Abstract
The precarious situation faced by women and girls in the wake of climate-related disasters is illustrated through fieldwork conducted in Eastern Visayas in the Philippines, one of the regions most affected by Super Typhoon Haiyan in 2013. However, this article illustrates that these heightened levels of gendered violence faced by women and girls are not a result of the disaster alone; rather, they are rooted in the inequalities inherent in the social construction of gender prior to the catastrophe, which then become sharpened as efforts to survive become more urgent.
Introduction
Sitting on the bamboo slat floor of her tiny box-like nipa hut built on stilts, in a No-Build Zone 1 along the banks of Bangon River, 26-year-old Ted 2 recounted to me her experience of battering in a slow, rather monotonous voice. From the silong, the ground-level part of the house, came the voices of Ted’s 7-year-old son playing with other neighborhood kids. Outside the noon sun was blazing hot. It was high summer, a year and a half after Super Typhoon Haiyan (locally known as Yolanda), one of the strongest storms ever recorded, laid waste to the Eastern Visayas region of the Philippine archipelago in November 2013.
Any time my husband would come home drunk, [he would] batter me or he would beat me until I die, or hit my children. When I talk to him he just does not take it seriously. He just ignores it, seeing it like pilosopo [a joke]. I am really scared of him when he gets home, drunk again. When he attends a funeral lamay [traditional wake services], he gets into drinking bouts of tuba [fermented coconut wine] with his peers there, I feel very nervous as he would come home drunk. I could not sleep. Sometimes my children and I have to hide ourselves behind the high grass (bushes) even when it is night time, dark, or rainy. We just try to get out of the house and protect ourselves from the violent man.
Using Ted’s narrative as a point of departure, I explore the ways in which gendered vulnerability intersects with the consequences of a climate disaster, resulting in reducing women and girls to “bare life.” The concept of “bare life,” or homo sacer, was put forth by Giorgio Agamben (1998) to describe the perilous status of a specific form of life under sovereign rule. Homo sacer is a figure within ancient Roman law; someone who can be killed by anyone without fear of punishment and who is not a sacrificial object, thus excluded from both human and divine laws (Agamben, 1998). This idea of “bare life” is helpful in explaining gendered violence in circumstances that Agamben (2005) refers to as “states of exception,” such as armed conflicts and emergency settings where normal juridical systems are suspended. In these instances, people are stripped to “bare life,” a form of life that can be killed/destroyed without fear of punishment. Such an allegory is useful “to diagnose new forms of domination and political dangers in modernity” (Ziarek, 2008, p. 103). Helle Rydstrøm (2012) provides an account of the gendered dimension of “bare life,” illustrating how the human body materializes as a site of physical suffering which might be even legally condoned as observed in the sacrifices of North Vietnamese men and women during the Vietnam War (p. 279). By using the “bare life” concept to understand the gendering of natural disasters, this article explores how patterns of violence against women and girls in Eastern Visayas of the Philippines in the wake of Super Typhoon Haiyan intersect with entrenched cultural and social norms, particularly preexisting inequalities, at a time when social order breaks down amid the ensuing chaos and destruction. This is all the more poignant since Eastern Visayas is the very location where, in the words of Bronwyn Winter (2012, p. 82), “militarization, globalization, post colonialism and monotheistic religion intersect at precisely the point where women experience the most profound and enduring violence.” In such a setting, climate disasters fuel gender-based imbalances, however in differing ways due to factors such as age, ethnicity, sexuality, and financial status (Bolin, Jackson, & Crist, 1998; Cannon, 1994; Enarson, Fothergill, & Peek, 2007; Neumayer & Plümper, 2007). Having said this, I have no intention to suggest that men and boys remain unaffected by disasters. Rather, as Roxane Richter (2015) argues, “gender equity should serve as a filtered ‘gender lens’ that illustrates how men and women are constrained by their socialization and disproportionately impacted by disasters” (p. 38). However, due to the disproportionate levels of violence experienced by women as opposed to men, in the Philippines and elsewhere (Le-Ngoc, 2015), I am limiting the scope of this research article to women and girls and will not discuss gendered violence against men and boys in emergency settings. The case study of Eastern Visayas will illustrate how preexisting gendered inequalities create precursors to violence, which are then exacerbated as women and girls are reduced to “bare life” in the aftermath of a climate catastrophe. Disasters like Typhoon Haiyan create the circumstances in which violence can occur, but do not drive it. This article aims to present the case that to prevent postdisaster violence against women and girls, policy-makers, multilateral and nongovernmental organizations, and community leaders must look to the root causes of gender inequalities; tackling violence in the aftermath of a disaster is already too late.
Gendered Vulnerabilities and Disasters
As a primary factor of social organization, gender shapes the social worlds within which natural events occur (Enarson & Pease, 2016). During the last decade, the gender dimension of natural disaster has received increasing academic attention. As described by Elaine Enarson (1998) in her groundbreaking work on the gender facets of natural disasters, “the everyday practices of ‘doing gender’ mean that women and men perceive, experience, respond to and recover from disasters differently, both top-down and grass-roots models of disaster mitigation will reflect existing gender relations and hence gender power” (p. 165). General inequalities between men and women mean that women and girls are disproportionately susceptible to the consequences of climate changes and disasters (Le-Ngoc, 2015). These inequalities include a lack of access to resources and a dependency upon livelihood systems highly sensitive to climate catastrophes, little access to media information because of language barriers, little or no influence on decision-making at societal and/or family levels due to patriarchal restrictions, and the heavy burden of raising children and doing household chores. Cultural biases also deprive girls and women of opportunities to learn survival skills such as swimming (Bradshaw & Fordham, 2013; Warner et al., 2013).
The rise in gender-based violence following climate-based disasters has been observed in both developed and developing countries. For example, the United Nations reported widespread sexual abuse and exploitation following the January 2010 earthquake in Haiti (Horton, 2012). In the days following the disaster, women and girls were raped in refugee camps. In a study published in Global Justice Clinic/Center for Human Rights and Global Justice, 2012, 14% of households reported at least one member as a victim of sexual assault since the earthquake. Similarly, incidents of sexual violence against women, and especially intimate partner violence, tripled in the year after Hurricane Katrina struck. Elsewhere revelations of violence against women and girls came out thanks to work done by such teams as Patricia Delaney and Elizabeth Shrader (2000) in Nicaragua, and Irela Solorzano and Oswaldo Montoya (2000) in Honduras following Hurricane Mitch.
During my fieldwork in Leyte, I met 14-year-old Jenny who had been raped by her 17-year-old brother in the middle of the night when their family was located at an evacuation center in the wake of Typhoon Haiyan. During a gender-based violence advocacy program implemented as part of the International Organization for Migration’s “Keep Them Safe” campaign, Jenny revealed the incident to a member of the Pathway Referral Team who referred the case to a local women’s shelter. Jenny was then sent to stay there under the protection of the municipal Department of Social Welfare and Development. Jenny’s case is similar to those revealed during activities organized by the Pathway Referral Team in other disaster-struck areas. This underlines the need to include provisions for prevention of violence against women and girls in programs dealing with natural disasters at national and local levels. International efforts on disaster risk reduction have recently taken into account gender-sensitive problems and the need to include women’s voices in building resilience in the United Nations (UN)-sponsored Sendai Framework for Disaster Risk Reduction 2015-2030.
Several researchers have examined gender as a dimension of disaster vulnerability, following Hurricane Katrina in the United States in 2005, the tsunami in East Asia in 2004, and the Haiti earthquake in 2010. Some studies point to an increase in vulnerability to gendered violence among displaced women and girls in the wake of disasters (Anastario, Shehab, & Lawry, 2009; Bookey, 2012; Duramy, 2011). Harville, Taylor, Tesfai, Xiong, and Buekens (2011), for example, examined the effect of Hurricane Katrina on relationship violence in the home and found that certain experiences of the hurricane are associated with an increased likelihood of violent methods of conflict resolution. Because these studies deal with women and girls’ experiences of male violence in times of natural catastrophes, this may give the impression that women and girls’ increased vulnerability to male violence is a sequel to the disaster (Pittaway, Bartolomei, & Rees, 2007). Such an impression may lead to an essentialist narrative about vulnerability, framing women invariably as victims or as passive recipients of natural disasters (Aoláin, 2011, p. 5). Instead, as Fionnuala Aoláin (2011) argues, one should look at the existing conditions prior to the disaster because “the specific vulnerabilities identified in the moment of crisis can only be completely understood and fully addressed by reference to the backdrop” (p. 6). Researchers documenting violence against women in disaster settings such as the 2010 earthquake in poverty-stricken Haiti (Le-Ngoc, 2015), the 2004 tsunami in war-torn Sri Lanka (Fisher, 2010), the 2011 Christchurch, New Zealand earthquakes and the 2005 Hurricane Katrina in the United States (True, 2013) also stress the importance of a contextual approach. Preexisting inequalities are likely to be magnified by climate disasters. For example, although the United States has a high standard of living relative to places like Haiti and Sri Lanka, the people most severely affected by Katrina were African Americans already living in poverty (Peek & Fothergill, 2008). Therefore, it is necessary to examine preexisting vulnerabilities to understand the consequences of the disaster on specific groups (Enarson, 2006; Peacock, Morrow, & Gladwin, 1997), and consider postdisaster violence against women and girls as an exacerbated manifestation of these predisaster vulnerabilities (Fisher, 2010, p. 913).
While a combination of factors may trigger violence in disaster situations, this should not be confused with the deeply rooted causes of gendered violence such as sexual stereotyping, women’s socioeconomic disempowerment, and limited social mobility (Fisher, 2010; Horton & Rydstrom, 2011). In recent scholarship on gender and disasters (Enarson & Chakrabarti, 2009; True, 2013), women are not essentialized and victimized as vulnerable as emphasis is put on the social aspects of natural disaster. As Sarah Fisher (2010) observes, “both during disaster and at other times, male perpetrators use violence as a means to assert power and control over women” (p. 913). Jacqui True’s (2013) study of Hurricane Katrina in New Orleans and the 2010-2011 earthquakes in Christchurch show how these very different societies and their gender structures accentuated or mitigated gendered inequalities and violence against women. According to Eric Neumayer and Thomas Plümper (2007), in terms of overall causality, it is “the socially-constructed gender-specific vulnerability of females built into everyday socio-economic patterns that leads to the relatively higher female disaster mortality rates” (p. 551). Aoláin argues that humanitarian crisis should be considered “not merely as epiphenomenal but rather as compounding the ongoing difficulties of women’s lives” (Aoláin, 2011, p. 12). Viewed in this light, gendered vulnerability can be seen as “primarily cultural and organizational rather than biological or physiological” and patterns of sexual inequality and discrimination should not be overlooked (Aoláin, 2011, p. 5). Such vulnerability increases with the breakdown of social order and the collapse of political and legal structures in catastrophe settings (Aoláin, 2011, p. 12). The effect is multilayered violence, in which preexisting violence against women and girls is increased, exposing them to deeper and greater threats of harm and insecurity. The rest of this article will argue, using primary interviews conducted with women and girls from the Philippines and other stakeholders as evidence, how increased experiences of and vulnerability to various forms of gender-based violence for women and girls during and in the wake of climate-based disasters are a result of the combination of preexisting inequalities compounded with the reduction to “bare life” which follows a disaster. Measures to address gender-based violence during and after disasters are therefore able to mitigate risks only; the underlying causes and precursors to violence are already in place long before disaster strikes.
Method: Fieldwork in the Philippines
Data were collected in the Philippines between April and May 2015, and from previous trips in 2014. A total of 42 in-depth interviews involving sexually abused women (9) and girls (12), representatives of community-based and nongovernmental organizations (11), members of international nongovernmental organizations (3), and government officials (7) were conducted. While some interviews with representatives of international organizations and government agencies were conducted in Metro Manila, most data collection was undertaken in Leyte and Eastern Samar provinces in Eastern Visayas, the areas most affected by Typhoon Haiyan. The research also made use of secondary data, including documents and reports provided by humanitarian agencies, local organizations, and media reports. Among the 21 interviewed survivors of sexual and domestic violence in this study, seven were victims of intimate partner violence, nine of sexual violence, and five of incest. Among the nine sexual violence cases, seven perpetrators were acquaintances such as friends and neighbors. Six cases occurred before Typhoon Haiyan struck, one in an evacuation center, and two after the interviewees had returned to their homes. Six of the interviewees did not report the incident to local authorities, but the incident was known to their families and neighbors, and three cases were being investigated or prosecuted (at the time of the interview). There were three cases of multiple rapes by different perpetrators at different times. The research was conducted in line with ethical and best practices including the guidelines of the World Health Organization and Sexual Violence Research Initiatives for Violence Against Women and Girls research (Jewkes, Dartnall, & Sikweyiya, 2012; World Health Organization, 2001). Participation was voluntary. Participants could choose to stop the interview at any point and to skip any question that they do not want to answer. Participants’ confidentiality was protected by not recording any names, identifying information, or indicating specific locations in the research notes and publications. Interviews with governmental, nongovernmental representatives, and other individuals were conducted in their offices and in English, given their general proficiency in the language. Due to the sensitivity of the research subject and the delicate political situation in the affected areas, recorders were not used; instead, field notes were taken and written up as soon as possible after each interview. This method was chosen based on evidence from previous experiences of respondents feeling more at ease to talk about a wide range of subjects in the absence of recording devices (Ezzy, 2010). In-depth interviews usually lasted from 1 to 3 hr. After the first interview, follow-up interviews were suggested, to be held at the respondent’s convenience. Most respondents agreed, and some of the interviews were carried out in less formal settings such as cafés and food stalls. These extra interviews turned out to be highly informative because the respondents now felt more at ease to talk about sensitive subjects pertaining to the postdisaster period. All interviews with abused women and girls were conducted in the Waray dialect that is mostly spoken by natives of the islands of Leyte and Samar. Translation was provided by Nicole, a Waray-speaking female social worker from a women’s organization in Leyte. Three interviewees preferred not to disclose their ordeal in front of the interpreter who happened to reside in the same community in Eastern Samar. They feared that the interpreter might have already heard of the sexual abuse incidents through the grapevine and their identities might be revealed. In such situations, the interviews were conducted without the interpreter. The interviewees were encouraged to speak in English as much as they could and at the same time to write down whatever they wished to share with me in Waray. Text translation was provided later by Cristina and Aurora, two Waray-speaking social workers in Leyte. After each interview, participants were asked what impact the interview might have on them. All reported that it was a kind of self-healing to be able to talk about their experiences in a supportive, friendly environment. All participants were given contact details of the researcher and information about help sources available in their areas.
The Empirical Context: Super Typhoon Haiyan
The Philippines, a densely populated country of 97 million people, is one of the most disaster-prone countries in the world, experiencing an average of 20 typhoons per year (Oxfam International, 2013). On November 8, 2013, Typhoon Haiyan made first landfall on Guiuan, a municipality of 47,000 people located at the southeastern tip of the province of Eastern Samar. It was one of the strongest storms ever recorded in the country. As of April 17, 2014, the National Disaster Risk Reduction and Management Council officially placed the death toll of Haiyan at 6,300 with over a thousand missing. The consequences were devastating for the survivors and their environment: infrastructure, normal daily life, and societal structures were damaged or destroyed. Both research locations—the provinces of Leyte and Eastern Samar—are part of Eastern Visayas, which administratively is known as Regional Division VIII of the Philippine archipelago. In a recent survey (National Statistical Coordination Board-Regional Division VIII Factsheet, 2011), Eastern Visayas ranked fifth in terms of highest poverty incidence among the 17 regions in the country in 2009. Leyte, one of the six provinces in the region, was among the top 10 provinces in the whole country with the highest poverty incidence in 2009. Likewise, Eastern Samar was among the poorest provinces in the country in 2006 and 2009. As mentioned earlier, it has been shown that the poorest people suffer the worst effects of natural calamities, and in the case of the people in Leyte and Eastern Samar, this could not have been more apparent. According to the annual report of the Philippine Department of Social Welfare and Development, as of the end of 2014, the extended cash for work assistance to a total of 247,659 typhoon Haiyan-affected individuals was worth 584,687 million Philippine pesos (approx. 13 billion US dollars). Nevertheless, 3 years after Typhoon Haiyan devastated Tacloban and nearby islands, many families continued to be homeless and live in uncertainty. With over 200,000 families still living in temporary housing, accelerating the construction of the government-funded 56,000 permanent houses and accompanying facilities appeared to be the most challenging task (Flores, 2016; Pham, 2015). As of September 30, 2016, a total of 29,661 housing units have been so far completed for Typhoon Haiyan victims, but only 4,278 of them have been occupied 3 years after the super typhoon (Antonio, 2016). Displaced families continued to live in makeshift shelters where they had little access to livelihood opportunities and basic needs such as water and proper sanitation, and in relocation sites where some women feared for their safety (Catada, 2015).
This somber picture was aggravated further by the political situation in Eastern Visayas, characterized by a long-standing armed conflict between the Armed Forces of the Philippines and the Communist-led New People’s Army. In the immediate aftermath of the disaster, the Communist Party announced a 10-day ceasefire, which was later extended to 2 months to facilitate humanitarian work. There were subsequent charges and counter charges from one side accusing the other of taking advantage of the situation to make political and military gains. In the aftermath of the disastrous super typhoon, survivors had to rebuild their homes and their livelihoods practically from scratch, their survival, or “bare life” largely depending on the vagaries of the aid distribution carried out under the influence of national and regional political interests as similarly documented following the 2004 tsunami in Sri Lanka (Hyndman, 2008; Walker, 2013).
The “bare life” driven by the emergency context during and following Typhoon Haiyan can be seen to have exacerbated women and girls’ vulnerability to and experiences of violence. However, the devastating impact of the typhoon (and the numerous other climate-related incidents experienced by the Philippines) is not enough alone to cause this violence. Instead, we must consider how gender is done in the Philippines, how gender inequalities are created and manifested, and how this creates a precursor to violence which is then exacerbated in the event of an emergency.
Gender Equality in Law and Order Before and After Typhoon Haiyan
The Philippines has a comprehensive legal framework to protect women against rape and other kinds of violence. Since the late 1990s, numerous legal provisions to protect women and children at local levels have been issued such as the Anti-Rape Law of 1997, the Anti-Trafficking in Persons Act of 2003, and the Anti-Violence against Women and their Children Act of 2004. As regards postdisaster gender-based violence, the national gender-based violence subcluster in the Philippines was formed in 2009 following Typhoons Ondoy and Pepeng. An international nongovernmental organization practitioner named Karen told me during an interview in Metro Manila in 2015 that initiatives on gender-based violence in the postdisaster settings were brought into the agenda before Haiyan. It was being considered for inclusion in the Social Protection Section of the International Organization of Migration’s program in the Philippines.
When the typhoon happened, we thought it could be piloted. Gender-based violence was the first issue raised during the UN consultation meeting after Haiyan.
It appears that the government of the Philippines has placed gender equality high on its development agenda. Fifty years of American rule brought aspects of parliamentary and presidential democracy to the country (Blitz, 2000). However, during this period the colonial government opened up mostly to the Philippine economic elite, the wealthy landowners in particular (Roces, 2004), and the influence of lobbying for laws still depends considerably on the relative power of the middle and upper classes. Legal systems may not adequately represent or respond to the needs of those most vulnerable to climate-related disasters. There is also a gap between the letter of the law and its application and interpretation. According to the U.S. Department of State’s (2014) Country Report on Human Right Practices for 2014, “the present state of the Philippine criminal justice system is weak and overburdened with a meager record of prosecutions and lengthy procedural delays and widespread official corruption and abuse of power” (p. 1). Regarding violence against women and girls, many cases are reported as “Women (and girls) in Especially Difficult Circumstances” which means that these cases cannot be investigated further. As Sonia Randhawa (2010) notes, cases like these are usually listed as “unclassified,” making it difficult to identify the nature of the incidents (p. 5). In a previous ethnographic study on the handling of sexual violence cases by criminal justice officers in the Philippines and Vietnam (cf. Nguyen & Rydstrom, 2015), it was found that at the reporting stage, victims often fear that they will not be believed. When a victim reports the incident of abuse to the police, an officer will take a sworn statement and proceed with evidence gathering. However, most police officers tend to fall back on the presumptions of “good/bad” woman, “virgin/slut” dichotomies and thus do not take reports seriously, as Marian, a Manila-based female lawyer commented: There is obviously a lack of sincerity and seriousness on the part of law enforcement authorities. You don’t see that [sincerity and seriousness] in court, among police officers, especially at barangay [village] level. They have no commitment to their jobs at all. So what can we expect from them? They should change their mindset.
In the immediate aftermath of Typhoon Haiyan, the military and the police were mobilized to take on emergency relief tasks and to restore law and order and prevent looting in urban areas—to counteract “bare life.” However, security in temporary housing for survivors was minimal. The living conditions there were precarious, especially for women and children, as Cristina, a Tacloban female social worker recalled: People are living in make-shift houses or evacuation centers where there is little space for everyone. They cannot move around like the way they did before, they can’t carry out their routine activities, etc. This leads to frustration, depression. Conflict arises, then violence. Women are most vulnerable to acts of violence by men.
In Cristina’s testimony, we again see that the typhoon itself does not cause violence but rather creates the precarious circumstances which may exacerbate the underlying causes and trigger the act. Furthermore, representatives of the crime and justice system, as members of society themselves, are also influenced by the conditions of “bare life” which arise in an emergency situation. The women’s rights group Gabriela pointed to the high incidence of rape perpetrated by members of state security forces—the police and the military—who misused their powerful position and possession of weapons (Carcamo, 2014). For example, consider the case of 17-year-old Rosa, the youngest child in a family with six siblings whose parents had died during the typhoon. Rosa survived attempted rape by her male cousin, who was also the barangay tanod [local police]. Rosa’s eldest sister went to report the incident to the municipal police on the day it occurred; at the time of interview, the case was pending. Rosa’s experience is typical of the vulnerability of young girls who had lost their parents in the immediate aftermath of Typhoon Haiyan.
The chaotic situation not only decreased the capacity of philosophical mechanisms of law and order to protect women and girls from violence, but also damaged the physical barriers between victims and previous assailants. In Tacloban, I met 23-year-old Agnes, married and mother of two boys. Agnes had been raped at the age of 11 by a neighbor, who was 29 years old at that time. In the same evening, Agnes had told her parents about what happened, and they reported the incident immediately to the municipal police. The man was arrested and imprisoned. The trial lasted 7 years, and the rapist was finally convicted with a life sentence. Agnes felt safe. However, after Typhoon Haiyan, the prison was damaged and prisoners escaped. The man came back to the barangay and stayed with his parents. Agnes told me she was terrified when she heard he had escaped from prison, afraid he would come looking for her and might harm her two boys. In this instance, Agnes’ mother saw the man in the neighborhood and reported him to the police. He was arrested and imprisoned once more. However, the stories of Agnes and Rosa highlight the perils facing women and girls in the breakdown of social order and security in the wake of a natural disaster. These accounts are aligned with the well-documented evidence that gender-based violence typically increases in postdisaster settings in which infrastructures are damaged and unsafe, living conditions are poor, and security services are inadequate. For example, Duramy (2011) found that in Haiti, following the 2010 earthquake, some rape victims identified their attackers as members of armed groups or fugitives from prison. Elaine Enarson characterizes the increased vulnerability to violence suffered by women and girls in emergency situations when she relates an account of a flood in Australia: “Human relations were laid bare and the strengths and weaknesses in relationships came more sharply into focus. Thus, socially isolated women became more isolated, domestic violence increased, and the core of relationships with family, friends and spouses were exposed” (Dobson, 1994, quoted in Enarson, 1999, p. 5). It is this core of relationships in the Philippines and the sociocultural influences that shape them that we will now examine to understand why women and girls experience such high levels of violence after a disaster like Typhoon Haiyan.
The Enduring Legacy of Cerrado Catolico
Three hundred years of Spanish rule brought Catholicism and its conservative values to the Philippines (Blitz, 2000). Eastern Visayas in particular is known as the cradle of Christianity in the Philippines as well as the area hosting the first Spanish settlements in the country.
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During my fieldwork, my interlocutors often invoked Catholic values passed down from many generations and localized from the Spanish colonial era that give rise to chauvinistic perceptions of women as property of men. This is considered a “regional cultural trait.” As a Filipina social worker named Jean, who has spent 15 years in Leyte, remarked, People here belong to what we have called “cerrado catolico” [cerrado means closed; literally translated as narrow understanding of Catholicism]. People here have a very strong belief compared to other parts of the Philippines. (The population) is dominated by Catholics. It’s different from Luzon and Mindanao. In Luzon, it is mixed due to (the presence of) the small number of Protestants, the Trade Union, etc. Mindanao has a Muslim community. (Leyte) is known to have the earliest significant contact with Spain. That’s why they had a visit from the Pope earlier this year (2015). People here tend to accept their faith. It is the place where authority cannot be questioned. In the family, in the community who are the most authoritarian persons? Mainly men. If violence occurs women tend to accept it, suffer from it. In such a context people are prone to gender-based violence.
These conservative interpretations and ways of practicing the Catholic faith can contradict more progressive initiatives in regard to gender equality. For instance, today there is a massive presence of women in the public sphere in the Philippines, including labor, entertainment, and politics,
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yet the gender structure within these fields remains largely unchanged and based on patriarchal traditions (Reese, 2010). A qualitative study of Filipino men’s familial roles and their domestic violence experiences and attitudes reveals that men in this society come from a traditional position of power, dominance, and privilege (Lee, 2004). Alongside conservative Catholic teachings, Spanish colonial policies also sought to encourage women’s chastity and subservience to their husbands, confining them to the domestic sphere (Cruz, 2012, p. 528). As shown in a recent study on gender representation in television advertisements (Prieler & Centeno, 2013), these religious and colonial discourses are pervasive in present-day Filipino gender consciousness. Mothers are described as the “ilaw ngtahanan” [the light of the home], or care providers in the family, whereas males are cast as the “haligi ng tahanan” [the stronghold of the home], or economic providers (Prieler & Centeno, 2013, p. 284). In this construction of gender identity, deeply rooted in colonial and postcolonial experiences such as the remaking of the chaste and dutiful Maria Clara
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(Roces, 2015), and tied up with Catholic moralities, women are obliged to maintain and strengthen the family foundation. In the process, they are bound to accept a lifelong marriage contract, open to possible violence and maltreatment from their spouses. In many instances, women’s lives are wasted away in a slow erosion, mentally and physically. This is particularly salient in the narrative of Ted: My first priority is keeping the family as a whole including mother, father and kids. I think it is (an ideal of) a happy family. But this cannot really happen. I really feel nervous and really want to live without any fear of my husband—someone who could easily get mad like a child, not the way an adult male should behave. I do not have any rights in making decisions. Even if it’s not my fault or even if I do not make mistake with intention, he just easily gets mad with me. He does not have patience. I am really tired of carrying the family as I feel weak physically, even just the sound of his voice could make me trembled and feel freeze. I feel that the right of being a wife is not given to me, except for making children for him.
This narrative is not just limited to women from poorer socioeconomic backgrounds, as illustrated in the similar story of Lisa, a 52-year-old university lecturer in Eastern Samar: We grow up in a kind of culture in which women are taught to be submissive and shouldered with the task of taking care of the family. Women should stay in the relationship no matter what happens to them. Because we do not expect that the family can be broken just because the husband batters his wife. It is as if women’s experience of violence has become a part of raising a family. My husband is addicted to gambling, drinking, cock-fighting. He had an affair with another woman he met at one of these settings. She sold food and snacks there. He was able to hide this from me for about ten years. During that time I was busy with my work and my study. I went to Leyte to study for my Master’s degree, then my PhD. In addition I was not in good health, I had some operations, and was bleeding. He used to be a good person but he was under bad influence from his barkada [peers]. Here you know men keep on drinking even when there is no food at home (to feed the family). I talked to his parents and siblings about his violent behavior. They advised me: “Just ignore the affair. Try to behave and act in a way as if you were not hit.” Culturally speaking there is a belief that men at that particular age are likely to test their masculinity, i.e., by having extra-marital relationship, wife battering, etc. Once he forced me to have sex. I didn’t resist because the day before we had quarreled and he threatened to kill me with a knife. So I was just submissive.
Lisa’s experience of domestic violence could reflect her husband’s reaction to what he sees as a breach of long-standing norms that wives should stay home and care for the family. Lisa’s determination to improve herself through educational and her professional success seem to subvert the prevailing patriarchal model of the male being the main breadwinner. This induces men to remake their masculinities (Pingol, 2001), in this case by indulging in extramarital relations and wife battering. Such explications expose the fallacy of local discourses trying to find excuses for a husband’s violent behavior while blaming the working wife for her failure to maintain household harmony. The research conducted in Eastern Visayas indicates that these discourses also drive victims of violence to not report abuse to the local authorities. They wish to protect the family’s reputation, because of the importance attached to family cohesion by Catholic teachings and traditions, the stigma attached to the breakdown of the family unit, and the blame for family breakdown as demonstrated through violence, being placed on women. As such, violence against women and girls becomes accepted, long before any catastrophe or disaster exacerbates the causes. The closed nature of the community based on ethnicity, kinship, and neighborhood ties also plays a role in keeping victims from disclosing domestic violence (Raby, 2000, p. 136). As a male resident of Leyte explained to me, in big urban centers and major port cities like Tacloban, the cabecera [capital] of the East, social relations are more impersonal, based on formal rules and regulations governing proper behavior. However, in places like Eastern Samar and other municipalities in Leyte, community relations are more personal, social control is tighter, and individual movements and behavior are usually observed. For example, the Barangay Punong [Village Captain] knows almost everyone in the barangay. Generally there are about 3,000 households in each barangay, but some barangay have as few as 100-300 households. Because members of a small community are more or less related to one another socially, disclosure of acts of domestic violence not only affects the victims themselves but also their families. Especially when the couple has children, women are reluctant to opt for separation (divorce is not possible) because this may affect marriage prospects of their children who have to bear the stigma of coming from a “broken family.”
The earlier accounts of sexual violence experienced by Agnes, Rosa, and Jenny, as examples of the risks facing women and girls during and after a natural disaster, can be comprehended through the context of Filipino cultural constructions of male sexuality—again developed through a lens of male dominance and patriarchy. Roces (2015) points to “the conflation of virility with masculinity showing the way masculine sexuality has evolved into the polar opposite of women’s sexuality” (p. 194). Accordingly, men in the Philippines tend to believe that “they can appropriate it whenever they need sexual gratification, even if they have to pay for it” (Torres, 2002, quoted in Roces, 2015, p. 194). This shows that in normal circumstances, prostitution can sometimes be perceived as a means of managing (male) desire while upholding conservative values pertaining to the chastity of women (Manderson & Liamputtong, 2002). In the “bare life” conditions in the wake of Haiyan, this is heightened, as women and girls become easy prey for male predators—including international aid workers—and are forced to exchange sex for food and other necessities. Some were trafficked to work in the sex industry in the notorious Angeles City, the capital of sex tourism in the Philippines, some 600 miles to the north. 6
This acceptance of male sexuality is in some ways supported by Catholic teachings, which again place the onus of chastity and purity on women. The Church exerts great influence on the persistence of norms surrounding sexuality and the disapproval of premarital sex in the Philippines, particularly for young women (Gipson, Gultiano, Avila, & Hindin, 2012), and continues to exert its pro-life stance on reproductive health policy at the local and national levels (Austria, 2004; Mello, Powlowski, Nañagas, & Bossert, 2006). Abortion is illegal in the Philippines under all circumstances and is highly stigmatized (Hussain & Finer, 2013). There are no provisions for instances of rape, incest, or fetal impairment. It is a criminal offense to undergo or perform an abortion, and as such, obtaining a safe abortion in a clinic is out of reach for the average Filipino woman (Singh, Juarez, Cabigon, Ball, & Hussain, 2006). Six of the women and girls interviewed who were raped became pregnant, four of them were adolescents. All kept their babies with the backing of their families.
Violence in the Time of “Bare Life”
If men take for granted their traditional position of power, their dominance and privilege in normal circumstances, then their sense of impotence in the wake of a natural disaster like Typhoon Haiyan must be quite frustrating. Dindo Cafe (2012) observes how, following Typhoon Ondoy in Laguna Bae in 2009, men experienced boredom in the evacuation center due to lack of routine daily activities. Frustration may breed aggression, violence, and alcohol/substance abuse (Fisher, 2010). In his research on domestic violence among community-based men, Romeo Lee (2004) found that some men were easily provoked and found it difficult to control their temper when intoxicated. The typhoon and the subsequent chaos exacerbated violent and abusive behaviors (Nguyen & Rydstrom, 2015). In addition, a man’s inability to provide for his family could also trigger conflict and violence. Resorting to violence is a way to reassert authority. The increased risks of violence against women and girls, therefore, cannot be seen apart from the social and economic conditions of local residents in the wake of a devastating natural catastrophe. Within the scope of this study, Ted and another five women shared with me their ordeals of being battered by their husbands, which they blamed on the desperate financial situation of their households. All these women were unemployed and stayed home; the little extra money they earned came from doing laundry in the village, or from stone cracking [paragbato], while their husbands drove pedicab for a living. After Typhoon Haiyan, life was getting much harder, as the pedicab businesses suffered from lack of passengers. 7 Before Typhoon Haiyan, there were tourists coming to the seaside areas. 8 The usual scene described by these women was of their husbands coming home and finding nothing to eat, becoming angry and beating them. At the time of the interview, Ted was totally dependent on her husband. He gave her about 30 pesos a week to buy food for the whole family. Physical abuse for Ted was a daily routine: “I have been suffering for a long time and I hope that I will be able to get out of the (abusive) situation but when I wake up I find myself in the same world.” Women like Ted are not equipped to challenge their circumstances. Ted was not financially independent; she wanted to do laundry work in the village but there was no demand for it. At the time of the interview, she wanted to apply for a Department of Social Welfare and Development micro credit program (10,000 Peso for 2 years) so she could start up a sari-sari [small convenience store]. Ted hoped that in doing so she might become financially independent from her abusive husband and escape the abusive relationship. On the contrary, Lisa, the lecturer discussed earlier, felt able to seek intervention from the local authorities.
Once he slapped and punched me. I went to the Public Attorney Office (PAO) to ask for a Temporary Protection Order (TPO). It has been in effect for two months now. Meanwhile, I am seeking a Permanent Protection Order (PPO). I really want to get him out of my sight. He threatened me, saying that if I don’t stop asking for PPO, his friends would kill me. I am not afraid of him as he cannot get close to me under TPO but if he hires someone to harm me then it would be a problem. These days I try to restrict my daily activities not to go anywhere. Each day I go straight to the office, stay there, then go back home.
The resolute attitude of Lisa in the face of her husband’s domestic violence stems from her financial independence as well as her ability to access proper judicial channels, yet her movements are still restricted through fear of violence. It is clear that domestic violence can occur to women regardless of their educational or social background, but how they respond to it often depends on their socioeconomic background, personal capacity, and social networks.
Conclusion
Returning to the conceptualization of the bare life, the vulnerabilities of women and girls to violence in times of disaster are highest with the emergence of “states of exception”—a “zone of absolute indeterminacy”—a spatial disjuncture, or “single catastrophe” between the sphere of human life and the juridical order (Agamben, 2005). In the worst circumstances, this may reflect Hannah Arendt’s dark version of bare humanity as the one deprived of rights, “the abstract nakedness of being nothing but human” (Arendt, 1973, pp. 299-300), or specifically in this study, the abstract nakedness of being nothing but female. Here the realities of “bare life” is nowhere more palpable than in the lived experiences of Ted, Lisa, Agnes, Jenny, and Rosa among many other women whose minds were brutalized and whose bodies were violated, mutilated, scarred, or burdened with unwanted pregnancies. Due to her social standing, financial independence, and sheer determination, Lisa was able to get out of her abusive marital conditions, but others seemed hopelessly trapped in the debilitating cycle of violence, exacerbated by poverty and social constraints. It is the horror of her married life that makes Ted dread waking up in the morning, but there is no way for her to escape her husband’s virulent abuse. Agnes’ rapist escaped from prison during the typhoon and returned to the village. Luckily he was captured and locked up again. Now she has nightmares that he might escape again soon and take revenge on her. In this regard, the metaphorical meaning of “bare life” aptly reflects enduring damage to women’s lives, a condition of being ruined, physically and mentally. An imagery of bare life of women and girls in the aftermath of Typhoon Haiyan strikes me as I look at the clustering of thousands of threadbare nipa huts in the No-Build Zone at the edge of the Bangon River. The stretch of waters is calm now, sullenly so, shimmering in the heat. It is the same waters that smashed the river banks, destroying anything in its wake and carrying away thousands of lives just less than 2 years ago. Because the Philippines is in the grips of the typhoon belt of the Western Pacific, the place is bound to be struck again sooner than later. Then what will happen to the women and girls—survivors of destructive Haiyan—in those flimsy nipa huts? Will they have been moved elsewhere or still be there when the next round of calamity, deprivation, and violence arrives?
Footnotes
Acknowledgements
The author thanks Helle Rydstrom and two anonymous reviewers for their useful comments on the earlier drafts of this article. The valuable editorial assistance of Louise Cotrel-Gibbons during the revising phase of the article is highly appreciated. The author also thanks the Commission on Filipinos Overseas, the Department of Anthropology and the Department of Political Science of the University of the Philippines (Diliman), the Department of Political Science of Ateneo de Manila University, the Guiuan Municipal Department of Social Welfare and Development, the Tacloban City Shelter for Abused Women and Children, and the WeDpro organization, in particular Imelda Nicolas, Janet Ramos, Nestor Castro, Aida Santos-Maranan, Jean Encinas-Franco, Lourdes Rallonza, and Carmela Bastes for their valuable support in facilitating data collection in the Philippines.
Declaration of Conflicting Interests
The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.
Funding
The author(s) disclosed receipt of the following financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article: This study was undertaken as part of the research project on “Climate Disasters and Gendered Violence in Asia: A Study on the Vulnerability and (In)Security of Women and Girls in the Aftermath of Recent Catastrophes in Pakistan, the Philippines, and Vietnam” (Dnr. 348-2014-3858). The project was funded by the Swedish Research Council (“Vetenskapsrådet”) and led by Professor Helle Rydstrom in collaboration with Professor Catarina Kinnvall and Postdoctoral Research Fellow Dr. Huong Thu Nguyen from Lund University, Sweden. The part on legal aspects is derived from data gathered for the SEASREP Foundation–funded postdoctoral research project “Social Perceptions and Judicial Representations of Rape: The Cases of Vietnam and the Philippines” (Grant 2013-EY-12).