NOTBEGINNING TWO a few weeks after the first eruption of the Taal volcano in more than 40 years, the Philippine Institute of Volcanology and Seismology reduced its threat assessment by a notch, and local residents began returning to their homes in jeepneys, vans and the back of motorcycles. When Taal first came to life on January 12, the plume of steam and ash it sent 32,000 feet into the air was so vast that it generated its own weather system, with thunder and lightning. As the falling ashes turned from day to night, tens of thousands of evacuees fled to hastily created evacuation centers, a safe distance from Taal’s chagrin.
Usually Taal is a draw. The volcano made its own island in the middle of Taal Lake, which occupies the caldera of a much larger volcano that exploded aeons ago. The surrounding slopes are wooded. Papayas and vegetables thrive on village plots at the water’s edge. The lake itself provides a livelihood for those who raise tilapia fish. More jobs come from catering to visitors from Manila who flock to the lake, or to the seaside town of Tagatay on an overhanging ridge, for fresh air, panoramic views and grilled fish. The country’s capital is just a two hour drive north.
However, these times are not usual. The eruption appears to have caused much of the lake’s water to evaporate. Part of the lake, however, is now one meter deeper, as the entire caldera has tilted sharply. Taal ash has transformed a large area into monotonous gray. The rain following the eruption hardened the concrete ashes. The tin roofs of the villagers’ houses burned, the trees lost their main branches and the tomatoes and eggplants in Rosa’s garden fell to the ground. But life is nothing if not, finally, stubborn. Rosa says that she and her husband, a retired soldier, had no choice but to stay, despite the loss of electricity and water: Biggie, their sow, was about to give birth. Fourteen piglets are now sniffing around their mother. Girlie, from one of the most affected villages on the west side of the lake, cries of joy that the food she left for her family’s dog and kitten has fed them.
Power plant repair teams, villagers shredding the ashes of roofs, and even young scientists returning to their lakeside observatory in Talisay to operate their solar panels again – life also has a yen for the normality. But not the volcano. The earthquakes that followed the eruption have decreased in number and severity, and an alarming accumulation of magma appears to have decreased. But that, says Paolo Reniva, a geologist, says little about how the volcano will behave in the future. He expects Taal’s current business cycle to last for months or years. Behind the minds of all geologists lies the eruption of 1754. This explosion had the force of a nuclear bomb, and the jargon they use to describe it is similar: “ballistic projectiles” fell more than seven kilometers; the “surge”, a mixture of gases and fragments moving up to 100 m per second, reaches up to 20 km. No one died from the direct effects of the January 12 eruption; a 1754 style explosion, on the other hand, would be catastrophic.
This is not what those who are trying to get on with their lives want to hear. The current threat assessment of 3 on a scale of 0 to 5 may be considered normal by residents. And just as President Donald Trump downplays climate change, so do populist Filipino politicians downplay the forces of nature. President Rodrigo Duterte promised the evacuees that he would “pee on this cursed volcano”. Talisay vice-mayor Charlie Natanauan, a local businessman campaigning to overthrow the mayor (his brother, in this case), goes further by urging locals not to believe the “stupid” scientists. Taal is not going to explode again, he insists, because he knows his story; if he’s wrong, he adds, then throw him in the crater. In addition, scientists’ warnings about the poisoned tilapia are also irrelevant, and it will eat as many fish as necessary to prove it. He descends a storm with the locals.
Sitting on a veranda by the lake, next to a statue of himself painted in gold carrying a rifle and a pistol, Mr. Natanauan presents his plans. They include a canal crossing the sea so that luxury yachts can go up there; modernist glass stations; and fireworks to shame any eruption. How, asks Banyan, do his ideas fit in with the even more radical and whimsical plans of the volcano? Pah, said Natanauan with disdain, the next time Taal gets in trouble, we’ll all be dead. Behind him dozens of dead tilapia float upside down, hitting their pier. Just beyond, the volcano cooks gently.
This article appeared in the Asia section of the print edition under the title “No crater love”