I still remember my first arrival in the Philippines in August 2015. It was the first time I travelled to my mother’s homeland, and also my first time alone outside Europe, at the young age of 21. The experience left a deep, lasting impression on me.
Stepping out of the air-conditioned terminal felt like walking into a wall of humid heat mixed with the intense scents of exhaust and street food. Back then, the airport was far more chaotic. Traffic jams started right at the terminal exit, and the endless honking, whistles, and fumes felt almost like a surreal performance. Exhausted, I sat down on the sidewalk to take a moment to absorb this overwhelming new reality before making my way to the hotel.
Eventually, I arrived in Olongapo, where I planned to spend about two months volunteering for the Preda Foundation. As part of my studies, I needed to complete an internship, and I wanted to do so with an aid organisation. I also saw this as a chance to spend an extended time in my mother’s homeland, to experience real life away from the tourist areas. While searching for reputable organisations in the Philippines, I came across the Preda Foundation. Coincidentally, Preda was doing a theatre tour in Germany to raise awareness for their work.
I read about Father Shay, Preda’s founder, in his book, which had also been translated into German (“No Child is Lost: My Fight for Social Justice and Children’s Rights in the Philippines”). The book reads like a thriller, offering a glimpse into the complex social and political structures that Father Shay and Preda navigate in the Philippines.
It would be nearly ten years before I returned to the Philippines and Preda in April 2024. This time, my visit wasn’t for an internship or as a volunteer—I was coming as a friend and supporter. I also wanted to get to know the man better, who has been a great inspiration in my life.
I was surprised to hear that Father Shay planned to pick me up personally at the bus station in Olongapo. At 81 years old, it seemed impossible. But even more remarkable was the energy and clarity of mind with which he welcomed me back into his home after nine years. It was as if he hadn’t aged at all. I had experienced firsthand that working in the Philippines isn’t easy. The heat, the lack of comfort—it’s all a given, and even more so when working daily with traumatised children and young people.
What drives a man, even at this age, to remain so committed to his cause? It soon became apparent that Father Shay doesn’t like talking about himself. Whenever I tried to steer the conversation toward him, he deftly brought it back to the children and their achievements. I realised that he sees his life and actions as entirely in service to others.
Still, I managed to coax one small memory from him. He recalled his childhood in Ireland, when “Gypsy” families would pass by his house during a time when everyone had less. His mother always shared their food with them. “We have enough, so we can share,” she’d say to young Shay. This spirit of service to others was instilled in him early on.
As a missionary, Father Shay came to the Philippines and saw children and young people suffering from severe poverty and oppression under the Marcos regime. Many were especially vulnerable to abuse near the Subic Bay U.S. military base during the Vietnam War era. In 1974, he founded the Preda Foundation to provide a sanctuary for at-risk youth, protecting them from persecution and violence.
Father Shay rarely calls himself “religious” in the conventional sense. He doesn’t believe in preaching for preaching’s sake. “What’s the point of preaching if we’re not helping others?” he says with a wry smile. For him, following the example of Jesus means acting here and now for the good of others, using one’s God-given abilities—and perhaps privileges—for the benefit of those in need. “We all have only limited time on earth. We must do good.” It is this deep-seated selflessness that makes Father Shay such a remarkable and inspiring personality, regardless of one’s own beliefs.
Thousands of children have been rescued from the hands of traffickers and the prisons of Manila, given back their childhood and a future. Preda fights for the rights of Indigenous communities, for fair trade, and for the transformation of Olongapo itself—from a city once known for its vices to one that has regained its dignity. Countless laws have changed in a country known for its challenging political climate, and Father Shay’s work has played a vital role.
This is Father Shay’s legacy—50 years of the Preda Foundation and now 81 years of a life well-lived in service to others. “Perhaps it’s even a secret to staying young and healthy?” I joked.
And so, the Preda Foundation will continue to fight for the rights of children and Indigenous communities in the Philippines. “I won’t wait another nine years before my next visit,” I promised Father Shay. My return to Preda truly felt like coming home—to friends who profoundly move me with their work.
