During the Great East Japan Earthquake that struck Japan in 2011, the world stood in awe as buildings swayed but did not collapse, and cities that had withstood a tsunami rose with precision out of the destruction. Such is not mere luck but a product of design. It is this that we, in natural disaster-laden nations such as my country, the Philippines, do not have: a design for how to innovate before disaster strikes, and for how to build not only what was destroyed but also what is supposed to last.

Every year, the storms hit our islands with a schedule. Floods engulf homes, landslides wash away villages, and earthquakes disturb both the earth we stand on and the future we believe in. Still, every year, we continue to rebuild in this vulnerable manner: with makeshift construction materials, unplanned communities, hit-or-miss engineering, and stopgap fixes. It is as if we have not believed what all those loops of storm-damaged roofs and overflowing rivers have been trying to teach us. The resilience of our nation is anchored in neither preparation nor readiness but in tenacity and faith.

I have wondered for a long time why we respond to disaster situations by treating these events as if they are matters of destiny instead of problems to be solved by creativity. The Japanese did not wait for another disaster to teach them lessons; instead, they researched, designed, and created. They erected buildings that can dance with earthquakes instead of toppling with them. They developed flood-resistant housing and disaster response strategies that work faster than panic can spread. Creativity is their means of surviving. Here, innovation is considered a luxury—a byline for public speaking, but not for offering life-saving strategies.

We have more excuses than inventions in the Philippines. We have reasons for not progressing: it is because we are a poorer country with inefficient bureaucracy and corruption. These reasons are like natural disasters. We do not need billions if we have innovative minds. We can build on top of each other instead of focusing on constructing something anew. We have architects here who can design houses that can withstand floods. We can create efficient warning systems even in barangays. We can transform schools into safety zones instead. We don’t have a shortage of resources, but a shortage of vision.

I have watched communities struggle to reclaim themselves, time and again, after each storm, only to have it all taken away with each subsequent typhoon. “There is a tragic symmetry in all this. We treat the wound but not the skin beneath. Aid trumps resiliency. We measure innovation, not donations.”

Our government, with all its agencies and funds, must lead by example in adapting to technology. The floating houses in Japan, sensors for earthquake detection in Indonesia, and flood walls in the Netherlands did not come from conceptual discussions. They resulted from hard work on innovative research. The Philippines has talented minds working in engineering, architecture, and environmental endeavors. Still, they often leave for other countries because their design concepts are frequently overlooked in a bureaucracy that would rather hold a ribbon-cutting ceremony than undertake something truly groundbreaking.

However, this problem does not only lie with our government. It is a cultural problem. We are naturally resilient, but we’re not innovative. We are accustomed to adapting, coping, and responding, but we rarely change the system that continues to disappoint us. We’re proud of this culture, known as bayanihan. We celebrate this beautiful thing called bayanihan. However, bayanihan must change. It must change because it has to work towards becoming collective intelligence—that which conceptualizes, designs, and safeguards. What if we combined science and bayanihan? What if?

We cannot halt the storms, earthquakes, and floods. We cannot replace blue skies with clouds. We cannot stop birds from chirping. We cannot bring human lives to a standstill. We cannot halt progress. We cannot halt evolution. We cannot control nature. We can, however, put an end to predictability. We can put an end to the victim mentality. We can do this one way: through innovation. Not foreign innovation. Not borrowed innovation. We need homegrown innovation. We need innovation that comes with thought. We need innovation with integrity.

The title above is in Latin, the reader can translate the same using on-line translation and Latin Dictionaries.

As of this writing Typhoon Fung-Wong local name UWAN is hitting land at the Norther Central Luzon Area. After Typhoon Tino Uwan came in a matter of days. These two created a double whammy of sorts, a dreadful punch combination that floored us all. It was the painful knock down we felt.

Tino, flooded Cebu, rattled its middle class and saw piles of cars from Sedans to SUVs. Its poor had dangled on roofs while flood rushed on the roads and engulfed their homes. In Places like Liloan, Mandaue and Minglanilla the waters were furious and unforgiving, it was a killer with a purpose and its purpose was to annihilate mostly the unfortunate poor.

Uwan as we speak is sending floodwaters to the roofs of Catanduanes and perhaps yet sadly, we have not known the extent of the damage we will know, leter.

Yet, as a country plagued by typhoons and earthquakes, our leaders had been outlining solutions yet the problems are never stopped because our leaders are pilfering, scheming, stealing from the funds that supposedly addresses these problems.

There will be TINO, UWAN and other four letter tragedies. We will have sorrow and we shall gnash our teeth in anger, but we will bear the brunt of natures fury until we take our boot straps, tighten the laces and kick our corrupt leaders. Ira Naturae et praedatio principum, the sad combination of Natures Fury and our Leaders Pilferage, yes, the poor suffer first.