And they say PDEA is elite?

Perhaps it’s from laziness to research, or timidity to inquire, or plain insular thinking. Whatever, Filipinos always reinvent the wheel instead of building upon compiled knowledge and common experience. And so we have a new Philippine Drug Enforcement Agency that’s learning the ropes from scratch.

From the much-ballyhooed crack agency escaped last week Chinese drug lord Henry Tan. A report of how it happened shows sloppy learning.

There was no padlock on the jail door. Only two guards were assigned that fateful night to 14 detainees at the old headquarters of the PNP Narcotics Group. They weren’t even watching. Tan allegedly sawed off two bars from the window, sprinted across a well-lit driveway, climbed a 15-foot barbed-wire fence, and jumped to freedom in the busy alleys behind Camp Crame.

When Congress established the PDEA in August, it envisioned a central agency, composed of the brightest, bravest and cleanest narcs from various law-enforcement units, to fight the growing scourge of drugs. The Untouchables, so to speak. They’re more like The Incredibles.

One would think the first thing a warden would do upon designation to a new post is check the facilities. A padlock is basic; it’s been around since man learned to smelt iron. He would have laid down too the strictest security rules: periodic inspections of detainees’ bunks, frisking of visitors for sneaked-in weapons, alertness of night-duty guards. Those are all in the manuals. He would have drawn up an action plan for emergencies.

But the warden was informed of the escape many hours after it was discovered. The guards did not alert camp sentries. They allegedly had been engrossed with a detective movie that night, but apparently learned nothing from it.

The warden and two guards and two officers-of-the-day mercifully have been sacked. A congressman has suggested, though, that they should be made to serve the rest of the escapee’s sentence. But Tan has yet to face the judge. Lawmen had arrested him only months ago selling 350 kilos of shabu. In countless cases in the past, drug indictees escaped from the very units that had collared them. Only last June, a court convicted two police colonels and half-a-dozen subordinates for releasing two drug suspects in exchange for a car and P600,000 cash. They even tried to sell the confiscated shabu themselves.

Senate investigators naturally suspect that bribery occurred in Tan’s case as well. Infidelity in the custody of detainees merits a prison term of six to 12 years. Same with bribery. But the offenses are bailable. Accused jail guards usually get new postings and even promotions while on trial. The cases drag till retirement. The temptation of instant money is greater than the fear of bungling a career.

Director Anselmo Avenido, a retired police general, pleads for public patience with the PDEA’s plight. It’s new and just starting to get into the groove, he says. Problem is, it started on the wrong footing.

The PDEA put under one roof all PNP and NBI national and local narcotics units. Most of the operatives are incorruptible and dedicated as Avenido is, according to his peers. But honesty and good intentions are not enough in a decades-old war against a multibillion-peso racket run by 226 syndicates that thrive on four million addicts. The job needs smartness.

Camp Crame insiders say that Avenido’s first order of the day should have been to check the backgrounds of the men assigned to him. "The slightest blur on a personal record should be enough grounds to reject an agent," a PNP colonel shakes his head. "After all, the PDEA is supposed to be the elite corps in the fight against drugs. We’ve pinned all our hopes on them."

PDEA officers complain of meager funding – all of P36 million for its first year for hundreds of sleuths in need of sophisticated equipment and sufficient resources. The budget department has released only P4 million to date. Then again, the entire government runs on lean finances. "We’re supposed to go after kidnappers, bank robbers, cattle rustlers, communist rebels," another colonel says. "We can’t postpone the mission just because we don’t have the guns and gadgets we long asked for."

A general familiar with case handling says Avenido has a long way to go. "He has to organize a strong internal affairs division," the officer says while recalling the many incidents in which lawmen let drug suspects off the hook by lowering the reported volume of confiscated shabu to bailable levels or assigning their arresting subordinates to far away posts so they won’t be able to attend court hearings. The PDEA also needs a strong case-audit unit, the general adds. This group will keep track of each case from investigation to filing of correct charges to trial and conviction. Somebody should be made to answer for any foul up in each step of the way.

Avenido’s job needs heavy research on how narcs from other lands turned the tide against crime syndicates. Those agencies would only be too willing to share their techniques and experience, knowing that the drug menace crosses borders. The general wonders why the PDEA has not yet linked up with the Manila detail of its US counterpart.

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Damn if you do, damn if you don’t. Bleeding-heart church leaders demand that government provide more employment. When it dispatches thousands of workers for overseas jobs, they then cry that it is breaking up families. They say that government should spend more for the poor. When it tries to raise more money by opening of slot machine arcades outside its casinos, they then cry that it’s corrupting the youth.

President Gloria Arroyo has told Pagcor to move the members-only arcades from malls to hotels. They can’t say now that government is spreading a gambling culture. Mostly foreigners and tourists stay in hotels. But they’ll surely think of something next to bellyache about.

Pagcor is required to give P400 million a year to the Early Childhood Care and Development Program. This, on top of billions contributed to the President’s Social Fund for antipoverty projects, and Pagcor’s assistance to the sick and small entrepreneurs. (Pagcor pays for dialysis of patients who can’t afford it, and lends start-up funds to capital-starved cooperatives.) Will they question question those, too?

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Catch Linawin Natin, Mondays at 11:30 p.m., on IBC-13.

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