I remained outwardly emotionless for the sake of the jail warden. He was reluctant to allow us into in his jail and would have been glad for any reason to ask us to leave. What I tried to hide was that as soon I had gone through the narrow doorway leading from the hallway cum kitchen into the cell block, my insides heaved.
The stench of urine and crowded humanity was blown about by two heavy metal fans, the only means of air circulation in the dark, overcrowded room. I stood in the narrow passage facing the single holding room along with four colleagues from the People’s Recovery Empowerment Development and Assistance Foundation (PREDA). My eyes, stinging from the scent, adjusted slowly to the dark room. Light filtered in from windows in the adjacent cooking corridor and from two fluorescent light bulbs in the ceiling. The concrete walls and floor were black and filthy, as though we were inside a hot chimney layered with soot. The thick round bars had flecks of black paint peeling off to reveal grimy wrought iron beneath. It was over a meter high concrete wall topped with these bars that we looked at some 40 to 50 boys and men sitting, standing, laying or crumpled into a cell intended for less than 10.
PREDA, based in Olongapo, Philippines assists youth in conflict with the law and helps ensure that their basic human rights and dignity are preserved within the Philippine justice system. It is also active in preventing juvenile crime through efforts aimed at helping street children and rehabilitating girls trapped in the sex industry, including through prosecution of their tormentors.
PREDA’s paralegal officer had received an urgent message from a local religious organization that there were several boys under 18 being unlawfully detained amongst in this maze of bodies at a local jail. We had come to interview the minors, talk to the local social workers about their cases and to the Public Attorney’s Office to provide legal assistance to the youths and their families. Where necessary, PREDA would begin petitioning the local prosecutor’s office to move the boys’ cases forward.
The prisoners, some awaiting trial, many still awaiting a formal charge, and others already serving sentences, sleep in shifts. A schedule pasted to the wall allotted each person a period of 5 hours every 24 during which he can curl up on one of the wooden beds. There is a toilet and bucket shower in the cell and the water tank is refilled once a week. Many of the prisoners had swollen red boils on their faces and necks.
We interviewed six minors and left extra food and toiletry items for the guards to distribute to the youths. The warden explained that he had little choice in holding the boys with the adult men. The jurisdiction has no youth facility. When juveniles are brought into the jail for detention, the warden has little choice but to put them into the cell and wait for further instructions from the court.
The Philippines has ratified the Convention on the Rights of the Child and brought its domestic laws in line with the stipulated requirements, with a strong recent trend towards restorative justice principles being relied on by the judiciary and weaved into the juvenile justice system. At the local jail and street level, a dearth of knowledge amongst police, jail authorities and social workers combined with scant resources results in continued vulnerability amongst children in conflict with the law to abuse and little hope for their futures. The wait trial in the Philippines can be up to a year. The trial itself often drags on much longer. Children kept in mainstream detention facilities receive no education. The boys are sometimes forced to get tattoos by gang members, affiliating the boy for life with a particular criminal organization.
PREDA plans to begin construction on a new detention and rehabilitation facility for juveniles this fall. My role as an International Human Rights intern was to prepare a draft of policies and guidelines for the new centre. I went on several jail visits and spoke with the detainees and authorities. I also visited other juvenile facilities and talked with officers from the Department of Social Work and Penal Department. Lawyers from UNICEF and other organizations working in the juvenile justice system gave intensive interviews based on their experience and work. In the end, the report encompassed the knowledge and experiences of people from many sides of the justice system. The centre intends to uphold the highest standards of restorative justice in line with the Convention on the Rights of the Child (CRC) in order to provide hope and foundations for these children’s futures.
My experience at PREDA awarded me an intensive education, uncountable stories and a changed view of the situation facing youth in conflict with the law. I was completely humbled by teenage boys and girls living under a bridge, some with a keen wit and manageable English, who joked about having grown up in the local jail, yet acknowledge soberly that the single greatest thing they need is education and skills training. These teenagers had no family homes to fall back on and were not seeing the benefits of an arguably advanced set of laws governing the administration of juvenile justice.
I have also been left wondering if Canada’s youth offender system is much farther ahead. The people I met and worked with in the Philippines were cynical about their government’s ability to implement its touted laws and international obligations, but were unwavering in their belief in the potential of the children to meet the challenges they were facing in life. They worked tirelessly to turn what was once a stigma of crime into hope for productive membership in the community. In Canada, youth centres often have high-technology electronic doors rather than metal bars shut by heavy keys, but the opportunities facing youth in conflict with the law are not necessarily any different from those facing their Filipino counterparts. What assumptions do most Canadians, including justice authorities, make when encountered with a youth who lives on the street or in a shelter and who is repeatedly arrested for victimless crimes? Who do we see as the victim?
RCMP specialists, with funding from CIDA, will soon be traveling to the Philippines to teach Philippine police officers how to deal with young offenders and implement restorative justice principles and the obligations created by the CRC. The importance of youth to the future of the Philippine nation is enshrined as one of its constitutional values. Perhaps that is a reality Filipinos can help remind Canadians.
PREDA has been twice nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize and has received several prominent international human rights awards. For more information about their work, please see: