FOR 20 years, Titing lived inside the concrete walls of the Cebu Provincial Detention and Rehabilitation Center (CPDRC) in Barangay Kalunasan, Cebu City not because courts decided his fate, but because they delayed decisions for long stretches.
Titing entered detention at age 36, accused of murder. He is now 57. In the years that followed, courts canceled or postponed hearings because prosecutors or lawyers missed appearances, or the pandemic froze court proceedings.
“Usahay ma-cancel ang hearing. Kon mag-hearing man, walay piscal (Sometimes the hearing gets canceled. And even if it proceeds, there’s no prosecutor present),” he said. “Usa ka hearing, tag-seven months ang hulat (The wait was seven months for one hearing).”
The wait became unbearable, pushing him to choose a shortcut many detainees consider: admitting to lesser, bailable charges to secure a transfer or move the process forward.
“Gusto na gyud ko mabiyahe (I really want to travel already),” he said — using the jailhouse term for being sent to another facility or moving past pretrial limbo.
Inside CPDRC, Titing is not alone. Jail records show dozens of persons deprived of liberty (PDLs) detained for five, 10, or 15 years. Some wait for cases to move, while courts convicted others worn down by delays before judgment.
A system of delays
Data from CPDRC show prolonged detention remains a reality for many PDLs. At least 28 detainees spent five years in detention, 20 stayed for 10 years, four for 15 years and Titing reached 19 years.
The jail’s top cases reflect the complexity of its population, led by 821 violations of Republic Act (RA) 9165, which penalizes illegal drugs. This is followed by 218 violations of RA 10591, which penalizes illegal possession of firearms; 140 murder cases; 66 rape cases; and election-related offenses under Commission on Elections Resolution 7764.
Many detainees spent years awaiting trial, caught in a delayed system, while courts convicted others.
Older inmates decline as jails remain overcrowded.
While most inmates fall within the working-age group, the number of older PDLs in Central Visayas dropped, with only 80 aged above 70 recorded in the Bureau of Jail Management and Penology (BJMP) data.
Older inmates include 1,488 aged 48 to 53; 731 aged 54 to 59; and 350 aged 60 to 69. Jail records show 36 cases undetermined and zero inmates below 18.
Despite this, Central Visayas jails remain overcrowded, housing 15,859 detainees in facilities designed for 4,578. The region’s total jail population stands at 15,919, the third highest in the country, following the National Capital Region and Region 4-A (Calabarzon).
Of the total, 13,479 or 85 percent are detainees, reflecting the national trend of prolonged pre-trial detention. Nationwide, the jail population reached 115,065, with 100,476 or 87.32 percent awaiting trial.
The region ranks third nationwide in jail population and fifth in congestion severity, with facilities operating at an average congestion rate of 335 percent. The highest recorded maximum congestion rate in the region reached 1,705 percent.
CPDRC operates independently of BJMP. The Provincial Government runs CPDRC and funds its budget allocation.
Punishment
The long wait pushes detainees toward difficult choices.
Titing said he pleaded guilty to lesser charges to move forward.
“Ang uban akong gi-amin kay gusto na nako mabiyahe (I admitted some of the cases because I just want this to be over),” he said, referring to the hope of transferring out of prolonged pretrial detention.
Relief remained uncertain. Authorities filed another case against him, adding years to his detention.
He described the early years in prison as harsh.
“Nihuot akong dughan sa naagian nako sa una (My chest felt heavy from what I went through before),” he said.
Life inside proved unbearable. Detainees ate once a day, or survived on water. Beyond court delays, the wait became a form of punishment.
Asked how he endured, Titing said: “Tibay ng loob (strength of will).”
Over time, he said conditions improved, offering relief from past hardships. Still, uncertainty remains.
“Dili nato masiguro atong kinabuhi (We cannot be sure of our life),” he said.
He holds on to faith and the hope of reuniting with his family, including grandchildren who ask when he will return home.
“Lo, anus-a pa man modunggo imong barko? (Grandpa, when will your ship arrive?)” they would ask.
For Titing, “biyahe,” or transfer, symbolizes progress — a sense of movement after years of waiting. He said he hopes authorities allow him to return home soon.
“Gamay na lang higayon (Just a little more time),” he said.
He said life behind bars remains difficult due to family separation.
Neil, another detainee, said plea bargaining became common following reforms encouraged by the Supreme Court, offering detainees a path to resolution amid delays.
Waste
Like Titing, Neil spent a decade inside CPDRC.
Arrested in 2016 for illegal drug use, Neil said hearings proved consistent or nonexistent, similar to Titing’s case.
“There are many reasons why your hearing doesn’t push through — there’s no prosecutor, or no lawyer,” he said. “Sayang ang tuig (Time is being wasted).”
Delays worsened during the Covid-19 pandemic starting in 2020. His case stagnated for five years.
“Wala gyud ko na-hearing pag-Covid hangtod 2023 (I really didn’t get any hearings during Covid — up until 2023),” he said. His trial resumed in 2024.
He said a year brings a handful of hearings for many detainees.
“Kasagaran, suwerte na ka kon ma-hearing ka og ka-upat sa usa ka tuig (Usually, you’re already lucky if you get to have four hearings in a year).”
Pandemic backlog
The pandemic slowed the justice process.
“Halos gyud wala (Almost none really),” Titing said of hearings during that time. “Stuck up gud dire tanan (We’re all stuck here).”
Restrictions prevented detainees from attending court physically, while fears of infection halted proceedings. Delays in pretrial processes added years to prolonged cases.
Life behind bars
Life inside CPDRC evolved over the years.
Titing, a pioneer member of the facility’s dancing inmates program, said discipline and inmate leadership — called “bosyo” — shaped daily life. A bosyo acts as an inmate leader who influences privileges.
He described harsh conditions in earlier years, when food ran scarce and authorities limited privileges.
“Sa una lisod kaayo (Life before inside the jail is much harder),” he said.
Today, conditions improved. Detainees receive meals and communicate with families.
Neil, serving as a bosyo, maintains order and relays concerns to jail authorities.
Both men said emotional hardship persists.
“Lisod kaayo (It’s really hard),” Titing said.
Time lost
Years of detention extract a toll.
“Sayang ang panahon nga imbes makatabang mi sa among pamilya (It’s a waste of time when we could have been helping our family),” Neil said.
For Titing, the cost is personal. His eldest child was seven when police detained him. That child is now 33.
He has yet to embrace his grandchildren.
“Gusto ko na mayakap akong mga apo (I want to hug my grandchildren already),” he said.
Faith serves as a source of strength for both men, helping them endure uncertainty and isolation.
Jail response and reforms
CPDRC Jail Warden Felipe Montejo said the facility does not face congestion, housing 1,057 inmates in a structure built for 1,500.
“Luag ra gyud siya (The facility is spacious),” he said.
He noted improvements in inmate welfare, including increased food allocation from P25 to P68 per day per detainee under the administration of Gov. Pamela Baricuatro.
“Kon i-follow ang ideal, dili gihapon kaigo ang P68 (If the ideal standard is followed, P68 still wouldn’t be enough),” Montejo said when asked to define the ideal meal.
Authorities introduced livelihood programs such as sewing, baking, and abaca weaving to help inmates support their families.
Beyond detention, the goal is rehabilitation.
“We reform them so that when they return to the community, they are already rehabilitated,” Montejo said.
There is life outside bars
Challenging the notion that life ends behind bars, Montejo said his 29 years of experience with the BJMP showed him that prisoners who turn to faith change.
“Naay gyuy kabag-ohan sa ilaha, kini lang daan religious sa ilaha, mabalik ilang loob sa Ginoo ba (There is really a change in them; just their religiousness alone restores their faith in God),” he said.
When asked if trials run long for PDLs, he said it depends on the gravity of their cases.
“Depende sa gibug-aton sa ilang kaso (It depends on the gravity of their cases),” he said.
Carry on
After 20 years, courts convicted Titing, sentencing him to 28 to 52 years for two counts of murder.
He waits for a transfer to a national penitentiary in Leyte.
“Ako na lang gihulat ang biyahe (I’m just waiting for my release),” he said.
His wish remains simple: to return to his family.
“Kon tagaan ko og higayon, gusto ko makauban akong mga apo (If given the chance, I want to be with my grandchildren).”
For many inside CPDRC, the wait continues for court decisions and the chance to rebuild interrupted lives.
Justice remains uncertain.
“Dili nimo masiguro ang hustisya sa korte (You can’t guarantee justice in the courts),” Titing said when asked to define the justice system. (CDF)