Oplan Hatid captures spirit of volunteerism after Yolanda

Riding a C-130 plane is far from your ordinary airline experience. Imagine a regular plane but without any seats. You have to sit on the floor, shoulder-to-shoulder with crying kids, the loud plane engine drowning out thoughts of what lies ahead. This is one of the many experiences that Typhoon Yolanda survivors now share.

Some have waited in line at Tacloban airport for days. When they disembark from the planes at Villamor Air Base, they can't leave the premises right away. They must be processed, briefed, examined medically and psychologically, given the chance to choose clothes from piles of donations until they can finally walk out of the grandstand, get a bite to eat, and tell the Oplan Hatid barkers where they need to go.

I asked Jill Alicbar and her boyfriend Rob at the volunteer tent, “Why would you volunteer to drive someone you don't know at all to a place you might not be ready to drive to?”

Jill, a resident of Muntinlupa, replied without hesitation. “I want to help the survivors directly. I want them to know there's someone here in Manila waiting for them, who is concerned for their welfare and safety and that I'm willing to take them where they need to go, wherever it may be.”

Jill recounted how she and Rob waited, sometimes for hours, for survivors who need to go to places that none of the other volunteers were willing to go, such as Malabon, Laguna, and Cavite. After they've dropped off their passengers, they go home at 4 p.m., catch a few hours of sleep, look in on their jobs, then head back to Villamor Air Base for another day of volunteer work.

Rob, a tall expat from New Zealand, recounts how some places where they've dropped off passengers have not been the kinds of places foreigners are encouraged to go, such as houses that can only be reached on foot, on streets where cars can't enter, in the dead of the night when everyone is asleep. And yet, he has never really feared for his safety. The gratitude and surprise shown by those they have given a ride is in itself a reward beyond measure.

When asked how long they would continue to volunteer for Oplan Hatid, Jill quickly answered, “For however long we are needed.”

That was the sentiment on the lips of almost all the volunteers I came across during my visit; not just those in the Oplan Hatid tent itself, but those manning the food stations, the kids' play tent, and the medical tent stationed near the grandstand.

#oplanhatid

It was almost inevitable that Oplan Hatid, or #oplanhatid as it is known on social media, would become an obvious recourse for people who wanted to go beyond the usual cash or relief good donation but were unable to fly to Leyte, Eastern Samar, Samar and Cebu—the hardest-hit places.


Taking some time off from his busy schedule, James Deakin, Oplan Hatid's unofficial spokesperson, sat with me under a tent by the Villamor Air Base grandstand. Yet another C-130 Air Force plane full of Typhoon Yolanda survivors landed as he told the story of their operations.

“It's more than transport, it's support,” was the Oplan Hatid slogan, according to James, who has a day job as Editor-at-Large of C! Magazine and motoring columnist at a major daily. The unique relief effort was also spearheaded by Deakin's friends, Junep and Cel Ocampo, Bugsy del Rosario, Leah Lagmay, Golda and Carly Benjamin, and Che Reginaldo.

They had heard through friends at the Air Base that the C-130 planes were coming in but not everyone who arrived had the means to get to where they were supposed to go, much less the money to pay for it.

Some just ended up outside the base, sitting on the sidewalk. Thus, Junep Ocampo thought of the name, Oplan Hatid, and being in the PR business called on James to help rustle up some drivers to well, make the survivors “hatid.” #oplanhatid was born.

A social media campaign was launched with the sole purpose of mobilizing volunteers, people willing to lend their vehicles and drive Yolanda survivors to their Luzon destinations safely. The response, to put it mildly, was overwhelming.

James has hundreds of stories of good deeds to tell. He told me of volunteers who have driven survivors to Baguio, and then come back to do it all over again. He told me of drivers who had been asked by their bosses at car rental companies to go to the air base and drive as part of their jobs. These drivers had gone back to the office and refused their pay, overtime or otherwise, saying that driving without receiving pay was their contribution to the effort for the survivors.

A big lump formed in my throat as I went through James' Facebook page—I must have gone through half a box of tissues as I read of simple stories of giving, reaching out, doing what people can in order to support the survivors.

Hearing the anecdotes about Oplan Hatid in the tents full of volunteers, in the general atmosphere of selflessness, had me once again wiping my eyes several times. This was a chance for everyone to help. A remarkable 2,000 volunteers have driven untold kilometers to bring almost 17,000 survivors safely to their destinations.

James tells me that they've spent the past couple of weeks training local government units on how to take up where they've left off, in preparation for Oplan Hatid's last day on December 1. But this  is not the end.

As James says on his Facebook page, “Remember, this is only the beginning. We brought them to their relatives and friends' homes. Now let's help them rebuild their own.”

Oplan Hatid volunteers bade farewell to the Air Base and the survivors last December 1, but many—survivor and volunteer alike—will never forget the three weeks when they made a difference. — VC/HS, GMA News