Prisoners at the national penitentiary, the National Bilibid Prisons in Muntinglupa city, try to create a semblance of normalcy in their lives despite the cells, high walls, and guards as they prepare for and dream of their eventual release.
BY REYNA TABBADA
Bulatlat
Vol. VII, No. 44, December 9-15, 2007
Meet Leon, 45, an inmate at the Medium Security Compound of the National Bilibid Prisons in Muntinglupa city, south of Manila. Since being convicted in 1993, he considers the large expanse of the National Penitentiary in Muntinlupa his home. He shared this place he called home along with 17,000 other prisoners who has been judged guilty of more serious crimes that range from drug trafficking to murder.
A few years ago, Leon was transferred from the maximum security facility to the Medium Security Compound by virtue of commendations he received for good conduct. He hoped that with more good conduct commendations, his sentence of imprisonment for not more than 20 years would be commuted. When a convict has served the majority of his sentence, he could be transferred to the minimum security facility where he would serve the few remaining years of his sentence.
At first, as I entered the national penitentiary, it seemed that I was merely entering a vast estate. But I was confronted with the stark reality of entering a prison after I was asked to deposit my cell phone and other electronic devices at the small canteen outside the entrance of the Medium Security Compound, my bags inspected, was frisked, stamped at the hands, and made to enter a series of gates.
But as the day wore on what struck me was the irony of the place. I became a witness to a community trying to establish a sense of normalcy behind bars, one that Leon claims to be a shift from “punishment to rehabilitation.”
Directive
After going through the standard security inspection, visitors are led to a meeting area that resembles a basketball court. Rows of plastic chairs and tables, which are larger than the average, become hosts to family bonding over some food or to the intimate conversation between husband and wife.
The first thing one can immediately notice is the bustle of commerce in the area: the cigarette vendor at the entrance, the umbrella-carrying peddlers of drinks which provide immediate relief from the heat, and, consistent with the spirit of the Christmas season, the sellers of decorations and other nifty gifts like picture frames.
These gift items are all products of a mandate that requires every Medium Security inmate to choose a task that he needs to fulfill daily. “We call it a directive,” explained Leon, “some would choose to work on handicrafts while some would prefer to pursue their education.”
Leon chose to be an instructor at the Muntinglupa National Extension High School, a Department of Education-accredited institution. He serves as the Citizen Army Training (CAT) commandant while also teaching health education to inmates who want to earn their diploma.
“It is either you do some work here or you get thrown into colony work,” Leon shared. Colony work includes mostly agriculture-related labor like tilling land, often in a remote area outside the city.
Education and livelihood
For most prisoners, making handicrafts or engaging in other activities such as teaching is more than just a directive because the need for a livelihood is very pressing. Though food rations are handed out, prisoners still have to earn money to support their family.
Those engaged in service-work like Leon receive allowances and certain privileges like the use of computers and access to libraries and newspapers. Those engaged in handicrafts or other livelihood projects are allowed to hawk their wares to visitors or to non-government organizations (NGOs). Even corporations have a stake in the country’s penal system as a factory owned by Samsung lords it over several smaller factories. These concessions are under the Prison Inmate Labor Contract Office (PILCO).
Entrepreneurship is also very much alive in the compound as a wet market and several eateries are set up at one corner. “This is a temporary set-up since it is not really provided by law so the management can remove all these whenever they want,” said Leon. There is no rent because the right to trade in a lot is sold.
Aside from livelihood projects, education is also an important undertaking in the institution. For instance, an Alternative Learning System composed of three levels was established for inmates who have not gone to school. Apart from the high school where Leon teaches, there is also a vocational school and a university, the University of Perpetual Help System Dalta, for inmates who would want to pursue further studies after graduating from high school.
Religion and politics
“When religion entered Munti, it made a lot of difference,” remarked Leon as he pointed to what they call a Church Row. A Catholic Church and a Mosque stand out along with structures for other churches and denominations like Jehovah’s Witnesses.
Though prisoners in the Medium Security Compound are provided with only one television set, Leon makes sure that they tune in to the early evening news to keep abreast with current events. At times he also get information from the newspapers in the library, but the television remains his constant source of news.
When asked about his opinion regarding the Manila Peninsula standoff involving Sen. Antonio Trillanes IV and Gen. Danilo Lim, Leon readily expressed his thoughts: “It was drastic. However, it was clear that the government never gave him the chance to fulfill his mandate as senator. Still, it was a desperate move.”
The talk with Leon, which continued while touring the Medium Security compound, also turned to the apparent U.S. influence in the country, particularly when English was made the medium of instruction in the HS. Leon did not mind using the language since he considered English proficiency as an important skill for his students once they have finished serving their sentence. “We just need their technology, but they can keep their attitude,” he smirked.
Culture of survival
For Leon being placed in a medium security facility, which provides more leeway to prisoners, does not mean that it is safer. “Survival is still the name of the game,” he emphasized.
The pangkat’ (group or gang) system – where prisoners are assigned in cells according to their gang affiliations – is still practiced, though he admits that the gangs in the Maximum Security Compound pose a graver threat.
Prisoners, said Leon, also place a high premium on seniority. He cited himself as an example. He readily demonstrated the “respect” he commanded because of his almost 14 years of stay in Munti. “Tabi!” (move) he shouted whenever we passed a group of bystanders. “If you are weak, then you will not survive the prison,” explained Leon.
After rehabilitation
Confronted with the question of how conditions can be improved for convicts undergoing rehabilitation, Leon is quick to point out that what is missing is the “after rehabilitation program.” He said that the government can strengthen this aspect of the penal system by assisting ex-convicts to find a job. After all, he explained, there is a stigma when it comes to hiring and trusting a person who had been convicted of a crime.
While prisoners prepare for and dream of being released, and even as they try to create a semblance of normalcy inside prison and try to go on with their lives despite the cells, walls, and guards, problems which hinder their effective rehabilitation persist. Two of the most pressing and persistent problems are overcrowding and sanitation. According to the UN Standard Minimum Rules for the Treatment of Prisoners, “It is not desirable to have two prisoners in a cell or a room.”
This is in stark contrast to the reality that 60,000 inmates, as of 2006, have to squeeze in 1,100 prisons with only over 56,000 square meters of total cell area, according to statistics provided by the Bureau of Jail Management and Penology. But still, life, with all its ironies and contractions, goes on whether inside or outside prison. Bulatlat
