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TALES OF TOKHANG AND TEENAGE THRILLS
by Meeko Angela Camba and Frances Josephine Espeso
It takes a village to raise a child. It also takes a village to ruin him.
President Rodrigo Duterte had vowed, in the name of the country’s future and this generation’s children, to eradicate from the face of the Philippines even the smallest trace of illegal drugs.
From this vendetta sprouted initiatives such as Oplan Tokhang (Oplan Knock and Plead), now rebranded as Project Double-Barrel Reloaded, which singled out drug pushers and users in barangays ostensibly to incentivize their rehabilitation.
Eight months into Duterte’s administration, however, ‘Tokhang’ started taking on a new connotation — a euphemism for the numerous killings of alleged pushers and users who “fought back” against arresting officers.
The body count had reached the 7000s even before Tokhang was suspended in January, after Duterte instructed the Philippine National Police to “cleanse” their ranks of corrupt officers following the kidnapping and murder of a South Korean businessman, allegedly perpetuated by policemen.
This bloody war waged by the government has been met with sharp criticism by members of several societal sectors, with one staunch voice belonging to that of the University of the Philippines.
As adamant as the university’s academic community’s opposition to the anti-illegal-drugs initiative, however, it still failed to keep the drive from making its way to its residential sector, which, according to community leader Carmen Collado, has been site to a flourishing drug industry since the late 90s.
Collado, whose father was then a UP janitor and had been born and raised in the barangay, said the residential sector had a lower population and had been home only to UP faculty and staff during the ’60s; practically everyone knew each other.
The Barangay UP Campus, as shown on Google Maps, contains 16 political jurisdictions or “Pook” including Pook Dagohoy found inside the UP Diliman Campus.
Student activists frequented the area for educational discussions and immersions, which resulted in the academic and residential communities being highly integrated.
“Meron mang mga relative na drug problem, [hindi] ganun ka-rampant,” Collado said, attributing this to the budding mass movement in which the students and residents were both active participants.
“Malakas pa rin ang kilusang masa…yung relasyon ng mga estudyante sa pagtuturo sa komunidad na maging progresibo,” she added. “So yung disiplina, nandoon pa rin.”
Collado also credited the local government in fostering this relationship. When barangay leadership changed, so did the tight relationship between the students and the community.
Additionally, outsiders — non-UP faculty and staff — started trickling into the residential areas, and the original residents and the local government eventually lost track of who lived where.
This contributed to the growing drug industry within the barangay.
“Di natin alam kung saan nanggaling ‘yang mga ‘yan eh. Wala nang trace,” Collado said. “Malay natin may kapitbahay pala tayong binabagsakan ng mga sindikato sa droga.”
Such is the case for Dagohoy, one of the divisions within Barangay UP, found within the campus itself. Just a few meters away from the student dormitory Ilang-Ilang, Dagohoy houses an abandoned multi-purpose hall, which Collado says is a notorious hang-out for local users and pushers.
True enough, this is where teenage users and Dagohoy residents “Steve” and “RJ,” (not their real names) said they usually held their “sessions” since they started using methamphetamine last year.
Methamphetamine, more commonly known as shabu, is prevalent in the community and apparently has many suppliers near the campus such as in Balara and Culiat.
Steve, who was only 14, said he was influenced by his friends and neighbors who were mostly 10 years older than him. His father also regularly took drugs.
RJ who is two years older, told a similar story. Unlike Steve, however, he stopped his studies due to “family problems.”
Access to the drug doesn’t seem as big an issue as money is. Steve and RJ both told of violent mood swings and fights with their family members whenever the two didn’t have enough money for a satisfying high.
RJ had gotten to the point of stealing in order to pay for shabu; Steve swears he had never done so.
On a regular day, they could spend up to P500 to satisfy their craving in multiple sessions.
They said a typical session would start in the early afternoon, just a little after lunch time; they would meet up with friends at the multi-purpose hall, their usual haunt.
Before Duterte, RJ said, sessions would happen almost daily. Transactions took place in broad daylight, out in the open.
“Minsan nga [nagpapalitan] sila sa tindahan. Nanghihiram pa nga ng lighter e,” he said, describing the transactions as if it was candy, not drugs, which changed hands.
So have their activities changed since?
Yes, they said, and they agreed on one reason: Duterte.
“Mahirap na po talaga ngayon,” said Steve. “Di na po kinukulong eh, minsan pinapatay nalang po.”
A peer of Steve and RJ’s involved in the drug industry had ended up dead. According to the two, he was a pusher.
During the interview, Steve and RJ displayed blasé attitudes about the death of their friend.
“Alam na namin yun… kumbaga kilala na siya…kaya siya pinatay,” RJ said.
Barangay UP Campus Captain Isabelita Gravides regularly coordinates with the local police in conducting drug operations. She said she wants to avoid deaths as much as possible, and that she is “more on prevention.”
“Kaya walang namamatay kasi sumasama ako sa pulis para makiusap na sumuko na sila ng payapa,” Gravides said. “Sana yung mga na-Tokhang natin, alam na nila yung masama sa drugs.”
As of writing, 15 to 20 people involved in the drug industry have ended up dead in the barangay.
Meanwhile, RJ saw the initiative differently. Despite being a user, he is onboard with the killings of drug pushers, but with a few conditions.
“Pangit naman yung ginagawa nila na bigla nalang nila babarilin eh ang dami-daming tao,” the 16-year-old said. “Eh kung matamaan yung mga bata? Ano nalang gagawin nila ngayon? Anong report na gagawin nila dun, diba? Eh hindi naman nila sinasadya.”
Ironically, however, the drug industry as a whole did not seem daunted by the president’s pronouncements nor the growing body count, according to Steve.
“Parang nadagdagan pa…Dumami kasi nanabik sila, [wala] na silang mabilhan,” Steve said. “Kapag dumating na ‘yung supply, nag-uumpisa na naman. Implu-impluwensya na naman, chip-in, chip-in,”
While they generally agree with the killing of drug pushers, the two believe that providing livelihoods to the locals, something to keep busy with other than illegal drugs, will have a greater contribution to the curbing of the industry.
Meanwhile, Gravides cited barangay programs such as the provision of livelihoods, alternative learning systems for the youth, sports leagues and zumba or dance fitness programs for women to help eradicate the community’s drug problem.
However, the teens admitted that the killings did affect their personal drug activities.
“Natatakot po ako kasi baka bigla nalang po ako barilin kasi nga po adik po nga ako,” Steve said. “Ayun po yung kinatatakutan ng magulang ko kaya pinapauwi po ako ng nasa oras.”
Since their last major shabu session last month, the two said that they have been working on flushing the drug from their systems. Though admittedly, they said it’s not that easy.
Hopeful as they might be about leaving their past behind and building their futures, Steve and RJ would have their work cut out for them without the support of their families and the wholehearted involvement of their community in completely eradicating illegal drugs.
Proper rehabilitation and recovery programs as well as proper education and information dissemination about illegal drugs would go a long way in curbing the industry.
Collado hoped for the return of the cooperation of the UP administration and the local government to instill ideology, discipline and conscientiousness in the locals.
“Yung pulitikang pangkamulatan [sa] isyu ng droga, pampulitikang kamulatan sa issue ng kahirapan…nawala na yun eh. Ngayon, isinisikap na ulit nating maibalik.”
Moreover, she said both the community and the local government must commit to providing quality recovery programs for the drug surrenderees to help them make a new start.
To this, RJ disagreed completely, saying that going to rehab might be the one to end his life.
Gravides, meanwhile, wants to focus on one of the significant roots of drug use and trade.
“Sana may pag-asang maging drug-free ang barangay na’tin,” Gravides said. “Kaso mahirap kasi 70 percent [ay mahihirap.] Kapag mahirap, talagang kapit-patalim.”
For the meantime, Steve and RJ would be lying low, saying they still have plans beyond their recovery.
Steve said he wants to finish his education and work as a policeman or engineer in the future.
RJ, on the other hand, wants something more simple.
“Sa buhay ko ngayon, pokus lang ako sa sarili ko.Ginagawa ko lang sa sarili ko stay-put lang ako. Easy-easy lang. Pero nag-iingat din siyempre. Mahirap din mabaril.”