BITE-SIZE BIASES: Workplace Racial Microinsults That Filipino Professionals in Singapore Face

The Little Red Dot prides itself for being a multi-racial nation, yet beneath its corporate image lurks discriminative knee-jerk behaviour against skilled Filipino workers.

By Ara Luna

SINGAPORE – It was barely noon on 14 March 2014 when Filipina Lara Mae Sanchez* and her female Malay colleague settled on a table at the crowded Lau Pa Sat hawker centre. The open-air eating complex along the central business district in Raffles Quay was thronged with its usual office lunch crowd: famished power suit-wearing yuppies in search of cheap, delicious local grub.

In between bites of skewered beef satay, Sanchez’s coworker started griping about the Filipinos at their publishing company. Her colleague said she found it extremely irritating whenever the group of Pinoys – an informal demonym for Philippine citizens – huddled and talked loudly in their native tongue Tagalog.

“I’m so glad you’re different from them,” the coworker said. And, in a strange turn of events, she patted Sanchez’s head like she was a well-behaved puppy. “You’re not the typical Filipino.”

The head-patting and thinly veiled remark did not sit well with Sanchez, but she laughed them off for camaraderie’s sake. She knew her colleague only meant to compliment her.

EATS IN THE CITY. Skyscrapers in Raffles Quay dwarf the historic eating complex Lau Pa Sat. The central business district is where white-collar workers — Singaporeans and foreign workers including Filipinos — congregate. Photo © Ara Luna (2019)

“Two things ran through my mind,” the advertising executive says. “Do I confront this person whom I consider an office friend or let it go to avoid the risk of jeopardising our harmonious work relationship?” Sanchez chose the latter.

It is not the first time Sanchez has endured an unconscious dig on Filipinos and her culture in the guise of praise.

“Foreign bosses and coworkers have told me that my English is excellent for someone who is Pinoy,” she shares. “Or that I’m not as loud compared to other Filipinos they’ve worked with.”

Sanchez, who has been working in Singapore for more than six years, quickly adds that she tries not to take these frequent backhanded compliments personally.

“I understand that these are nonchalant comments, but I also noticed that I’ve become high-strung at work as a result.”

AWAY FROM HOME

From 2004 to 2007, most of the Filipino population in the Singapore workforce were domestic workers. That all changed in 2008 when the country saw an increase in skilled professionals from the Philippines.

About 200,000 Filipinos live, work and contribute to the Little Red Dot’s economic development, according to the Embassy of the Philippines in Singapore. Sixty per cent of those are professionals and skilled workers. Most of them work as IT specialists, nurses, engineers, and architects. The remaining demographic are household service workers.

Despite the steady increase of skilled Filipino workers, many Singaporeans and expatriates from other countries seem to find it hard to see them working in other professions besides the domestic service sector.

In fact, the only Philippine cultural representation in Singapore’s mainstream media is Filipina maid Leticia Bongnino. Broadcasting conglomerate Mediacorp debuted the iconic character in its critically acclaimed satirical English news show The Noose in November 2007, and she appeared until its season finale in October 2013.Aside from Bongnino, no other Filipinos are represented in Singapore’s pop culture.

THE HELP. Hailed as one of the most iconic characters in Singapore’s television history, Filipina maid Leticia Bongnino is portrayed by veteran local actress Michelle Chong. Bongnino is known for speaking in an exaggerated Filipino accent and refers to herself in the third person for comedic effect. Photo © Mediacorp Channel 5

Sanchez suspects that the unintentional patronising stereotype towards Filipino domestic workers colours Singapore’s professional workplace.

These biased prejudices towards Filipinos are called racial microaggressions, says Columbia University psychology professor Dr Derald Wing Sue. They are the small unintentional insults, remarks, and acts towards ethnic minorities, and they cause emotional and psychological harm over time.

“A subtype of this unconscious bias is dubbed as microinvalidations,” adds Dr Sue. This kind of behaviour is the exclusion, negation, and nullification of a marginalised person’s thoughts, feelings, or experiential reality, he says.

THE STORIES SO FAR

Sanchez has experienced many microaggressive interactions but thinks that fateful lunch at Lau Pa Sat was the worst so far. She believes that that incident drove her to become a workaholic.

Redeeming the Filipino image at her office by performing well at work became Sanchez’s goal. She works long hours and rarely take days off or sick leave.

“The worst part is the sleepless nights,” Sanchez says. And when she does sleep, she sometimes “dream(s) of drafting client emails” – a textbook case of high functioning anxiety.

In Dr Sue’s book Microaggressions in Everyday Life: Race, Gender, and Sexual Orientation, the author states that sleep difficulty is one of the psychological effects of microaggressions.

He also wrote that a victim of microaggression could have challenges in falling and staying asleep due to “recurrent intrusive thoughts [that] persist about work or anticipated future workdays.”


Resty Dimaandal* knows all about the effects of microaggressive behaviour.

The 47-year-old mild-mannered graphic designer has been working at the same advertising agency in Singapore for 11 years. Aside from sleepless nights, he has come to dread going into the office and the daily encounters with microaggressions.

“There’s this one guy – we call him the Traffic Controller – who designates the design jobs needed to be done by each designer,” Dimaandal says. “He would only assign the bulk of the jobs to me and then throw the less difficult ones to the rest.”

Dimaandal was the only Filipino in the Creative Design team; the other four were Chinese-Singaporeans.

For two or three years, Dimaandal says he worked non-stop from 9 a.m. to 6:30 p.m. and seldom took lunch breaks. That is what was required to finish all the design jobs promptly.

Dimaandal did not think much of the allocation system until one day the Traffic Controller complimented him in the break room. He jokingly said that Dimaandal makes his job easier because of his unwavering can-do attitude.

The Traffic Controller also said he loves working with Filipinos in general because “they always say yes and never complain about the job,” Dimaandal recalls.

This type of submissive Filipino behaviour is explained by clinical psychologist Dr Aggie Carson-Arenas in his 2004 study. He stated there that “submissiveness is a characteristic of the Filipinos which shows an unwillingness to challenge those in authority, and the willingness to accept commands and criticisms from others without question.”

While Dimaandal was also often praised for his stellar work performance by his teammates, he felt that they subtly took advantage of his meekness.

“None of them checked on me or helped me out,” he laments. “Like I was their errand boy whose reason for existence was to serve them.”

As a result, Dimaandal experienced brief traumatic stress. “We had a lot of car dealer clients back then, and I solely handled all automotive ad jobs,” he shares. “I got exposed to them [car brands] so much that I could name their model numbers at the drop of a hat.”The same car models would also trigger anxiety attacks.

“I spotted a silver Honda Odyssey parked outside the office once and suddenly felt my heart palpitate,” he says, shaking his head ruefully at the memory. “I had to walk to the other side of the street to calm myself down.”


When Kristal Flores left her cushy life in Manila five years ago to migrate with her husband to Singapore, she did not expect microaggressive behaviour in her new workplace.

The 34-year-old Filipina’s first job in Singapore was a regional medical affairs manager at a pharmaceutical company. She was the only Pinoy at the Singaporean-dominant office. One of the many cultural adjustments Flores had to deal with was understanding the heavy Singlish accent.

Little did Flores know, her colleagues were also adjusting to the way she spoke in English – measured and unhurried.

During a work-related discussion one afternoon, she overheard one male Singaporean junior clinical researcher casually mention to his counterpart that they have to speak slowly when talking to Flores. He suggested that they jot the important words down to ensure that Flores follows the discussion.

“The guys said it casually, but I was still deeply embarrassed by how they viewed me as linguistically challenged,” Flores says, her eyes downcast. “Despite occupying a managerial position in the company, I felt that my two subordinates didn’t see me as a superior figure because they viewed me as a mere slow-speaking Filipino.”

Flores has never had any problems with her manner of speaking, but now she thinks twice before opening her mouth. And while Flores has had career successes as a medical practitioner in the Philippines and Singapore over the years, she admits that the experience has tainted her confidence.

“It’s interesting how a small remark could make a huge impact on you,” she reflects.


In a room full of racially diverse educators, Robbie Madrid* is a standout during weekly teachers’ meetings.

The outspoken 36-year-old high school science teacher works at one of the most prominent international schools in Singapore and is often put in the hot seat by his colleagues.

Madrid is the only Filipino in a faculty dominated by mostly Americans, Britons, and Canadians. While he gets along with his cohorts, he cannot help but notice how hypercritical they are of him, especially during brainstorming sessions.

“Each of us is given a chance to throw ideas to the table,” says Madrid. “And when my turn comes, I am the only one who gets questioned a lot.”

He says when a Caucasian teacher pitches an idea, “it either gets approved or shot down on the spot – no questions asked!”

Because of the double standard applied to him, Madrid says he has developed a perfectionist attitude. He overcompensates to make them stop second-guessing his abilities as a science teacher. That means working at home on weekends and public holidays.

“It’s tiring and stressful to always be on your guard, but I also didn’t want to give them a reason to degrade me or my identity as a Filipino,” Madrid says.

Research shows that perfectionism is directly correlated to obsessive-compulsive disorder. This rings true for Madrid as he often puts in long hours quadruple-checking and ensuring that his lesson plans, PowerPoint presentations, and daily class reports are seamless and bulletproof.

“My wife tells me that I’m too hard on myself,” Madrid notes. “I can’t help it because I need to think two steps ahead and prove my foreign coworkers that Filipinos don’t back down from intimidation.”

The effects of these frequent microinvalidations on Madrid have also infiltrated his home life.“I became highly irritable, especially towards my family over the smallest things,” he says regretfully. “It pains me to lash out at my kids whenever they ask me for daddy time in the middle of writing my reports.”

A WORKABLE SOLUTION

Sanchez, Dimaandal, Flores, and Madrid see the microaggression and microinvalidation behaviours of their Singaporean and ex-pat colleagues as a systematic prejudice against Filipino working professionals.

Behavioural sociologist Tan Ern Ser explains the underlying anti-foreigner sentiment as the view that Filipinos and other foreigners are “competing with Singaporeans for jobs or are perceived as not conforming to local norms and values”.

The National University of Singapore associate professor also says that the increase of Filipino professionals in Singapore’s corporate workplaces may arouse negative feelings against them. “Not only as individuals but also as members of foreign nationality,” adds Tan.

HEAD OFFICE. Government arm Ministry of Manpower is responsible for the labour policies related to Singapore’s workforce, including workplace integration. Photo © Ara Luna (2019)

Arguably the most disconcerting thing about microaggressions and microinvalidations is that they occur casually and frequently, often without any intentions of harm.

Human resources director and consultant Kwok Wan Yee firmly believes that companies have a responsibility to eradicate – if not, minimise – racially-biased behaviours in the professional workplace.

Kwok emphasises that education on racial sensitivity is vital to a safe and conducive working environment. “Companies must actively promote diversity and inclusion via mandatory unconscious racial bias training,” she says. “Sadly, not a lot of corporations see the value in that.”

At the minimum, the HR consultant recommends companies to share articles that encourage diversity and inclusion to staff members.

“They could be in the form of a weekly newsletter or a corporate email blast,” suggests Kwok. “There are many free racial sensitivity resources online, and it doesn’t take more than a few seconds to have them sent to employees’ inboxes.”

Sanchez remains on good terms with the coworker who patted her head and made her feel like an obedient pup. The two have regular lunches at Lau Pa Sat because, like most Pinoy professionals, she has learned to deal with microaggressions in her workplace quietly.


* Some names and identifying details have been changed to protect the privacy of individuals.

BITE-SIZE BIASES: Workplace Racial Microinsults That Filipino Professionals in Singapore Face

Boganga Transitory Shelter: Search for durable water supply

By Riz P. Sunio

Lakeview Boganga Transitory Shelter overlooks Lake Lanao in Barangay Boganga, Marawi City (Photo by Riz Sunio).

Every morning, the internally displaced persons (IDPs) wait for the “bombero”, the National Housing Authority’s (NHA) water truck that supplies water for the 1,500 homes of Lakeview Boganga Transitory Shelter in Marawi City.
In almost every corner block of the shelter, five to seven green waste containers tied are placed together with other makeshift water containers the locals call “baril” which are waiting to be filled by the “bomberos”.

This Boganga Shelter resident takes water from the waste containers which he shares he will use to get a bath that afternoon (Photo by Riz Sunio).

These waste containers were supposed to help with the waste management and sanitation of the shelter and were scolded by NHA for using them for water, However, the residents deem that they need to secure their household water first before other matters.
Muslimah Solaiman, an IDP who evacuated to Baloi Evacuation Center before coming to Boganga, said that one filled waste container has about 10 pails of water.

These waste containers were turned into water containers for residents to get and store more water from the “bombero” (Photo by Riz Sunio).

Other blocks decided to remove the water reservoir installed by NHA in their homes and placed about three of them out in the highway for the “bombero” to reach them easier.

To help the senior citizens who could no longer lift heavy pails, the residents installed a hose for the old people to get water from the reservoirs (Photos by Taha Ali, Jr. (left) and Riz Sunio (right)).

The water filled in both the reservoirs and makeshift containers are being shared by everyone in the block.
All of them also tries to make do of the insufficient water supplied to them day-by-day for cleaning, laundry, and bathing shared Caironisa Cabugatan, 27, who formerly lived in what is not Marawi City’s Ground Zero and is now housed in Boganga Transitory Shelter.

More than 700 internally displaced persons families (IDPs) now call Boganga their home. The shelter has started housing IDPs on January 2019 and shall be a home for about 1,500 families from evacuation centers such as the Sarimanok and Pantar Tent Cities, and Baloi Evacuation Centers with a 24 sqm floor area houses each made of concrete floor and walls.

It should be a big improvement from the brittle tents that the (IDPs) lived in for about two years during and after the Marawi Siege in 2017. The tents can be very hot inside when the sun is high and have already become worn out after two years of use.
But now the IDPs live day to day with another problem. Their water taps run dry easily.
Marawi’s soon-to-be largest transitory site for the Marawi IDPs overlooks Lake Lanao, Lakeview Boganga Transitory Shelter yet the barangay doesn’t have enough water, despite the daily ration of water from the NHA since January.

Residents removed the water reservoirs installed at the back of their houses out to the streets and placed a mosquito net over it to catch clean rain water (Photo by Riz Sunio).

Solaiman said that the water the “bombero” provides could not fill each house’s reservoir. They also do not hose out water to these containers. Instead, the residents scoop water from their improvised water containers to their reservoirs so that their taps could work.
But a whole block is sharing water from a few waste containers. Whenever water is not enough, they would go up and down very slippery dry slopes down to a well which already has moss growing around its mouth to add to their supply of water for cleaning and bathing.
This part of Barangay Boganga in Marawi City is noticeably dry. The soil is yellowish and reddish and fine like baby powder.
Junaira Benesing, 12, fetches water from the well or “tabay” to their house in Boganga Transitory Shelter.
Doing so required a good amount of strength and foot work to carry a buckets of water. That is why even if the water already has molds growing around it, she has to take a bath right by the well because it is hard to lift the pail to her home.

Junaira Benasing scoops water from the mossy tabay for her bath (Photo by Taha Ali, Jr.).

The water from the “tabay” and NHA is not drinkable, that is why Cabugatan has to spend about Php 40 for transportation every day to buy a barrel of potable water in the next neighborhood.
Those who live near the newly installed water pump from the Community and Family Services International (CFSI) and other organizations get more water than the others. Residents from three other divisions that do not have water pumps in their areas have to do pilgrimage to divisions that have one to carry a few gallons of water home, said Imran Lumabao, president of Division 5 of the shelter.
To get water from the water pumps, the residents must abide the schedules when the pumps will work. These schedules are yet to be determined said Lumabao.

Caironisa Cabugatan shows their ketchup gallon turned water gallon to store more water for the household (Photo by Riz Sunio).


The homes in the shelter are in good condition, according to initial assessments conducted by the Mindanao Humanitarian Team. The United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees, (UNHCR) in its Site Protection Profile, found that the Boganga Transitory Shelter has four taps per household, functioning toilets, available drinking water, but no adequate water supply. That’s a problem. Insufficient water may result in inadequate sanitation because residents cannot freely clean, wash and flush.
Dr. Emelda Gandamra-Taib, Marawi City Hall Mayor’s Office Chief-of-Staff said that the Boganga Transitory Shelter was one of the only available lands to build the temporary shelter. It is a privately owned lot lent to the government under the conditions that some of the relatives of the owner who have lost their homes to the siege in 2017 also be given shelter.
According to Gandamra-Taib, about 1,500 shelters are to be built in the area but shall be increasing in number soon.

Furthermore, the Memorandum of Agreement (MOA) between LGU Marawi and the owners of the land states that the shelters will only be there for five years.
Gandamra-Taib furthered that there have already been many efforts to drill water in the area. However, the LGU has been able to find two areas with water, that is why the distribution of water in the pumps installed by the LGU has schedules and shall be shared by all seven areas of the shelter. These pumps are regulated by controllers hired by the LGU.
Various private organizations have contributed about $28 million for the Marawi rehabilitation. The money is to improve water, sanitation, and hygiene (WASH), food security and livelihood, shelter, health and nutrition, and protection.
However, Red Cross Lanao del Sur WASH focal person Johanisah Ditucalan said that while they are able to provide water for other shelters such as Sagonsongan Transitory Shelter, they are unable to do so in Boganga because their water tank would not fit in the shelter’s narrow roads.


When we visited the site, the “bombero” did not come today, the residents said.
Cabugatan said that he already sent his husband today to get more water from the “tabay” because they definitely need more water for the house.
Her taps were working, actually. She filled them yesterday with water from the rations. But not today.
“It was a good thing that it rained today,” Cabugatan said. “We can get our water containers out to catch some rain. We are happy whenever it rains hard.”

Boganga Transitory Shelter: Search for durable water supply

Orphans behind bars: Depression among incarcerated women in the Philippines

Jhenelle (not her real name) calls her Nini.

All day, Nini sits by her bed. Jhenelle smiles at her.

Jhenelle stares at her. Sometimes she strokes Nini’s hair.

At night, she wraps her arms around her.

Jhenelle sleeps at the top bunk, made of steel covered with a green sheet and a threadbare beige blanket.

Nini is her only companion.

She leans beside small rectangular pillows covered with unfolded clothes.

Nini is a lifeless soiled pink teddy bear.

Jhenelle is one of the 3,304 Persons Deprived of Liberty (PDL) at the Correctional Institution for Women (CIW) in Mandaluyong City. Eighty-five percent of the women here are serving sentences from illegal drugs. Many are in prison for theft, fraud and human/child trafficking. Jhenelle is 20 years for human trafficking of women.

She suffers from depression. Sitting on the edge of her cot she counts the beds inside the dormitory. “42” she says, “times 4, 168.”

Twenty years from now when she has served her sentence, “Jhenelle” still dreams of being reunited with her two children and having her own mini grocery and eatery. (Photo by Angel Movido)

About 60% of the women at the CIW come from the provinces outside Metro Manila, including foreigners.

The CIW officer in charge, J/Insp. Angie Bautista estimates more than a thousand women at the CIW have not had a visitor in the last one to five years. Families either refuse to visit them or do not have money or time to make the trip to Manila.

Bautista says this remains the top cause of Depression. For the last three years Jhenelle started serving her sentence, not once was she ever visited by her husband or kids.

Data from the Philippine Health Department shows, 3.3 million Filipinos suffer from depression. Incarcerated women get little to no help.

The Doctor is out

The CIW has one physician to attend to the 3,304 women – Dr. Henry Fabro.

He sees patients at the CIW, at least twice a week, and is responsible for seven correctional facilities as director of the National Bilibid Prison (NBP) Health Services  under the Bureau of Corrections (BuCor).

He says it’s normal for a person to experience sadness over a period of two weeks from the time of incarceration. Anything beyond he says will merit a consultation with a psychologist for depression. Jhenelle, has never seen a Psychologist herself.

Depression however remains largely undetermined for PDLs. Bautista estimates about close to a thousand women at the CIW suffer from the condition, but not a single one has been diagnosed.

Fabro admits mental health care and treatment is not a priority for the PDLs.

“Sad to say the BuCor, does not have any psychiatrist. Dalawa lang ang Psychologist and hindi pa full time. Well, there’s two in BJMP nationwide,” (Sad to say the BuCor does not have any psychiatrist. There are only two part-time psychologists. Well there’s two psychologists for BJMP nationwide.) Fabro explained.

Newly committed women PDLs line up for the morning roll call. (Photo by: Angel Movido)

Fabro said few health practitioners want to work in prisons as it’s not a path to career growth, so that’s why there is a terrible ratio of doctors to PDLs.

The BuCor has only 13 doctors attending to 47,326 prisoners nationwide. Four of them are retiring soon.

This means women serving time at CIW, like Jhenelle who suffer from mental illness, are not getting the treatment they need to get well.

“Ideally siguro, dapat 300 health practitioners per facility. But that’s wishing,” (Ideally, there should be around 300 health practitioners per facility. But that’s wishing.) Fabro said.

A full-time psychologist in the BuCor has a starting salary of P80,000 ($1,600) a month and will be enlisted as an officer equivalent to a Captain. Even though the salary is much higher compared to doctors practicing in private institutions which range about P35,000 to P50,000, Fabro said, only three doctors have expressed their interest to apply since January 2019.

What is your name?

Jhenelle’s journey to prison started 33 years ago.

November 19, 1986. It was a Wednesday.

Jhenelle was born and abandoned by her mother at the Amang Rodriguez Memorial Medical center in Marikina City. This was the story told to her by Rodel the maintenance person who took her home late that afternoon. He became a father to Jhenelle.

Rodel died when Jhenelle was 12. His family sold her to relatives in Paete, Laguna where she was forced to sand wood all day. She never knew her name.

“Dun ako nakatira sa bahay ng aso, pinapakain nila sakin, yung pagkain ng aso. Dumating sa point na pinapaluhod nila ako sa asin, binibitin ako, nilulublob sa drum,” (I lived in a dog house and ate what the dogs ate. It came to a point where they made me kneel on salt. They hung me upside down and drowned me in a large drum), Jhenelle said as she broke in tears.

She soon fled the abuse with P150 in her pocket.

At 16, Jhenelle was wild. In Manila, she got involved the illegal drug trade. 

“”Red” ang tawag nila sa akin, kasi masyado raw ako matapang, di raw ako marunong matakot. Sabi ko, tatay ko nga si Satanas,” (They call me “Red”. They say I’m too brave and fearless. I tell them, I’m a child of Satan.)

As part of the drug trade Jhenelle flew around the provinces from Luzon to the islands of Visayas and Mindanao. She dressed well and had the money to hang out at high-end clubs, condominiums and hotels.

“Malakas ang kita sa illegal, more than P30M, isang transaksyon lang, drugs saka baril na yun. Bibigyan kami 500,000, papartehin ko pa yun sa mga tropa,” (At one point, our group earned P30M in an instant, for guns and drugs. I get a cut of P500,000 from my boss which I share with my men.)

She carried bundles of cold hard cash in bags, always kept underneath her bed. No bank transactions and no identification cards. She and the gang hopped from one city, one province to another, getting on buses and planes in varying days and hours. Jhenelle felt invincible.

“Hanggang dumating one time na raid yung laboratory ng boss ko, shabu lab, pinatakbo ako ng boss ko sa Nueva Vizcaya,” she said. (It came to a point, the police raided my boss’ shabu lab, he gave me an address and told me to escape to Nueva Vizcaya).

Jhenelle then met her soon to be husband in Nueva Vizcaya. But after five years of abuse, she escaped with her 3-year-old daughter. A little food, milk and teddy bear, Nini were all they had when they boarded a bus for Metro Manila. She and her daughter lived in the streets of Parañaque City. Jhenelle sold cigarettes, candy, coffee and biscuits to feed her daughter. She was 7 months pregnant.

On the eve of January 7, 2016 it all came to an end. The members of the National Bureau of Investigation (NBI) suddenly arrested Jhenelle for selling women, she was later convicted of human trafficking. Jhenelle insists she is innocent. She gave birth to her second child while in detention but she never got to hold and see her baby.

“Tulala lang ako, ayoko lang na may kausap, ayoko lahat. Halos isang linggo ako hindi kumakain, wala akong pagasa kasi nakakulong na ako, iniwan ako ng asawa ko, mga anak ko, wala na. wala nako babalikan, magpakamatay nalang ako,” she recalled (I would stare, I don’t want to talk to anyone, I don’t want everything. I did not eat for almost a week, I was hopeless in jail, thinking, my husband left me, my children were taken away from me, I have no one left in my life, I might as well choose to die,”)

She clings to what’s left of her past life, Nini, her daughter’s teddy bear. She later learned both her children were sent to an orphanage, while her husband re married.

“Pangarap ko magkaroon ng buong pamilya, wala kasi ako nun,” (I still dream of having my own family which I never had,”) she said.

Help from the inside

Last August, Jhenelle met “Ria,” (not her real name)  a fellow inmate serving time for fraud.

Ria has been in jail for 11 years and is now part of the deliverance ministry of the Women of Faith. The group offers spiritual formation for the women.

“Deliverance, healing ba yung ginagawa namin, yung pakiramdam naming nakakulong pa sila sa nakaraan nila,” (Deliverance, healing, that’s what we do. We want to help women be released from their past,”)

Ria meets with about two PDLs each day and listen in an effort to help ease their depression.

The word is therapy anak, okay lahat ng therapy, basta someone willing to listen with no judgments,” (The word is therapy, all therapies are okay so long as someone is willing to listen with no judgment,.) Ria said in her gentle voice.

Jhenelle recalled how she cried buckets of tears, pouring her heart out to Ria. They spoke for four hours.

“Pag wala kang dalaw, parang wala ka.. pag wala kang dalaw, hindi ka importante, hindi ka special,” Jhenelle said. (When no one visits you, you feel unimportant, like you’re no one, not special.)

Ria and the team spent six months to a year training in therapeutic communication for PDLs. She says all must be done in love coupled with prayers and it’s confidential.

“Dahil sa kanila, narealize ko, hindi pala ako pwede mabuhay mag isa. Dito ako nagkaroon ng buhay ulit, ng pag asa, sa mga taong tumanggap sakin,

di ako hinusgahan ng ganun ganun lang… hindi ko naramadaman na mag isa ako,” (I realized I cannot live alone. This is where I found life again. I found hope in the people who accepted me, they never judged me for who I am, I never felt alone again.)Jhenelle said.

E-visits

“The visit schedules have been extended for another day, instead of Wednesday, it will now be from Tuesday to Sunday, from 9:00am to 3:00pm,” Bautista announced. The women cheered.

Bautista targets to launch soon the electronic visits or e-visits.

“No more contraband” such as cellphones. Bautista urges the women to practice honesty and cooperate in strengthening livelihood and spiritual reformation programs. (Photo by: Angel Movido)

A call center type set up is being prepared for the women where they will be allowed to call their loved ones for 5 minutes a day.

There will be 20 units of telephones equipped with intercom and jail guards will also monitor computers. P1 per minute will be charged for video and phone calls.

Bautista believes the project will alleviate homesickness and depression among PDLs. But even with the lifeline, Jhenelle is still left an orphan, until she finds a permanent contact with her two kids.

For now, the women keep busy and earn money through projects such as bag making with beads and plastic. Women, especially the older inmates, garden. They grow vegetables and medicinal plants.

The CIW also has allotted 30M for the repairs and another P30 M for a a new building. Bautista say plans to add a table tennis, volleyball games, a gym and a mini library are now in the pipeline.

Jhenelle is now part of COPs or Cleanliness, Orderliness and Peacefulness brigade. She goes on a daily 8-hour duty to assist in managing the dormitories. She has 20 more years to spend inside the prison.

Jhenelle cleans the water tank. In an orange dress and slippers, she suddenly stops and walks to the edge of the pavement on the sixth floor. She looks at the skyline of rusty rooftops. The wind blows on her face. She stands there. Looks down. Pauses. Then collapses and weeps. She hugs Nini and gets on with her chores.

Orphans behind bars: Depression among incarcerated women in the Philippines

Rolling down the garage doors

Balancas jeepney-makers struggle to stay operational amidst the PUV modernization program

By Justine Emmanuel Dizon

Pampanga, Philippines — Danilo Yco checks his remaining welding rods, those copper-coated steels that look like chopsticks. He grips them with his thick calloused left hand, while counting them with his right pointer finger filled with grease.

One, two, three… he stops at ten. Eight are new while the other two are burnt on both tips.

He puts them in a rusty toolbox resting on a pile of old tire rims. He then bends over and pick-up stainless-steel sheets same as the size of a car door. Shikkk, Shikkk. The irritating sound of shiny metal scratching on the floor fills his spacious garage.  He drops them beside a naked vehicle chassis, a jeepney skeleton. Blag!

Slowly, he walks to and from his storage room. He stops in between deep sighs and the occasional coughs. His arms are thin and muscular. You can see the pattern of his veins under his loose skin. His face, though still charming, is lined with wrinkles.

Yco isn’t the same man who opened the garage more than two decades ago.

The Veteran. 56-year-old Danilo Yco started his XLT-making business in the 90s after coming home from Saudi Arabia where he worked in a factory. (Photo by Justine Dizon)

‘Phaseout’

Danny, as his family and customers refer to him, is one of the few remaining jeepney-makers in Balangcas, a small village in Santo Tomas, Pampanga.

In its heyday in the 1990s, around 300 shops employed at least a thousand people.  Their distinctive vehicles resemble the head of a modern SUV with a long cabin that could carry twelve to twenty-two passengers. The jeepneys were exported throughout Central and North Luzon.

But those days are long gone. And the 27 remaining XLT-makers in Balangas are struggling. In 2017, the government introduced the Public Utility Vehicle Modernization Program (PUVMP). It bans jeepneys 15 years and older.

The Land Transportation Franchising and Regulatory Board (LTFRB) records show 24,000 Public Utility Jeepneys (PUJ) will be phased-out in Central Luzon region alone by 2022. Five-thousand of these units are operating in Pampanga.

“We have to establish an efficient transport system. A transport system that cares,” says Jesus Sison, Assistant Director of LTFRB Region Three.

By 2020, the government wants all new jeepneys to meet high standards for energy efficiency and environmental safety.

For jeepney makers like Yco, the government has set standards but given no incentives to manufacturers to retool their manufacturing.

Yco plugs his old welding machine to a rusty panel box nailed at a concrete post in the middle of his garage.

It’s not a usual electric socket we see at home. The welding machine’s plug is made of two ends of naked coil. It sparks as soon as the coils touch the power source but Yco, a veteran is unfazed.

Meina ing cabiaian mi uli ning jeepney phaseout (Our sales declined due to the jeepney phaseout),” Yco blurts in the Capampanan, a language spoken by the people of Pampanga.

Until 2017, he built at least four XLT-style jeepneys a year. Now, he says he’s lucky to sell two units.

These days he’s converting an old Sarao to an XLT-jeep. The Sarao was patterned from military jeeps left by the Americans after World War II. Filipino ingenuity paved the way for their conversion, extending their cabins to be utilized as passenger vehicles. 

Its body is sheets of welded metal painted with a base color of moss green, no seats, just the Balangcas or the frame—a Capampangan word where the village got its name.

Paditac-ditac que mung gagawan ini. Uling epa suguradu nung manicua iang permit queng LTFRB ing micibandi (I don’t really work on this too much because the owner isn’t even sure if this vehicle will get a permit from the LTRFB),” Yco explains as he rubs the vehicle’s hood with a sandpaper in preparation for welding.

Setting the standards

Once finished, the XLT-jeep may look like a flawless and flashy top of the line AUV displayed in showrooms. But under its hood is a tarnished motor machine made of gears, belts, nuts and bolts. It runs on diesel fuel and emits thick blackish smoke.

Under the 2017 regulations, new jeepneys must be seven meters long with a curbside door, must have free wifi, CCTV cameras, Global Navigation Satellite receiver, a dashboard camera and a speed-limiter.

The jeepney Yco’s working on is seven meters long but he has yet to install all the other mechanisms.

Yco claims he could build a vehicle to meet the new standards.

 “Expert la reng magobra mi queni. Agyu dang paciapusan ing latest model ning saken (We have expert workers here. They can imitate the model of the latest vehicle in the market),” Yco proudly says while he points out to an XLT-jeepney which resembles a Ford Ranger pick-up truck.

The problem, he says, is the regulation requires all new PUVs to have a Euro 4 engine.

Yco says it costs at least P400,000.00, double a diesel-run motor now in most XLT jeepneys. An XLT-jeep is currently sold for P750,000.00 to P800,000.00.

 “Masyado yang mal, enaque manacitan patse ginamit miya ita (It’s too expensive. We won’t earn anymore if we make use of that engine),” Yco explains as he carefully presses the burning rod to the tip of an iron bar.

From the scratch. Yco build the whole vehicle from this Sarao engine sent by his client. Despite the old age, he says the vehicle stills run well on the road. (Photo by Justine Dizon)

Yco starts welding steel sheets together, working on the passenger door of what is supposed to be a road monster. He wears his black sunglasses to protect his eyes from the sparks of the welding iron.

Compared to diesel engines, Euro 4 which refers to European standards filters air contaminants such as sulfur and carbon dioxide, thus more environment-friendly. UNICEF and other groups have pointed to vehicle emission as one of the main sources of outdoor air pollution in urban areas.

While Yco acknowledges the added value of a Euro 4 engine to the automotive industry and to the environment, he still cannot commit in using one for his XLTs considering the engine’s hefty amount.

Sison acknowledges it would be tough for the likes of Yco to compete in the market due to the cost they have to spend to keep up with the standards.

“They can partner with the main suppliers as long as they have the accreditation from Department of Trade and Industry, Bureau of Standards and from our office.” Sison explains.

Sison also says XLT-makers in Balangcas can maintain the old design provided they meet the specifications so as not to sacrifice the iconic XLT looks which already became part of the local culture in Pampanga.

Slowly ‘dying’

During the 90s until late 2000s, Balangcas was really known for its of XLT-jeepneys. Shops here would build a passenger vehicle from scratch, starting from its skeletal under-chassis to its durable fixtures and finishing it with colorful paint and intricate emblems.

Yco boasts that his customers came from Bataan, Nueva Ecija and as far as the Cagayan Valley and the Ilocos region.

The practice of making these reliable vehicles has also been passed down from generations to generations.

Still open. Yco’s shop is open from Monday to Sunday. He says majority of those looking for repair jobs come during the weekends. (Photo by Justine Dizon)

Historian Robby Tantingco, director of the Center for Kapampangan Studies at the Holy Angel University says the XLT industry in Balangcas is related to the motor industry in nearby Capalangan village in Apalit town.

“This is an offshoot of the ancient craft of pukpuk and metalsmithing started by Panday Pira before the Spaniards came,” Tantingco explains.

According to Santo Tomas mayor Gloria Ronquillo, it was in 1995 when his late husband started selling second-hand car engines and under-chassis in Balangcas. She says this was the start of the XLT-making industry which provided jobs in their neighborhood.

But Ronquillo says nowadays, most of those who were involved in the industry have shifted jobs or went abroad.

Yco employs four project-based workers, way less than the ten to fifteen in the heydays of the business.

E cu malyaring manupang regular. Casi neng cayi ala naman talagang obra. Ala qung pamaiad carela (I can’t employ regular workers. There are months when they don’t have anything to do. I can’t pay them),” Yco says as he rubs the welded portion of a steel sheet with a crumpled papel de liha to even its surface. 

Ronquillo admits the XLT industry is really threatened by the PUV Modernization Program, but she believes her constituents are getting by. She says she has yet to come up with a plan to help them rebuild their dying business.

Enala bisang mag-assemble ngeni uling keng modernization program. Ing gagawan da ngeni deta naming FB ampong repair (They don’t want to assemble XLTs anymore because of the modernization program. They are just doing some FB vans and repairs),” Ronquillo says.

‘End of a culture’

Yco has four children, but none of them helps him in his business. He is proud to say all of his kids graduated in college due to his success in building XLT-jeepneys.

Alang bisang magoba queni, mapali. E de man buring talnan ing lagari para cacu (No one wants to work in this garage. It’s hot in here. They don’t even want to hold the saw for me),” Yco says as he flashed a muffled smile.

Unlike his children, Yco says he didn’t finish his studies that’s why he ended up building vehicles. He says he’s not afraid that the culture of XLT-making will come to an end. He believes no one wants to really work in a garage.

Mabayat ing obra queni. Masakit keng katawan ampo keng mata uling ing welding (Our work here is really tough. It causes body pains and the welding sparks can hurt your eyes),” Yco says.

Closing time

It’s 4:30 p.m. Yco packs up his saw, pliers and hammer and switches off his welding machine. He removes the welding rod, now less than half of its original length, from the electrode holder. He carefully pulls the metal coils from the power source.  The scent of burning metal fills his workplace.

Now that no one wants to buy his assembled jeepneys, he survives doing repair jobs such as painting, applying putty or even fixing busted headlights of different cars.

“At least I can still buy food for the day.” Yco says while he rolls down the steel door of his garage.

Yco wishes his garage will continue so he could feed himself and his wife. He has no worries about his children, but what he worries about is his source of income.

He’s uncertain about the day when he won’t be rolling up the doors of his garage.

-30-

Rolling down the garage doors

SCHOOLING DID NOT SAVE THE KID

Some working-students have lost their will to pursue their studies after they begin to earn their own money. 

By Chrislen Bulosan

Kids teased him when he passed by carrying a loaded sack late at night. 

He looked liked a dirty Santa Claus.

“I had to cover my face. I was ashamed to be seen by people doing that,” Jason Codera says in a shaky voice and a teary-eye as vivid flashbacks hit him. The recorder was rolling. “I had no other choice.”

At 16 years old, Codera collected garbage around the slums. He earned fifty pesos a day. He was saving to start his own business selling food so he could pay for his studies.

With five other siblings at home, there was no extra money from his father’s income as a motorcycle driver.

Codera recalled how he walked about 5 kilometers every day to school, never had a decent school uniform, and no school materials.

“There was a time that I asked my teacher if I could have her recycled papers,” he says. “I did not have the money so I will just use the back portion of it.”

____________

Codera is one of the 2,139 children and youth who work while going to school, according to the 2015 data from Philippine Statistics Authority (PSA).

More than 64% of young people between the age of 5 and 17 juggle part-time jobs and school in the country. 
The report from PSA says, the most common reasons among out-of-school youth for not attending school were marriage or family matters (37.0%), lack of personal interest (24.7%), and high cost of education or financial concern (17.9%).

Once they begin to earn their own money, the temptation to give up on the hard work of studying and drop out of school is a great lure. 

____________

Little by little, Codera raised the enough money to start a small business selling junk foods and lumpia, outside his school, during ninth grade.

Work-study-work was the routine. A vendor and a student at the same time. At most, Codera earned up to 1000 pesos a day. 

“It was exhausting. But I had big dreams also,” he said.

His teacher, Jewel Angelie Belen remembers him as “industrious, diligent, and loved by all” – an inspiration to the class. 

“He was selling chocolates and candies to his classmates long before. To me, it was a manifestation that he was working hard to send himself to school,” she says.

Jason saved enough money through selling lumpia to pay for future college expenses.

He was able to buy a pair of black leather shoes and a white polo for his nearing high school graduation.

It was his first time having something for himself. 

“I realized, it is a different feeling when you start earning,” he says.

——————-

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Jason Codera, 19, selling lumpia to his schoolmates outside Davao City National High School during his break time last year. (Credit: Macky Lim)

THE START AND THE END

Codera’s story went viral in 2018, after photojournalist Macky Lim captured Jason selling lumpia to his schoolmates outside Davao City National High School. 

It was an opportunity-opener for him — scholarships offered and a restaurant job.

He enrolled in Philippines Women College in a Culinary program right after Senior High School graduation.

His dream was to be a chef.

But by the end of his first semester at college he was exhausted juggling the work of a full-time student and part-time kitchen job. 

“One time I asked myself, ‘Do I still need to pursue my studies?’ Because I was already earning. I have money,” he says.

Codera did not return to school after the Christmas break.  

————————

Having a high school diploma is already an achievement for him though. It may not be the peak of the dreams he made for himself, but at least.

Not unlike many other children who never completed grade school.

As the PSA 2015 data shows, Philippines has over 3.8 million out-of school children and youth. This is almost 10 percent of the 39 million total population of 6 to 24 years old.

Meanwhile, 1.3 million children in the country remain out of school, according to the 2019 report of London-based child aid agency Save The Children.

Psychologist Dr. Ericson Batican says children are drawn to the outside world, and not schooling, because they see earning money as a bigger reward than studying in schooly. So instead, they find joy in the workplace.

“They get to to build their ego through that. Like ‘Ah, I can earn money at such a young age,’ the Dr. Batican says. “So they get to lose their focus about schooling and education that’s why they end up not graduating.”

Former NGO administrative assistant Rikka Reyes, who is currently a Lumad volunteer, experienced to be with children who are deprived of opportunities to study because they are sent to work at a young age.

She saw how these kids struggle, trying to give something for the family.

“As long as they can help their family, they will.” she said. “I just wish that kind of determination and strength goes same as to pursuing their dreams.”

——————-

LACK OF OPPORTUNITY?

If youth can graduate from high schools, they get free tuition and other fees to state universities and colleges under the Republic Act 10931 or the Universal Access to Quality Tertiary Education passed in 2019. 

Private universities also offer scholarships. 

The problem is how to keep students in school so they graduate with a high school diploma especially once they get a sweet shot of a small success — earning money.

—————-

Now, Codera spends his day in a hot kitchen, wearing a chef’s white, baking pastries and cakes in a fancy restaurant. Perhaps, for him, some dreams come true.

“The first time I started baking,” he said, “I got excited. Because that was what I wanted since then.”

 

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This is the cake Jason personally baked for his step-mother’s birthday. 

Earning a 381 pesos a day, he is happy to support his siblings’ studies. His delay to have his’, means an uninterrupted pursuit of his siblings’ dreams.

But right now, he said, he will still have to earn enough to fund the Culinary program being a full-time student.

Codera is still hopeful though, that someday, he can bring back what he has lost — what he once promised himself to get away from poverty — through education.

“In time, that will happen to me. I’m hopeful.”

 

 

SCHOOLING DID NOT SAVE THE KID

Professional Shortage, Stigma, cost, aggravating mental health access in the Philippines

by Zandro Ochona

“My senior told me when I was still starting in advertising, for you to survive, you really need to thrive on stress,” says Jose, an 11 year veteran of the advertising industry. “If you cannot keep up with deadlines, you will end up dying.” 

Stress is part of the unwritten work description in advertising. Brutal deadlines… demanding clients day in, day out. All craving to win an award, all wanting to be viral and pervasive to their own target audience.

“Sometimes clients are too pushy with deadlines, despite being unrealistic, they have no choice but to finish it on time,” said Jose who does not want his real name used because of stigma associated with mental health.

The pressures of work along with the death of his father from a heart attack has pushed Jose to the edge. He is feeling anxious and having panic attacks. “It feels like my body can’t do anything. I can’t feel anything. Sometimes my whole body feels numb, I feel lightheaded. My vision is blurry, I can’t see things right around me. Sometimes I am not aware of my surroundings. I have blank stares.”

When the attacks hit, he feels dizzy and wants to throw-up. “Even the most supposedly involuntary things like breathing. It feels like you need to control every inhale and exhale.”

Jose knows he needs professional help but like many people he is reluctant because of stigma surrounding mental health.  But also, there an acute shortage of trained psychiatric counsellors, and treatment is expensive. 

Sadly, Patrick Gamo, a psychotherapist-counselor at the Emmaus Center for Psycho-Spiritual Formation says there is no established step-by-step procedure in getting help in the Philippines.

He says, “most people don’t know how and where to get help” for mental health issues.

Façade of Emmaus, a center for psycho-spiritual formation at the Ateneo
(Photo by Zandro Ochona)

Alarming incidence of office stress

The death of a young brand strategist of Ogilvy Philippines, Mark David Dehesa in February 2017 from pneumonia sparked discussion in the industry journal, Ad Week about the culture of “martyrdom” and the need for work-life balance in the industry.

Death among advertising workers is nothing new. The article in Ad Week recalled how a young copywriter from an Indonesian ad firm “collapsed, fell into a coma and later died after tweeting, ‘30 hours of working and still going strooong’.” Then there was the suicide of a Dentsu employee in Japan in 2015 that led to the resignation of its CEO and changes in the company’s overtime policies.

Shortage

The World Health Organization (WHO) and the Philippine Department of Health (DOH) study states there is one doctor for every 80,000 Filipinos. The doctor shortage is even more depressing in psychiatry because there are only a little over 500 psychiatrists in practice. Psychiatric help is getting scarcer because trained specialists are leaving to practice abroad.

Data indicate that there are 0.52 psychiatrists and 0.07 psychologists per 100,000 inhabitants. It’s not much better when it comes to mental health nurses. The numbers have shrunk to 0.49 from 0.72 in 2011 per 100,000 of the population. When it comes to mental health workers, the Philippines have the lowest ratio of all Western Pacific rim countries.  

The Philippines has a severe shortage of mental health specialists. The gold standard set by the WHO is 10 psychiatrists per 100,000 population.

In Australia, a 2018 report by Mentally Healthy, an alliance of their National Mental Health Commission, business, unions and the mental health sector found people who work in media, marketing and creative industry show higher rates of depression and anxiety as compared to the Australian national average. There are no comparable data in the Philippines.

However, also in Australia, Gamo says “the first point of contact is a general practitioner doctor and it is their job to refer the patient to the appropriate care.”

Despite its efficiency in dispensing mental health services, “they still have stigma, but it is minimized because help starts with the general practitioner doctor,” says Gamo.

And here in the country, stigma plays a crucial role why people are not seeking mental health services.

Stigma

Jose is reluctant to go to a mental health clinic because “going to a hospital gives you a feeling that you are indeed sick.”

He thinks this is the reason why Filipinos have a term for going to a shrink which is, “galing sa loob” or from the inside. He feels like he will not get will in a setup like those in the hospitals. Unfortunately, there are very limited facilities on which he can get help. “Besides, people will call you crazy just for simply seeking mental health,” he says.

But Gamo says professional help should be the last line of “defense.” Proper diet exercise and sleep is a key in sustaining good mental wellness. “It is only when the problem gets in the way of functioning despite trying to keep a healthy lifestyle that you seek professional help.”






Psychotherapist Patrick Gamo shows his graph on how to balance lifestyle for a healthy mental well-being. (Photo by Zandro Ochona)

In Jose’s case, Gamo suggests a support group where he could open up about his thoughts and help him identify the source of stress. “If it’s too much of a workload, appropriate help means identifying if reducing his workload by talking to his boss.” 

And this could also include helping him increase his capacity to do his job. He calls this mental health first aid. And it is not expensive.

Expensive mental health care

While the Philippines adopted the Mental Health Law in 2018, the government has yet to provide affordable mental health services to Filipinos. The high cost of getting counselling is a barrier for Jose. “I’ll spend three thousand pesos per hour for a session with a doctor, three thousand pesos weekly for medicine, there is also an uncertainty if anyone will entertain me.”

Gamo says in the current setup, professional fees of counsellors would range from five hundred to four thousand Pesos depending on who is attending to you. A psychiatrist would most likely ask for a more expensive fee because of their years of practice which would also involve prescription of pills.

Psychotherapist Patrick Gamo shares balance is need in personal growth, leisure, career or education and relationships for a sound mental health. (Photo by Zandro Ochona)

While there are institutions offering free mental health services, people may have to line up which could take up time.

“But seeking help may not start immediately from a psychiatrist,” insists Gamo.

New initiative

We celebrate Sunday mass in the mall. Soon Mindcare Club (MCC), a network of mental health counselors in the Philippines will offer services in malls through webcam or video calls on your cellphone.

MCC CEO Brian Tenorio says the technology make mental health counselling more affordable and accessible and “easier to get help and more treatment with less effort.” This service is particularly helpful to people in the provinces who would spend a huge amount of money going to Manila for treatment. This service will also target OFWs who may find it difficult to get a therapist where they are working because of language and cultural barrier. 

Brian Tenorio, Mindcare Club CEO, discussing how tele mental programs can make mental health access affordable. (Photo by  Zandro Ochona)

Tenorio hopes the familiar technology of the cell phone and mall location will reduce the stigma attached to seeking help for mental health problems. He says they picked the name Mindcare Club so people will think of it as caring for your mind not as a negative “condition”. This is their answer to the acute shortage because counsellors may be based here in Manila where clients can come from any place in the world. Their employees are all trained to undergo tele mental style of dispensing therapy.

There is hope

Jose has spoken with his superior and has a lighter workload and agreed to remove some of his clients to another associate creative director. Every Wednesday, his office has an option to work at home so as to relieve their stress going to the office. 

He has also talked with some of his officemates and he was surprised to find out his partner writer is also suffering his condition. And they have agreed to be each other’s support group for now.

“You have to remember to reset. Sometimes you have to accept it’s just advertising, you are just selling stuff to people”, he says with glimmer in his eyes.

On weekends, he teaches group exercises at a nearby gym. This he thinks manages his stress and keeps his mind off from work.

Professional Shortage, Stigma, cost, aggravating mental health access in the Philippines

E-sport Health Problem – The Invisible Battle

Bullets, bloods, and fire everywhere. It’s war and everyone wants to kill each other.

This is no real battlefield. It is an electronic game, Call of Duty Mobile (CODM).

Like so many Internet games, it transports teams of players from their bedrooms to another dimension where they become warriors and shoot each other through clicks on their mobile phone screen.

More and more these virtual warriors are not playing to pass the time and get rid of boredom. They’re e-athletes and they’re playing competitively for prize money that could change their destiny.

A picture containing building, stage, playing, game

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Captions 1President Cup 2019, a e-sport tournament create by Indonesia government, photo by Piala Presiden facebook

The electronic gaming industry is big business around the world. It has grown from a simple competition in an Internet café  to become a USD 152 billion industry. In the next five years it’s expected to double to US$300 billion industry,  according to a news report from GlobalData.

The competitive world of e-sport is drawing in young Indonesians with dreams of athletic fame and fortune similar to professional badminton players or football superstars. The gaming research company Newzoo estimates there are 43,7 million gamers in Indonesia.

In their quest to be number one, a legion of young people spend hours in dark rooms every day practicing clicks and moves with an obsessive dedication. They navigate injuries, social isolation, ignore school work to become the best, to win the big money prize that will lift them out of poverty and put them on the front page of the newspaper.

From PCs and consoles to mobile

E-sport tournaments involving amateur or professional gamers compete in a virtual arena for a cash prize. Some competitions are played on consoles like Xbox One or Play Station 4 (PS4), while others are played using personal computers (PC).

The introduction of the smart phone and Wi-fi have given rise to  the newest frontier for eSports. Mobile games bypass the need for traditional Internet shops or publishers and are attracting a record number of players and big cash prizes.

Tencent and PUBG Corp recently announced PUBG Mobile tournament. The Player Unknown’s Battlegrounds Mobile Club Open 2019 will give mobile players a chance to win a portion of a USD 2 million prize pool.

E-sports made its debut as a competitive sport at last year’s Asian Games in Jakarta. It had its own competition at the 2019 South-East Asian Games in the Philippines.

Even the Indonesian government is behind competitive gaming with President Joko “Jokowi” Widodo pledging his strong support.

Every Child’s Dream

In the early ’90s, an Indonesia kid had a dream to become a pilot, doctor, or army.  Twenty years later, the goal has changed. Most every kid in Indonesia now dreams of becoming an e-sport athlete when they grow up. It’s probably every gamer’s dream: playing games and getting money for it.

Like any professional athlete they need to devote their lives to training. And as a gamer that means  eight to ten hours a day – every day – practicing mobile games.  That’s an ordinary day formembers of Rex Regum Qeon (RRQ)Endeavor, an e-sports team from Jakarta, Indonesia.

RRQ Endeavour catapulted to fame when they won a staggering US$ 50.000 at Point Blank International Championship (PBIC) 2017, the world championships for the shooting games PUBG. It was a bigger cash prize than Indonesia badminton athletes Kevin Sanjaya and Marcus Fernaldi Gideon won for their win same year at the All England Open Superseries Premier.

Yulius “NextJacks” a profesional player from RRQ Endeavor has been playing games for more than a decade, mostly competing in computer games.  Yulius has taken on a new challenge: to become coach and to win the world champion again in mobile games competition. This month RRQ Endeavor is moving from computer game competitions into the mobile game Call of Duty Mobile (CODM).

A group of people posing for a photo

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Captions 2 Indonesia e-sports Athletes and team manager gathering at Call of Duty Mobile (CODM) Tournament press Conferences / Photo by Eldo Rafael

“If you choose a career to be an athlete then you are required to be a champion, casual players play just to be fun and that is the difference. Our life depends on it,” Yulius said in a recent interview. He said is not easy career path.

A documentary video by RRQ Indonesia reveals the untold story behind his career. He started playing games in elementary school. When he was a teenager he began to seriously play the computer game Point Blank.

He persisted despite his family constantly asking, “How long do you want to play the game? Until when you have no future? Be serious and find a proper job!” Yulius said as he impersonated his brother.

In 2014, Yulius had started earning income from e-sports. From the money he earned,  paid medical costs for a treatment of a tailbone injury suffered by his mother for 4 years.

“I am proud because I am able to bear the cost of living expense. So it’s proof that the pro player has a future, ” he said.

Yulius fairy tale story isn’t the same for many esports athletes. A lot e-sport players retire young because they have mental health issues or lose their physical reflexes.

The esports industry is still raw and growing. . As a result, burnout and physical injury has become e-sports mutual friend.

Health Issues

E-sports is a high-risk activity. Athletes often are so focused on the improving their game that they ignore their physical and mental health.

Lee “Wolf” Jae-wan, a 24 years old eSport pro athlete from South Korea, retired because of mental illness.

“If I was retiring due to decline in my in-game skills, I would feel much better, but I feel really bad that it’s not the case. I have to take care of my health first,” he said in an invenglobal interview.

When you see two basketball players crash, it’s obvious to see the injury. With esports players, the potential for physical injuries is less visible, yet real.

Sports doctor Michael Triangto compares an eSport athlete to a Formula 1 (F1) racer. They hold a certain position for a long time. The Formula 1 racer holds the steering wheel. The eSport athlete the mobile phone. Their fingers, elbows, shoulder, toes move but in a limited space. Those repetitive motions can cause injuries to the wrist, back and elbow.

“There is tennis elbow, which causes the outer part of your elbow to feel sore and tender,” he said.

The desire to become the best can result in what the World Health Organization classifies as “gaming disorder” where the player becomes obsessed with game and gives up all interests and daily activities to play.

Triangto said if the game is a competition sport then it is not a game for fun. An athlete should know the risks involved and take proper actions to avoid injuries.

Child Protection

The lack of regulations especially when it comes to children concerns Ricky Setiawan, CEO of GGWP, a e-sport team based in Jakarta. He found that  many sporting teams include under-aged athletes in major tournaments.

“This is clearly violating Indonesia’s 2003 Labor Law which forbids children under the age of 18 from working. If they win, even the prize for the competition can be fully owned by the team and this is not fair, ” he said furiously in a recent interview.

He said team owners need to protect young athletes if they want to keep Indonesia’s eSport ecosystem healthy. In order to protect a child’s future, GGWP set rules to forbid players  younger than age 18 to join the team.

“Your action of hiring child labor as an athlete will “inspire” other kids to leave school and work professionally earlier than they should be! Even China has age restriction for professional players! Encourage them to stay at school,” he urged.



Captions 3: There are around 60 e-sport athletes who train and lives in GGWP Headquarters in Jakarta. Photo by Eldo Rafael

General Secretary of Indonesia Esports Association (IeSPA), Prana Adisapoetra said there are no specific regulations to protect athletes in Indonesia. We can easily see young e-sport athletes who, in a traditional sport is called child prodigy, pursue their career without proper guidance.

The Association is pushing for tournament organizers to end competitions by10 pm, set a minimum age of 16 or require permission from the parents for younger children.

 “We also collaborate with Internet cafe in several provinces and cities so as not to allow school children to play in Internet cafes during school hours,” Adisapoetra wrote in a text message.

In research published by the British Journal of Medicine proposes a health management model that offers a comprehensive medical team approach to prevent and treat e-sports athletes. Organizations, players, the coach and trainer must manage injuries. These players should undergo a health evaluation annually to prevent injury and help medical issues.

Escape Plan

Games are often a form of escapism. Playing as characters in the magic world, with guns and ultimate powers, seems enjoyable.  There is no other sport in the world where a teenager plays a game in a dark room alone, and the next day a team owner hires him. Suddenly he’s paid as an pro esport athlete.

He competes in a digital colosseum with millions of people streaming the competition. The pressure to get to the top of the profession and stay there is dangerous physically and mentally. The industry needs to take responsibility for its players because when that magic world blends with a profession, these games can turn the magic into a nightmare.

E-sport Health Problem – The Invisible Battle

Prisons bursting from spike in drug and violent crimes

By Bashant Khadka

Ram Bahadur (name changed, because of privacy) has made Nakhu jail in Katmandu has been convicted of drug use and sentenced to 5 years in 2017. 30 years old Ram Bahadur is one of 1700 inmates in old and crowded Kathmandu jail built in 1970s to house 300.

 He sleeps in a room with 28 people on the 1st floor. There are no furniture, they use old mats for sleep. There is a toilet which is share by three to four rooms where almost 100 people lives.  They usually eats rice and curry twice a day. Government provide a 700 gm rice, they managed the curry and sometimes also vegetable with the money provided by government. Government provide 60 rupees per day for buy daily needs like vegetable, curry, soap, and so on.  Doctors and mental health practitioners are only visit in jail if someone feel unhealthy or suffer by the disease.  

 The country’s 74 prisons are bursting because of a rise in crime and long jail terms. With so many other demands on the government, prison reform is low on the list.

Population in Nepal’s 74 prisons

Prison pop2019201820172016
Male22116195551773717208
Female1473131713061233
Foreign1225112510701008
Total23589208721904318441

Source: Department of prison management, Government of Nepal

During the insurgency, most inmates were political prisoners, but after the insurgency ended in 2006, 70 % prisoners are related to drug abuse according to the Jail management department. The authority are not able to provide exact data of type of crime.

“A large number of prisoners is related to drug abuse, rape, murder, cybercrime, and fraud case are also increasing,” spokesperson of the Department of prison management, Debarsi Sapkota said.

He points to increase in these crimes and the courts imposing longer sentences has contributors to the overcrowding in Nepali prions. According to the world prison brief, Nepal is 7th for overcrowding in Asia.

Poor condition

A recently published report of Attorney General paints a bleak picture of Nepali prisons.

Photo
Prisoners in Jaleswor jail of Mahottari district live overcrowded and rundown facilities. Photo by The exclusive weekly.

It stated there was an urgent need to improve the living conditions.  It called on the government to provide enough food, money, living space, medical health facility and clean drinking water and to separate the toilet and bathroom from the living rooms to ensure “human dignity” of those living there.

“There is no separate place for old, child or sick, we are planning about it,” Sapkota said. Even now 94 children live with their parents inside the jail. Some of the children are rescued by the NGOs but still, there are dependent children growing up in prisons. “There is no improvement yet,” said Sanjeev Kumar Regmi, spokesperson of the office of Attorney General.

The government provides 700 grams of rice and 60 rupees a day to every prisoner. The daily allotment of rice is not enough for a prisoner because 700 grams of rice cooked provides about 910 calories for a person. Dietary guidelines of the World Health Organization state an adult man needs about 2500 calories a day, 

The allotment 60 rupees money to the prisoner every day is not sufficient. The money is use for parches their daily need like stove, curry, vegetable and so on.

The spokesperson of the Department of Prison Management, Debarsi Sapkota agrees with the report. But he says government has a limit budget and resources.

The government spends 14,387,899 USD per year for its prisons including administration. The role of administration is to manage the jail activities. It is very few budget compare to other lines in the budget, health, education, defence.  

Sapkota said it’s not enough money. When asked him about the tentative budget for prisons, he could not figure out the exact amount.  According to him, the bulk of the budget is spent on the food of prisoner and administrative costs such as guards, jailer. Maintenance cost is not include with this.  

Ram-Bahadur-Thapa
Minister of Home Affairs Ram Bahadur Thapa visited central jail, last year. He is the first line minister after the Republic Nepal, who visits there to hear complaints. Photo: secretariat of minister.

Authorities noticed about problem

Minister for Home Affairs Ram Bahadur Thapa visited the Central Jail last year and saw the overcrowding and poor conditions. He found prisoners are being denied their basic human rights such as sanitation, room space, quality food and regular health check-ups.  “It seems as if prisons are torture houses and are not equipped with human correction resources,” he said.  Thapa was a Maoist leader during the insurgency in Nepal. He never been the jail. Minister Thapa informs via telephone conversation that he is standing with his commitment and he follow and up to date with the further developments.  

Spokesperson of the Ministry of home affairs Kedar Nath Sharma also said that the government is making a plan for improvement. “We are concern about the living conditions of prisoners, we are working on it,” he said. When asked for details, he could not say concrete plan but he that the department of prison management is doing all this.

Executive director general of department of prison management Basudev Ghimere said the government is building the two new prisoner building In Nuwakot district and Banke district. Government building new prison capacity of seven thousand in Nuwakot and three thousand in Banke. After the visit of Home Minister Thapa in Jail, department start to work for new building to address the overcrowded problem.

According to Ghimere, government is plan for the open prison system in near future. He believe that when open prison system implemented, overcrowding and other normal problem will be settle out. He inform that at the first government is planning ti implement from Nepaljung prison where three thousand capacity of building is under construction. Ghimire said that government will practice it other part of the country where overcrowding problem. An open prison is that where prisoners are trusted to serve their sentences with minimal supervision and perimeter security and are often not locked up in their prison cells. Prisoners may be permitted to take up employment while serving their sentence.  

Over crowding

Outside the Kathmandu, Jhapa, Morang, Rauthat and Rupandehi also have overcrowded problems. In Jhapa there are more than one thousand one hundred prisoners where the capacity is only 500. Likewise, Morang, there are 900 prisoners where the capacity of prison is 500. Most of the inmates are serving time for drug abuse. About 70 percent of prisoners are in prison for drug abuse and the rest for crimes of rape, murder, cybercrime, and fraud. 

Old Buildings  

The report of the office of the Attorney General pointed out that most of the prisons are at risk of falling down because of the old and weak infrastructure. They might be damaged anytime. Even a central jail in was built in 1914.

 The prisons in Birjung, Mahottari, and Biratnagar are also more than 100 years old and they are at risk of falling down.    

Central jail  in Nepal was built 106 years ago and in dire need of major repairs. Republica

The Nepal Human Rights Commission (NHRC) 2017 report on the conditions of prisons echoed previous studies. It recommended the government guarantee basic human rights, including sanitation, room space, quality food, and regular health check-ups. “Time and again we recommend to the government to improve the condition of prison but the government does not implement it,” said Tikaram Pokhrel, an information officer of NHRC. Pokhrel said that government has not priority to the prisoners. 

While prisoners like Ram Bahadur serves his time in squalor, those who belong to a higher class or political prisoners are sent to Dilli Bazar Jail.                          

Spokesperson Sapkota agreed Dilli Bazar prison is cleaner and well managed compared to other prisons. But he refused to admit that political and higher class prisoners are treated better than those in other institutions. Yes, most of the higher class and political prisoners in Dilli Bazar pay to have food from outside brought in. are doing this, but any prisoner with money can do this.

Most of the leaders in Nepal are former political prisoners. Then prisoners are now ruling the nation but there is no change in the condition of prisons or the services for prisoners.

 Former prime minister of Nepal, Jhalanath Khanal, and former political prisoner blames the unstable political system and short term government. He was prime minister of Nepal for seven months in 2011.”It was a very short time and I concentrated on political stability.”  He believes that the current government will improve the condition of condition. 

Prisons bursting from spike in drug and violent crimes

LIFTing the Marawi survivors two years post-war

With government delays in the recovery of Marawi, a community-based group stepped in to deliver psychosocial support.

By Mary Louise Omelio

Aiza Pañares was dashing off on their office computer. Wearing an oversized hoodie, she looked like she had pulled an all-nighter. Uncombed pony-tail and pale cheeks. “Okay, I’m ready. Hello mic test,” she kidded, while she was holding the microphone of the recorder.

When the fighting started in Marawi two years ago, Pañares, a graduating Psychology student, decided to stay. Instead of going home to Zamboanga, like most university students when the war erupted, Pañares volunteered for LIFT (Leading Individuals to Flourish and Thrive). Despite her being not a Meranao and a Muslim, she joined the psychosocial support team who first responded to the affected residents of the war in Marawi.,

Sabihin mo lang lahat (Just share everything). There’s healing in conversation; in telling everything about your problem. Gusto lang namo e-facilitate (We just want to facilitate) how you can handle your problem. That maybe you can find your way through this conversation,” she said.

Two years have passed since Marawi is declared liberated from the ISIS-inspired Maute Group but over 100,000 residents remain displaced. The human devastation from the Marawi Siege on May 2017 is great.  As of August 2018, the Integrated Provincial Health Office (IPHO) of Lanao del Sur reported at least 30,732 evacuees suffering from mental disorders.

Government action is slow. The Department of Social Welfare and Development (DSWD) promised to build a healing center in the City to help “our Maranao brothers and sisters as they get back on their feet and take the step towards the road to recovery,” former DSWD Officer-in-charge Emmanuel Leyco told the Philippine Information Agency (PIA) last year.

However, two years on, the ground has not been broken for the construction of the new Php 46.1 million center. The National Housing Authority completed the clearing operations inside the Most Affected Area (MAA) last month. Soon, the sub-committees for the rehabilitation program will tender and begin to award of project constructions.

LIFT immediate help

Because of government uncertainty and delays, the LIFT has stepped in providing mental health and psychosocial support services to the survivors of the besieged City.

Prof. Aminoding Limpao, faculty of the Psychology Department of Mindanao State University-Marawi, is one of the prime movers of the community support program. On the first week of the siege, he and his colleagues toured evacuation sites in Iligan City. When they saw displaced Marawi residents living in cramped gymnasiums and classrooms-turned-evacuation area, Limpao decided that they need to respond.

Survivors of the Marawi siege participate in the coloring session facilitated by LIFT, Inc., as part of their Family Mental Health and Psychosocial Support Services in Baloi, Lanao del Norte. Photo taken on Dec 16, 2017 and was originally published in LIFT Facebook Page.

He put together support teams who went around the evacuation centers in Iligan City where they conducted psychosocial support services to the displaced Marawi residents. Their teams also had separate sessions with the students, faculty and staff members of the affected schools in the City. Limpao’s team was composed of Psychology students, including Pañares and some faculty members from MSU-Marawi. It was with their that their group raised financial support from alumni of the Psychology Department, concerned individuals, and their friends.

Tom Bauya, a faculty member of MSU-Marawi, was one of those who availed the first few services of LIFT during the siege. He was one of the thousands of MSU constituents who were trapped inside the University campus when the siege erupted.

On the third day of the war, he and his housemates took a chance on an empty jeepney that is set to travel to Iligan City. When they heard a soldier calling people in to jeep, he swarmed, along with many rushing students, to the 24-seater vehicle. The men, including Bauya, climbed up the jeep and settled on the top-load.

Bauya has stayed in Iligan City since then. It was then that he heard about the services offered by LIFT.

“I thought the siege did not affect me that much. But one day, while I was at a restaurant’s counter ordering a meal, the kitchen exploded. I was stunned. I wasn’t able to move for a couple of minutes,” he said.

He added that that incident pushed him to avail the psychosocial services of LIFT.

“I can’t say that it totally healed me but at least I found solace in knowing that others are experiencing it too. It also felt good to talk about your feelings out loud,” Bauya said.

The session with LIFT has helped Bauya to initiate his own group who would donate relief goods and hygienic needs to the displaced residents.

LIFT has not only catered the adults like Bauya but also young children. Pañares  was assigned to organize play and coloring sessions with the internally displaced kids in Maria Cristina evacuation site in Iligan City. She said she was expecting the children to be sorrowful and sad after being exposed to gunfire, fighting and the upheaval. But during their session, she recalled, “na-manage gihapon nila mag-smile (they still managed to smile). Makita nimo nga happy and hopeful gihapon sila (You can see that they are still happy and hopeful),” she recalled.

One of the student volunteers of LIFT, Inc., facilitates the coloring session with the internally displaced kids from Marawi City. The activity was part of the organization’s Family Mental Health and Psychosocial Support Services in Baloi, Lanao del Norte. Photo taken on Dec 16, 2017 and was originally published in LIFT Facebook Page.

“One thing I realized is that as long as you are there para sa ila (for them), maminaw ka sa ilang mga stories, malaking tulong na talaga para sa kanila (when you listen to their stories, that is already a big help for them),” she said.

Kasi the moment that they share, makita gyud nimo ang loss sa ilang mga mata (Because whenever they share, you can really see the loss in their eyes),” she added.

LIFT’s programming has grown. Volunteers composed of a mixture of students and professionals,  conduct listening sessions for adults, art and play sessions for young children, and drop-in counselling at their service center in Iligan City. Limpao says there is also psychoeducation to help Marawi siege survivors gain knowledge about their mental condition, train for strategies on self-help and self-care, and provide a safe space to vent pent-up emotions.

The LIFT’s remarkable community-based effort has caught the attention of the World Health Organization (WHO), Red Cross, and The Asia Foundation. The international agencies are providing support for some of LIFT’s activities.

Limpao said that they have also made good relations with the IPHO and the Marawi City Health Office, who call them in to train their health workers.

Aside from their regular support services, LIFT is now working with the Amai Pakpak Medical Center in Marawi to build a psychiatric institution, to cater more residents who have been affected by the war.

This is also to aid Iligan City, the nearest sub-urban community from Marawi, which has only two psychiatrists who attended to the thousands of Marawi residents with mental health problems.  In the country, there are only 500 psychiatrists to serve a population of 105 million. The ideal ratio as set out by the World Health Organization (WHO) is one psychiatrist for every 10,000 people which means the Philippines is short 10,000 psychiatrists.  

LIFT as a community program

Working in the community since the war, Pañares is frustrated when she sees the condition of the Marawi siege survivors and their lack of access to mental health care.

Unsa may gamit sa government? Pwede buhatan ni og solusyon? (What is the use of our government? Can they do something about this?” she stressed.

As of 2005, the country had only 19 community-based psychiatric inpatient units, 15 community home-care facilities, and two mental hospitals.

When the Mental Health Act (Republic Act 11036) was signed in June 2018, it proposed funding for more community-based mental health care facilities in the provinces, cities, and cluster municipalities in the country. The Department of Health (DOH), however, has had a 29% cut in the budget for Prevention and Control of Non-Communicable Diseases which includes mental disorders. The rest of the budget goes to pay for maintenance drugs at 150 mental health access sites.

This makes the community work of LIFT more important than ever.

All their services are for free and their activities depend on financial support from their international NGO partners, or donations. Limpao said that when they have a new client, they look for a sponsor who will shoulder the needed expenses of the client. He added that this arrangement has been working well for now.

Aiza Pañares facilitates the psychosocial support session with the internally displaced residents from Marawi in an evacuation site in Baloi, Lanao del Norte. Photo was originally published in LIFT Facebook Page.

Limpao and Pañares said their work is hard but fulfilling.

Kapoy. Kapoy man jud. Pero at the end of the day, maka-realize ra gihapon ka nga successful, and happy ko. Fulfilling kaayo sya for me. It has become the reason why I wake everyday nga mag-work na pud (Tiring. It’s really tiring. But at the end of the day when I realize that it is successful, I will be happy. It’s really fulfilling. It has become the reason why I wake up every day because I’ll be working again),” Pañares said.

Limpao told a story about a random encounter in public transit with a man who could have been one of their many drop-in clients. “He told me that he appreciated how I was able to help them recover. It added a motivation for me to keep doing it kahit mahirap (even if it’s hard).

Working with LIFT over these past two years has made Limpao and Pañares see the recovery of Marawi in a different way.

“No matter how much livelihood [is provided], no matter the physical health… we will never be able to achieve peace… [because] many people are so broken,” he said.

The seemingly unexplained aggression of the residents of Marawi, he said, is the unseen effects of the war.

Limpao is convinced that “Inner peace and harmony [for Marawi survivors] can only be achieved through psychosocial support services.”

The Task Force Bangon Marawi, the inter-agency group that leads the reconstruction and rehabilitation of Marawi assigns a sub-committee in health and welfare. This committee, composed of the departments of Health and Social Welfare, is tasked to “provide sanitation and health facilities, medical supplies, food potable water, and other basic necessities” for the displaced residents. However, it is still uncertain if they will be putting up a public mental health facility inside the City.

The government mental health care programs for the survivors of the war is as uncertain as to when they will return to their homes.

Kinabuhi na lang gyuy nabilin saila, everything else is nawala na (Life is only what’s left of them. Everything else is gone) and they really want to go home,” Pañares said.

One thing is for sure: LIFT will continue its community programs to help the survivors recover.

 “Even though we’re different, even though lahi-lahi ta’g beliefs, lahi-lahi ta og nature in life (even though we have different beliefs and nature in life), I think we are still the same. Everyone needs love. Everyone needs care. Nobody deserves to be hurt. Bahala’g lahi-lahi ta, magminahalay lang gud ta (Despite our differences, we should love one another),” Pañares said.She added that though other people may see her work with LIFT only as a small act, “at least sa akong self, ma-confirm nako nga (at least I can say confirm to myself that) I did something for other people.”

LIFTing the Marawi survivors two years post-war

AN OPEN SECRET: Confronting the Reality of Abortion in Manila

In a country where abortion is illegal, Filipinas resort to underground trade of abortive pills to self-induce abortion.

by Diane Gumiran

MANILA, Philippines – As the first weak rays of light penetrate the dark skies, signalling the approach of dawn, a girl with a pixie-cut and brown skin takes a deep breath and walks into the bathroom. Her heart is pounding and her hands are clammy as she anxiously waits for the results of the pregnancy test. She paces back and forth, silently praying. The strip slowly changes colour meaning Tin-tin Gomez is pregnant. Tears start to form in her eyes as she composes a message to her boyfriend about her pregnancy.

Gomez (not her real name) was 18. Her then-21-year-old Indian boyfriend didn’t want the baby. She agreed to terminate her pregnancy because she was too frightened to tell her parents about it. 

A tell-all interview with Tin-tin Gomez. Photo by Diane Gumiran.

“I was terrified that time – I mean, I’m not really ready. We were young and my then-boyfriend practices Sikhism, which means he can only marry someone who’s Indian as well,” Gomez said.

Her boyfriend went where many go to get medicine to end pregnancies – Commonwealth, a bustling district at the heart of Quezon City. There he bought a pill called Cytotec. The medication is used to treat and prevent stomach ulcers but it can also induce abortions. It’s illegal in the Philippines.

“He told me it would take 24 hours before it would take effect. The following day, we went to a motel where we did [the abortion process] for six hours,” Gomez said.

Gomez said her boyfriend inserted another medicine in her vagina then 12-24 hours after taking Cytotec, he placed another pill under her tongue.

“It was painful and exhausting. I was two months pregnant at that time and I had to jump several times to really get rid of the [fetus]. My boyfriend even punched me in the stomach,” she said.

This is what women in the Philippines go through to terminate an unwanted pregnancy. In a country where abortion is illegal, women take their lives in their hands rather than bring another life into the world. And although it is illegal, an estimated 610,000 abortions take place every year.

Twenty-five million unsafe abortions were estimated to have taken place worldwide annually, according to the World Health Organization. In most developing countries like the Philippines, at least seven million women are admitted to hospitals as a result of risky abortive practices. Nine per cent of those (approximately 630,000) die from severe medical complications.

Friday mass at Quiapo Church just meters away from where vendors sell products to terminate pregnancies. Photo by Diane Gumiran.

While the Catholic Church preaches abortion is a sin, right outside the historic Quiapo Church in downtown Manila vendors sell lucky charms, amulets, medicinal plants and herbs, and folk medicine to couples desperate to terminate a pregnancy.

The vendors in Quiapo Church know who to see for a backroom abortion. Assisting women with an unwanted pregnancy is a booming underground business, one that rarely gets busted.  The 2004 National Survey of Women showed that nearly 90% of those who induce abortion are Catholic.

The bustling Quiapo market where Cyotec sells for P200- P250. Photo by Diane Gumiran.

When asked about the illegal pill, one vendor answered in a hushed voice. 

“Wag ka maingay ate baka may makarinig sayo. Yung gamot na hinahanap niyo, Cytotec ang tawag doon. Mayroon akong binebenta na ganon pero wala sa ngayon. Madalas kasi nakikipag-kita lang ako sa mga buyer na umorder na sa akin pang-maramihan kasi itong binebenta ko,” said a vendor, who asked not to be named. (Don’t be too loud. They might hear you. The pill you’re looking for is called Cytotec. I do sell it but it’s not available right now. I do meet-ups and pre-orders because there are people who buy in bulk.)

What Cytotec tablets look like. Photo by womenonwaves.org.

A tablet of Cytotec ranges from P200 to P250, depending on its dosage and availability. Vendors give huge discounts to their loyal customers.

Linda Perez — not her real name — sells a Cytotec in Quiapo. Most of her customers are students and minors who accidentally get pregnant. 

“Madalas talaga mga estudyante, katulad mo  o hindi kaya mga menor de edad. Kaya nga noong nakita kita na tumitingin-tingin, tinawag kita agad akala ko kasi naghahanap ka ng pamparegla,” Perez said. (Usually [my customers] are students like you, or minors. That’s why when I caught you looking at my stall, I immediately called you because I thought you were looking for “pamparegla”)

Organic herbs, homemade medicinal oils, and “pamparegla” for sale in Quiapo. Photos by Diane Gumiran.

Pamparegla is a folk medicine taken to bring on and normalize the menstruation period, reduce menstrual cramps or to induce an abortion.

Perez said that lately, Cytotec sales have been sluggish because of online competitors. 

“Oo, alam ko illegal. Pero dito kasi ako kumukuha ng pampa-aral sa mga anak ko. May college at high school ako. Tapos yung bunso ko dumedede pa. Kaya kahit na alam kong illegal, nagbebenta pa din ako,” Perez said.  (Yes, I know [what I’m doing] is illegal. But this is where I get money to pay for my children’s education. One of my children is in college while the other is in high school. Also, my youngest child is still bottle-feeding. That’s why I still keep on selling [Cytotec] even if it’s against the law)

Police say it’s no secret that a crime network supplies the illegal drugs like Cytotec in the black market. Perez is tight lipped when it comes to questions about her supplier.

“Hindi ko alam, umaamot lang ako. Kinukuha ko yung stock ko sa mga kapwa ko tindera lang din dito sa Quiapo. Hindi ko rin alam kung sino ang supplier. Kung alam ko lang, sinagot ko na yung tanong mo,” Perez said. (I know nothing. I get my [Cytotec] supply from my fellow vendors here in Quiapo. I don’t know anything about our supplier. If I have information regarding that, I would have told you already)

Perez denies allegations that organized crime is pushing the abortion drugs. 

“Walang namang ganon. Walang ganon beh,” Perez said.  (No, I don’t think so. There’s no such thing)

Illegal but unenforced

Abortion law in the Philippines is among the strictest in the world but despite that, the police seem to turn a blind eye to the ongoing trade.

Selling Cytotec and other abortive drugs violates the Republic Act 9711 or the Food and Drug Administration Act of 2009. The FDA Director General imposed penalties of P50,000 up to P500,000 – depending on the gravity of the offense and an additional fine of no more than P1,000 for each day of continuing violation to anyone caught selling or distributing the drugs. Moreover, the Court also imposed penal sanctions. Imprisonment of one year but not more than ten years and fines of P50,000 up to P5,000,000 shall be inflicted to anyone with the same offense.

The act of abortion also carries a severe penalty­. Police Lieutenant Noel Villamor, Chief Investigation Officer of Manila Police District Police Station 3 said they are aware of the illegal trade of Cytotec in Quiapo and the business has been going on for years now. 

“Vendors who are caught selling Cytotec are arrested right away,” Villamor said.

He explained that under the infanticide and abortion provisions of the Revised Penal Code (RPC), any person who intentionally aborts any child less than three days of age shall be punished with reclusion perpetua, the highest penalty with a sentence ranging from 20 to 40 years­.

“After having abortion, some women go to hospitals because they experience complications following the procedure. Hospitals report that to us and we arrest them,” Villamor said.  

The RPC also state that if the mother of the child or her parents cause an abortion to conceal her dishonor, she is subject to a penalty of prison correccional or imprisonment for six months to six years in its medium or maximum period. Meanwhile, under the Midwifery Act, Medical Act and Pharmaceutical Act, any practitioner who performs abortions or provides abortifacients can have their license taken away or suspended.

Villamor said there were no arrests made in 2019 for selling illegal Cytotec at Quiapo market. 

“There’s zero arrest this year but we busted two vendors last year (2018). One of them was the supplier,” he said. 

Mayor Isko Moreno launched massive cleanup operations in July 2019 as part of a major Manila makeover. Clearing up Manila is among Moreno’s main campaign promises

“Ever since [Isko] Moreno came into power, we had clearing operations scheduled every day. It’s our way to curtail the thriving black market for illegal drugs including Cytotec,” Villamor said. 

Police said that with the government’s current War on Drugs campaign, authorities have little time to deal with abortion and abortive pills in the market. 

Birth control

Contraceptive samples including condoms, birth control pills, and injectable contraceptives from the Department of Health. Photo by KJ Rosales of Manila Bulletin.

The Responsible Parenthood and Reproductive Health Act of 2012, commonly known as the Reproductive Health Law, provides modern contraceptive services, counseling and sex education, particularly for rural and poor Filipinos. 

The Guttmacher Institute – a leading research and policy organization committed to advancing sexual and reproductive health and rights internationally, said there are many reasons why, and circumstances in which, Filipino women do not practice contraception. 

There is a notion that family planning is women’s business. An article in a Reproductive Health journal found that men and boys are not well served by birth control programs. 

An article in Rewire.News, a non-profit publication devoted to evidence-based reporting on reproductive and sexual health, rights, and justice–wrote that the Guttmacher Institute’s Demographic and Health Surveys in 2016 revealed the most commonly cited reasons for nonuse of contraception for both men and women are fear of side effects or health risks; their partners opposed its use; they thought they do not need contraception because they rarely have sex; and they are breastfeeding or just had a child.

The stigma surrounding birth control resulted in two more pregnancies and two more abortions for Gomez. 

After her third abortion in 2017 Gomez vowed, never again. So when Gomez found out she was pregnant in 2018, she defied her boyfriend’s pleading to abort again. She said she pretended to agree to an abortion but secretly took vitamins and folic acid to ensure a healthy baby. And she avoided contact with her boyfriend. 

When her boyfriend found out about it, she says he punched her in the stomach and tried to run over her. At that moment she finally had the courage to break up with him.

“Because of my boyfriend’s promises, I risk my life. I kept on holding on to his promises,” she said with tears forming in her eyes.

Following her abortions and her break up, Gomez has turned against abortion as a form of birth control. Abortion, she believes, is murder and she’s scared of karma– if you do something negative, something negative has to happen to you to “even it out”.

As a result of all she’s been through Gomez lives with mild depression and anxiety. “I did not have any [physical] complications but it affected me mentally and emotionally which is why I decided to go to a psychiatrist in Makati to have myself checked because I noticed that my behavior is changing and I started dreaming about the abortion process I went through.”

Her mood changes quickly and she suffers from breakdowns every now and then. When she’s having these episodes, she tries to compose herself and remind herself that she has an amazing kid. 

The first photo Gomez uploaded on her Instagram when she gave birth last year. Photo from Tin-tin Gomez

Gomez’s baby girl just celebrated her first birthday last October 27. 

AN OPEN SECRET: Confronting the Reality of Abortion in Manila