Triple Threats, Compounding Disasters

For the Natural Hazards & Human Risk Factors class I took this past spring, I needed to write two papers. The assignment was the same for both: pick a disaster that was the result of a natural hazard we had studied, and write about the event(s) and the response(s) in context of the location where they happened and the culture influencing the response. As well, we needed to compare this recent disaster and response to previous ones in the same locale.

Initially, I chose to write about three earthquakes that happened in the Philippines between September and October last year. (Since the class ended, these papers didn’t cover the more recent strong earthquake that struck the southern Philippine island of Mindanao. At M7.8, it was a strong one. By initial estimates, at least 35 people died and 200 more were injured.)

As I soon learned, the country is one of the most seismically and meteorologically active countries in the world. In that same time period, a number of typhoons also hit the islands. These initial disasters, like many others throughout the Philippines’ history, resulted in additional hazards from tsunamis, landslides, floods, and debris flows, not least because some parts of the country are sinking.

Climate change is, of course, accelerating both the frequency and severity of these disasters, as the International Federation of Red Cross and Red Crescent Societies (IFRC) observed:

“The Philippines is prone to disasters, but this sequence of catastrophes is not routine — it is a stark reminder of the escalating climate and seismic risks faced by vulnerable nations. Urgent support is needed to scale up relief efforts, prevent further loss of life and support the country as it recovers from this latest disaster.”

Initially, I wanted to repurpose the two papers into a single post here, because of what they revealed about factors influencing disaster response.

However, once all the editing was said and done, I found myself with another nearly 5,000-word colossus; the kind you have to want to dive into because you’re just that interested in the Philippines, compound disasters, and/or political science.

There were the “weeds” of disaster and secondary impacts on people, housing, infrastructure, and land; the “trees” of response to those impacts; and the “forest” of policy, politics, history, and culture. News media reports often focus on particular “weeds” specific to regions, while nonprofit, government, and academic publications look more at “trees” and “forest.”

Without even intending to, yet in keeping with the way my brain naturally works, I’d chosen one of the most complicated disaster regions in the world. I wanted to be able to effectively wrap my arms around all these problems and their implications for disaster response.

In class, it worked — fortunately — because my very understanding professor told me to cover the earthquakes in my first paper and the typhoons in the second. And I did end up earning A’s on both papers (and the overall class).

Here, though, it’s a different story. I could simply repurpose each paper into a separate post, but the connections between storms and earthquakes would be lost. Yet combining them loses the broader “forest” type implications among the “weeds” and “trees.”

To me, this is sort of the crux of modern disaster response: intensifying hazards occurring with accelerating frequency amid historic political upheaval and resulting uncertainty. I hope this (now less long) post shows these challenges and spurs thought on ways to move forward.

A trajectory of disaster response from authoritarian to humanitarian

Context for the responses to the Philippines’ most recent compound disasters comes from its history over the last half-century.

Although more than half of the Philippines’ worst quakes have occurred in just the last few decades, the most severe by far occurred in 1976. The late-night M8.1 Moro Gulf earthquake, situated not far from Davao Oriental and about 850km south of Cebu, resulted in 1,500 deaths from the collapses of housing blocks, a hotel, and other buildings in the city of Cotabato.

The earthquake was further complicated by a tsunami. Waves as high as nine meters arrived within just two to five minutes after the initial shaking. A total of 8,000 people died, with another 10,000 injured and 90,000 left homeless.

This earthquake occurred in the middle of President Ferdinand Marcos Sr.’s dictatorship. Four years before, Marcos had declared martial law, which would not end until 1981.

As it turned out, the military contingent established the previous year on a hilltop above Cotabato to fight rebels, ended up being instrumental to disaster response. The unit rapidly assessed damage and injuries, allocated and mobilized resources, and led search and rescue operations as well as setting up cordons.

Additionally, following a disaster declaration for all of Mindanao, Zamboanga del Sur governor Jose Tecson requested immediate assistance in the form of food, clothing and medicine.

Again, military support was particularly prevalent alongside the civilian response to Mindanao. A team of army medics was dispatched to assist in hospitals in four southern provinces, while the navy sent relief supplies aboard two ships from Manila, adding to the drilling equipment and emergency food rations already en route. Navy units were additionally reassigned security or rescue tasks.

Even more significant, though, were the policy changes to Philippine disaster response. Two years later, Marcos’ government would go on to authorize the creation of the National Disaster Coordinating Council (NDCC), now known as the National Disaster Risk Reduction and Management Council (NDRRMC).

Additionally, the catastrophe led to the revision of the Philippines’ National Building Code. Now, structures are required to be resilient enough to withstand a Mercalli Intensity VIII earthquake.

Still, when the nation’s second strongest earthquake, an M7.8, occurred 14 years later in Luzon, building collapses again resulted in about 2,000 deaths. In addition to homes, these buildings included hotels, hospitals, schools, and commercial buildings, including at least one factory. 

The earthquake also caused flooding, landslides, and liquefaction in some areas. In particular, landslides rendered the mountain resort city of Baguio completely inaccessible, except by air, for 48 hours after the earthquake. This complication, along with daily cold rain, hampered relief efforts.

By this time, Marcos had been out of power for four years. Corazon Aquino was now president, and although her efforts to dismantle authoritarian government and reestablish democracy had been largely successful, the effort had apparently left a vacuum in disaster response. 

The NDCC was criticized as a largely ineffective coordinating body, unable to direct local Disaster Coordinating Councils (DCCs), which themselves were found to be incapable of immediate response. 

While nongovernmental and private organizations stepped up, they did not coordinate with local authorities, “adding to the confusion and resulting in duplication of efforts, unbalanced distribution of relief and other administrative problems.”

However, locals did respond. In Baguio, miners and military academy cadets provided crucial early volunteer rescue services during the 48 hours before other relief, such as medical and search and rescue teams, could arrive. 

After that point, international medical teams provided not only specialized care, but also basic cooking and other healthcare. Tents, blankets, food, and other “low tech” relief items were especially helpful, as aftershocks sent many residents into the open to camp away from damaged homes. Additionally, response efforts benefited from information from the Mexican government gleaned from its experience responding to the 1985 Mexico City quake.

The following year, of course, stratovolcano Mount Pinatubo erupted on the same day that Typhoon Yunya struck. However, the eruption wasn’t ordinary. The second-largest volcanic eruption of the century (behind that of Novarupta in Alaska in 1912), this event “produced high-speed avalanches of hot ash and gas, giant mudflows, and a cloud of volcanic ash hundreds of miles across”, which mixed with rain and wind from Yunya. The mix resulted in two cave-ins, six bridge collapses, and crop destruction among many other damages.

The eruption was also the largest to affect a densely populated area. Although thousands of people had been evacuated prior to the eruption, more than two million people were affected, including 800 killed.

However, the outcome could have been much worse. A monograph describing the event noted: 

“... the eruption of Mount Pinatubo in June 1991 and the subsequent lahars were the first of their magnitude to occur in a densely populated area among a people with the will and technological means to actually mitigate risks. With the benefit of good forecasts and generally constructive public responses, thousands of lives and untold amounts of property were saved. About 250 died during the eruption and a hundred more have died in subsequent lahars; without the forecasts and constructive public response, the toll would have been much greater.” – Newhall & Punongbayan, 1996

By 2013, when an October M7.2 earthquake in Cebu was complicated by Typhoon Haiyan (local name: Yolanda) two weeks later, disaster response was better, but still limited. By the time Haiyan made landfall, 350,000 people were living in tents and other temporary shelters in Bohol province.

Heavily damaged roads and bridges restricted search and rescue operations, and power cuts affected Bohol and Cebu, leading officials to declare a state of calamity. Ultimately, Haiyan killed 6,300 people, injured more than 28,000, and resulted in more than a thousand missing people.

While the Philippine Red Cross mobilized staff and volunteers to affected areas, and aid organizations such as World Vision and UNICEF offered relief supplies such as tents, water, food, hygiene kits, blankets, sleeping mats, mosquito nets, and other items for displaced families, along with Child-Friendly Spaces. 

All represented an evolution from the “low tech” relief provided in 1990, yet President Benigno Aquino’s government was heavily criticized for slow response.

Still, these responses, compared with the responses to the 2025 typhoon-earthquake disasters, show a distinct trajectory of disaster response efforts from Marcos Sr.’s emphasis on structural engineering, to filling gaps in humanitarian aid.

Five cyclones, three earthquakes, three months

The compound disasters between September and November 2025 happened amid interesting and somewhat unusual circumstances.

First, the 2025 Western Pacific typhoon season was generally average, with more than typical the number of named storms, but whose accumulated cyclone energy was only moderate.

Yet the series of disasters started with a triptych of typhoons that arrived within one week of each other, so close together that the annual report of the Economic and Social Commission for Asia and the Pacific (ESCAP) and the World Meteorological Organization (WMO) Typhoon Committee counted their casualties and damages together: 42 deaths, 41 injuries, 14 missing, and ₱5 billion worth of damage to agriculture, infrastructure, and housing.

Officials in all affected provinces had ample advance warning regarding the cyclones’ approach. More than 400,000 individuals representing about 114k families were evacuated, with more than 350,000 displaced people sheltering in one of the 1,906 established evacuation centers.

The IFRC set up more than 230 family tents, dozens of latrines and bathing areas, and even a children’s pool. The organization also provided meals, safe water, health services and psychosocial support.

Less than two weeks later, late on the night of 30 September 2025, a Tuesday, an M6.9 earthquake at a depth of only 10km struck the province of Cebu in the central Philippine Islands. Ten days later and 700km away, an M7.4 earthquake — followed by an M6.9 quake, a “doublet” rather than an aftershock — struck the southeastern province of Davao Oriental at a depth of 43km.

A state of calamity was also declared the day after the doublet earthquakes. Search and rescue teams were deployed to Davao Oriental, along with mental health professionals, who provided more than 3,000 people with psychosocial support. For its part, the Philippine Red Cross set up an additional 79 tents for displaced families.

The provinces of Cebu and Davao Oriental had just started to piece themselves back together following these earthquakes when two more cyclones struck in November.

Indeed, an analysis of the Filipino phrase “Bahala na,” “a complex cultural phenomenon that extends far beyond its literal translation of ‘leave it to fate’ or ‘come what may’” indicates a culture as shaped by “centuries of colonization, natural disasters, and social challenges” as its islands are by sea, sky, and tectonic forces.

The United Nations reported that widespread damage had occurred to “homes, churches, schools, public buildings and transport infrastructure” in Cebu. In addition, two seaports were inoperable, hospitals pushed beyond capacity, and several roads partially blocked, all of which restricted aid delivery. 

Neighboring provinces sent emergency medical teams to assist, while humanitarian organizations set up to distribute hygiene kits and water filtration units and the UN International Organization for Migration prepared to support displaced families.

In Davao Oriental, at least 250 patients had to be evacuated from a damaged hospital following the first earthquake. They were housed in tents. In Cebu likewise, tent hospitals were set up to treat the hundreds of injured, and local authorities asked for medical volunteers to assist.

This request was a poignant one: the previous May, researchers had identified a chronic nationwide shortage of nurses and physicians exacerbated by financial constraints at both government and private hospitals.

Another significant response to the Cebu disaster came from Archbishop Alberto Uy, who advised the province’s Catholic congregants to remain clear of churches until they could be assessed for damages. Nearly 80 percent of the Philippines’ population is Roman Catholic, and Uy’s directive was a departure from previous disaster responses in which churches served to shelter storm refugees.

However, the directive was also nothing short of pragmatic. Churches in the region are hundreds of years old, having been built during Spanish colonization in the 1500s. Indeed, one Cebu church had partially collapsed following the earthquake, and a church facade in Davao Oriental was also damaged.

Prior to the fourth typhoon’s arrival, nearly 450,000 people were evacuated to shelters. A day later, nearly 400,000 remained in these shelters, or took refuge in relatives’ homes.

In Cebu, the IFRC evacuated tent city earthquake refugees to the Bogo Sports Complex evacuation center, or encouraged them to find friends to stay with. Schools and workplaces suspended operations.

Between the fourth and fifth typhoons, President Ferdinand Marcos, Jr. declared a national calamity. With an anticipated a storm radius that could affect nearly the entire country with strong winds and heavy rains with resulting floods, the Philippine Institute of Volcanology and Seismology (Phivolcs) warned that “intense to torrential rains” had the potential to trigger lahar flows from Mayon Volcano.

By this time, acute respiratory infections had been reported in Cebu evacuation centers housing earthquake survivors. With still more evacuees expected, this time fleeing the typhoons in Luzon and other provinces, health officials pre-stocked medical supplies including cough and fever medicines, antibiotics, hygiene kits, vitamins, and potable water. 

In Biliran, Leyte, and Samar provinces, along with stocking similar supplies, public health teams implemented medical surveillance among evacuees. In Cebu and Bohol, meanwhile, 24-hour medical emergency operations were activated, while the Archdiocese of Manila urged schools, churches, and other institutions “with roof, safe space, rest rooms and clean [sic]” to offer temporary shelter to evacuees.

Following the two typhoons, the IFRC issued a revised Emergency Appeal. It sought to scale up operations to assist 284,904 people across multiple provinces, along with an additional 18 million Swiss francs.

Marcos’ national declaration of calamity, meanwhile, allowed for the release of ₱760 million in financial assistance to affected communities.

Resilience undermined by ongoing political volatility

These measures came six months after the Philippines’ launch of its National Disaster Response Plan (NDRP), a strategic framework to enhance disaster preparedness and resilience. 

Developed in partnership with the Department of Social Welfare and Development (DSWD), the plan outlines a long-term, coordinated approach to climate resilience by emphasizing collaboration among national agencies, local government units (LGUs), and communities.

Yet the Philippines’ political landscape remains as volatile as its underlying earth. The Cato Institute observed that political dysfunction, in particular patronage, family ties, and “strongman politics,” had interfered with the country’s ability to effectively prepare for disasters and distribute disaster aid — a condition that appears to have persisted, if not escalated, into the present day.

For one, the 2025 response was undermined by the revelation that corrupt government officials and contractors had plundered most of the Philippines’ $9.2 billion investment in flood control measures.

In July, Marcos Jr. had exposed an internal audit which found that since 2022, many of the program’s 10,000 projects had been built using substandard materials or not at all. These only exacerbated the damage wrought in 2025.

The scandal is particularly troubling given recent revelations about the Philippines’ arguably most substantial secondary hazard to either cyclones or earthquakes: land subsidence. 

Seismic activity and sediment compaction are only two factors causing island land to sink. The Philippines has experienced rapid development, particularly urbanization, in recent years.

The resulting over-extraction of groundwater, along with climate change, have intersected to amplify the hazards from storm surge and flooding, landslides, and infrastructure damage that result from cyclones and earthquakes.

That Filipinos might be traumatized by repeated disasters, even as commonplace as those disasters might be, perhaps speaks to the effect of ongoing instability of many kinds on the national psyche.

As the IFRC noted: “The Philippines is prone to disasters, but this sequence of catastrophes is not routine — it is a stark reminder of the escalating climate and seismic risks faced by vulnerable nations. Urgent support is needed to scale up relief efforts, prevent further loss of life and support the country as it recovers from this latest disaster.”

Indeed, an analysis of the Filipino phrase “Bahala na,” “a complex cultural phenomenon that extends far beyond its literal translation of ‘leave it to fate’ or ‘come what may’” indicates a culture as shaped by “centuries of colonization, natural disasters, and social challenges” as its islands are by sea, sky, and tectonic forces.

Thus even with its greater humanitarian emphasis on mental health support, the impact of ongoing political and natural instability contrast with author Rebecca Solnit’s 2010 assertion that disaster response can elicit not a sense of powerlessness, but rather, a sense of personal agency and neighborly unity – true community.

To that end, both for the Philippines and for communities across the globe, training and resourcing local and regional responders is of utmost importance. Not only is it likely that international aid may be delayed or otherwise encumbered in immediately responding to disaster; it is also crucial for people affected by disaster not to give in to learned helplessness, but rather, to find a personal and community sense of agency in rebuilding what has been lost.