THE world often sees the headlines, the gripping images, and the stories of human suffering that emerge from disasters and crises. But what remains largely unseen are the profound, often invisible wounds carried by those who bear witness to these tragedies — not only the survivors, but also the brave individuals, like journalists and aid workers, who dedicate themselves to reporting and responding.
This reality was at the heart of the discussions during the Climate Disaster & Displacement: Media Safety Training for Mindanao Journalists, held on July 25-28, 2025, at the Big8 Corporate Hotel in Tagum City. There, Dr. Rhodora Gail Tan-Ilagan, former chair of the Psychology Department at Ateneo de Davao University, peeled back the layers of trauma — revealing its insidious reach and sharing vital tools for healing.
For part 1:
A journey into trauma response
Dr. Ilagan’s career began as a military psychologist, guiding soldiers through the brutal aftermath of combat. But her work expanded beyond the battlefield, as she found herself helping survivors of domestic abuse and communities ravaged by natural disasters.
Her observations revealed striking similarities: whether soldier, abuse survivor, or disaster victim, trauma manifests in wounds that are invisible yet deeply life-altering.
As director of Ateneo’s Center of Psychological Extension and Research Services (COPERS), she made it her mission to prepare local communities for psychosocial response in the face of increasingly frequent and intense calamities.
This vision was partly shaped by Republic Act 10121, the Philippine Disaster Risk Reduction and Management Act of 2010, which sought to shift disaster management from mere response to preparedness, prevention, and recovery. Yet, despite the law’s promise, Ilagan noted a glaring gap: the lack of trained personnel and resources for mental health and psychosocial support (MHPSS) at the grassroots.
“Kulang ang resources for mental health in the community,” she stressed.
Lessons from Sendong and Pablo
Her understanding was forged in the crucible of real catastrophes. Ilagan traveled across Mindanao with the help of a small US embassy grant, studying how communities coped with disaster. The experience underscored the importance of “culturally appropriate” interventions instead of copy-pasted solutions.
“No two communities experience disasters in the same way,” she explained.
The following year, Typhoon Pablo (2012) struck closer to home. Ilagan vividly recalled wading through mud and water with colleagues, confronted by devastation in her own backyard.
An email from her colleague urged her to “Papuli na (Get a reliever). It’s raining cats and dogs,” reminded her of the risks responders face when consumed by their mission.
“Sometimes, we get so single-minded about the work that we forget our own safety,” she reflected.
Rebuilding more than homes
In Pablo’s aftermath, attention quickly turned to children. Volunteers organized psychosocial activities in evacuation centers, giving children a semblance of normalcy while providing parents and exhausted social workers a much-needed break.
“It’s a kind of respect,” Ilagan emphasized, noting how empowering local volunteers ensures sustainability.
A year later, with the help of church donations, a pediatric village was inaugurated in New Bataan, providing new homes for displaced families. It was more than rebuilding houses. It was about rebuilding hope and restoring dignity.
The unseen burden
Beyond physical recovery, Dr. Ilagan stressed the psychological cost of covering tragedies: wounds carried by journalists, responders, and caregivers.
Trauma, from the Greek word meaning “wound,” may leave scars that never fully disappear. Some fade into “beauty scars” that give survivors renewed purpose, while others, if not healed properly, can fester into lasting pain.
For journalists and responders, these scars often come in three forms: vicarious trauma, compassion fatigue, and moral injury.
Vicarious trauma (secondary trauma) is born from empathetic engagement with survivors, making their pain feel like one’s own. Common symptoms include fear, intrusive images, sleeplessness, and avoidance — reactions that resonate deeply in a culture of “pakikipagkapwa” (shared humanity).
Compassion fatigue is the emotional and physical exhaustion that comes from prolonged care for others. It often leads to withdrawal, numbness, or detachment. Ilagan recalled a young nurse in Marawi who broke down, saying: “Wala namang katapusan, ma’am” after receiving medical evacuees day after day.
Moral Injury, on the other hand, is the wounds left when one’s sense of right and wrong is violated in the course of duty — whether through difficult ethical choices, witnessing preventable suffering, or feeling powerless to act.
Toward healing
Dr. Ilagan’s message to journalists and responders was clear: acknowledge the invisible wounds.
Trauma does not diminish one’s humanity; it is a testament to it. By fostering resilience, creating safe support systems, and embracing culturally rooted approaches to healing, both communities and those who serve them can find strength amid tragedy.
“Trauma leaves scars, yes — but scars also remind us that healing is possible,” she said. RGL