In Search of Safe Spaces in Bicol

I recently came across a Facebook post by a 40-year-old Bicolana whom I shall call Loida. She shared how she finally found freedom after leaving her abusive live-in partner and taking their two children with her. She promised herself never to return.

For years, Loida endured a life no woman or child should have to live. Her partner would bring home another woman when drunk, beat her, and shout at their children whenever he lost money in sabong. Worse, he took the money she worked hard to earn as a store supervisor. Their small home, which should have been a refuge, had become a place of fear.

Today, Loida rents a modest but peaceful home within her parents’ compound in Pili. The roof no longer leaks, water is available through a rooftop rainwater harvesting system, and the house is away from flood-prone areas. She can budget her earnings, feed her children three times a day, provide their school allowance, and help them study in peace. Her 17-year-old son and 12-year-old daughter now have a chance to grow up without the daily trauma of violence. Loida says she is happy and wants to focus on her children before considering another relationship. For Loida, a safe space is not just a post on Facebook. It is a home where she can sleep without fear, raise her children with dignity, and enjoy the fruits of her labor. Her story reminds us that safety begins at home, but it must extend to the entire community.

In October, the killings of a 16-year-old girl in Minalabac and a 66-year-old woman in Lupi shocked Camarines Sur. In Metro Naga, the death of an 82-year-old woman struck while crossing a pedestrian lane renewed concerns about road safety and accountability. Behind these reports are lives lost and families grieving. Our hearts go out to them. These tragedies compel us to ask: Do we truly feel safe in our own communities?

Is safety simply the absence of crime? Is it enough to lock our doors, see the police or barangay officials conducting ronda (neighborhood patrols) in our streets, or have evacuation centers ready during typhoons? What does it mean to live in a community where people feel secure, respected, included, and free from fear?

I have often written about the United Nations Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs). Although the SDGs do not offer one universal definition of a safe space, several goals help us understand what safety means in everyday life.

SDG 5: Gender Equality calls for ending violence against women and girls. SDG 11: Sustainable Cities and Communities promotes safe housing, accessible public spaces, and disaster resilience. SDG 16: Peace, Justice and Strong Institutions emphasizes justice and accountability. SDG 10: Reduced Inequalities challenges exclusion, while SDG 3: Good Health and Well-being promotes healthy lives.

These are not just globalcommitments. They are the aspirations of ordinary Bicolano families. We want strong houses that can withstand typhoons and floods, roofs that do not leak, clean water, electricity, and proper sanitation. We want peaceful neighborhoods, safe roads, affordable health care, good schools, and public spaces where children can play and senior citizens can walk safely. We want decent jobs and enough income to put food on the table, buy medicines, send our children to school, and save for emergencies. We want women and children protected from abuse, persons with disabilities accommodated in evacuation centers, and disaster survivors supported in rebuilding their lives.

Of course, we want communities where people can speak without fear, participate in decisions affecting their lives, and expect public officials to listen and act. A community is not truly safe when poor families lack essential services, fisherfolk are excluded from decisions affecting their livelihoods, or vulnerable residents are abandoned after disasters. Safety also demands accountability when violence occurs and when corrupted roads put lives at risk.

Perhaps we should ask ourselves: “Ano an pangarap na ligtas, masaya, asin marahay na buhay para sa pamilya?” What is our dream of a safe, happy, and good life for our families? A Bicolano family should be able to say: “May harong kami na ligtas.” We have a safe home. “May pagkaon kami sa lamesa.” We have food on the table. “May trabaho asin sapat na kita.” We have work and sufficient income. “Ligtas an samong mga aki.” Our children are safe. “May nagtatabang sa samo pag may kalamidad.” We receive help when disaster strikes. “May boses kami asin may nagdadangog sa samo.” We have a voice, and someone listens.

These are the foundations of a dignified life. The SDGs make them sound like demands. Loida’s story reminds us that finding safety often needs extraordinary courage. But escaping abuse should not be a woman’s only path to peace. Families need accessible support, responsive institutions, safe housing, economic opportunities, and communities that refuse to tolerate violence.

Every Bicolano family deserves a safe home and a safe community—a place where children can dream, women can live without fear, older people can move about safely, and families can face tomorrow with confidence. A safe space is not merely where danger is absent. It is where dignity is protected, voices are heard, and hope is possible. Like Loida, every Bicolano deserves to say: “Maugma kami, asin may paglaom kami sa maabot na aldaw.” We are happy, and we have hope for tomorrow. Do we have that now?