Ready to kill

What twisted motive could drive a massacre? In November 2009, members of the Ampatuan clan murdered 58 people (one victim is still unaccounted for) because of rivalry in the race for governor of Maguindanao, one of the country’s poorest provinces.

This month in the Negros Oriental town of Pam[1]plona, heavily armed men barged into the home of the mayor and provincial governor, and sprayed the crowded compound with gunfire. The mayor survived, but not her husband who was the principal target of the attack, governor Roel Degamo.

Eight others died, including residents who were wait[1]ing for ayuda being doled out by the local government. When former Datu Unsay mayor Andal Ampatuan Jr. was being held without bail at the National Bureau of Investigation headquarters in Manila for leading the Maguindanao massacre, an NBI official said the detainee was sleepless and scared of ghosts, and preferred to spend the night on a bench near the visitors’ area.

Considering the savagery of the massacre, and what security forces said was Andal Junior’s track record for brutality, the ghost story didn’t gain traction. But it did make some people wonder if psychos like Ampatuan are ever truly bothered by anything resem[1]bling a conscience.

While the massacre in Pamplona town pales in com[1]parison to the one in the Maguindanao town named (what else) Ampatuan, the atrocity in Negros is again making people wonder if mass murderers have a con[1]science, and whether it bothers them when they are alone with the lights out. People are also wondering, again, what it is about politics in this country that drives politicians to commit mass murder without compunction.

Even rivals for barangay positions are resorting to murder. This is for a position that can pay up to P32,000 a month for the chairman – but only if there are funds available. The more common compensation is much less. Barangay offices, however, are authorized to generate their own sources of income, from taxes on brick-and[1]mortar stores, clearance fees, recreational admission fees and charges for billboards and other outdoor advertisements. They can collect fines of up to P1,000 for violations of barangay ordinances, fees for cockpit operations and breeding of fighting cocks, and even tolls for village roads, bridges and ferry services. The barangay also has shares in local revenues as well as the tobacco excise tax.

Businessmen have long complained about the moun[1]tain of red tape that they have to hurdle starting at the barangay level, with fees collected at every layer of redundant requirement. If lawmakers want the country to attract more invest[1]ments, abolishing the barangay (plus the Sangguniang Kabataan) system would be more useful and economical than rewriting the Constitution. Barangay officials can close off or obstruct streets even in congested Metro Manila for their parties and wakes. Several of them have been implicated in lucrative illegal activities including jueteng and (as determined by Rodrigo Duterte) in drug trafficking. During the pandemic lockdowns, hundreds of ba[1]rangay officials were indicted for corruption and other anomalies linked to ayuda distribution. Those functions and fund-raising activities are just at the level of the barangay, the smallest unit of governance in this country.

Incidentally, Negros Oriental 3rd District Rep. Arnolfo Teves Jr. started out as a barangay chairman, during which he became president of the Association of Barangay Captains in the province.

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Imagine what the stakes might be for higher elective positions. Politicians get to pick the sites for roads and other public works projects. Across the country, many such projects directly benefit properties and enterprises owned by local political kingpins. There is no red tape for these enterprises.

Supplies for a wide range of items for the local gov[1]ernment, from construction materials to giveaways for constituents and visitors, are sourced from companies with links to the officials. Owners of properties along prime locations are pres[1]sured to sell at low prices to those in power. In rural areas, it’s not unusual for the dominant local political clan to control all the major economic activities, from banking to farming and the agricultural supply chain, as well as gambling activities. Family fortunes are built on political power in this country. Consider how a congressman who rose from being a barangay captain came to own multiple man[1]sions, a fleet of luxury cars and even a private plane. When the Maguindanao massacre finally led to the downfall of the Ampatuans, security forces raided their pink-painted mansions and found a fleet of luxury ve[1]hicles plus a massive arsenal with many of the weapons government-issued.

There were rumors about enormous piles of cash found in the mansions; if the rumors were true, no one knows what happened to the money. How did the clan amass such wealth in such an im[1]poverished region? Through political power. No wonder they were prepared to kill to foil any challenge to their political dominance. Political kingpins can control every pillar of the criminal justice system in their turfs, allowing them to (or at least giving them the impression that they can) literally get away with murder. They move around with their own private armies, whose members are mostly in the public payroll.

Sadly, such situations are common across the country. Surely the Ampatuans believed they could get away with murdering 58 people and burying the victims haphazardly in a shallow grave. Those who ordered the massacre at the home of the Degamos also undoubtedly believed they could get away with the atrocity. What can drive people to engage in mass murder? Two things. One is what’s at stake: power, and the family fortune anchored on political control. Two: because they can.