The Measure of Heroism

Although the recent earthquake was felt here in Iloilo, I was mobile at the time, and a jeepney ride can rival the San Francisco quake of 1906. I only knew something was up when I saw crowds standing outside the different buildings I passed.

In the days that followed I read and listened to the various reports of the horrendous damage in Bohol and Cebu. On the one hand, I felt blessed to have escaped harm. But there was another, less savory feeling overcoming me: One of impotence. I would read how various private organizations like Tulong Kapatid would send relief missions to the hard-hit areas. And here I was, stuck in Iloilo. With every aftershock we felt, my desire to join Kapatid's army grew. Had circumstances been different, I would have tapped into my amassed Vacation Leave credits and enlisted. But alas, I was unable to leave Iloilo, and I literally had no money to spare.

This made me think how a disaster can create the feeling of helplessness on so many levels. Primary of this, of course, are the victims themselves, sheltering inside ruins that may come down on them any time. Then there are the frenzied workers of Tulong Kapatid forever worrying that they may not be moving fast enough, chomping at the bit whenever they got held up not just by earthquake damage but the sorry condition of our infrastructure. Lastly are people who want to lend a hand but are manacled in place for various reasons and have no resources to spare. I fantasized helping the Philex miners by lugging whatever cleared rubble I could carry, or lending my more than passable cooking skills at the soup kitchen. I would be the compassionate yet stone-faced monitor maintaining iron discipline to make sure the desperate crowd didn't rush the call stations set up by Smart Communications. Hell, I'd even lug cables for Meralco or maybe PLDT's plastic bags of relief goods and Maynilad's water to and from a 'choppa' or maybe up and down a gangplank, ignoring the pleas of my compatriots to take it easy, or I might have a heart attack.

(Yes, I admit it's not all altruism. I just love shattering people's expectations that I am a frail, slow moving old fart with my agility, stamina and quick thinking and coolness under fire - I hoped. I pride myself in never crying AY!! when surprised.)

I envy those relief workers and wish I could have joined them. They must be so proud of themselves. But something tells me that they would be so overcome by the tragedy around them that they would have no time to feel pride.

Yes, I would leave my cushy work station and get down and dirty, like these heroes. This is when I came to the conclusion that the measure of heroism is how badly ordinary people want to emulate someone.