Farmers of Sigogon Island with their Families.

Farmer Amelia is one ofthe inhabitants of Sicogon Island in Iloilo, Philippines—an island of miraculous beauty complete with pristine beaches and transparent turquoise waters. A few months ago, Justicemaker Jae invited Amelia to attend a paralegal workshop for women farmers. Eager to acquire legal skills and knowledge, she did not hesitate a minute to accept the invitation. To improve the plight of the farmers of Sicogon Island, Amelia, more than anyone, was aware of the importance of legal proficiency. Because, beyond the island’s deceiving beauties hides a hideous reality.

For years now, Amelia and the other farmers of the island have been fighting a truly Sisyphean battle. They have argued, petitioned, and even walked for their land, but despite these efforts they are at imminent risk of losing not only their land, but also their livelihoods and communities.

Amelia angrily pointing at her land, which is not left uncultivated.

The trouble for the farmers began in the 70s, when Sicogon Development Cooperation (SIDECO) bought part of Sicogon Island and turned it into a high-end international tourist resort.  Local farmers were evicted, protected timberland trees cut down, and livelihoods irrevocably changed.

In a temporarily reverse of fortune, the resort went bankrupt in the 80s due to Marcos’ unstable political regime. The evicted farmers could return to their island and reestablish their lost communities.

Tranquility once again reigned over the island—but, alas, not for long. With Marcos overthrown, SIDECO saw a second chance to amass a fortune. In 1994, the company submitted a billion dollar proposal to turn the island into an exclusive resort, “worthy only of the very rich and/or famous world personalities.” They planned to apply the same modus operandi as before: look for investors, kick out the farmers, and build the resort.

But this was no longer possible. While SIDECO had been busy drafting its new business proposal, Congress had signed into law an agrarian overhaul program known as CARP, obliging landowners to redistribute agricultural land to the tenants. From the approximately 1200 hectares comprising the island, SIDECO, who owned 819, was required by law to make the farmers official beneficiaries of 333 hectares of agricultural land.

Considering this new regulation an unnecessary obstacle, SIDECO decided to ignore it and proceed with its original plans. But the company underestimated the farmers’ strength. Having waited for landownership for decades, the farmers were not going to let this opportunity pass that easily. Under leadership of Amelia, they launched a massive protest against SIDECO’s unlawful actions. They made it clear to the company that they would be unrelentingly in claiming the land to which they were legally entitled.

SIDECO was enraged.  In an attempt to silence Amelia and the farmers, the company trained a private army of 30 “blue guards” and ordered them to intimidate and physically harass the farmers. In addition, SIDECO filed a case for unlawful detainer against Amelia who, as farmer leader, the company considered particularly undesirably. The company also applied to exempt its land from CARP coverage, claiming that rather than agricultural, the land in question should be categorized as touristic.

Upon receiving SIDECO’s application, the Department of Agrarian Reform (DAR) ordered a temporary suspension of the compulsory acquisition of private land.  Just as quickly as the farmers’ newly acquired land rights had come, they were  taken away. The farmers were left in great uncertainty—not only regarding the land, but also regarding their livelihoods. If SIDECO’s request was granted and the land would indeed be exempted from CARP coverage, SIDECO could apply for a tourist permit soon after, making the farmers’ eviction from the island only a matter of time. Meanwhile, harassments continued, doubling the anxiety and insecurity of the already struggling farmers.

Facing a corrupt judicial system— SIDECO had formed a well-known “unholy alliance” with an attorney running for municipal councilor—and an absence of financial and legal resources, the farmers had to resort to their creativity to save their livelihoods from the ruins.

On February 20, 2009, Amelia and 300 other farmers from Sicogon Island set off on a 6-day walking journey to the capital of IloIlo Province. Covering an average of 32 kilometers daily, they walked to highlight governmental failure in stopping the harassments, to request a military presence and reestablish tranquility on the island, and to remove the temporary suspension of CARP.

The walk proved a success. The farmers gained much media attention and reached their minimum objective: the establishment of a military detachment. Months later, the DAR decided that the 333 hectares initially reallocated to the farmers were not exempt from CARP coverage, but that for the remaining 819 hectares belonging to SIDECO exemption was granted.  For the farmers, this order fulfilled their main goal: to be recognized as official beneficiaries of the land they cultivated. It was their first real victory, and, as expressed by Ilorio Cordoba, executive director of Progreso, “probably the first time the farmers have been happy in their life.”

Like Sisyphus, however, just when the farmers thought they had rolled this stone on the hill, it came back down. SIDECO, outraged at the farmers’ victory, doubled the presence of blue guards and intensified harassments, making it impossible for the farmers to cultivate their lands.  By then, the military detachment had long gone. According to Amelia, whose house was destroyed in addition to her land, “marital law under Marcos’ regime was not that bad in comparison to living in the constant presence of the blue guards. With Marcos, there was chaos, but at least we could go to our lands. Now we cannot do anything. We are afraid every day because the guards fire their guns.”

A watchtower built by SIDECO to further constrain the farmers.

Despite the DAR’s order rejecting SIDECO’s exemption request regarding the agricultural land cultivated by the farmers, until this day the farmers of Sicogon have been unable to tend their lands. The blue guards have reaped the benefits of last years’ harvest and, consequently, the farmers have gone out searching for new sources of income to feed their often irresponsibly large families. With rapidly depleting fish stocks as a result of wide-scale commercial fishing, finding new ways to make ends meet has become yet another impossible challenge. Meanwhile, their fertile fields lie idle, unnecessarily wasting away.

Although SIDECO currently seems to have the upper hand in the struggle for land, the disputes have, ironically, led to huge obstacles for the company in setting up its proposed tourist resort—the reason that led to the land disputes in the first place. When hearing about SIDECO’s battles with the farmers, three investors who had already expressed interest in financing the company’s billion dollar project, withdrew their offers.

Unfortunately, the land battles, which are currently preventing SIDECO from materializing its plans, won’t be a strong enough deterrent to keep the tourist resort away from the island indefinitely. When we visited the farmers in July, local authorities had been ordered by SIDECO to map each house in the different barangays and label them 1,2 or 3 according to size and estimated worth. There is speculation that these measures are being taken in preparation of the farmers ‘eviction which SIDECO is in the process of planning.

Since eviction has become an imminent possibility for Sicogon’s farmers, Jae’s WARRIOR class came at a perfect time for Amelia. With the paralegal skills she acquired at Jae’s workshop, Amelia is planning to file a petition against SIDECO if the company continues to prepare the farmers’ eviction. Having participated in the WARRIOR class, Amelia expressed to feel more confident than before, and is convinced she will be more effective in bringing this case to court than she would if she had not attended the workshop. Yet she still has doubts. Living on a remote island that can only be reached by a two hour boat-trip, Amelia is worried she won’t be able to afford transportation costs to go to court.  In addition, she worries about the treatment she and the farmers will receive from the Philippine’s judicial system, more known for its corruption than for its justice.

Regardless of what happens, however, Amelia and the farmers of Sicogon Island are prepared to fight for their livelihoods at all costs: “if they want to kill us, they can kill us. But we are staying right here.”

Elsa had asked this question while participating in the WARRIOR class, a 3-day paralegal training for rural Filipino women organized by JusticeMaker Rosselynn Jae de la Cruz with support of International Bridges to Justice.  During the first session, gender activist Reggie encouraged the participants to make a list of their daily activities, estimate the time they spent on each, and label the activity as either “household chore” or “farm work”. Clearly, playing cards had not been on the organizer’s mind. And for a good reason: for most workshop participants, free time is a real rarity.

Above: Workshop participant Maribel sharing the daily schedules of the farmers with the group

As women farmers, their hands were always very full—with washing and child rearing, animal feeding and cooking, field plowing and harvesting. Yet their burden doubled a decade ago, when land disputes between farmers and landlords began to interfere with their daily activities. The farmers claimed their legal land rights under CARP, and the landlord obstructed the redistribution of the land he considered to be his.  As a result, many farmers lost access to the land they cultivated—and thus to their source of income. The men had no choice but to look elsewhere for work.  With their husbands gone, the burden of the legal struggle has fallen primarily on the shoulders of the rural women.  In addition to the previously listed activities, their daily schedules now include attending hearings at regional courts, writing affidavits, and talking to lawyers about the progress of their cases.

Since women stand in the front line of the agrarian dispute, Jae decided to make her legal workshop exclusively accessible to women. She explains: “Rural women are often disproportionately affected by the legal struggles, and they deserve to receive special attention—as women.  I want to make the women aware of their female identity, the role they play in their communities, and the rights they are entitled to. They have probably never even thought about that.” Indeed, for most women, this was the first time they took part in a women-only meeting, discussing women-specific topics.  

Above: JusticeMaker Jae reading from the WARRIOR class booklet she made for the participants

It had a positive effect.  The comfortable environment allowed the women to be honest and emotional.  There was time for spontaneous laughter, as with Elsa’s comment on playing cards with the neighbors, but there were sad moments too. Terry cried while recalling the assassination of her brother, a farmer leader, at the hand of the landlord’s private army. Maribel showed the scar on her arm, inflicted by goons while she was harvesting her land. Elsa had trouble holding back tears when explaining how the landlord’s private army had shot at two of her children.  Others painfully shared prison experiences, or expressed desire to get pending criminal charges dismissed.

Above: Elsa attentively listening  during the workshop

For Jae, it was imperative that the women shared their stories and emotions during the workshop.  Yet she believed it to be equally important to teach them paralegal skills: “The conference would not have worked if it was just about gender. There is a concrete reality out there which is essential for us to address. Only then can we begin to truly improve the lives of these women.” In line with this idea, the second day of the WARRIOR class was entirely devoted to teach the women about CARP, and show them how to write effective affidavits. Although most women were relatively well informed on these issues prior to the workshop, the paralegal training allowed them to gain a more comprehensive understanding of the law, and thus to be more effective when advising their communities on legal matters. The women were pleased about the practical skills they acquired. When I asked Elsa after the workshop what she was most satisfied about, she exclaimed: “I learned about my rights, and I am willing to help others with the skills I have been taught—specifically with writing complaints.  I am just so happy right now.”

Above: Participants practicing affidavit writing.

The practical training is also the most useful part of the WARRIOR class. The women farmers all come from extremely isolated communities—the Bondoc Peninsula and theIloilo islands—which severely suffer from a scarcity of legal resources. Terry from Iloilo told the group that the farmers in her community need to travel 12 hours to speak to a lawyer. Since they cannot afford the transportation fee, they are left to their own devices when facing criminal charges. Needless to say, the absence of lawyers leaves the farmers in a particularly disadvantaged position within a judicial system already predisposed to the rich and powerful. Training the women to become paralegals is Jae’s attempt to narrow this distance between legal services and rural communities entangled in agrarian disputes.

Although it is premature to tell whether the WARRIOR class will indeed have the desired effect within the communities, the workshop itself was a great success. Jae was particularly surprised at the women’s profound level of engagement and their emotional responses to the exercises. But it also made sense to her: “These women are living the issues we are explaining to them, so no wonder that they are so in to it.” Jae was so satisfied with the conference, that when I asked what she would have done differently if she was able to do it again, she was silent.

Jae does not give herself much time to celebrate her recent achievement. For her, this workshop is just the beginning. Full of ideas, she is planning to replicate the paralegal training in other parts of the Philippines where legal resources are equally scarce and agrarian disputes equally rampant. According to Jae, “it is important to make this training sustainable, instead of a one-shot affair, because only then can it have a substantial impact.” She is also planning to organize a similar training for men, who have their own issues and are in a different ways affected by the intractable land struggles.  In the end, Jae hopes that her paralegal class will serve as a model to other countries crippled by legal disputes similar to the Philippines’. 

Hopefully, such future workshops will continue to trigger the uncontrolled laughter that was so promising during this first WARRIOR class.

Victory seemed so near that day.  After three visits to the Philippine National Police, two arrests and a trip to the Regional Trial Court (RTC) in Lucena, the one thing that was left to do for the farmers of Nilantagan in San Francisco, Philippines, was to wait —for the good news. Overjoyed in anticipation, when the news finally came it struck like a thunderclap:  “Case dismissed.”

First, there was disbelief. How was this possible? Everything had gone so smoothly. They had overcome the usual obstacles, had solid, irrefutable evidence of the crime, and the police had joined them to the court to strengthen their case. But then the farmers understood.  Of course it would be this way; it always had been. The prosecutor at the RTC, who had dismissed the case, was a cousin of their landlord Matthias. He was not interested in the rights of the farmers.

They felt desperate and defeated. “Where should we go now?” asked Rolando Zano, the leader of the farmers while tears formed in his bloodshot eyes. “This is all there is. We don’t have an alternative plan.” They had mobilized all possible actors and had exhausted their resources but to no avail. Once again, the farmers of Nilantagan were left empty-handed in their struggle for land rights.

Above: Farmer leader Rolando Zano after hearing that their case is dismissed

It had been a long and arduous battle. It all began in 2004 when the farmers learned about their legal rights under CARP, which included the right to own land. In a strategic move, they filed petitions to become leaseholders of the land they cultivated. This would later facilitate  petitioning for outright land ownership.

Of the 25 petitioners, 19 farmers won their case and became official leaseholders. This was a significant victory. Instead of having to pay 70% in shares to the landlord, they now owed him only 25% per harvest.

Yet when the first coconuts were ready to be harvested, initial feelings of triumph quickly disappeared. The 25 petitioners, who all participated in the harvest, were evicted from their lands by Matthias. He subsequently filed petitions against the farmers, accusing them of qualified theft and malicious mischief. In 2006, JusticeMaker Jae Rosselynn de la Cruz, the farmers’ attorney, filed a motion to dismiss the criminal charges.  Unfortunately, her efforts   have yet to bear fruit.

For five years, the 25 farmers lived away from the land they cultivated. Without a fixed income, they tried making ends meet through fishing and occupying administrative jobs in nearby San Francisco. Some moved to Manila, adding themselves to the ever-growing wave of desperate job-seekers.

While keeping themselves and their families afloat, the fight in the farmers did not die out. Tireless,  they filed another petition in 2006, this time to re-affirm their rights as legal leaseholders. After months full of hearings and other court procedures, nine farmers were granted the right to be reinstalled in January 2010. The other cases were dismissed, supposedly for a lack of sufficient evidence.

Yet even for the nine farmers who were allowed to return to their lands, the trouble did not end. In the months after their re-installment, they were subjected to frequent harassment. The farmers received death threats, their property was vandalized, and their houses were burned down by armed goons hired by the landlord Matthias. Undeterred, however, the farmers kept farming, asserting their rights as legal tenants of the land.

And then it happened.

A few days before the farmers planned to harvest their coconuts, goons armed with machetes broke into the land and began loading their carts with the farmers’ coconuts. This went on for three days. The farmers had called upon the police in neighboring San Francisco, but to no avail. Law enforcement was unable to intervene, claiming that the farmers had given insufficient proof that the illegal harvesting was still ongoing at the moment of the complaints were filled.

Above: A goon in the act of harvesting coconuts turning his back to me while I am taking a picture

 On the third day of seeing the goons reap the benefits of their hard labor, the farmers became exasperated. “We are so angry!” Rolando exclaimed. “We cannot do anything, but we cannot wait either.” With no other options, they returned to the police to once again try to win their support. This time, however, they came with evidence on hand—a text message sent by one of the farmers, explicitness stating that the goons were on her land at that very moment.

Whether it was this message or the presence of foreigners like myself, the farmers convinced the police to come to their land in Nilantagan, hoping to catch the goons by surprise. This was no easy undertaking. Located on a peninsula with the sea on one side and hacienda Matthias on the other, a small boat had to be arranged to get there, and to prevent the landlord from warning the goons about the police’s visit.

It all happened according to plan. The police disembarked, entered the land of the complaining farmer, and caught two goons in the act of illegal harvesting. It was the first time that this had happened—that goons were caught in the act by the police. The farmers were smiling. They knew that with the police as their witness, they would have a very strong case in court.

Above: Two Policemen arresting a goon who had been harvesting coconuts

The goons, who had no idea what was happening, were taken to San Francisco by boat. They were interrogated and put in jail together with a mentally ill man who was put behind bars for burning his own house. That night, they slept on the bare and filthy floor between the cockroaches and the rats.

Whatever pity was felt for the goons, it did not overshadow the imminent victory that was on everyone’s mind. Justice, the farmers felt, was now on their side.

The following day, the police drove the farmers to the provincial court to help them file a petition accusing the goons of qualified theft. Yet upon leaving the prosecutor’s office, instead of bringing the much-anticipated good news, the police could only utter two words:

“Case dismissed”.

The accused were released, and the farmers went home. Now the goons were the ones celebrating. This incident had only reaffirmed the powerlessness of the farmers in their struggle for land rights, and the unlimited playing field of landlord Matthias.

 Above: Justitia gracing the entrance hall of the Provincial Court in Lucena

Fortunately for the farmers, the story does not have to end here. Although at first glance, the prosecutor’s decision to dismiss the case appears to be a clear act of partiality, it may be more complicated.

Last year, in an attempt to improve the plight of the farmers, JusticeMaker Jae and other lawyers successfully petitioned Congress to revise the agrarian overhaul program (CARP). Among other amendments, the new CARPER law stated that all cases involving agrarian disputes should be directly referred to the Department of Agrarian Reform (DAR). By doing so, they aimed to protect farmers from criminalization—a strategy employed by the landlord to deter the farmers from petitioning for their land rights. Yet the law is a double-edge sword.  A criminal charge filed by the farmer against the landlord can also be dismissed under this legislation. “This was necessary for the law to be passed.” Jae explains. “When drafting the legislation, we were aware of the possible negative repercussions it could have on the farmers. But since almost all petitions involving land disputes are filed against, and not by the farmers, we were in favor of including this article in the revised agrarian law. Without a doubt, the benefits this law will bring to the farmers far outweigh its negative effects. ”

This makes rational sense. The passage of CARPER was rightly considered a significant victory for the farmers. However, the CARPER legislation has added additional complexity to an already obscure legal area. Because of vaguely defined and contradictory provisions, it has given the prosecutor extra tools to make partial decisions appear to be in accordance with the law. A week after the prosecutor dismissed the farmer’s case, attorneys specialized in agrarian disputes are still debating whether the prosecutor’s decision can be legally justified.  This speaks volumes about the Philippines’ legal system.

Yet not all is lost. For the farmers of Nilantagan, the vagueness of the law also means that there is still a way out of their impasse.  Their case has now been referred to the DAR, which will re-file it at the TRC as a criminal case instead of an agrarian dispute. Since there is no precedent on this issue, all possible outcomes are still open. It is conceivable that the prosecutor admits the case, provided of course that he reconsiders the situation free of prejudice. Then, the new challenge for the farmers will be to successfully navigate the next level of this treacherous labyrinth of justice.

Above: A lawyer at the DAR’s office explaining legal matters to a farmer

In the unlikely event that the prosecutor does accept the case and the farmers end up winning, the question if justice has been carried out, however, remains. In many ways, the goons who were arrested are as much victims of the system as the farmers. They are poor and simple men, unaware that they were taking away someone else’s harvest illegally. Like everyone else, they just tried to make a living and support their families. For justice to be done, landlord Matthias, not the goons, should be the one facing criminal charges.

]]> http://www.ibj.org/2010/07/from-guerrilla-fighter-to-human-rights-activist-2/ Sat, 03 Jul 2010 02:15:10 +0000 http://www.ibj.org/wp_main/2010/07/03/from-guerrilla-fighter-to-human-rights-activist/

Each year in the Philippines, many human rights activists receive death threats, and some get killed. To continue working in this hostile environment, activists rely heavily on each other for support. Whether the issue is agrarian reform, corruption, or juvenile detention, human rights defenders are closely connected.  

One of JusticeMaker Jae’s “human rights friends” is Robert Francis Garcia, head of Peace Advocates for Truth, Healing and Justice. They met during an interview that Jae had requested during law school. She was writing a paper on a peace agreement that was signed between the government and the communist insurgency that blossomed during the Marcos dictatorship in the 80s, and wanted to know some extra details. A former guerrilla fighter, Garcia not only shared his opinion; he also told Jae his story:

“When I was a student, I looked up to Jose Maria Sison, Philippines’ communist leader who aspired to be the country’s Mao Zedong. I was infected with youthful idealism and was restless to bring an end to Marcos’ brutal dictatorship. Convinced of the necessity of revolution, I took up arms and joined the communist insurgency.”

Soon, however, his life as a guerrilla fighter turned into a nightmare.

“All my enthusiasm and idealism quickly disappeared the day my own comrades turned against me. I found myself victim of the very ideology I had always supported.”  

During the time of Marcos, the communist insurgency enjoyed considerable support. However, the movement went into disarray in the 1980s, infected with paranoia concerning enemy infiltration. More than 2000 of the movement’s own cadres were falsely suspected as “deep-penetration agents” and were purged.

“For one month, I was chained to a stretcher. We had nothing to eat. We were forced to confess to being spies. If we refused, we would be tortured, or killed.”

 From the over 100 people who were detained with Garcia, 66 will never be able to tell their stories.

Although Garcia was a candidate for extermination, he miraculously survived.  The party’s leadership feared the domino effect that had been created by the false confessions, and began to change its tactics.  Those prisoners who were still alive, were liberated.  

The month Garcia spent in detention proved a turning point in his life.  He began to see the communist insurgency for what it was, and changed direction.  Ever since, he has made great efforts to expose the human rights violations the communist party has perpetrated, apart from those being committed by state agents. In 2001 he published a memoir about his experience, at that time a national best-seller in the Philippines.

Yet Garcia does not regret his actions. “It is part of life’s experience,” he says. “If it would not have happened, I would not be where I am now, fighting for truth and justice.”  Most likely, he would have never gotten to know Jae either.

Above: Coconut trees at Hacienda Villa Reyes

According to CARP, which was signed into law a decade before the farmers first heard about it, tenants are entitled to own up to three hectares of the agricultural land they cultivated, whether private or public.

Having lost ten years, the farmers took immediate action. Aided by a lawyer, they filed a petition against Mr. Reyes, claiming their property rights under CARP. To their great surprise, they found out that the land they cultivated did not belong to Mr. Reyes but was public property. All this time, Mr. Reyes’ claim of ownership had been illegal. The shares had been stolen from them. Deceived and angry, the farmers boycotted the tercio system. From then on, the landlord no longer received his shares in coconuts. In response, Mr. Reyes filed a petition against the farmers, accusing them of qualified theft. Arrest warrants followed, and 18 farmers were taken away. What began as a struggle for legal rights ended, ironically, in imprisonment.

Above: A Retired Farmer of Hacienda Villa Reyes

In a judicial system in which judges are massively in favor of those with money — the landowners — farmers with cases against them are generally powerless. Although those who were imprisoned in this case all received bailouts from NGOs, as of today more than twenty arrest warrants are still pending in Hacienda Villa Reyes. As a result, many farmers are anxious and stressed. “I just really, really, really want to have my case dismissed,” one farmer told us with desperation. “The only thing I want is to have some land and live a simple life,” another farmer exclaimed. Over the last few years, three women have died with standing arrest warrants against them.

Above: Farmers with Pending Arrest Warrants

Although the struggle appears intractable at times, Congress rekindled the farmers’ hope last year when passing CARPER, a revised and renewed version of the CARP legislation. In an attempt to bypass the unjust judicial system and the criminalization strategy used by the landlords, the new CARPER legislation holds that cases involving agrarian disputes should be directly presented to the Department of Agrarian Reform (DAR) instead of being handled in court. The farmers of Hacienda Villa Reyes have submitted a motion to dismiss their case, hopeful that the judge will abide by the revised legislation and refer their case to the DAR.

It is true that there are reasons to hope. However, one cannot escape the undeniable fact: more than 20 years after Congress first gave farmers the right to own land, the tenants of Hacienda Villa Reyes are still landless and waiting.