Two Timepieces

Originally published in the March 2008 Issue of ThePalladium -- in my column Legal Personality.


As a super-senior, I can't help but reach back into my immediate past to try and draw out a cumulative meaning that will somehow justify this long-overdue end. After years of leafing through thousands of pages of often-incomprehensible text and braving hundreds of hours of humiliation, terror and disappointment, I finally see the finish line in the short distance -- a sight that gets sweeter every day. And just as we were taught always to begin with the end in mind, it's equally important to end reflective of everything that had been. 


Roughly a week before I descended into the hell that was Intro to Law, my dad gave me an elegant wooden Ingraham table clock, and on its face was an inscription that read:

One Day at a Time

Help me believe in what I could be, and all that I am. 

Show me the stairway I have to climb,

Lord, for my sake, teach me to take one day at a time.

This is a prayer that I see twice every single day: Once when I wake up to prepare for the day and a second time as I wind up my affairs for the night. And it helped. It allowed me to take one piece of the puzzle at a time from the manifold parts of the law and reassemble them inside my head, albeit often with much difficulty. Law school has consistently pushed me against the walls of my own personal limits and I found myself repeatedly tearing them down just to make it through another exam—another semester—another year. I admit I was never as smart as my classmates. But by some grace, my academic destiny is all but complete. 


In any case, law school is not just a lengthy exercise in intellectual sadomasochism, but it carries with it gifts of immeasurable value. One such gift is an extension of our youth. Most of us have been attending school our entire lives, and these extra four years give us an excuse to delay growing up. It gives us a chance to keep holding on to our ideals and our innocence up to the last possible moment. Indeed, to the casual outside observer, a law class would appear to be nothing more than a group of older, better-dressed high school students in action. Even our professors encourage this through their comical antics and shameless commentaries while discussing constitutional concepts like Stop-and-Frisk or family case law like Chi Ming Tsoi v. CA. In spite of all the pain involved, law school can be quite amusing. It's one huge carnival –- an attractive nuisance, if you will. Law school teaches us to be critical of all things brought before us, and this philosophy is always attended with humor and wit. 


Another gift that law school affords us is the chance to clarify who we truly are. Many of us found ourselves in law school either because we couldn't get work that pays well enough or because we haven't made a career choice just yet. And long before even considering law school, we were writers, activists, artists, musicians, athletes and many other things that have nothing to do with legal education. To some people, law school is a reason enough to abandon these skills and passions for the much-needed additional study time. For others, this is simply unacceptable. These are the same people who join organizations in and outside school to find some semblance of normalcy in their lives—to say that law school is not the be-all and end-all of who I am as a person. We have law students who compete in sports or performance arts locally and internationally. We have writers who have penned brilliant pieces of literature, both outside and inside the legal spectrum. We have students who volunteer with charity organizations to work closely with and for the poor. All these is, to my mind, the Magis that we always keep hearing about: the more—the lingering discontent with the world and the corollary desire to always push it further towards goodness. Our character is built by the things that we pursue with fervor alongside the tests of academic life. 


In the end, there are many people to thank: our mentors, our friends and even those who just love giving us a hard time. They all build up our character. I was a legal tabula rasa when I entered the Rockwell campus and I will be leaving it dramatically stronger and wiser than I was then. 


Last Christmas, my dad gave me a beautiful silver Breitling wristwatch. I wear it proudly after several years of not having any watch at all and relying on my mobile phone for the time. This time, there were no inscriptions or prayers on its face. But I felt that it was my old man's way of saying "It is time." 


End with the beginning in mind.

The Human Security Act: A Dangerous Euphemism for State Terrorism

by Kazimir K. Ang and Mark Robert A. Dy

Originally published in ThePalladium December 2007 (Vol. 4, Issue 3), released on December 17, 2007.


Both terrorism and anti-terrorism are nothing new. As early as the 1200’s, the common law of England allowed the King and his lords and sheriffs to declare any person or group of persons as outlaws (think Robin Hood and the Merry Men). These outlaws would be stripped of the right to use the law in their favor, thereby exposing themselves to mob violence, swift justice or conviction without trial. They were summarily sentenced with civil death, stripping them of their properties, titles and rights. Outlaws were entitled to none of the basic needs and any person who would give them support in any form (food, shelter, clothing) was considered aiding and abetting outlawry or banditry and would be flogged, tortured or hanged. Much later, this practice would be brought to the New World, influencing much of the Western movies people love so much.


Sans the romanticism of it all, there is nothing exciting about losing your rights by a declaration of a monarch or a president or any of his/her minions. The legislative history of the U.S. has shown many grants of government power that border on the tyrannical. The most prominent among them are the RICO (Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act) of 1970, which was used to quickly hunt down and scatter the Mafia and more recently, the USA PATRIOT Act of 2001 (Uniting and Strengthening America by Providing Appropriate Tools Required to Intercept and Obstruct Terrorism), which was an immediate legislative response to coordinated 9/11 attacks on American soil. All these laws are characterized by the weakening of civil liberties, harsh punishments and an overhaul of existing procedural rules on custody and evidence. 


Now, here comes their distant Filipino cousin, RA 9372 or the Human Security Act (HSA) of 2007, which has brought about hostile criticisms and verbal missiles in full spates. The protagonists of this piece of legislation, now commonly referred to as the anti-terrorism law, should not be surprised that they’re drawing blood instead of plaudits from concerned citizens and legal practitioners. While this act’s policy states that the thrust of RA 9372 is to protect life, liberty, and property of persons from terrorism and protect humanity as a whole, this valiant policy is but a flimsy stab at covering up many of the insidious manners by which this law may be subject to abuse and to undermine several constitutionally protected human rights. 


Note that the law’s policy statement is a near-exact replica of the due process clause in the Bill of Rights, making it sound as if it were constitution-friendly. What people sometimes forget is that Article III actually defines and limits the powers of the government vis-à-vis civil and human rights, while the new anti-terrorism law is a whole bundle of forced legislative creases on these same rights. In other words, this law, which purports to create a massive shield against terrorism, also fractures the shield we have against government action by creating new exceptions to long-established protections for human dignity.

ter-ror-ism (tr’Y-r-z’Ym) noun


The prime source of controversy is the HSA’s broad and vague definition of what constitutes an act of terrorism. Section 3 of the HSA defines terrorism as the commission of certain crimes punishable under the Revised Penal Code “thereby sowing and creating a condition of widespread and extraordinary fear and panic among the populace in order to coerce the government to give in to an unlawful demand.” You would think that the additional elements of having to prove that the act is committed to sow and create fear and that the government is forced to do unlawful acts would make it harder to prosecute individuals for terrorism, until you realize that mere conspiracy to commit terrorism is punishable as well.  


This law is no toothless law or a mere declaration of a war against terrorism. The HSA contains provisions allowing the state to violate fundamental rights found in the Constitution as well as those embodied in international human rights and humanitarian law conventions, leaving one to wonder who’s terrorizing who, really. 


Section 17 bans any organization created for the purpose of espousing terrorism. It doesn’t sound too despotic until you get to the second half of the paragraph which states that an organization nevertheless may be proscribed as a terrorist organization, when the organization, though not organized for such purposes, “uses…acts to terrorize or to sow and create a condition of widespread and extraordinary fear and panic among the populace in order to coerce the government to give into an unlawful demand.” Clearly we’re faced again with yet another vague definition, which violates our right to assemble and to organize, because with mere allegation and raw intelligence, any organization may be outlawed and any legitimate dissent or protest be proscribed as terroristic. This provision requires hardly a quantum of evidence for any assembly or association to be liable for proscription.

Section 19 provides for the indefinite detention of a suspect so long as there is an “imminent terrorist attack” and a “written approval” from an official of a human rights commission or member of the judiciary. Take cautious note that no probable cause is required to justify the suspect’s detention, only mere claim of “imminent terrorist attack.” This in effect legitimizes warrantless arrests and suspends the suspects’ privilege of the writ of habeas corpus. The Constitution requires that in suspending the privilege of the writ, no person can be detained for three days without the filing of charges against him. However, the HSA contains no such requirement – the suspect may be detained beyond three days so long as his connection to the imminent terrorist attack is alleged, without having to file the necessary charges. Also note that the written approval will come from either a judge or an official of a human rights commission under the executive branch, not the constitutionally-created and independent Commission on Human Rights.


Section 26 limits the right to travel of the accused “to within the municipality or city where he resides” and/or places the accused under house arrest, even if entitled to bail, so long as he or she is charged under the HSA but the evidence is not so strong. Not only that, he or she is also prohibited from using telephones, cellphones, e-mail, internet, and other various means of communication with people outside of his residence unless otherwise allowed by the court. 


It used to be a joke that it’s not so bad to be illegally detained, because the HSA requires the payment of P500,000.00 for each day of illegal detention. But a critical run-through of the law reveals that “The amount of damages shall be automatically charged against the appropriations of the police agency or the Anti-Terrorism Council that brought or sanctioned the filing of the charges against the accused,” which actually meant that we’d be paying ourselves, because these appropriations are public funds – in short, taxpayer’s money. The joke is over.


So many things have been said against the HSA by civil society, international organizations and even dissenting members of government. The government might try to push these suspicions away and label them as baseless exaggerated paranoia. But the collective Filipino experience and that of humanity as a whole has taught us to always remain vigilant against any threat on human dignity, never to wait until it’s too late. 


On the other hand, times are changing and we face new threats other than government abuse. This calls for a serious balancing act and a recalibration of our idea of a good society, for the sake of common security. This time, we have to ask ourselves “How much personal liberty are we are willing to give up for the sake of quick justice?” Would you have given up some of your freedoms if you knew it could have prevented the Glorietta 2 incident? 


The HSA was designed to limit rights, make no mistake about that. Legislators decided that some rights have to be limited, in certain cases, in order to quickly dispense with a terrorist threat. They needed to find a way to cripple terrorists by freezing their accounts and properties. They want the courts and the police to be able to gather evidence more quickly by allowing exceptions to the Anti-wiretapping law. They want to prevent the destruction of evidence and the prevention of coordinated movements by limiting the right of communication. Whether we agree with these methods or not is a matter of sound personal judgment. 


As legal practitioners, we often tell ourselves to first wait and see because, ultimately, the matter will have to be dealt with by the Supreme Court, if and when an actual controversy arises. But the vigilance required of us has very little to do with mere intellectual discussions and abstract exaltations. This is as real as it can get. We are dealing with real lives and real victims. And when the time comes, we, as stewards  of  justice,  must  never stand  indolently by.

Through the Eyes of the Minority

This article originally appeared in the July 2007 Issue of ThePalladium, Ateneo Law School's official student publication. This was a piece for my column Legal Personality.


The most meaningful mass I ever attended was neither in a beautiful medieval church in Magdeburg nor on a mountaintop overlooking Baguio City. It was on the roof deck of an unflattering residential building, deep in the heart of the Islamic City of Marawi. Just as the sun came down to bleed into the horizon of Lake Lanao, the local bishop began his homily in unison with dozens of mosques chanting the Maghrib or their post-sunset prayer. We were probably the only Christians in the entire city, and yet, there was a deep feeling of universal peace. It was a moment of profound deliverance to know that we were free to be different from our brothers and sisters, and yet, accepted as friends. 


It has been more than a month since our trip to Lanao del Sur, and I still have recurring staccatos of both bad and pleasant dreams about the whole experience. Working with the Ateneo Human Rights Center and, more recently, the Legal Network for Truthful Elections (LENTE) has never been easy, in spite of the constant presence of good-natured companions. After four years as a human rights advocate, I thought there were no more surprises. But this recent summer was full of firsts, as it presented me with a totally different level of work with much higher stakes. There was a looming sense of real danger, and I knew that I would have to be ready for the worst of eventualities. 


I was never a stranger to the Philippine south. My father's family originated from Cagayan de Oro City and I spent a year there for college. I have been to many places in Mindanao, but always circling and never setting foot on any of the ARMM territories. This would be my first time to set foot on Lanao del Sur. Entering Marawi City felt much like entering into a foreign country. I instinctively searched through my pockets to see if I left my passport, realizing my folly only after clearing my throat. Although materially the same – the foliage, the weather and the people, there was this strong unwelcome feeling, triggering a heightened cautiousness I had never before drawn. The chartered van that harbored us offered no sense security at all. We entered the city with all eyes locked on us, as if telling us to turn back while we still can. Amidst all of this, four battalions of heavily armed soldiers were deployed in the city. Never before have I seen so much firepower in real life. 


It was then that I learned how to be part of a minority. It was a difficult pill to swallow, but it brought me into a concrete level of pure understanding. The ideas of tolerance and the protection of free will broke away from my mind and materialized before my very eyes. You never realize how precious your freedoms are until they become scarce. When you are part of the minority, both your movements and your words are calculated, always avoiding any cause to offend the unfamiliar people around you. When you are a visitor in a strange land, your internal system is locked on defensive mode as you distrust your surroundings just as you perceive it to distrust you. 


Help would not take long to arrive and in the next few days, we would meet friendly faces and share long conversations with both the locals and other people from neighboring provinces who came to lend a hand. Fear and distrust are inversely proportional to understanding, and the more time we spent with these volunteers, the more my ignorance faded and the more I was emboldened to rise up to the occasion. We borrowed from each other's strengths and were able to do our jobs with confidence, knowing that we were working with people from the locality and they, in turn, had doubled-up their resolve because our presence meant that the whole country had its eyes on them. What started out as an episode of fear and distrust turned out to be a strong coordinated response to a common social problem. There was an election to be guarded and we had much work to do. We would find ourselves at the different counting and canvassing areas, welcomed by some and questioned by others. Days would pass and the local skeptics would soon understand that we were there for no other reason but to see that people's votes are properly appreciated and taken into account – to ensure that the vote of a single farmer or laborer from Lanao del Sur will count as much as a that of the CEO of a huge business firm in Makati. 


For 100,000 votes, we risked our very lives. Why? Because those votes belong to people who need the most protection. And if we can protect the most vulnerable – those who are most difficult to protect, we might be able to find confidence in Philippine democracy once again.  


For six days, I was part of the minority. I feared everything I saw, in spite of the apparent inescapable beauty of the city. It took much determination, some friendly conversations and a few laughs to finally ease up and become myself again. In the end, I would find more than twenty new people in my phone book, among them, a young Maranao girl anxious about entering her first year in law school, two soldiers from Cagayan de Oro who shared their noteworthy battle experiences and showed me how to operate a grenade launcher, a driver who shared his first-hand observations of deception during the 2004 elections in Mindanao and many other lawyers, paralegals and volunteers who gave their time and effort to show Lanao del Sur that we care about their choice – a choice that will affect the greater Filipino nation. 


During the mass, the bishop would call our attention to the beautiful melodies filling the night skies of Marawi City. 


"They are praying for peace", he said. 


And so were we.