At the stroke of midnight, the outermost lane of Maria Orosa Highway in Ermita, Manila transforms. Almost a hundred people turn the long stretch of pavement into a dormitory without beds. Men, women and children lie down on thin blankets, sheets of shiny packing material (which they call ‘panapin’), or folded pieces of cardboard salvaged from the garbage bins of nearby supermarkets.
Each individual occupies a narrow space, each separated by horizontal cement blocks of eight by five inches. In the garish light of the streetlamps, the cement blocks look more like cemetery headstones. A quick headcount shows the number of homeless sleeping within the periphery of Rizal Park to be around 200 to 300. The homeless people sleep out in the open except when rain forces them to seek refuge elsewhere — bank buildings and shops with wide awnings.
Maricar is one of the hundreds or even thousands of Filipinos who makes the streets and public corners of the National Capital Region their home. Originally from Samar, she has been living in the streets since she was 16. She said she left because of her relatives who treated her with contempt. At the time of the interview, her temporary home was Rizal Park, where she makes a living selling ‘panapin’.
Like other homeless and streetdwelling individuals in Rizal Park, Maricar buys the panapin by bulk in Divisoria. The original material is actually a three-foot bag used to pack junk foods and each bag costs P10. To make a profit, Maricar and the others sell the bag – after it is cut into the shape of a flat sheet and wiped clean – for P20. On a good day, she earns up to P300.
Though her eyes reveal a youthful enthusiasm, living outdoors 24/7 has made her much older than her actual age which is 33 years old.
From the time she ran away from home 16 years ago, the parks and streets of Manila have been her refuge. She’s a high school graduate, and she was not always homeless.
Maricar once worked as a factory worker sealing foam used to wash plates and utensils. She also worked in a sardine canning factory cutting off fish heads. She wanted to stay longer at these jobs, but they seldom lasted because she was always hired as a contractual worker. She has also worked as a helper in a carinderia or food kiosk on the same park, but still slept in the park/streets at night.
She has a daughter who is now 15 years old living with her aunts in the province. She wants to go home, but the almost complete lack of funds and the uncertainty of finding a job or livelihood in the province hold her back.
Maricar carries all her worldy belongings in three grimy bags. Inside her small knapsack, she keeps all her clothes. Her two large eco bags are reserved for her panapins, and a 1.5 liter plastic bottle which she always fills with water.
In the same park where the monument of Jose Rizal proudly stands, there are hundreds of homeless people. Luneta and its denizens remind us how far we are from the Philippine society Rizal envisioned. Putting names and identities to the their faces, understanding their plight and their everyday struggle are a step towards finding a solution to the decades-old problem of the homeless.
Like most of the homeless in Luneta, Maricar often skips breakfast and only eats lunch and dinner. A P5 cup of coffee and an eight-peso piece of bread for breakfast are already considered opulent and already deplete her very meagre funds. A meal would cost her P20: P10 for a cup of rice, and another P10 for the vegetable viand. She gets her drinking water from the public toilet.
As we walked around Luneta in the moonlight, we make the acquaintance of several homeless individuals. We saw mothers with their babies sleeping on the thin grass of the park, the babies’ skin dark and burned just like their respective mothers’. Some of the babies – barely weeks old – have their heads uncovered and unprotected. It is painful to see them and to know how vulnerable to health issues they are.
At the same time many lie in anguish and in silence in Luneta’s various corners, a spectacular fountain show complete with special lighting and sound effects that probably cost a million or more entertains local visitors. Across the fountain is a one-floor building, wide and inviting, but empty and closed against the homeless.
While we as a society spend millions or even billions for the beautification of parks, build structures where cars can be parked safely, and launch or support public relation campaigns that cost too much like the recent Miss Universe pageant that aim to make the Philippines look good on international media, we often neglect the truth in front of us — millions suffer even when there are concrete solutions available.
Some argue that long-term programs are what the homeless need while others are satisfied attending just to their immediate needs.
While debating on the best solution may do good, genuine compassion for the poor is a must and a fundamental first step to help us look beyond our deep-seated and often twisted class biases against the poor and the homeless. If we would only choose to see them through the lenses of compassion and social justice, and understand them, it will be easier to also see that they need all the help they can get to go through life and at least break the cycle of homelessness. We need to attend to their immediate needs to give them temporary relief, but we also need to work on long-term programs to help them stand on their own. Only then can we stand as proud as the monument of Rizal in Luneta.
