by Mixkaela Villalon
The daily slog through Manila’s rush hour traffic takes a toll on everyone. Early this quarter, DOTC Secretary Abaya has given the metro’s throng of commuters the Ogre’s Choice: ride the rickety deathtrap MRT, or ride the daredevil busses plying the highways. Or take a taxi, buy a car. For most of us, that’s scarcely a choice.
These days, the city finds itself in a state of stasis. It teeters on the edge of chaos, seemingly held together only by our collective wills. The daily travails of the wage slave can wear a soul down. For[quote_right]For better or worse, modern technology has afforded most of us Matrix-like ways to escape our depressing realities. [/quote_right]better or worse, modern technology has afforded most of us Matrix-like ways to escape our depressing realities. To make a living, we keep our heads low and our noses to the grindstone all week and live for the temporary reprieve of the weekends.
The city is a living thing. It consumes, produces waste, and grows. Its geographic boundaries push ever forward. Metro Manila now extends from Bulacan to Laguna, encompassing all baranggays in between. Every city therein has its own vibe and personality, sometimes its own color and smell pallet. The spaces within this mega city are defined through architecture and urban design. The city’s streets, fly-overs, buildings, and public spaces in turn influence people’s interactions with each other and with the city.
The various spaces in the city inform us on what to wear, how to conduct ourselves, and our expected behavior to the people around us. We are quiet in banks and hospitals, loud on our cell phones and bars, wary around police check points. These public spaces are integral to the operations of the city and to everyone who lives and works in it.
[quote_center]The various spaces in the city inform us on what to wear, how to conduct ourselves, and our expected behavior to the people around us. [/quote_center]
Despite our universal dependence on these public spaces, we rarely have any control over it. There are mandated institutions that mold and dictate the nature and flow of these public spaces. Recently, and seemingly without consultation or regard for the people who use these spaces, the Katipunan road traffic scheme changed from the previous uninterrupted traffic flow through the use of strategically-placed U-turn slots, and is now once again controlled by stop lights and traffic enforcers. Propositions to ban private vehicles in EDSA during rush hour to make it exclusively the province of busses threaten to upend the order (or lack thereof) that we have grown used to. It does not help either that these changes made to public spaces are seemingly arbitrary, subject to the changing whims of whoever is in charge. The “Any-any School of Traffic Management,” jokes Philippine social media. “Trial and Error School of Urban Planning.”
Manila’s poor urban planning manifests its toxicity most on its roads. EDSA has a terrible “just add water” reputation because any amount of rain cripples this main thoroughfare. The MRT, once heralded as cheaper, safer, and faster transport is now blighted with miles-long commuter lines, ill-maintained trains, and the most cavalier authorities in charge of its existence. The streets testify of the gaping social and class gap, wherein private vehicles enjoy the most privilege while pedestrians squeeze through narrow sidewalks that are prone to disappearing completely. “Bawal Ang Tao Dito” may be the most fitting street sign reflective of our relationship with our city.
Given the gridlock, many commuters mentally check out of the rush hour through music, video games, or social media. Portable gadgets and cell phones allow us to be anywhere else but here. This technology is pocket-sized and personal, a way to assert a modicum of individual space in lieu of physical space. We try to block the city’s white noise by plugging our ears and averting our eyes.
[quote_left]We have turned into Pod People, wrapped in our individual bubbles afforded by technology.[/quote_left]There is palpable scarcity in the city– of space and other resources– so we treat fellow commuters as competition. It taints all our interactions, erodes the concept of community. We have turned into Pod People, wrapped in our individual bubbles afforded by technology.
It is an illusion we purposely cast on ourselves. The two hour bus ride from Ayala to Quezon City seems much faster when listening to album after album of Metallica or browsing through Facebook. The ride is slow, but the wifi is (relatively) fast. If we squint our eyes, this illusion of speed can sometimes look like progress.#
