USA TODAY International Edition
Filipino Americans unite after storm to help homeland
CATHEDRAL CITY, CALIF. For years, a small but growing Filipino community in the Southern California desert has been easy to overlook, hidden by Spanish surnames within a Latino population, influence diminished because of divergent interests.
But now, as these Filipino Americans watched Typhoon Haiyan’s destruction from afar, they have been spurred to unite in a shared desire to do something — anything — to help their homeland.
Three days after the typhoon struck, community leaders formed the Coalition of Filipino Americans in the Coachella Valley, uniting five groups: a social club, two church organizations, a golf association and a medical outreach group.
The coalition immediately began planning a donation drive, a golf tournament and a telethon, all to help storm victims, said Isabel Chapman, one of the coalition’s founding members.
Typhoon Haiyan brought immense devastation, so the desert Filipinos needed to “do something big,”
“The tsunami in Thailand got to me, but when it’s your own people, it feels different.” Isabel Chapman, Indian Wells, Calif.
bigger than any group could do on its own, she said.
“Storms and typhoons are a regular part of life there. ... But I assure you I cannot imagine 195- mph winds,” Chapman said. “The tsunami in Thailand ( in 2004) got to me, but when it’s your own people, it feels different.”
About 5,000 Filipinos live in the Coachella Valley, about 120 miles southeast of Los Angeles, according to Census data. Their numbers have doubled in the past 10 years, but they constitute only a little more than 1% of the valley’s entire population.
Across the USA, more than 3.4 million Americans say they are Filipino or part- Filipino. More than 40% of them live in California; 10% live in Hawaii.
After Typhoon Haiyan struck Friday, many Filipinos in this area found themselves sharing the same nightmare — no contact with their families, longing for news, desperate to help. Wind and floods destroyed entire villages, and authorities have estimated that as many as 10,000 people could be dead.
The storm also cut off communication in large portions of a country with more than 7,000 islands slightly larger than Arizona. It is hard to separate victims from survivors, who search piles of bodies and wreckage for food, water and medicine.
After the storm, Oscar Rodas, an engineer who lives here, clung to his computer, waiting for word that his family had survived. Rodas moved to the United States in 1979, but his family still lives in the coastal village of Pulanduta directly in the storm’s path. It’s about 200 miles from Tacloban, a city where much of the news coverage has been centered.
Eventually, Rodas learned via Facebook — secondhand information posted by old friends — that his mother and siblings had survived. So did his aunt and uncle in Aklan province, although their house was lost.
One of his cousins, however, posted that her godmother had been killed. Rodas didn’t know the woman, but she was still family, he said.
“It’s really saddening to see the devastation that hit my homeland, my hometown,” Rodas said. “I feel powerless because I am here.”