Feature: Manila in floods

Let us hope that next year, Manila's streets will not become open-air swimming pools again. Children will go to school as usual. Mothers won't have to carry sick infants through rising waters. Colleagues won't call in absence because of yet another flood.

by Xinhua writer Nie Xiaoyang

MANILA, July 26 (Xinhua) -- The rain outside the window fell steadily, not fierce, not hurried, but relentless. It was 8 a.m. when my phone rang. A colleague called to say he wouldn't make it to the office. "Sorry, the water's up to my knees again," he said, his voice calm but tinged with resignation.

Flooding is not new here. After a year of living and working in Manila, I've lost count of how many times I've heard the phrase "bahang-baha", the Filipino term for severe flooding.

On July 25, Metro Manila and various provinces across Luzon Island suspended work and classes for the fifth consecutive day, as a tropical cyclone intensified the southwest monsoon rains. Streets turned into rivers, transport collapsed, dozens of rivers overflowed, and over 3.3 million people were affected.

As of Thursday evening, 19 deaths had been confirmed, with several more still missing.

The flooding was no surprise. In fact, it happens every rainy season. The familiar terms in local news reports - "widespread flooding," "paralyzed city," "emergency evacuation," "cleanup efforts" - have become seasonal refrains in Manila, repeated year after year.

On July 24, I waded through one of the city's main avenues. The road had all but disappeared under brown floodwaters littered with plastic bags, foam containers, and broken branches. In deeper parts, the water reached above my thighs. Children splashed and played, chasing after waves made by passing buses. For them, the rainy season has become a time of games.

But in the low-lying informal settlements, families packed up what little they had, scrambling to find temporary shelters. For wealthier residents, floods may mean a late commute or wet shoes. For the poor, they often spell sickness, hunger, thirst, even the loss of home and life.

In this metro area of more than 20 million people, large sections still rely on century-old drainage systems built during the colonial era. Many canals are clogged with silt and trash. Informal housing built along waterways worsens the problem. A single day of rain can throw the whole city into disarray.

The Commission on Audit reported in 2021 that the Metro Manila Development Authority had low utilization of its flood control budget. Pump stations were left in disrepair, and key infrastructure projects lagged behind schedule. Meanwhile, local media editorials regularly criticize the lack of effective urban planning, calling it "all talk and no action." "Every year it floods, and every year they promise a fix," is a common refrain among residents.

Manila is not alone. Infrastructure gaps and fragile urban systems are shared challenges across the developing world. Governments must grapple with tight budgets, booming populations, and intensifying climate threats, all while trying to ensure resilience and equity.

Back when I was posted in Geneva, Switzerland, the phrase "development is the greatest human right" was often met with skepticism in international forums. Some in the West dismissed it as an empty slogan. In the floodwaters of Manila, I see its weight with startling clarity.

Human rights are not abstract ideals or high-sounding principles debated in distant halls. They are deeply concrete, a solid roof that doesn't leak, a passable road, a family not left hungry by a storm, a child who can still go to school, a worker who won't lose their job because public transport failed.

Philippine President Ferdinand Romualdez Marcos is expected to deliver his fourth State of the Nation Address on July 28. According to his office, "climate crisis" will be among the main themes. That is, undoubtedly, a welcome signal. But for most people here, the question remains -- Will inspiring rhetoric be matched by real and lasting change?

Let us hope that next year, Manila's streets will not become open-air swimming pools again. Children will go to school as usual. Mothers won't have to carry sick infants through rising waters. Colleagues won't call in absence because of yet another flood.

That day, when dignity is shielded by resilient infrastructure and responsive governance, may be the clearest proof that development is, indeed, the most fundamental human right.■