By Robert B. Roque, Jr.
As most Filipinos go about their Catholic traditions this Lenten Season, anchored on reflection and repentance, I believe many sinners are converted. Today, Maundy Thursday, the reflection is on how Jesus washes the feet of the apostles — an act of humility and an invitation to servant leadership.
For Filipinos, it is also the day devoted to sacrifice, expressed in many ways, among them the Visita Iglesia, which is moving from one church to another, some on foot, offering prayers along the way.
It is in this light that Firing Line reflects on the plight of prisoners, who society loosely (and perhaps ignorantly) tags as the worst of sinners. They are called criminals. But if we were to see them through the same lens as the Lord, then Christ died for them, too. Shouldn’t they be visited? Aren’t they, in their own way, a treasure of souls for conversion? They deserve genuine reform and care, not just punishment.
To be fair, there is a real and measurable movement inside the country’s most troubled prison system.
This past month, the Bureau of Corrections (BuCor) transferred 500 persons deprived of liberty (PDLs) from the New Bilibid Prison to the Iwahig Prison and Penal Farm in Palawan, a facility that now boasts a newly built dormitory capable of housing up to 1,000 inmates.
Also, the BuCor announced it is releasing 1,239 prisoners, among them 501 who had completed their sentences and 396 under expiring terms approved through the Department of Justice (DOJ) processes.
With congestion rates hovering near 290 percent, every transfer and every release matters not just in space saved, but in lives potentially improved. Overcrowding magnifies disease, weakens already fragile health conditions, and erodes any semblance of order. Medical experts have long warned of rising hypertension, respiratory infections, and even strokes among aging inmates in such conditions.
Against this backdrop, Director General Gregorio Pio Catapang Jr. deserves credit. His push goes beyond decongestion. Education programs have expanded. Feeding and livelihood initiatives — many with private sector partners — have taken root, and faith-based forms of moral recovery efforts have gained ground.
Much of this has been enabled by a stricter “no gang” policy within the Maximum Security Compound — a long-standing fault line in Bilibid’s troubled history.
But BuCor must try harder, as this is only implemented on the surface. Beneath encouraging statistics and the structure lies a system that refuses to fully yield; a system still lorded over by the gangs.
Firing Line spies inside the Bilibid point to the continued presence of gangs within Maximum Security. The removal of tattoos, once presented as proof of disassociation, has become, to some, little more than theater. Communication lines remain active across facilities, with inmates still checking in with so-called elders and supreme leaders — an arrangement that strongly suggests the continued use of contraband cellphones.
And while we move inmates out, what are we doing about what remains within?
Kumusta ang tubig diyan sa Bilibid? I heard water supply has to be brought in by firetrucks – not necessarily potable all the time, is it?
I heard the chronic water shortage is so severe that some inmates allegedly resort to flushing toilets with their own urine. And water supplies have to be paid for. Decongestion eases the numbers, yes, but it does not automatically restore dignity.
Catapang’s reforms are real. They deserve acknowledgment.
But reform, if it is to mean anything, must reach deeper and well into the pipes, the cells, and the shadow systems that still govern life behind bars. Until then, Bilibid is not just overcrowded. It is, like many of the DPWH, an unfinished government project.
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