How Does One Define a “Slum”?

A supermarket, a shopping mall, plenty of nice houses scattered around, and even a highly decorated, futuristic-looking church, the streetscape of so-called Manila’s largest urban slum is not what a casual visitor expects it to be.  Yet, the neighborhood of Tondo, lying right besides the industrial harbor in the northern half of City of Manila, has a far-reaching reputation that scares off well-off locals and attracts hordes of international NGOs, charity workers, and do-good volunteers.

Of course, this is not to say that the neighborhood is a spotless example of urban gentrification.  Street kids swimming in garbage-strewn river of putrid pollution is a common sight.  Streets have a rather foul odor from excrements of beggars and other street dwellers.  Hygienically-challenged public markets rub shoulders with low-level housing on the verge of collapse.  It is certainly no paradise for any resident and definitely somewhere tourists should avoid.

But what is curious is why some many people have decided to single out this particular neighborhood as the pillar example of what is socially wrong about city-planning (or, to be more precise, lack of) in Manila, and endless crowds of poor migrants, who, after generations and generations, are still mired in poverty and seem to go nowhere.  The fact is that Tondo is no different from hundreds of neighborhoods suffering the exact fate within the limits of Metro Manila, each just as crowded and poverty-stricken as any other.

If anything, in the likes of Tondo, visitors can witness some of most heroic efforts at survival in the tough environment of a dangerously overcrowded city.  The superficial lack of physical organization betrays a highly-developed informal economy right below that rim surface.  For every convenience store branch, there are a dozen neighborhood sari-sari stores peddling immediately needed goods at sizes immediately affordable by residents short on cash.

And a quick survey of the main streets shows no lack of services, goods, or necessary infrastructure to get the supplies of such to the hands of the sources of demand.  The neighborhood is quick five-minute walk from the huge wholesale markets of Divisoria, where large air-conditioned multistory buildings can hundreds of stalls hawking everything from clothing and cosmetics to watches and toys, all at haggle-able prices.  Proximity of the country’s main port certainly does not hurt either.

For all the hype about rejuvenating the inner city, there is a conspicuous absence of both the government institutions shouting those nice slogans, and foreign NGOs supposedly doing the funding and legwork.  Despite reliance on basic necessities from the outside, Tondo, by all means, seems like a self-functioning unit, with all that’s needed for survival within easy reach.  Its continued flourishing is unhampered by lack of external presence or assistance, and in that way, it is doing much better most such places.

So, we come to the important question: how does one classify a “slum”?  Of them, how come some become prioritized for external support?  Something tells me that the decision is fundamentally not economic or even social.  There is some ulterior motive, a selfish political interest of both internals and externals involved in the process.  The author can kind of imagine, once upon a time, when a well-connected resident of Tondo (most likely a politico) showing pictures of her “dark side” to some wealthy foreigners.

It was a win-win situation.  The foreigner gets the basis for his self-righteousness needed to get the elite-minded charity work to begin in the Philippines, while Tondo gets more money without conditions.  Neither had incentive to deviate from the arrangement even though Tondo became much more developed than many other true slums.  The foreigner had to justify his continued “I am better than you” mentality by doling out cash to feed a charity-based economy.  Such is the danger of stubborn attitude, shown on the streets.