The missile strike on the Magic Seas and the sinking of the Eternity C in the Red Sea should have made headlines. But they didn’t — even in the Philippines where most of the two ships’ crew came from.
What were they, after all? Just another day of Filipino seafarers dodging rockets, drone strikes, and machine gun fire on the high seas? As expected, we were handed the usual press release declaring the dead and missing as heroes.
We’ll concede that much. But to the companies making billions from global shipping, these men were little more than collateral damage in someone else’s war.
Filipino seafarers make up nearly a quarter of the world’s maritime labor force. That sheer number exposes them not only to rough, stormy seas, but to piracy, armed groups like the Houthis, and the growing militarization of global trade routes.
Cocoy, a survivor of the Magic Seas attack, described the chaos to Agence France-Presse: sirens blaring and a panicked scramble to hide. There were protocols, armed security, evasive maneuvers — all reassuring until the missile hit. Then it was every man for himself and a prayer the fire wouldn’t spread.
Just days later, the Eternity C sailed the same corridor to more casualties, more missing, and more statements from the Department of Migrant Workers reiterating that Filipino seafarers have the right to refuse a voyage through a war zone — but they also forfeit the hazard pay.
Admirable, yes. But good luck selling that to someone with two kids in college and a mortgage in Caloocan.
Don’t get this Contrarian wrong — the policy is sound. But that’s a big “if” it’s actually followed. The Eternity C reportedly sailed through the Red Sea twice without informing its crew they were entering a high-risk area.
Enforcement remains the Achilles’ heel as shipowners know the rules but rarely stick to them. A few warnings, a token suspension —costs easily written off as overhead. Maritime safety, like everything else, comes down to cost benefit. And the maths doesn’t always favor the crew.
What would? Better ships for starters — reinforced hulls, more security, smarter threat-detection systems. But those upgrades are expensive and the global shipping industry — efficient as it is — prefers margins over armor, especially when the crew is seen as disposable.
Then there’s information. Real-time intel on shifting risk zones. Too often, seafarers learn about the threats the same way we do — on Facebook or after another ship gets hit. By then, the danger isn’t theoretical.
And, of course, there’s the aftermath. For the lucky ones who make it home, the trauma lingers. Therapy is expensive, and group debriefings don’t erase nightmares. Cocoy, for one, isn’t sure he wants to go back to sea. Who can blame him? Then again, if not him, someone else will.
Because the ships won’t stop. The goods must move. The ports must turn them over. And someone has to do the job — preferably someone who doesn’t ask too many questions.
We can send flowers to the dead and call them heroes. But unless the rules start to bite — and unless the industry stops treating seafarers as low-cost security risks — the next “incident” is only a matter of time.
And also, whatever happened to the patrols of rich nations’ navies in those troubled waters? A mere flash-in-the-pan initiative?