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.”

More than twenty years after the government had mandated the redistribution of land to farmers living under a feudal system, almost 1.5 million hectares of land has yet to be reallocated. That roughly equates to 5% of the country’s land area. Yet, there are only a handful of agrarian reform lawyers who represent the farmers.
Even though the Department of Agrarian reform (DAR) has lawyers to represent the farmers, they seem to be lacking either in knowledge or motivation. Rolando Zaño, a farmer leader explains, “the DAR lawyers, I don’t know what they are doing. They just sit there and sometimes, smile. But they don’t do much.”

Expectantly, agrarian reform lawyers are stretched thin throughout the country. JusticeMaker Jae, herself, represents 15 cases. Within each case, she deals with several farmers, who face a multitude of charges ranging from qualified theft to attempted murder. The difficulty of Jae’s situation became quite clear as we accompanied her on some of her visits to her clients. Each trip takes the whole day with several bus and tricycle transfers.

The farmers, tucked away in their rural communities, face continual harassments from powerful landowners who employ private armies. These armed goons carry out a wide range of harassments such as verbal attacks, arson, and, in some cases, murder. Previous to this legal struggle, these farmers were largely unacquainted with the legal system, and thus, are unaware of their rights and the proper course of legal action in the face of these harassments. In many instances, their lawyers are belatedly informed about the incidents, and the evidence necessary to pursue a case had already been lost.

Throughout her career as an agrarian reform lawyer, Jae has been frustrated with these obstacles that have impeded many cases. It is with that in mind that she designed the WARRIOR (women advocates for rural reform and the institutionalization of rights) program.

The WARRIOR program aims to arm women with basic paralegal knowledge, so that when there are crimes against the farmers, the women farmers, who undergo this training, will be able to give advice about the right course of legal action. Additionally, they will learn how to write affidavits and help conserve the evidence.

For Jae, women farmers, instead of men, were the obvious choice for the program. She explains, “In my experience, women are more capable than men when it comes to keeping records. They are more rational.”

There is also a lack of empowerment amongst the women in these communities who are, in some instances, relegated to the background in the agrarian reform dispute as well as in other aspects of their lives.  In this sense, this program is twofold as it hopes to create a sense of empowerment in the women and endow their communities with another weapon in this seemingly unending struggle.

Nilantagan, a small coastal village in the Bondoc peninsula, is made up of the farmers’ houses, thatched huts, one store and no public facilities such as a clinic or a police station. This village is particularly difficult to access since it is inconveniently located between the landowner’s property, hacienda Matias, and the sea. If one tries to cut across the hacienda, there is a risk of incurring a trespassing charge, as is the case with many farmers and even some military personnel who were seen on the property. Thus, the only secure means to reach Nilantagan is by small ferryboats.  

In 2006, fresh out of law school, JusticeMaker Rosselynn Jae Garcia de la Cruz was assigned her first agrarian reform case representing farmers from Nilantagan, who were charged with ‘qualified theft’of coconuts. Back then, her knowledge about agrarian reform law was limited at best, but she soon became adept at navigating the maze that is agrarian reform law. It has been about four years since ‘attorney Jae’ (as the farmers refer to her) took on the case and while there has been some progress, the fight is far from over.
               

Before the Comprehensive Agrarian Reform Program, the farmers in Nilantagan were obliged to give 70% of their harvest to the landowner. When, in 2003, the farmers belatedly began their petition for land ownership, the landlord, Mr. Matias, responded by evicting many farmers from their home. Despite years of legal battle, many farmers are still faced with criminal charges for harvesting coconuts, and in 2009, out of 25 evicted families, only nine were allowed to move back to their farms. These families didn’t become landowners but instead, were given a lease agreement that improved the share system with the landlord. Unfortunately, even after the farmers received the lease, they’re affronted with continual harassment from the landlord’s hired workers, which the farmers collectively refer to as goons.

When we arrived in Nilantagan, we met with one of the farmer leaders, Rolando Zaño, who was in the middle of changing his bullet-hole riddled windows. He explains, “This happened a few years back. Armed goons, hired by the landowner, came and shot at my house. But I am only able to change the windows now.”

Rolando, an energetic man with a penchant for jokes, even at the most inopportune times, was distracted that day because the goons were harvesting the coconuts from the land that the farmers were legally leasing. Yet, even as this crime was ongoing, there were no police present.

 Above: A goon harvests Maria Laracas’ land
                                                                                                                 

We soon learned that the absence of police in agrarian reform incidents is rather common because, by nature, they occur in rural areas, and are quite isolated. Therefore, when crimes such as the incineration of a farmer’s house occur, it can take a few days to report that crime. For years, offenses against the farmers have gone on without arrests. By the time the farmers go to the police, it proves to be too late as the farmers are left with only their word as evidence.

This incident, however, was different. The farmers had the opportunity to involve the police directly and catch the goons while they were harvesting the coconuts. Several hours after the farmers arrived at the police station to report the crime, the police agreed to accompany them back to Nilantagan on ferryboats, which the farmers themselves had rented. 

Above: Son of a Farmer waits in the police station

The police raid resulted in two arrests and as the goons were hauled off to jail, there was a sense of triumph amongst the farmers. After years of being the accused, they were finally the accusers and for the first time, they felt they were on the other side of the law. 

Jansept Geronimo, a community organizer for Nilantagan exclaimed, “This is a very good case! This is the first time that they [the goons] have been caught in the act. They will surely face criminal charges.”

Above: Police conduct raid on goons

This jubilation was short-lived, however, as the prosecutor dismissed the case by using a recently passed legislation designed to protect farmers. Under the new law, if any farmer,who is a tenant, is accused of criminal charges, the courts must dismiss charges and refer the case to the Agrarian reform offices. Yet, even though the arrested goons were clearly not tenants, the prosecutor took their word for it and released them promptly. The sense of triumph was quickly replaced by one of outrage and the farmers, who made the four-hour trip to the provincial court, seemed bewildered by the prosecutor’s dismissal of a blatant crime.

Outside the courts, the agrarian reform officials promise the farmers that they will appeal the dismissal. But as the goons walk away without any repercussions, the farmers know that, at best, it will take months, or even years, before the goons face criminal charges again. Sometime in the unforeseen future, they might be held accountable for their actions, but for today, the farmers know that justice has failed them. 

Yet, in the face of this defeat, Rolando remains hopeful, “We will just keep coming back with the police, and they will keep arresting these goons. We will not stop.”

Victory for farmers in agrarian reform cases are few and far in between. Everyday, they continue their battle to own a small patch of land, which is their only source of income. Even when the justice system seems to be against them, the farmers keep fighting within the confines of the law. Four years after she started this case, attorney Jae remains one of their best fighters.

Above: Police raid

Above: Soldier disembarks at Nilantagan

Above: Police confiscate Machete from the goons

Above:Police light up after the arrest

Photos by Ayda Wondemu

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.

On a recent visit to the Bondoc region, Renato Heliran, a farmer and leader of the movement for agrarian reform in the San Narciso municipality, along with two other farmers, Mr. Bayani and Mr. Winnifrido, explained the struggle which they and other farmers have enduref in order to claim the land issued to them by the government under the land redistribution program.

“The CARP [Comprehensive Agrarian Reform Program] was instituted in 1988 but we only found out about it around ’98, ten years later.” states Renato. The huge lapse in time between the formation of the law and its actual institution is only one aspect of a failing justice system when it comes to land redistribution. In 2003, the farmers began a legal battle to reclaim their land. They also refused to give shares of their coconut harvest to the landlord, Mr Reyes.  Yet their refusal to give shares of their coconut harvest to the landlord has resulted in numerous criminal suits against each farmer for qualified theft of coconuts.

 Above: Mr. Bayani and Mr. Winnifrido, two farmers from San Narciso municipality

“One afternoon, I was working in the fields when they came to arrest me for stealing coconuts” explains Bayani.  Like Bayani, many other farmers were arrested for several months before they were bailed out by the Agrarian Reform coalition.

Others, like Winnifrido, haven’t been arrested but face arrest warrants. “There is still a warrant for my arrest. So, there is always a chance that the military will come to arrest me. Mostly, I am in hiding so I keep my head down while in town and I keep quiet.”  explains Winnifrido.  Unfortunately, even after the discovery that the land they are claiming is public land, the farmers still have ongoing cases and arrest warrants.

In a month’s time, the farmers have a hearing in court to seek dismissal of all charges. While the struggle for their only source of income still looms on the horizon, the farmers remain hopeful that they will, one day, be able to own the land which their families have tilled for generations.

   Above: Renato’s son does his homework

Above: Farmer from San Andreas municipality

Above: Benido Mahilan, farmer leader from San Andreas municipality

Photos by Ayda Wondemu

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.

Above: Rosselynn Jae Garcia de la Cruz (Jae), 2010 JusticeMaker fellow and agrarian reform lawyer

It was about 3 in the afternoon when JusticeMakers Fellow and agrarian reform lawyer, Rosselynn Jae Garcia de la Cruz, and I arrived in Pangasinan, a province 170 km north of Manila for a farmers’ meeting. We have been on the road for most of the day, a commute that had us chasing buses under the scorching sun and straddling tricycles under the drizzling rain, all in the same day. For Jae, it was essential to make this trip to have an intimate conversation with the farmers who trust her to fight on their behalf. The fight for agrarian reform in the Philippines is a long and arduous one, comprising of many battles – some won, others lost- since Comprehensive Agrarian Reform Program (CARP) was first enacted in 1988.  The simple principle of agrarian reform is the redistribution of arable land ownership from large private landholdings to landless farmers. However, the execution of the reform has been far from simple. More than twenty years after the first law passed, countless farmers are still engaged in a David and Goliath battle against wealthy and politically connected landowners who use a multitude of tactics, ranging from the twisting of the legal system to violence through armed goons.

Above: Farmers from the Pangasinan region

Before the meeting begins, Jae explains, “Some cases can get very violent. It’s different in Pangasinan; it’s peaceful. Here, we are just dealing with corporate greed.” Although the kind of struggle brought by agrarian reform differ from case to case, they all share a common thread. There is a huge gap in equality between the farmers and the landowners. In a country where land is equated to power, the landless remain powerless. The farmers’ only champions are the minority of agrarian reform lawyers and the coalitions of agrarian reformers that fight for the farmers.

In Pangasinan, the farmers have been fighting to reclaim their land for a number of years. The landlord in question is a corporation, which has held on to the land by claiming it as industrial property rather than arable land, a baffling circumstance for the farmers, as they continue to work on it daily.  

Above: Farmers from the Pangasinan region during the meeting with Jae

 In 2003, with the help of an agrarian reform coalition, the farmers filed a suit with Department of Agrarian Reform (DAR) to redistribute the remaining unindustrialized land. Seven years after they began, their case is far from settled, with the corporation filing an appeal after each favorable decision towards the farmers. During the discussion, Jae goes over new information about a supposed sale of the land in contention. The farmers are worried that this will serve as yet another impediment. But Jae is positive, she states, “they won’t be able to go through with that sale, it’s illegal and we will file a suit against this supposed sale.”

The meeting goes on for a few hours with a somber conversation interspersed with some laughter. The farmers still retain a fighting spirit and when the discussion is over, they come up to Jae and thank her for her support and one farmer, Maria D. Serrano, even asks Jae to spend the night at her home. Jae politely declines as she has a meeting the next morning for another case. Indeed, this is only one of the fifteen agrarian reform cases that Jae is currently handling.

It is near midnight when the bus finally arrives in Manila. Jae is tired but pleased to have had a chance to speak with the farmers. While victories are infrequent and slow to achieve, Jae remains optimistic. On the way back to Manila, she confides  “the farmers, they are why I am doing this job. Because they’re so honest, so open, and it’s just not right that anyone would treat them in this manner.”

Pangasinan farmer, Maria D. Serrano

Photos by Ayda Wondemu

In Manila, new prisoners very rarely know their rights.  Years of their lives are being determined by a system that they don’t fully understand.  Because of this, the JusticeMakers in Manila make a point to hold an orientation once a month in each jail to inform new inmates about the penal system, their rights within it, and the help that the Paralegal Coordinators in the prisons can offer them.

I was recently able to follow Junard and Julius, two of the JusticeMakers here, to an orientation session in Mandaluyong City Jail in Manila.  The information they presented at this meeting was very basic.  The purpose was not to instruct the prisoners about their individual cases, but rather to teach them how the system works, and where they fit into it. The important thing for the inmates in these prisons is knowing what comes next, so that they can be prepared for it.

The impact of orientations like this can be powerful.  Through the information provided, inmates are able to see their trial as a concrete system, with rules and regulation and clear procedure.  In addition, they are introduced to the Paralegal Coordinators in the jail, who can provide advice for individual inmates on their upcoming case.  This allows them to collaborate and prepare for upcoming hearings in an informed manner.  Because of basic orientations and innovations like the Paralegal Coordinator, the JusticeMakers in Manila are building a system that is helping to decongest the prisons in Manila through information and inmate empowerment.

One of my coworkers in Manila has a very interesting story.  His experience illustrates not only the problems in the justice system in the Philippines, but also how the JusticeMakers are making a difference.

Julius Montealegre was playing Mah Jongg on the sidewalk with friends on Aug 23, 2002 when 2 plainclothes policemen approached him.  The police were responding to a tip that there were drugs in the area and Julius was picked up.  According to Julius, he was questioned, roughed up, then sent to jail, despite the fact that this had been a warrantless arrest, and no drugs had been found on him.

His first hearing was scheduled for a month later, but that was postponed.  The judge was gone on vacation.  3 months later, another postponement – the prosecutor was at a seminar.   This continued for a year.  When his trial finally got underway, it was slow going.  Hearings, motions, defense, prosecution, calling witness, and cross examinations all take place at separate hearings – generally scheduled 3 months apart.  Julius was going to be waiting for awhile.

In his free time at the jail, Julius became one of the first Paralegal Coordinators working with the JusticeMakers.  He learned and educated his fellow inmates about their rights and the laws they were accused of breaking.  In this way, he and fellow inmates were able to proactively work on their own defenses – a necessity when the accused generally meets his court-appointed attorney an hour before an upcoming trial.

In 2008, 6 years after his arrest, Julius was released because of a lack of evidence.  His work with Rommel and the JusticeMakers in Manila helped free him from jail.  Since his release, they have hired him full time and he continues to educate inmates about their rights.