Colors of resilience
Resilience is often celebrated as a triumph, a testament to human strength in the face of adversity. But behind the narratives of survival are the untold stories of those who remain on the margins—their struggles unseen and their voices unheard.
It was just days before the Pride March in Quezon City. The rain drummed persistently against the window as Arthur Golong, a transgender community leader from Tacloban, settled into the chair across from me, her presence vibrant despite the overcast weather.
I had previously encountered Arthur's accounts only through the National Inquiry on Climate Change (NICC) by the Commission of Human Rights, a landmark case that seeks to hold fossil fuel companies and other corporate polluters accountable for fueling the climate crisis. Hearing Arthur's story in person was profoundly different. It was laden with raw emotion but brimming with a sense of liberation.
Surviving Yolanda
Arthur, at 49, has endured and overcome one of the most devastating climate disasters in recent history: Super Typhoon Yolanda. It was a turning point in Arthur’s life, transforming her from a survivor into an advocate for the LGBTQIA+ community within the broader context of climate justice, disaster response, and resilience.
“When Yolanda struck, my life changed completely,” Arthur recounted in Tagalog, her voice steady but heavy with emotion. “Before Yolanda, I was just going through my everyday routine—home to work, work to home. But Yolanda forced me to learn what it means to be vulnerable.”
Arthur’s reflections on vulnerability revealed deep-seated issues within disaster response systems, exacerbated by the climate crisis. She spoke about the discrimination faced by LGBTQIA+ individuals during crisis situations, noting how they are often sidelined. “LGBTQIA+ people are seen as resourceful, but in relief distribution, they are often the last to receive help because they are assumed to be without families. This discrimination makes us more vulnerable.”
Natural disasters don’t discriminate, but our social systems do.
The struggle for visibility and support
Arthur’s experience during Yolanda reflected the broader systemic neglect of LGBTQIA+ individuals. She recounted numerous instances of discrimination, such as being mocked during Basic Life Support training because of her gender identity and expression. “Even government officials laughed at me. It was disheartening.”
According to the Philippine Anti-Discrimination Alliance of Youth Leaders Inc., only 33 percent of Filipinos reside in areas protected by ordinances against discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation and gender identity. This statistic underscores how discrimination is still prevalent in the country, a reality exacerbated by the stalled progress of the SOGIE (Sexual Orientation, Gender Identity, and Gender Expression) Equality Bill in Congress. Despite being drafted decades ago, the bill has yet to be passed, reflecting a significant gap in legislative protection for marginalized communities.
Discrimination extends even to the most basic needs. In resettlement sites, communal bathrooms became battlegrounds for dignity, highlighting the everyday prejudice and societal biases faced by LGBTQIA+ individuals. “There were times I didn’t know which bathroom to use. If I used the men’s, they’d accuse me of peeping. If I used the women’s, they’d tell me I didn’t belong there. It was a constant struggle,” Arthur said.
Livelihood programs meant to aid climate survivors in rebuilding their lives often excluded LGBTQIA+ people. Arthur, a skilled hairdresser, found herself enrolling in carpentry and masonry training programs out of necessity, not passion. “I did it for the daily allowance, but it wasn’t sustainable. There were no specific programs for LGBTQIA+ individuals. We had to fit into predefined roles meant for (cisgender) men or women,” she said.
Arthur’s story demonstrates a critical connection between climate action and queer liberation. Her involvement in the NICC highlighted the unique challenges faced by LGBTQIA+ individuals in the context of climate change.
“Disasters don’t discriminate, but our systems do,” Arthur noted. “LGBTQIA+ people are often left out of relief and recovery plans. There needs to be inclusive programs that cater to everyone, not just binary gender categories.”
Her experiences during Yolanda emphasized the need for systemic change. “When the government provides aid, they need to ask, ‘What do LGBTQ+ individuals need?’ rather than just assuming we can fit into existing categories. We need programs tailored to our specific skills and needs,” she said.
Leading with Pride
Despite the hardships, Arthur emerged as a beacon of hope and resilience. She spoke of how the disaster transformed her. “Yolanda gave me a second chance at life. I realized I needed to be strong for my community,” she said, recalling how a Japanese volunteer inspired her. “If he could help us without speaking our language, why couldn’t I, who knew the people and the place, do the same?”
Arthur’s leadership in the resettlement site became pivotal. “Imagine leading a community when you are a victim yourself, unsure of what to do. People came to me with questions I didn’t have answers to. But I knew I had to rise to the occasion. If Yolanda couldn’t break me, nothing could,” she said with determination.
Her authenticity, even in leadership, was unwavering. Arthur refused to conform to societal expectations, even when it meant facing ridicule. “People told me to dress differently for meetings with officials, but I stayed true to myself. My identity isn’t a barrier; it’s my strength,” she affirmed.
A call for inclusivity
Arthur’s story reminds me of the calls from various groups this Pride Month and, in a way, a good nudge as the country celebrates National Disaster Resilience Month this July. Arthur perfectly captures it: “We need programs that don’t just see us as men or women but recognize our unique identities and strengths. Only then can we build a world that’s truly for all.”
It also inspires institutions to embrace inclusivity in fulfilling their duty to safeguard and support all members of society. This entails rethinking and overhauling antiquated systems and existing policies, and ensuring accountability for actions that marginalize vulnerable communities.
The rain outside had eased into a gentle drizzle by the time our conversation ended, but the weight of Arthur’s words lingered. Her story is not just one of survival but of transformation and empowerment. It’s a story that demands we rethink our approach to climate action and disaster response, ensuring no one is left behind in the face of climate change. It’s a story that urges us to paint a future where resilience is painted in all the colors of inclusivity and justice, where every individual's journey and identity is honored and supported.
Because resilience, after all, is not just black and white.
