Too late for a rain check

One moment, it’s pouring rain, the next, pure silence. The question of the night gets tossed around the house, in school, on social media: “may pasok ba kaya bukas?” With the arrival of the enhanced habagat monsoon, the risk of simply being outdoors as a cyclone takes landfall only accelerates further.

Announcement posts on alternative learning modalities become a race against time. Every notification from a local news agency brews tension, as photos of maps across different regions mark their respective cities and provinces in bold colors of orange or red to indicate official class suspensions. A number of K-12 schools follow their respective localities’ decision and declare #WalangPasok. Meanwhile, the average college student stays awake a little before midnight, refreshing their Facebook feed every few minutes in anticipation of a class suspension announcement for undergraduate levels, to be met with no update.

Instead, we are introduced to the internet’s informal designation of “waterproof” cities or schools. Never mind the unstable weather patterns—for as long as your local government page did not disclose a typhoon wind Signal 3 or above, universities have the go-signal to proceed with classes, and students are to show up and do their part in face-to-face school activities.

Only when campuses start flooding, students walk into their classrooms drenched from head to toe, and crossing roads become a watery obstacle course are officials obliged to take action. Suddenly, class cancellations are announced on the intercom, to the demise of many who have to strategize the fastest way to return home safely.

We can accept that no four corners of a classroom are completely “waterproof” after all. But perhaps the point of inquiry shouldn’t revolve around which school or university can outlast the rest amid a storm. Instead, we must ask: why are students expected to outlast every inconvenience it brings?

There is no denying the unpredictabilities involved in weather forecasting, nor should the National Disaster Risk Reduction and Management Council (NDRRMC) be put to blame for inaccuracies in assessing rainfall timing and intensity. Credible data sources serve as the basis for any announcement. The real pressure should be on leadership authorities who decide what to do with the information given to them, the extent to which they are willing to gamble with uncertainty, and ultimately, ensure the protection of vulnerable students.

Despite not being certain of the severity of the storm or worrying about losing a few days in the school calendar, it is nonetheless still a counterproductive decision to have students travel to school, only for them to be stranded on campus grounds by the time suspensions are announced, with monsoon rains and floods blocking almost every path. If the words “safety is the top priority” actually rang a bell for local governments and universities, preferably in the form of a straightforward, snappy announcement, we wouldn’t be calculating the risks ourselves. Yet, every typhoon that passes our country prompts reflection on how much the system has failed us, time and time again.

Even just five hours worth of rain last August 17 already had people wading in ankle to chest-deep floodwater. The lack of a sense of urgency from government agencies is shockingly palpable, as if plans of implementing rainwater management and flood mitigation initiatives in flood-prone areas have been poured down the drain.

This reality enables us to look at the bigger picture. The concern isn’t mostly about the students' struggle inside school grounds, it’s what it takes to get there in the first place. Subpar urban planning paired with flooding is a recipe for disaster, with hidden potholes in uneven roads and vehicles that could get engulfed in rising floodwater. In relation to this, poor sanitation increases the risk of contracting leptospirosis, due to exposure to contaminated floodwater. The Department of Health (DOH) reports that out of the 3,440 recorded leptospirosis cases nationwide between January to August 8 of this year, roughly 220 individuals had died from the illness.

Even if students were to bypass these risks, it still stands that dealing with late suspensions causes a significant strain on the resources, finances, energy, and time of students, professors, school personnel, and all stakeholders involved. Not everyone has the luxury of private transportation or even the physical capacity to walk from one place to another in the cold, wet outdoors in near zero visibility. It is unfair to even shift from an onsite to online modality after a midday suspension, because some students or instructors do not have the means to attend class in the middle of a storm, lest they decide to put in extra effort to adjust accordingly.

While officials “sit tight and assess” impending weather conditions before arriving at an answer (or none), one student hopes the morning commute en route to university wouldn’t be a waste of their allowance, another walks on campus with a soaked bag and books in hand, and another is stuck in a building, unable to leave until the rain eases.

It is an honorable thing to encourage students to learn, but it must never be under conditions that compromise learning. We do not need to wait for certainty before prioritizing the safety and well-being of learners—it must be done now, without further question.