Thursday, July 26, 2007 So: Marley didn’t kill this sheriff By Michelle P. So Caught in the Net
IF there’s a job that requires bare courage, it’s that of a court sheriff.
Unlike the police, the court sheriff faces an angry mob unarmed and brings with him only a piece of paper that bears a judge’s signature. In the world of law-keeping, that paper can lead to loss of property and custody of a child.
In Iloilo, they’re killing sheriffs or threatening to kill them. In Cebu, they’re fined for sitting on an order. In reggae hubs, they’re sung about by dreadlocked kids.
Municipal Trial Court in Cities Johnny Tugado had served the writ of execution of a demolition of some buildings at the old Iloilo airport and that of a privately-owned property in Bacolod City. It was an acrimonious confrontation between him and the building owners.
Last week, Sun.Star Iloilo reported, Tugado was shot dead just outside his house. Since his death, seven sheriffs of the Iloilo courts have reported hearing too much of Bob Marley’s ominous song in their heads. So now, they’ve asked the courts that they be allowed to carry guns for their protection. (I think it’s to protect themselves from Marley and The Wailers, whose songs can really loop-play in our heads.)
When a court sheriff serves a writ, he knows what he can get himself into, or rather, what awaits him. I haven’t heard of any court sheriff who was served siomai sa Tisa when he tried to tell the defendant to leave or let go. Almost always, he is fed curses, venomous looks and swats of rolled newspaper, most likely Sun.Star Cebu’s Sunday issue. In some instances, when the defendant has the resources, he can ask the sheriff to defer the execution of the writ. But in Iloilo, they just shoot the sheriff.
A sheriff of a Cebu court once went to an area in Southern Mindanao to serve a writ only to find himself in a place roamed by armed men. It took a lot of Lito Lapid composure for him to keep his knees from knocking. He later told his wife that had he known about the environment, he would have brought a police battalion with him. He was lucky; he didn’t go to Iloilo.
To owners whose houses or buildings face demolition, the sheriff is Mini Me before his conversion in the sequel. He may be simply following orders of the court but he’s the one who has to say, initially nicely then later a little forcefully and finally boomingly, that the edifices have to go. It’s not a job that he relishes doing but he has to do it.
Until recently, the court sheriffs have always been men for reasons that the nature of the job requires the sheriff to be tough and less emotional. Women can turn soft by the sight of tears and babies. Not men who by nature address violence with violence. But now, there’s a woman sheriff. The courts see the advantage of having a woman, especially if she’s pretty, face an angry crowd. Also, no one wants to mar a pretty face with a bullet hole.
Every job has its own pitfall, but the most dangerous is the one that is carried out without a regular pattern. There is danger and excitement in the unpredictable. Dealing with a mob is dangerous. Just ask Alex Badayos.
There may be underlying reasons why Iloilo court sheriff Tugado was shot dead. Iloilo policemen have little to say about the case other than they’re “facing a blank wall.” Journalists know when police are not pursuing the case when the blank wall comes up because that’s when Bob Marley is heard.
