Glossary
Alternative lawyering or alternative law groups (ALG): it is a coalition of 19 legal NGOs in the Philippines. While they may have different focuses–children’s rights rights, gender equality, farmers’ rights, fishermen rights, etc.–how they do their work is what they have in common. Alternative lawyers work towards policy change and strategic litigation. Most importantly, they are on the ground with the people, rather than offering them council from the comfort of their offices.
Ateneo Human Rights Center (AHRC): is a university-based institution, with the mission to respect, protect and promote human rights, across the Philippines. It’s where I’m interning.
Basic Orientation Seminar (BOS): was a 3-day retreat that AHRC organizes for its interns. We attend numerous conferences and workshops facilitated by civil society organizations (CSO), attorneys and human rights advocates.
Red-tagging: According to Supreme Court Justice Marvic Leonen in Zarate v. Aquino III, it’s “The act of labeling, branding, naming and accusing individuals or organizations being left-leaning, subversive, communists, or terrorists used as a strategy by state agents, particularly law enforcement and military against those perceived to be ‘threats’ or ‘enemies of the State.’”1
United Nations Joint Program (UNJP): stems from the 45/33 Human Rights Council Resolution co-sponsored by the Philippines with the goal of improving capacity-building and respect of human rights, by “providing support to assist national systems and institutions in fulfilling international human rights obligations and commitments.”2
War on Drugs: from 2011 to 2019 (and still continuing today though no longer called the War on Drugs), ex-President Rodrigo Duterte started the War on Drugs, allegedly to eradicate all drug users and dealers. His methods were extremely bloody and violent. He killed between 6000 (according to the Philippines National Police) and 27,000 people (according to The National Commission on Human Rights)3. Most of the deaths are accused of being extrajudicial: the police killing in cold blood, State ordering to kill, etc.
In all honesty, I should have written this blog-post weeks ago. But how can you truly summarize months of experiences, of constant learning into one post. For a long time, I had writer’s block because I didn’t know what to focus on: my thoughts on the United Nations Joint Program (UNJP in the Philippines), what I’ve been up to since the start of my intenship, the pervasive consequence of War on Drugs?
Then I realized, the facts I learned is not nearly as important as the life lessons, stemming from emotions as much as observations, that I will take back with me to Canada. There is one that struck me more than most, that I think about every day: perseverance and kasama are what make up a human rights advocate.
Kasama is a tagalog word that loosely translates to “with” or “in accompanying”. It encapsulates how alternative lawyers perceive their role in civil work. They do not do it to “help” people, to teach them the right way or even out of a sense of morally superior duty. They do it in solidarity with the people. One attorney told me kasama in the context of alternative lawyering is to “push the boundaries of the law [so they can live how they want]. Not to solve every issue.”
This was made very clear to me during BOS after watching a video entitled Abogado Ng Bayan (Lawyer for the people), depicting the Sumilao Farmers case. For context, the government enacted agrarian reform in 1988, essentially promising to redistribute private farmland to the beneficiaries of the agricultural land (ie: the farmers harvesting the land) so they can become independent farmers, rather than work for a landlord who gives them a very small percentage. But for 20 years after this reform passed, the State did not enforce it. Private corporations were still buying agricultural land easily. So, in 2008 the farmers of Bukdnon took matters into their own hands. When their petition was dismissed, they decided to march from Bukidnon to Manila (1700km) and present their case to the courts of law in Manila. They endured fatigue, sleeping on the side of the road, walking through muddy, unpaved treks. All to reclaim their rights.
The attorney who introduced us to alternative lawyering was one of the people present during this struggle. Him and other lawyers joined the farmers on their cross-country march, working with them but not for them. This practice ultimately enabled the farmers to empower themselves into their own conduits of justice.
I saw this again during an event AHRC interns organized at the university. The Sumalo farmers are facing and have been facing similar struggles to the Sumilao. They came to share their story with the law students. What struck me most is how, even after being evicted by a private corporation who bought their land, it was clear they did not feel powerless. Alternative lawyers had helped them bring their cause to the courts, but it was their cause.
When I asked the alternative lawers if this type of lawyering existed in other countries, he responded that ALG exists wherever there is a will to work in kasama with the people and persevere through every hardship with them. I believe this way of positioning yourself as a lawyer will always stay with me.
So that’s how I determined that to be a human rights advocate requires kasama and perseverance. But my story would not be complete without talking about how the UNJP–my work around it, my interactions with it–has consolidated that lesson and brought a new meaning to the word perseverance.
It is no secret that when you work toward social change, no matter the country, disappointment, failure and resistance from the supposedly main duty bearers of human rights: the State, is expected. Philippines is no exception. But this time, the disappointment is a lot more brutal as it is coming directly from an initiative that was supposed to bring change: the UNJP.
Before attending a National Strategic Meeting on Civic Space, I was tasked with writing a memo to help the facilitator introduce the topic of the UNJP. As I researched it, I found it to be such a comprehensive programme: six key areas, six technical working groups, a steering committee, 42 pages of project document, public announcements on commitment for more concrete actions, yearly reports, and numerous consultations. It seemed like it really would incur change. Two minutes into the National Strategic Meeting, and I realized just how wrong I was. The CSO’s frustration permeated the room, it was so palpable. This frustration had many causes, but there were two main ones I could discern: the lack of accountability mechanisms and the red-tagging threatening the safety of human rights advocates.
The UNJP was born against the backdrop of a bloody War on Drugs and shrinking civic spaces. But the stakeholders of the UNJP, particularly the government, barely addressed the issue of domestic accountability, despite the CSOs and international partners imploring the gov to do so. As long as those in power can get away scot-free, the victims of this war–those who lost parents, husbands, loved ones–will not receive remedies. Many lawyers I worked with had met and grown close to these survivors. With the toll the UNJP was taking (and other factors), they had to break it to them that it would be nearly impossible to obtain justice, at least not by prosecuting the police officers and government officials who enabled these killings. I know it was heartbreaking for them.
Meanwhile, many CSO’s had been receiving negative attention from the government in the form of red-tagging. The UNJP was supposed to address this issue. Regardless of the CSO’s consultation and strategic plans, there have been no efficient concrete actions to battle it. One confided in me that she was very hesitant to join AHRC, at first, out of fear of being red-tagged.
The reality is that a program like the UNJP is only as good as its government. Bongbong Marcos (current president of the Philippines) claimed he was the opposite of Duterte and boasted “robust” human rights mechanisms during the elections. We have yet to see those. What we did see is his administration denying the renewal of the UNJP, despite numerous joint statements from several stakeholders.
You would think I came out of that meeting depressed and demoralized, but on the contrary, I felt invigorated. If there was one emotion that was more prominent than frustration, it was determination. During the focus group period, the attendees were proposing tangible strategies that would help abate these issue as much as they were expelling their annoyance. They didn’t let themselves get deterred by all those setbacks they encountered.
It was inspiring, to say the least. And that is how I learned how crucial perseverance is to human rights advocacy.
Whether it is accompanying farmers through muddy roads to reclaim their rights, finding creative ways to make sure the victims of the War on Drugs receive justice, returning back to work after spending the night in jail following a red-tagging incident, CSOs and human rights advocate are incredibly perseverant, and always doing it in kasama. And it is that perseverance and kasama I strive to emulate one day when joining the workforce.
- Zarate vs Aquino III, 2021 Supreme Court of Philippines <https://legacy.senate.gov.ph/photo_release/2021/0303_17.asp > ↩︎
- “JP Philippines Human Rights”, (2024), UNDP <https://mptf.undp.org/fund/jph10>. ↩︎
- Conde, Carlos H, “‘Our Happy Family Is Gone’”, (27 May 2020), online: Human Rights Watch <https://www.hrw.org/report/2020/05/27/our-happy-family-gone/impact-war-drugs-children-philippines>.
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