Repatriation and the reality of war

The recent Senate hearing examining the Philippines’ preparedness amid the tensions surrounding the US–Israel–Iran conflict raised difficult but necessary questions about the government’s ability to repatriate Filipinos during crises abroad.

Among the issues highlighted was the apparently slow response to requests for repatriation from Filipinos in affected areas. Of more than 1,400 who reportedly sought assistance, only around 60 were able to return home within the first three to four days. To some observers, this appeared dismal and indicative of bureaucratic inertia.

But crises unfolding in conflict zones rarely conform to the pace of expectations formed in the calm of committee rooms.

There is often a perception that once a request for repatriation is made, planes can simply be dispatched and the nationals immediately brought home. In reality, evacuation operations during the early days of a conflict are among the most complex diplomatic and logistical undertakings any government can face.

Even the best contingency plans — meticulously prepared by embassies, consulates, and labor offices — must contend with unpredictable developments on the ground.

History offers a useful perspective.

When the Iran–Iraq war erupted in the 1980s, air travel quickly became impossible across large parts of the region. Evacuation strategies had to be improvised almost overnight. In one instance, exit routes through Jordan, Cyprus and Athens were considered as alternatives for those fleeing the conflict.

Preparations were made in Greece to house and support officials from the Philippine embassy in Baghdad who temporarily relocated there so operations could continue while the ambassador returned periodically to Iraq whenever the bombardments subsided.

Even before the evacuees arrived, arrangements had to be assured: office space, temporary housing, communications and coordination with host governments. Diplomatic clearances from countries that would receive the evacuees or serve as transit points had to be negotiated. Chartering ships and other transport had to be explored. These steps were done simultaneously, often under conditions of unreliable communications and severe uncertainty.

One may also recall that during the late 1980s and early 1990s, the Philippine government had far fewer financial resources for large-scale evacuations than it does today. Funding for emergency repatriation was often scarce. Appeals had to be made to recruitment industry associations and even to the employers abroad to help defray costs—from inland transportation and sea crossings to airfare back to Manila when it was safe to fly.

Another dimension frequently overlooked is the legal and contractual environment governing overseas workers. In many Middle Eastern jurisdictions, workers cannot leave without an employer-issued exit permit. When tensions rise but host governments and employers still believe the situation is manageable, securing the release of workers can become a delicate negotiation. Labor attachés and embassy officials must persuade employers to waive requirements, forgive penalties and expedite exit documents. In most cases, employers cooperate but this process cannot be completed overnight.

The logistical challenge is even greater on the ground. Transportation to exit points is rarely readily available during wartime. Local drivers and transport operators often become reluctant to travel on dangerous routes. When they do agree, costs escalate dramatically. In situations where bombings continue, as they did during the Iran–Iraq war, thousands of foreigners and locals scramble simultaneously for the same escape corridors. Vehicles go to the highest bidder, with payment demanded upfront.

Against such realities, the evacuation of 60 Filipinos within the narrow window before the airspace was closed may not necessarily reflect a failure. It may simply be that a few flights were still available before the skies were shut down.

None of this should discourage scrutiny. Legislative oversight remains essential, particularly in ensuring that contingency planning keeps pace with geopolitical risks. However, lawmakers should recognize that even the most carefully designed evacuation plan will encounter obstacles that no official at his desk can fully anticipate.

Instead of focusing solely on the response time, Congress might examine several structural improvements. First, contingency funds for evacuation should remain readily accessible and flexible, allowing embassies to mobilize resources immediately without bureaucratic delay.

Second, agreements with transit countries and international organizations can be pre-arranged to facilitate entry during emergencies. Third, stronger partnerships with Filipino community organizations abroad can help establish temporary shelters and communication networks in times of crisis.

Finally, evacuation protocols should include periodic simulations involving embassies, the Department of Foreign Affairs, Department of Migrant Workers and private sector partners in the recruitment industry. These exercises could help identify operational gaps long before a real emergency occurs.

In times of crisis, the men and women on the ground — our diplomats, labor attachés, and consular officers — often work far beyond the call of duty. One such example from the Iraq conflict was Labor Attaché Nilong Bulyok, who led several repatriation operations yet chose to remain behind, despite continuous bombings and ground assaults, to assist Filipinos who were still stranded. He returned home only after hostilities ceased because he refused to abandon those still in need.

Public scrutiny is necessary. But fairness is equally important. In the fog of war, repatriation is not merely a matter of dispatching planes. It is a race for diplomacy, logistics, law, and against danger itself — and those who undertake it deserve both our support and understanding.