I can’t help but notice the irony every time I approach a pedestrian lane in Tacloban City. The very place where I should feel the safest crossing the road seems to be the least respected stretch of paint. According to Republic Act No. 4136, the Land Transportation and Traffic Code, vehicles should yield to pedestrians at designated crossings. But that’s not how things play out here. Instead of cars stopping as they should, it’s us—the pedestrians—who end up stuck, waiting like extras in a movie scene, hoping for a miracle in the form of a courteous driver.
In my experience, most drivers act as if the pedestrian lane is just decorative, some kind of abstract art meant to beautify the asphalt. It’s as if they’ve decided that slowing down for pedestrians would be too much of an inconvenience. What’s worse is that we, the pedestrians, have become conditioned to accept this ridiculous reality. We hover on the edge of the crossing, casting hopeful glances at drivers like we’re begging for alms when all we want is to cross the street safely.
Tacloban’s traffic situation feels like a daily tug-of-war, with drivers pulling harder on the rope because they know no one’s going to stop them. It’s not just a matter of a few inconsiderate individuals; this is a citywide problem. I’ve seen everything from tricycles to SUVs ignoring pedestrian lanes, zooming past like they’re late for an emergency that doesn’t exist. Republic Act No. 4136 might as well be a myth around here, a set of rules whispered about but never truly enforced.
I can’t help but think about how it works in places like Davao City, where pedestrians cross without even breaking their stride, fully confident that vehicles will stop for them. There, drivers know the law and, more importantly, respect it. Meanwhile, here in Tacloban, crossing the street feels like trying to win a game of chicken—one I never asked to play. Sometimes I wonder if the drivers here would even stop if I painted myself in zebra stripes to match the pedestrian lanes.
It’s not just the drivers that are the problem; it’s the lack of enforcement. Where are the traffic enforcers when we need them most? It’s as if they’ve taken an extended lunch break, leaving the roads to descend into chaos. In other countries, violating pedestrian rights might get you a ticket or worse. Here, the worst that happens is a disapproving glare from the people you are forced to wait on the side of the road. It’s hard not to feel like we, the pedestrians, are being ignored in every sense of the word.
And when there’s a convoy—forget about it. Pedestrians could set up camp by the side of the road because, trust me, you’ll be waiting long enough to pitch a tent. Convoys seem to embolden drivers even more as if the presence of multiple cars justifies ignoring the law completely. It’s an absolute circus, except no one’s laughing because we’re all stuck on the wrong side of the road, helpless and frustrated.
The irony is thick in the air when I think about how these lanes are supposed to represent safety and respect for the pedestrian. But here in Tacloban, they might as well be invisible lines, forgotten as soon as they’re painted. It’s almost as if the law was written for some other place, and we’re just an afterthought in its implementation.
At the end of the day, it’s about respect—for the law, for each other, and common decency. Maybe what we need isn’t just stricter enforcement but a cultural shift, a collective realization that pedestrian lanes are there for a reason. If Davao can do it, why can’t we? I’d like to believe that we’re not too far gone to fix this. But until then, I’ll be standing on the edge of the road, hoping that one day I won’t have to risk my life just to cross the street.
