Drowning

Thursday October 8, 6:30 a.m., the phone rings. I pick up sleepily. "My family! My family! Magda … my family!" I hear sobbing and low, sad groans on the other end. It is our babysitter, Maricel, originally from the Philippines, where two typhoons--"Ondoy" and "Pepeng," as they are known locally--have caused floods that, over the last few weeks, have killed hundreds, left hundreds of thousands homeless, and inflicted damage estimated in the hundreds of millions of dollars.

Almost seven years ago, when her son was 15 months old, Maricel made the difficult choice to leave him with her parents so that she could make money in America. Now she tells me that her seven-year-old son, her parents, her sister, and several of her nieces, aunts, and cousins are stranded on the second floor of a shaky 200-year-old house on her family's farm compound, about a five-hour drive from Manila. Night is falling, and the water is rising. The single-level home in which her son lives with her parents has been severely damaged.

I check the news: The conditions are bad and getting worse. People are dying in the floods, assistance can't get through, resources are scarce. The U.N. appeal for the Philippines raised maybe a quarter of its $74 million target. So there they sit, 19 people in an unstable, largely wooden structure, with no flotilla of lifeboats or helicopters from well-to-do countries headed their way.

And here I sit, an attorney in New Jersey. Can I save a poor family in a rural disaster zone thousands of miles away? I am about to find out--and, as the flood waters rise, time is of the essence.

The E-mail Plea

At that early point in the morning when Maricel calls, I don't know anyone in the Philippines who can help. But I know from her that the closest evacuation center is closed due to flooding and, though the Red Cross is on hand, many need to be rescued. My e-mail goes out to 70 people I know. I add recipients somewhat haphazardly--anyone I know from the Philippines, folks from law and graduate school, a couple people from work, neighbors, college friends, family. I forget some who would likely be helpful. I use bold-face type. I list the names and ages of the stranded family members, the address of the house where they are taking refuge on the second floor.

I don't know what to ask, only that my e-mail must request something specific. So I write: "Do you know anyone in the Philippines who might be able to help? Do you know anyone in Governor Corzine or Senators Lautenberg or Menendez's offices?" (I have no idea if this will be helpful, but Maricel and I both live in New Jersey.) "We will pursue options for private rescue." I include links to a New York Times article and a BBC video documenting the storms and floods, and attach three photos of the beautiful family from Maricel's last visit with them. I type "thank you" and hit "Send."

I get 47 responses. The people I expected to respond all did; the people who didn't don't require my judgment, though I can't hide my disappointment. I am equally touched by responses such as "I have no money and no contacts, perhaps I can donate clothes?" and "Not having specific contacts to offer, I sent a lot of focused thought, white light, and uplifting energy" as I am by the targeted offers of logistical or financial assistance.