaster preparedness is not a last-minute scramble but a proactive, well-funded, well-planned effort. A world where we don’t have to rely on the resilience of the people who have already been pushed to their limits.

So, no. Fuck Filipino resiliency. Not because we don’t admire the strength of the people who continue to fight in the face of tragedy, but because it’s time for us to demand more. It’s time for us to hold those in power accountable, to stop romanticizing survival, and to start making real changes that prevent the need for such resilience in the first place.

Resiliency is a response to disaster. But it shouldn’t have to be.

YOU MAY ALSO LIKE:

EDITORIAL

COLUMN