They’re back. In fact, they have been back for quite some time. It would appear that they timed their return to coincide with the start of the “ber” months, which, in hindsight, makes a lot of sense.
In most parts of the Philippines, the “ber” months usher in the beginning of the world’s longest Christmas season. People tend to be more generous during this period compared to the other months of the year. But I’m not sure if that will be the case this year. Inflation has put a hole in everyone’s pockets. The cost of living has risen considerably while wages have barely moved. I’m sure people will be more hesitant to part with their hard-earned cash.
But that doesn’t mean out-of-school youths will stop entering establishments in Barangays Sambag 1 and 2 to beg for money. They have been doing that for a while, much to the residents’ chagrin.
Kids as young as eight years old gamble out in the open, tossing coins onto the road in their version of hantak in the dead of night. Kids roam the alleys in a band like a bunch of gangsters when they should be in school or at home. They sleep by the side of the streets on makeshift beds, made up mostly of cartons, until late in the morning. They litter. They make a racket. And they don’t even live in the barangay.
And how do I know this? Well, a barangay employee told me a couple of years back. You see, I have a reputation for reporting any form of racket or ruckus to the barangay and to the police. And I’m sure some of them have read the many columns that I’ve devoted to this matter, although I have always been circumspect about criticizing authorities when dealing with these kids.
Because, let’s face it, they are kids. For the most part, that is. There may be one or two grownups in their midst, but I don’t know the dynamics of their relationship. And I don’t like to second-guess because we are dealing with minors.
The law is very specific.
Republic Act 9344, or the Juvenile Justice and Welfare Act of 2006, exempts violators who are 15 years old or under at the time of the offense from criminal liability. Law enforcement cannot arrest them in a punitive sense; instead, they must be released to their parents, a guardian, or a social worker for an intervention program.
Those who are between 15 and 18 cannot be held criminally liable unless they acted with discernment. I, for one, believe those between 15 and 18 know the difference between right and wrong. They’re way too smart. They have to be, if they’ve survived this long.
On the occasion that a minor is apprehended, he or she cannot be placed in a police cell or jail. Their custody must be turned over to a local social welfare and development officer within eight hours of apprehension. And they can never be locked up in a standard detention cell with adult prisoners.
I’m pretty sure most of them, especially the older ones, know all of these, as well as the other laws that protect their welfare. That is why they are not afraid to swoop into a barangay and harass the residents. Sometimes they are confronted by authorities, but they know the laws have tied the barangay and the police’s hands behind their backs.
I have to admit, I used to see them as a menace. My blood would boil whenever I would spot them loitering in front of the establishment next to my grandmother’s place on J. Urgello St. Their noise woke me up in the middle of the night several times. There was one instance when a young girl ran inside my grandmother’s cafeteria around lunchtime, trailed by several other girls who were trying to beat her up. The boys were outside waiting for them. They were oblivious to the diners who were telling them to stop. They also ignored me telling them to leave.
So I pulled out my phone and recorded the whole scene, all the while making sure their faces would not be shown. I then ran to the Abellana Police Station up the road and showed the footage. Police and several barangay personnel promptly arrived at my grandmother’s cafeteria, scattering the perpetrators in different directions. Not everyone was lucky. Some got caught and were put inside the barangay vehicle.
I asked one barangay worker where they were taking the kids. She told me first they would give them something to eat and drink, buy them some slippers, and then take them home. She noticed one kid crying softly in the corner. “What are you afraid of? We caught you last week and the week before that. You should be used to the drill by now,” she told him in Cebuano.
I realized then that I had been barking up the wrong tree. These kids should not be the objects of my hostility because, at the end of the day, they are not the problem. I learned that some have been abandoned by parents, or their parents are in jail. I can’t expect the government to act as these children’s parents. It, too, has its hands full trying to address the many ills that plague Philippine society. That’s why I have become more tolerant of their presence.
But that doesn’t get them off the hook. If I hear of stealing, someone accosting passersby, or any ruckus in the middle of the night, I’m on the phone calling the barangay and the police.