1 Si la question “quelle incidence des facteurs externes ont-ils eu sur le politique et la politique aux Philippines au cours des dernières années ?” devait être posée, la réponse serait simplement “pas très profonde depuis 1986”. Il est évident que cette affirmation est à mettre au regard des périodes antérieures de l’histoire des Philippines. Pendant longtemps, les Philippines ont été une des sociétés et économies d’Asie du Sud-Est les plus exposées aux influences mondiales. Leur “dépendance” des États-Unis était cependant plus prononcée auparavant. En effet depuis le retrait du soutien de Ronald Reagan à Ferdinand Marcos, en février 1986, qui a précipité son renversement et son départ des Philippines – suivi cinq ans plus tard par le retrait des bases militaires américaines – les influences extérieures diminuèrent en tant que déterminants des évolutions politiques.

2 Même la crise économique asiatique de 1997 a nettement moins ébranlé politiquement les Philippines que les autres États voisins. Cet impact économique moindre résulte, dans une large mesure, d’une croissance plus lente aux Philippines que chez ses voisins asiatiques dans les années antérieures, d’un attrait plus réduit pour le capital étranger et donc d’un niveau inférieur de prêts ou d’investissements étrangers dans ce pays. De ce fait, il n’y avait pas, pour s’emballer, autant de “capitaux flottants”. Sous la tutelle du FMI, de la Banque mondiale et de l’OMC, le commerce et les finances ont été libéralisés au début des années 1990, avec une réglementation insuffisante comme partout ailleurs dans la région. Il s’agissait clairement d’une conséquence des influences externes que l’on qualifie aujourd’hui de mondialisation et une cause significative de la “Crise”. Mais cet impact économique modeste en 1997 n’a pas eu d’effets politiques importants.

3 Indépendamment de cette crise, les marchés et les institutions financières internationales poursuivent la pénétration de l’économie du pays par d’autres voies. La demande internationale de bois durs détruit les forêts, la demande d’or et de cuivre creuse des cicatrices de plus en plus nombreuses dans les montagnes. La production agricole pour l’exportation déplace les producteurs d’aliments traditionnels. Phénomènes qui contribuèrent à leur tour à alimenter le conflit armé à l’intérieur du pays. Le capital international est en hausse dans un nombre croissant de secteurs industriels, notamment parce que les taux d’épargne des Philippins sont très peu élevés. Les Philippines subissent les “orientations” du FMI plus longtemps que tout autre pays de l’Asie du Sud-Est. Et depuis l’époque coloniale, par l’éducation, le cinéma, la radio, la TV et, maintenant, Internet, les modèles culturels américains constituent une autre forme écrasante de la mondialisation. Mais la dépendance vis-à-vis des marchés étrangers, des modèles culturels, des investissements et orientations a été tellement importante pendant si longtemps que les tendances mondialistes au cours de ces quinze dernières années ont à peine amplifié ces influences. Aucun politicien ne peut résister longtemps, aucune politique gouvernementale ne peut être mise en œuvre si les intérêts étrangers sont menacés. Cette situation n’est pas nouvelle, en fait le régime politique philippin s’est depuis longtemps adapté à cette réalité. Et l’impact des influences politiques étrangères s’est d’ailleurs amenuisé au fil des quinze dernières années.

4 Nous analyserons de plus près les trois présidents qui se sont succédés depuis le renversement de Marcos et le rétablissement de la politique de compétition électorale afin de procéder à l’examen des événements et de leurs influences sur les administrations de ces présidents et justifier nos affirmations antérieures.¹ Nous approfondirons, enfin, la nature de la culture politique, et de l’économie politique nationale et internationale pour comprendre les causes de la réalité politique actuelle des Philippines.

Aquino : le rétablissement de la politique électorale

5 Corazon Aquino, la veuve du sénateur assassiné par Marcos en 1983, préside à la réhabilitation des institutions et pratiques en vigueur avant la loi martiale. La constitution adoptée en 1987 s’inspire largement de celle de 1935, à l’exception de la durée du mandat présidentiel, porté à six ans et sans possibilité de se représenter, d’un léger renforcement des attributions du Congrès, et de quelques autres dispositions. Au départ, l’oligarchie qui entoure la présidente Aquino représente aussi la réhabilitation des milieux pré-Marcos. Néanmoins, malgré une ferme volonté de se réaccaparer la richesse dérobée par Marcos et ses amis, après quelques années, cet effort est voué à l’échec, vaincu par la corruption, les offensives judiciaires et la sub-version politique des amis de Marcos. Avant la fin du mandat d’Aquino, la plupart des amis de Marcos ont reconquis un rôle au sein de l’oligarchie.² Cependant l’administration même de Madame Aquino échappe aux amis de Marcos.

6 Bien que Washington salue l’arrivée de Mme Aquino à la présidence comme un retour à la démocratie, ses politiques suscitent beaucoup d’inquiétude tant au Pentagone qu’à la Maison blanche. Par exemple, lorsqu’elle déclare au cours de sa campagne électorale de 1986 que sur la question du renouvellement de l’accord relatif aux bases militaires américaines, “ses options demeuraient ouvertes”, ou lorsque, pour tenter de mettre un terme à la révolte communiste, elle remet en liberté plusieurs dirigeants communistes emprisonnés et conclut un cessez-le-feu avec la Nouvelle armée du peuple. De nombreux éléments aux Philippines et les militaires américains jugent cette mesure inacceptable. Peut-être dans l’espoir que les États-Unis finiront par la laisser tomber, des unités déloyales des forces armées philippines amorcent une série de tentatives de coups d’état contre la présidente Aquino, dont deux aboutirent presque. Après quelques-unes de ces tentatives, Washington commence à reconnaître l’étendue de la catastrophe que pourrait entraîner son renversement et, de son côté, la présidente se rapproche des positions politiques américaines sur un certain nombre de questions. Ainsi donc pendant l’intervention militaire de décembre 1989 qui frôle le succès, les forces armées américaines, à la demande du gouvernement philippin,³ survolent de manière ostentatoire les positions rebelles, ce qui aide à inverser le mouvement et peut même à décourager d’autres tentatives d’interventions ultérieures.

7 Il va sans dire que ces tentatives fréquentes d’interventions militaires ne favorisent pas le développement économique. Les investisseurs étrangers, en réaction à ces événements, se maintiennent à distance, alors que la Thaïlande, la Malaisie, Singapour et l’Indonésie attirent des investissements considérables et que leurs économies connaissent des taux de croissance deux ou trois fois plus élevés que celui des Philippines. Le taux de croissance du PNB aux Philippines, un peu à la traîne par rapport aux évolutions politiques, devait atteindre 6,75% après le départ de Marcos, en 1988, mais retombe à – 0,58% en 1991,⁴ malgré les réformes visant à favoriser la libéralisation, introduites au début de l’administration Aquino, dans le prolongement des tendances mondialistes, par la diminution des droits de douane et la suppression des restrictions qui pèsent sur les mouvements des capitaux.

8 S’adaptant aux visions américaines, Mme Aquino, dès son entrée en fonction, début 1990, décide d’entamer des négociations en vue du renouvellement de l’Accord sur les bases militaires américaines.⁵ Après quinze mois, les négociations arrivent à leur terme et le traité est présenté au Sénat philippin pour ratification. Ni la présidente Aquino, ni l’ambassade américaine ne prennent alors la juste mesure de la détermination nationaliste et de la capacité politique du président du Sénat, Jovito Salonga. Malgré des pressions extraordinaires exercées en dernière minute tant par l’ambassade américaine que le Palais Malacanang (la Maison blanche des Philippines), le traité est rejeté en septembre 1991, Non seulement il n’obtient pas le soutien des deux tiers mais une majorité se prononce contre celui-ci.⁶ Les défenseurs de la présence de bases avaient mis en garde contre les conséquences négatives du rejet du traité et, en effet, l’aide américaine aux Philippines connaît rapidement une amputation importante et les emplois générés par la présence des bases disparaissent. La base aérienne de Clark qui avait été balayée de la carte par l’éruption du Mont Pinatubo n’était pas couverte par le traité. Mais les investissements étrangers ne fléchissent pas, comme certains l’avaient craint, et l’aide étrangère japonaise ne s’érode pas non plus. Par contre le financement de l’équipement militaire diminue et l’hostilité de certains milieux de Washington à l’égard des Philippines augmente sensiblement. Mais l’orage passe et les relations philippino-américaines sont redeviennent vite chaleureuses. Le développement économique de la base navale de la Baie de Subic, sous contrôle philippin, connaît un succès plus important que prévu.

9 Les retombées négatives du rejet du traité sur les bases sont particulièrement importantes pour le héros des nationalistes, le sénateur Salonga. Il avait annoncé sa candidature à la présidence avant le débat sur le traité, et avait d’ailleurs été le candidat du parti libéral en 1992, parti qui avait eu trois présidents depuis l’indépendance. Mais les campagnes aux Philippines sont onéreuses et malgré les nombreuses années qu’il avait consacrées à la politique, et le grand respect que son intelligence et intégrité inspiraient, il ne peut rassembler que bien peu de fonds. Les hommes d’affaires, liés aux américains, jouent la carte de la circonspection et la présidente Aquino, furieuse de n’avoir pu compter sur son soutien, demande à ses partisans de s’abstenir de financer Salonga, même si elle avait à l’égard de ce sénateur une grande dette morale car il avait été l’avocat de son mari lorsque celui-ci avait été jeté en prison par Marcos. Salonga parvient seulement à la sixième place parmi les sept candidats à la présidence. Le général Fidel Ramos, soutenu sans grande efficacité par la présidente Aquino, l’emporte avec le score le plus bas de l’histoire des Philippines soit 23,6%.

10 Au cours de l’administration Aquino, il y a donc au moins deux événements – la tentative de coup en décembre 1989 et la candidature de Salonga – au cours desquels l’intervention américaine extérieure a une certaine incidence sur les résultats politiques, même si elle n’est probablement pas décisive. Les effets les plus tangibles de l’influence américaine auraient du se remarquer lors de la ratification du traité sur les bases américaines. En fait, les pressions exercées sur certains sénateurs par des sources américaines ont été considérés comme avilissantes et ont peut-être même durci l’opposition au renouvellement de ce traité.

11 Entre-temps, l’importante dette extérieure, héritée de Marcos, permet au FMI de maintenir une influence relativement considérable. Les propositions d’un plafonnement de cette dette, voire sa dénonciation, véhiculées par le Congrès, sont rejetées par Madame Aquino et les hauts responsables de la Banque centrale et du Département des finances. Ils étaient persuadés du bien-fondé des points de vue de la communauté financière internationale.

Ramos : la croissance économique et la réforme néo-libérale

12 La présidence de Ramos, de 1992 à 1998, connaît une meilleure stabilité politique et réussite économique que celle d’Aquino, jusqu’à la crise économique asiatique lors de la dernière année de son mandat. La seule intervention étrangère, non économique, qui a marqué la politique des Philippines au cours de cette période est l’occupation chinoise du territoire philippin dans le Sud de la Mer de Chine. Le président Ramos, malgré ses antécédents militaires, reprend lentement l’initiative de relance des liens militaires avec les États-Unis. La découverte, en février 1995, de bunkers chinois en béton sur le récif “Mischief Reef”, dans la zone économique philippine de 200 milles, est un choc, notamment parce que les Chinois avaient accepté auparavant de résoudre tous les conflits territoriaux de cette région à l’amiable. C’est la première fois que la Chine occupe un territoire dont se revendique un membre de l’ASEAN. Les Philippines réagissent plus fermement que la Chine ne l’espérait, même si sa capacité militaire est faible.⁷ Outre une activité diplomatique vigoureuse, le Congrès vote le budget de modernisation de l’équipement militaire en souffrance depuis longtemps.⁸ Parallèlement, les Philippines amorcent des discussions avec les États-Unis en vue d’un Accord sur l’accueil de forces que les États-Unis considèrent nécessaire pour la reprise de manœuvres conjointes avec les Philippines. Les deux parties estiment aussi qu’il s’agit d’une condition sine qua non à tout accroissement de l’aide militaire américaine et dont la nécessité se précise proportionnellement à l’ampleur de l’escalade chinoise. Bien que d’un point de vue nationaliste, le texte de cette proposition d’accord pose de sérieux problèmes, un accord fut signé avant la fin du mandat de Ramos sans être soumis à l’avis du Sénat. Le sentiment nationaliste, qui avait animé l’opposition à un accord sur les bases, reprend vigueur mais dans une moindre mesure qu’en 1991.

13 La Crise “financière” (comme on l’a qualifie à l’époque) asiatique frappe moins d’un an avant l’élection présidentielle de mai 1998. Si les élections aux Philippines s’étaient jouées sur des thèmes précis, ou si le président sortant s’était porté candidat à sa réélection, on aurait pu s’attendre à ce que la crise pèse très lourdement sur les résultats électoraux. Mais la constitution interdit à Ramos de se représenter. Bien qu’un lien puisse être perçu entre l’intérêt économique et les manœuvres politiques avant les élections, il est insignifiant au cours de la campagne.

14 Ramos est le favori du monde des affaires. C’est un président relativement honnête et efficace qui laisse les banquiers et les professionnels de l’économie décider des politiques économiques et financières. Son approche de l’administration répond aux orientations du FMI. Selon presque tous les analystes, son successeur le plus probable en 1997 est le vice-président et ancienne vedette de cinéma, Joseph Estrada, que le public adule, mais qui préfère consacrer son temps à la boisson et au jeu plutôt qu’aux discussions politiques. D’aucuns, à tort, pensent que Estrada est un vrai démocrate tant il parle de son amour pour les masses. Il avait d’ailleurs démontré son nationalisme en s’opposant à l’accord sur les bases en 1991. D’autres s’inquiètent plus fondamentalement que son administration ne permette le retour des amis de Marcos – car son principal appui financier est Danding Cojuangco, qui avait été la personnalité la plus riche et la plus puissante de l’entourage de Marcos, qui à ce moment reconstruit son empire – et souhaitent empêcher son élection. Et, estiment-ils, la meilleure possibilité pour y parvenir consiste à modifier la constitution afin de permettre à Ramos de se représenter.

15 Cependant, une telle initiative mobilise une opposition impressionnante, pour deux raisons fondamentales : une forte opposition à la personne de Ramos, et la crainte de voir le cadre constitutionnel à nouveau manipulé, comme sous Marcos, par un président qui pourrait en tirer profit. Un nouveau changement de la constitution pouvant plutôt favoriser l’instabilité politique que l’enrayer. Cette opposition est dirigée par un duo impressionnant, l’ancienne présidente Aquino et Jaime Cardinal Sin (qui ne s’est jamais très bien entendu avec le premier président protestant des Philippines), appuyé par plus de 100 évêques catholiques. Elle dispose aussi de l’appui de groupes progressistes, y compris des communistes. Des manifestations massives sont organisées, les tribunaux sont saisis et, finalement, la tentative de modifier la constitution est abandonnée. Le président Ramos, qui a perdu une bonne part de son capital politique dans cet effort vain, accorde son appui à un politicien traditionnel, membre du Congrès et rompu au clientélisme, Jose de Venecia.

16 Bien que Ramos avait mieux réussi que ses prédécesseurs sur le plan des réformes économiques, la libéralisation financière – populaire parmi les gouvernements de l’Asie du Sud-Est de l’époque – aurait pu être perçue par l’électorat comme une erreur qu’on aurait pu lui reprocher. En fait, d’un coté, les investissements, sous Ramos, ont décuplé en comparaison avec ceux effectués sous Aquino, d’autre part, la fuite de capitaux, de janvier à septembre 1997, a été de 3,3 milliards de dollars.⁹ Mais les mouvements de capitaux dans leur globalité avait été, pour l’année 1997, légèrement positifs, alors qu’en Thaïlande, la perte était de près de 11 milliards de dollars.¹⁰ La croissance du PIB thaïe, en 1997, était de – 0,4% alors qu’elle était de + 5,2% aux Philippines, juste légèrement en deçà des projections antérieures. Les exportations de Thaïlande en 1997 étaient à peu près du même niveau qu’en 1996 alors qu’elles connaissaient une croissance de 22,7% aux Philippines.¹¹ Bien que Ramos se soit arrogé le crédit de cette réussite, l’impact de la politique économique était très faible dans l’élection du président suivant.

17 On constate, sous le gouvernement de Ramos, que des politiques promues par des intérêts étrangers ne sont pas toujours faciles à mettre en œuvre lorsqu’une forte opposition interne existe. C’est le cas, par exemple, de la loi sur des activités minières (Mining Act) de 1995, qui entendait supprimer l’interdiction constitutionnelle d’exploitation minière par des entreprises dont au moins 60 % des parts n’auraient pas été dans des mains philippines.¹²
Les Règles et règlements d’application sont signés le 15 août 1995 par le secrétaire à l’Environnement et aux Ressources naturelles, la veille du départ du président Ramos qui devait effectuer une visite d’État en Australie, pays dont les entreprises sont les investisseurs les plus importants dans l’activité minière aux Philippines. La loi et ses règles, malgré les dispositions de la Constitution, permettent aux entreprises étrangères de jouir, grâce à la signature d’Accords financiers ou d’assistance technique (FTAA) avec le gouvernement, des mêmes droits et privilèges que ceux octroyés auparavant aux entreprises philippines dans le cadre des anciens “accords miniers”. Après un an, soixante-quatre entreprises étrangères avaient introduit des demandes pour l’exploration de 5,8 millions d’hectares. Mais le tollé national qu’engendre le déversement de déchets miniers de la mine de cuivre canadienne de Marinduque, redonne du tonus au mouvement environnemental. L’Église catholique unit ses efforts à ceux de groupes séculiers pour s’opposer au développement d’activités minières irresponsables du point de vue de l’environnement, en appelant même à l’abrogation inconditionnelle de cette loi sur les activités minières. Un sous-secrétaire aux Affaires juridiques du DENR particulièrement consciencieux, entreprend alors d’affiner les Règles et règlements d’application, amendés en décembre. Entre-temps, la législation a renforcé les droits des populations indigènes sur les terres ancestrales dont les revendications entraient en conflit avec de nombreuses nouvelles demandes d’exploration. En outre, une fois conclu un FTAA, l’entreprise minière doit obtenir l’agrément de son évaluation d’impact environnemental avant d’entreprendre l’exploitation.¹³.
Des organisations de proximité se créent partout pour surveiller l’engagement des entreprises à protéger l’environnement. La constitutionnalité de la loi sur les activités minières et de ses règles d’application est aussi mise en cause par la voie judiciaire. En conséquence, en 1998, bien peu de demandes de FTAA ont abouti, même si cette lenteur suscite le mécontentement du président Ramos. Un certain nombre de demandes sont retirées par des investisseurs étrangers qui estiment que la poursuite d’une démarche tellement onéreuse ne vaut pas la peine, d’autant plus que la baisse des cours mondiaux des produits de base encourage bien sûr des décisions en ce sens. La pression des intérêts étrangers ne s’est donc pas avérée suffisante face à une opposition interne virulente.

Estrada : les vedettes de cinéma et les petits amis

18 Estrada dispose d’une telle longueur d’avance sur ses concurrents lors des élections – grâce à la popularité que lui procure ses rôles d’acteurs – que sa victoire est inévitable. Il remporte 40% des voix, près du double des voix qui s’exprimèrent en faveur du candidat soutenu par Ramos et arrivé second.

19 Estrada, avec une victoire aussi impressionnante conquise clairement grâce à sa popularité personnelle, aurait pu disposer d’une grande liberté de manœuvre.¹⁴ Malheureusement il avait contracté de nombreux engagements pendant sa campagne afin de la financer. C’est ainsi que deux de ses principaux appuis, Lucio Tan et Danding Cojuangco, des anciens proches de Marcos, intégrèrent son administration. Celle-ci fut tellement corrompue que de nombreux membres, en particulier parmi ses alliés de gauche, l’abandonnèrent.

20 La désignation de Serafin Cuevas – un ancien magistrat de la Cour suprême, unanimement respecté – comme titulaire du Secrétariat à la Justice est largement apprécié par l’opinion publique. Mais ce dernier sera amené à s’opposer à Estrada et à ses amis dans une affaire importante héritée de l’administration antérieure, concernant une fraude fiscale de 25 milliards de pesos dont Lucio Tan est soupçonné. En 1999, le secrétaire Cuevas encourage les poursuites judiciaires même si le président s’y est opposé en déclarant publiquement que “il n’y avait pas de poursuite contre Tan”. Après avoir vainement exercé diverses pressions sur Cuevas, Estrada le licencie.¹⁵ Une telle attitude indique clairement aux investisseurs étrangers et philippins qu’il n’y a d’État de droit. Elle n’encourage pas non plus les autres délinquants fiscaux à apurer leur dette, ce qui provoque une diminution des rentrées et une augmentation du déficit gouvernemental, au grand dam du FMI.

21 Une nouvelle crise se profile en mars : la Bourse philippine connaît une chute de 25 % en deux mois, essentiellement suite à un délit d’initié impliquant une société de jeu détenue par un ami de Estrada, Dante Tan. Le 7 mars, tout le personnel de surveillance de la Bourse, chargé de surveiller les irrégularités du marché, démissionne en guise de protestation et accuse les hauts responsables de cette bourse d’empêcher que l’enquête soit menée sur ce délit d’initié qualifié de “pire scandale boursier du pays depuis des décennies.”¹⁶ À son tour, Perfecto Yasay, président de la Commission des valeurs et de la bourse – une commission indépendante selon la constitution -, en application d’une résolution prise à l’unanimité par la Commission, ordonne la fermeture de la Bourse le lendemain en l’absence de personnel de surveillance qualifié. Ce même soir, le Secrétaire exécutif et le Secrétaire aux Finances persuadent une majorité de membres de la Commission de changer d’avis. Finalement, conscient qu’il ne pourrait remplir ses fonctions tant que le président était “ouvertement et vigoureusement” opposé à ce qu’il faisait, Yasay démissionne.¹⁷

22 Plus tard, dans le cadre d’un programme télévisé, un débat sur ce sujet opposera Yasay au président Estrada. L’enquête menée ensuite par le canal de télévision en question révèle que, sur près de 17.000 personnes interrogées, seulement 13% des téléspectateurs ont cru leur président.¹⁸ La loyauté du président à l’égard de ses amis a ainsi ruiné un des principaux canaux institutionnels pour les investissements étrangers et, en outre, sapé sa propre crédibilité.

23 Le même Lucio Tan, est encore impliqué dans, la privatisation de la Philippine National Bank. Il avait pu acquérir 46% des parts de la banque et, grâce une manœuvre complexe appuyée par la Présidence, étendre ensuite son emprise au sein du conseil d’administration. Comme l’écrit un économiste très en vue, Tan s’est vu offrir la banque “sur un plateau d’argent”.¹⁹ Il fait remarquer que le président Estrada lui-même définit un “ami” comme une personne qui reçoit des prêts d’établissement financiers gouvernementaux sur les ordres du président et laisse donc entendre qu’une personne qui reçoit une banque doit être un “super-ami”. De tels agissements freinent considérablement l’intérêt des investisseurs étrangers.

24 Bien sûr, les Philippines sous Estrada connaissent d’autres problèmes politiques dont les conséquences économiques sont considérables : les rebellions tant communistes que musulmanes reprennent vigueur alors qu’elles s’étaient pratiquement éteintes grâce aux efforts de négociation de l’administration Ramos. La démarche de Estrada, faite d’esbroufe et de menace, empêche l’organisation de négociations utiles alors qu’il ne dispose pas des moyens militaires nécessaires. Ces affrontements, de plus en plus fréquents, contribuent à creuser de manière imprévisible le déficit public et font fuir les investissements tant philippins qu’étrangers. La situation se dégrade tellement que des rumeurs de coup d’état militaire apparaissent. Le sénateur Rodolfo Biazon, ancien chef du personnel des forces armées des Philippines, affirme alors que le niveau d’insatisfaction à l’égard du président est très élevé dans tous les secteurs et lui rappelle la coalition qui s’était construite pour en finir avec Ferdinand Marcos.²⁰

25 Les Philippines, qui ont pourtant moins souffert de la Crise asiatique en 1997, connaissent alors le taux de croissance le moins élevé des cinq pays qui constituaient l’ASEAN à ses débuts. D’autres indicateurs économiques sont aussi négatifs : le chômage est en hausse et le peso est en baisse; les bons d’État sont davantage dépréciés sur le marché mondial que les autres bons d’État asiatiques ; les investissements nationaux, d’un niveau chroniquement peu élevé, reperdent 2% en 1999.

26 Même la popularité légendaire du président subit des revers. Les résultats d’un sondage réalisé en mars par le Social Weather Stations, l’institut de sondage le plus fiable des Philippines, créditent Estrada d’une hausse de popularité de 5 points au niveau national mais d’une chute de 32 points dans la zone métropolitaine de Manille.

27 Il apparaît donc que sous la présidence de Estrada, les Philippines ont eu des liens plus distendus avec le processus de mondialisation que pendant les décennies antérieures. Certains pourraient s’en réjouir. Mais il ne s’agit pas de l’aboutissement d’une politique d’autarcie nationale, malgré une certaine rhétorique en ce sens à certaines occasions. C’est la conséquence involontaire de la priorité accordée aux intérêts des amis du président. Il ne s’agit probablement pas, comme sous Marcos, d’une situation où le président percevait une part généreuse des profits de la corruption, “Erap” Estrada semble en effet tirer une plus grande satisfaction du pouvoir et de la popularité que d’un processus d’enrichissement personnel. Le président Estrada n’a jamais été capable de concevoir, comme Marcos, une position politique rationnelle permettant à la fois le développement économique du pays et des pratiques népotiques. Marcos réussit, notamment dans les premières années de la loi martiale, à utiliser habilement sa propagande “pour le développement” afin d’obtenir des ressources très importantes de la communauté internationale et ainsi renforcer son régime, et se remplir les poches. Il est vrai, qu’indépendamment des capacités de Estrada à diriger le pays, le président des Philippines n’est plus le “gamin de l’Amérique” et il n’a plus accès aux ressources qui accompagna ce rôle à une époque.

Quelques définitions

28 Que Ramos soit parvenu à accomplir davantage que Estrada au cours des trois premières années de son mandat, notamment en assurant un essor économique global (une augmentation de plus de 400% du taux de croissance du PNB), bien que le cadre constitutionnel, la culture politique et la structure économique, voire la composition de l’élite politique soient demeurés largement figés, semble indiquer dans une large mesure que la personnalité des dirigeants constitue une réelle différence. Même les dirigeants issus du système patrimonial disposent d’une certaine liberté de choix, à savoir qu’ils peuvent le renforcer ou l’affaiblir. Ramos a fait progresser, plus que tout autre président avant lui, les réformes néo-libérales en s’en prenant clairement à “l’oligarchie” sous la férule de son principal conseiller, le général José Almonte. Il n’entretenait pas son propre groupe d’amis, même si lors de la passation d’un contrat, il semblait y avoir bien sûr des “favoris”. La manière de prendre les décisions des deux présidents aurait pu difficilement être plus différente. Ramos, formé par l’académie militaire américaine et ayant de nombreuses années d’expérience dans l’administration nationale, était un président “interventionniste”, souvent le premier à arriver le matin à son bureau, au Palais. Estrada, qui avait été maire d’une ville sous le régime de Marcos, se couche fort tard et arrive donc rarement à son bureau avant midi, et il dispose de très peu de temps pour lire les documents de l’État. Et les différences sont ainsi légion.

29 Mais malgré d’importantes différences entre les deux administrations, même entre les trois, certains traits communs sont malheureusement perceptibles ; ils s’enracinent dans la culture politique, l’économie ainsi que les structures et pratiques politiques qui en découlent. Ce sont des traits communs perceptibles à des degrés divers dans les régimes philippins depuis plus de cinquante ans. La période d’application de la loi martiale, de 1972 à 1986, était certainement particulière dans la mesure où les droits humains étaient réprimés et les élections libres étaient suspendues. Au cours de cette période, la concurrence légitime et ouverte au sein de l’élite, relativement libre avant et après cette période, était impossible. Après 1972, Marcos dirige un régime autocratique unique depuis l’indépendance des Philippines.

30 Mais lors de cette période, des éléments communs persistants peuvent être identifiés. Le régime de la loi martiale fut qualifié de “néo-patrimonial” (à la différence d’un système “patrimonial” simple du 19e siècle, d’un chef de tribu traditionnel, ou un monarque éthiopien ou thaï du 19e siècle.²¹ Le radical “néo” devait indiquer un degré plus élevé d’institutionnalisation que dans le système traditionnel, par la mise en place de bureaucraties, de tribunaux et de pouvoirs législatifs, par exemple. Cependant, comme sous le régime “patrimonial” plus traditionnel, la distinction entre la propriété publique et celle du dirigeant et de ses suivants était assez opaque. La loyauté était assurée par la répartition d’avantages; les intérêts organisés ou les partis politiques fondés sur une politique commune ne présentaient normalement pour le processus décisionnel aucune pertinence.

31 Plus récemment, le système philippin a été qualifié “d’oligarchique patrimonial”, dans le prolongement des concepts wébériens.²² Le qualificatif “oligarchique” permet de distinguer les Philippines du “patrimonialisme bureaucratique” en vigueur en Thaïlande, où la bureaucratie est beaucoup plus forte. Mais le terme “oligarchie”, ou élite fortunée, a également besoin d’être clarifié. C’est particulièrement pertinent aux Philippines où l’inégalité économique est plus prononcée qu’ailleurs dans la région. Normalement, le terme implique les personnes les plus riches du pays ainsi que leurs familles, un groupement qui persiste dans une large mesure indépendamment des dirigeants politiques. On considère parfois les “copains” comme une catégorie séparée de l’oligarchie pour évoquer un groupe dépendant essentiellement du dirigent politique au pouvoir pour accumuler sa fortune. Mais cette distinction peut s’avérer difficile à maintenir car dans un système patrimonial, toute la richesse a besoin d’une certaine protection par des voies politiques et juridiques. Les copains, qui ont accès au pouvoir de l’État, convoitent souvent d’anciennes fortunes. Et ces copains nouveaux riches essayent rapidement de se faire accepter comme partie intégrante de l’oligarchie, dès que leur protecteur perd le pouvoir, voire avant.

32 Outre que les Philippines peuvent être qualifiées de patrimoniales dans une large mesure, son État est faible et entouré d’une bureaucratie peu efficace et politisée de longue date, dans la plupart des cas incapable de faire respecter la loi face aux intérêts de l’oligarchie ou des copains, pris individuellement ou en groupes. Un État faible le reste dans ses tractations avec les forces extérieures, ouvrant ainsi une voie relativement facile à la pénétration de la société nationale par des entreprises, des marchés, des partis politiques, des agents culturels étrangers, etc. L’État ne peut empêcher la fraude, limiter l’offensive hollywoodienne ou le rôle des entreprises étrangères. Les Philippines ne sont pas seulement une oligarchie néo-patrimo-niale, mais un État relativement faible (au regard des normes asiatiques), et souvent un État influençable.

Sur l’autonomie, la pénétration et le patrimonialisme

33 Qu’apportent ces classifications au thème de cet article ? Somme toute, la compréhension de la nature du système devrait nous aider à expliquer pourquoi dans les dernières années, la mondialisation a eu un impact de moins en moins marqué sur les Philippines. Nous laissons entendre qu’un État faible qui essaie de régir une oligarchie néo-patrimoniale est moins susceptible d’être influencé par les forces extérieures qu’un État plus fort disposant d’une société plus institutionnalisée. Au premier abord, cela pourrait sembler incompatible avec les remarques faites plus avant sur les États faibles, plus enclins à la pénétration. Mais il est aussi vrai que lorsque le népotisme n’est absent d’aucune politique économique, même celles qui sont favorables aux intérêts étrangers, l’encouragement à la pénétration s’amenuise. On pourrait dire que le processus politique central est ouvert – même aux étrangers – au sens formel, mais les décisions les plus importantes sont prises informellement – peut-être à 3 heures du matin. À court terme, les intérêts étrangers peuvent obtenir des accords avantageux avec certains fonctionnaires en offrant des “gratifications spéciales”. Mais tenter d’infléchir plus largement la politique serait peu avantageux. Les possibilités de pénétration sont considérables, mais le bénéfice est minimum sauf dans des cas très précis. Les institutions internationales, telles que le FMI, conservent une influence sur la politique, mais elle est contournée lorsque les besoins du système patrimonial l’exigent. Le FMI prône la transparence et l’efficacité, antidote au clientélisme. Le programme d’aide du Japon, suite à des irrégularités dans les passations de contrats, a récemment mis en garde contre la possibilité de la suspension du financement aux Philippines. Le népotisme effréné au cours du mandat de Estrada pourrait donc “réduire la dépendance”, dans la foulée d’un plus grand isolement. Le retrait des bases américaines a déjà érodé la motivation d’une intervention américaine.

34 On pourrait prétendre qu’il existe une relation curviligne entre la pénétration étrangère et le degré d’institutionnalisation du système politique. Comme nous l’avons fait remarquer, un système profondément patrimonial a un ensemble d’effets dissuasifs sur les véritables influences mondialistes. Il en va de même d’un système très institutionnalisé : lorsque le financement de la campagne électorale est transparent et réglementé, que les intérêts des travailleurs, des agriculteurs et des environnementalistes sont aussi bien organisés que ceux des affaires, et que la presse est à la fois libre et éthiquement responsable. Dans ces circonstances, on peut connaître et identifier les diverses influences étrangères, mais les décisions en matière de politique publique peuvent se fonder sur une pondération prudente des coûts et avantages de la conciliation des intérêts et préoccupations étrangères. Au cours du passage d’un type de système à l’autre, il peut y avoir un moment où les obstacles dressés par le népotisme sont supprimés, mais les réformes institutionnelles du gouvernement et de l’organisation de la société civile ne sont pas encore suffisamment robustes pour traiter, évaluer et décider rationnellement du bien-fondé de l’acceptation d’exigences étrangères. Un régime de transition peut ainsi résister à certaines influences, mais courber l’échine devant d’autres, car il est, par définition, un mélange d’éléments patrimoniaux et institutionnalisés. La résistance ou l’ajustement peut varier selon des niveaux ou des segments de l’État et de la société. L’administration Ramos laisse apparaître dans une certaine mesure ce caractère, en provoquant la frustration du niveau local par la mise en œuvre d’une loi sur les activités minières induite par des forces extérieures ou par l’acceptation inconditionnelle des orientations du FMI en matière de réforme bancaire au niveau exécutif à laquelle des limitations plus substantielles imposées par des intérêts patrimoniaux au pouvoir législatif ont emboîté le pas.²³

35 Le président Ramos, certainement beaucoup plus que les deux autres présidents, lors de sa campagne contre l’oligarchie, a fait naître l’espoir d’un changement fondamental du système philippin, s’écartant du patrimonialisme. Il a compris le problème et accepté la solution du FMI, la privatisation et la concurrence. Mais il n’a pas poursuivi les réformes institutionnelles politiques qui auraient été nécessaire à la promotion d’un processus politique plus rationnel à long terme, car lui-même était dans une certaine mesure prisonnier du système patrimonial. Réformer la bureaucratie aurait exigé des majorations salariales importantes, l’élimination des plus corrompus, le recyclage et une protection efficace contre les ingérences politiques, c’est-à-dire une entreprise de masse. Il n’est pas non plus intervenu pour soutenir et renforcer la mise en place d’un système de listes de partis pour 20% des membres de la Chambre des représentants, prévu dans la constitution de 1987, dont les dispositions législatives d’application sont demeurées faibles et peu claires sous sa présidence. Il aurait pu limiter l’importance de la politique de clientélisme à la Chambre et imposer qu’une attention plus grande soit prêtée à la politique générale.²⁴ En fait, Ramos a également versé dans ces nominations clientélistes à la Commission des élections, sapant ainsi la qualité de l’organisation des élections en 1992. En outre, et c’est peut-être plus dangereux, Ramos a contribué à l’affaiblissement du respect de la constitution, un processus amorcé par le président Marcos pour tenter de l’amender aux seules fins, en apparence, de prolonger son mandat.

36 C’est parce que Ramos faisait montre de tant d’efficacité dans d’autres domaines que ces échecs ont été particulièrement décevants. Ils ont ouvert la voie à Estrada, qui a présidé à cette mise à l’écart de la transition, à un affaiblissement des institutions existantes et à un renouveau du patrimonialisme. Certains scientifiques politiques l’ont qualifié de “décadence politique”.

37 Mais tout président aurait été confronté à des obstacles politiques sévères s’il avait essayé de réaliser les réformes nécessaires. Une oligarchie néo-patrimoniale est, par sa nature même, résistante au changement, protectrice d’une richesse mal acquise dans un tissage de redevabilités secrètes. Pour sortir le régime de ce cercle vicieux de la politique de l’argent, des réformes politiques fondamentales sont indispensables, mais difficiles à mettre en œuvre. Jusqu’à présent, aucun des segments influents de l’élite n’a accordé à ces réformes une priorité suffisante. Certains progrès ont certes été réalisés, souvent lorsque des politiciens adeptes du népotisme n’ont pas saisi d’emblée les implications d’une innovation. (Le système demeuré faible de la liste partisane est un cas de figure.) Et parmi les milliers d’ONG aux Philippines, un grand nombre commence à avoir des agendas politiques assez élaborés. Des avancées auront sans doute lieu à l’avenir mais elles seront lentes. Les appels à la transparence et la responsabilité lancés par la communauté internationale ont eu une incidence limitée car elles ne se font l’écho que des revendications de longue date des partisans des réformes aux Philippines. Un segment très réduit mais en croissance de la classe moyenne a conscience de ce qui s’est passé en Thaïlande.

Conclusion

38 Clairement, la Thaïlande prend le pas sur les Philippines, après s’être déjà développée beaucoup plus rapidement au fil de la dernière génération, tant sur le plan politique qu’économique. Les Thaïs ont déjà mis en œuvre certaines réformes constitutionnelles radicales destinées à réduire l’impact du patrimonialisme sur leur démocratie constitutionnelle. La reprise économique est également plus importante qu’aux Philippines. Hutchcroft prétend que le “patrimonialisme bureaucratique” présente de plus grandes capacités que sa variante oligarchique pour mettre en œuvre la réforme compte tenu de la “cohérence” de sa bureaucratie.²⁵ C’est peut-être vrai. Mais ce qui peut être tout aussi important pour comprendre la volonté d’une réforme politique en Thaïlande est que la croissance économique rapide dans les années 1980 et 1990 a créé une classe moyenne plus étendue, et politiquement plus exigeante. Par ailleurs, tout au long des années 80, aux Philippines, les revenus par tête d’habitant ont baissé, même dans la classe moyenne. En outre, les efforts prodigieux déployés pour organiser le renversement de Marcos en 1986 ont engendré une certaine fatigue politique parmi de nombreux militants, et elle peut avoir freiné l’élan pour la réforme dans les années 90. On pourrait prétendre qu’une croissance soutenue est une condition sine qua non pour une réforme politique, qui peut ensuite être déclenchée par un incident qui la précipite comme le coup thaï en 1991 qui a mobilisé la classe moyenne pour la défense de la démocratie.

39 Le remplacement en janvier 2001, du président Estrada par sa vice~présidente, Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo, puis son emprisonnement pour corruption, fut approuvé par la majorité des Philippins, bien que le rôle important joué par l’armée dans cette destitution suscite de nombreuses appréhensions.

40 Dans un premier temps, la population n’espérait pas de profonds changements de la part de la fille d’un ancien président, donc membre de l’élite traditionnelle. De plus, elle jouissait d’une réputation de passivité en tant que vice-présidente. Mais tant son style de gouvernance que la nature de sa politique ont surpris favorablement de nombreux Philippins, en particulier dans les domaines de l’administration (grâce à la nomination de réformateurs qualifiés), la collecte des impôts ou la protection de l’environnement. Elle a également engagé le combat contre la corruption au sein même de son propre ménage.

41 Sa formation de docteur en économie lui donne une meilleure compréhension de la politique économique que ses prédécesseurs. Mais sa forte inclinaison pour l’approche néo-libérale contraste fortement avec ses priorités affichées en faveur des plus démunis. Son amitié personnelle avec les États-Unis, ainsi que ses conceptions économiques la rendent très ouvertes à l’influence américaine. Sa participation enthousiaste à la “guerre contre le terrorisme” lui a d’ailleurs valu un net accroissement de l’aide militaire américaine.

42 On peut donc constater que, durant sa première année de gouvernement, elle a renforcé les institutions publiques et rationalisé les processus de décisions politiques – et donc à protéger les Philippines d’influences extérieurs non désirées – mais en même temps elle a fait largement appel à l’influence américaine et contribué à réduire les facteurs décourageants les investissements étrangers crées par la politique du gouvernement précédent. De telles tendances contradictoires ne permettent pas d’évaluer l’effet net de sa politique mais, pour les Philippins, l’espoir renaît.

Notes

¹ Pour l’analyse des deux premières administrations, voir en particulier : VELASCO R., “Philippine Democracy : Promise and Performance”, en LAOTHAMATAS A., Democratization in Southeast and East Asia, Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, Singapore, 1997, pp. 77-112.

² PINCHES M., “The Philippines’ New Rich”, dans ROBINSON R. et GOODMAN D., éds., The New Rich in Asia, Londres, Routledge, 1996, pp. 105-136.

³ SALONGA J., The Senate that Said No, Quezon City, University of the Philippines Press, 1995, pp. 102-103.

⁴ LIM J., “The Philippines and the East Asian Economic Turmoil”, p. 201, in JOMO, Tigers in Trouble, Londres, Zed Books, 1998.

⁵ Cf. BENZON A., A Matter of Honor : The Story of the 1990-1991 RP-US Bases Talks, Manille, 1997.

⁶ SALONGA, op. cit., 1995.

⁷ VALENCIA M., “The Sprathy Imbroglio in the Post-Cold War Era”, dans WURFEL D. et BUR-TON B., (eds), Southeast Asia in the New World Order. Londres, Macmillan, 1996.

⁸ DE CASTRO T., “The Military and Philippine Democratization”, dans MIRANDA P., (ed.), Democratization : Philippine Perspectives, Quenzon City, University of Philippines Press, 1997, pp. 241-280.

⁹ LIM J., op. cit., 1998.

¹⁰ MONTES M. et POPOV V., Asian Crisis Turns Global, Singapour, Institute of South East Asian Studies, 1999.

¹¹ WURFEL D., “Convergence and Divergence Amidst Democratization and Economic Crisis : Thailand and the Philippines Compared”, Philippines Political Science Journal, 20,43,1999, PP. 1-44.

¹² Legal Rights and Natural Resources Center (LRC-KsK), “Petition to the Supreme Court of the Philippines, February 7,1997”.

¹³ LEONEN M. et BEGONIA F., (eds), Mining : Legal Notes and Materials, Quezon City, LRC-KsK, 1995.

¹⁴ LAQUIAN A. et LAQUIAN E., Joseph Ejercito “Erap” Estrada : The Centennial President, Vancouver, Institute of Asia Research, Université de Colombie britannique, 1998.

¹⁵ MONSOD S., dans Business World, 15 février 2000.

¹⁶ Far Eastern Economic Review, 23 mars 2000, p. 56.

¹⁷ YASAY P., “The BW Investigation and why I Resigned”, Kilosbayan Magazine, VII, 9,2000, pp. 17-20.

¹⁸ Business World, 24-25 mars 2000.

¹⁹ MONSOD S., dans Business World, le 14 mars 2000.

²⁰ Philippine Daily Inquirer, le 1er avril 2000.

²¹ WURFEL D., Filipino Politics : Development and Decay, Ithaca, Cornell University Press, 1988.

²² Cf. HUTCHCROFT P., “After the Fall : Prospects for Political and Institutional Reform in Post-Crisis Philippines and Thailand”, document préparé pour l’assemblée générale de American Political Science Association, Atlanta, septembre 1999, pp. 2-3.

²³ HUTCHCROFT P., op. cit., 1999, pp. 213ff.

²⁴ WURFEL D., “The Party-List Election : Sectoral Failure or National Success ?”, Political Brief, Vol. 6,2,1998, pp. 1-5.

²⁵ HUTCHROFT P., op. cit., 1999, p. 3.

I. Introduction

Agrarian institutions, very important elements of Philippine society, have been caught up in a broader transition from a dominantly patrimonial system to a somewhat more urbanized, industrial, diversified social order. Our task here is to describe and explain this transition, especially the role of agrarian institutions within it. If agrarian institutions have changed over the last century (the scope we have chosen), the causes are to be found not only in factors that explain transformation in other institutions as well, but, perhaps, also in policies and practices of government deliberately designed to produce such change. Thus we must look at the content and probable impact of those policies over time.

To be sure, there are those who argue that essentially there has been no change, that the evils of feudalistic agrarian institutions of a century ago are still with us. Certainly there still is corruption of the courts by landlord money; the Supreme Court is still ideologically in the landlord camp; there is still the use of force by landlords to expel tenants from the land or prevent ARBs (‘agrarian reform beneficiaries’) from entering; there are still landlords who use credit to create dependency among tenants and ARBs; and there are still small farmer-owners losing their land because of debt, as occurred one hundred years ago. These potent vestiges of a patron-client system dominated by landed wealth are realities that we cannot deny. Yet there are also real changes. A much larger percentage of farmers utilize institutional credit, with lower interest rates, than a century earlier. Landlord abuses were, for a time, countered by armed rebels, the NPA, and are now often limited, in some situations, by the non-violent action of NGOs and POs at the local level. Though agrarian reform implementation is still often distorted by the political and pseudo-legal intervention of powerful landlords, NGOs and POs also have some influence on administrative behavior on behalf of tenants and small farmers. Change is at best partial, and its pattern is uneven. But this is the character of transitional institutions, transitional social systems.

Changes in agrarian institutions are brought about in large part by unintended, irreversible changes in demography and the market. Rapid population growth, without any expansion of land area, of necessity reduces the average size of farms-since employment creation in the non-agricultural sector is less than the growth in the labor force. Pressure on the land increases land prices; capital, not rural labor, becomes scarce. Interest rates rise. At the same time the market continues to expand. More and more Filipino farmers produce for export, or at least domestic urban markets. Self-sufficient villages have practically disappeared. And as urban areas expand, more and more farmers are brought into a semi-urban economy. Conversion of land use from agricultural to non-agricultural purposes, without consulting or adequately compensating the cultivator, is the most obvious, and devastating, aspect of this process.

Urbanization, associated with industrialization, should serve to diversify elites, creating commercial and industrial interests different from, and potentially competing with, those of the originally dominant agrarian elites. To some extent this has happened, but there has not been enough change to have a significant impact on Philippine politics, since commercial and industrial activities so often emerged from within the old elites. (Wurfel, 1979)

These changes, population growth, marketization, and urbanization (associated with expanded education), have created hardship for the small cultivator (rent increases, evictions, reduced cultivable area) at the same time that they helped undermine some of the near feudal agrarian institutions typical of the early 1900s-and even earlier. Under the ‘proper’ political and economic (e.g. prices) conditions, that hardship has triggered political protest, often violent. Armed rebellion in the 1950s, ’70s and ’80s led political elites to recognize the advantages of some modifications of policies toward small farmers. These policies, in a complex, and not always consistent, package came to be known as agrarian reform. Both because of inherent weaknesses in the political system and out of the deliberate design of landed elites, these policies were, until the l970s, largely unimplemented. Yet their enactment, widespread information about them and partial implementation only increased the unrest already emerging as a result of deteriorating agrarian conditions. However, by the 1980s there was a wider recognition that revolutionary action might not be the best way to improve peasant welfare over the long run. This helped to trigger a proliferation of organizations of small farmers and on behalf of small farmers which vowed to work within the political system to shape and help implement agrarian reform.

The earlier violent expressions of agrarian unrest were essential stimuli to elite policy responses. But only a later more sophisticated, non-violent participation inside the policy process by peasant groups could expand the policy impact. This participation helped to formulate and implement policies better able to bring change in traditional agrarian institutions, but perhaps more important was the attempt to create rural institutions autonomous of landed elites. Government attempts to create such institutions in ‘crash programs’, such as FACOMAS in the 1950s or samahang nayon in the 1970s, were largely failures. The mass organizing by a counter-elite committed to fundamental change, but within legal processes, had a feeble beginning in the 1950s, but was not yet a major factor until the late ’80s. It was important both for further change in agrarian institutions, and as a manifestation of that change.

Agrarian reform, which is both a reflection of and a further stimulus to change in agrarian institutions encompasses more than ‘land reform’: the acquisition by the government of land holdings above a certain threshold and their redistribution to cultivating tenants and/or farm workers. It also includes legislated improvements in the terms of tenancy, distribution of public lands to cultivators, and the credit, technical assistance and infrastructure development necessary to allow the ARB to make an economic success of his/her new found status. If implemented effectively it undermines feudalistic tenancy relationships, breaks up large landed estates, and displaces the usurer, that is, it helps destroy the oppressive old agrarian institutions. It also helps build new institutions, cooperatives of all kinds, autonomous peasant organizations, and even contributes to the democratization of local government. But we cannot expect too much of this very imperfect tool. If one is in a pessimistic mood, one is reminded that a largely ‘successful’ Japanese land reform, which transformed almost all tenants into cultivator owners, did not eliminate patrimonialism in the Japanese countryside, even though peasant unions and competing political parties did emerge in some areas.

We have introduced the concept of ‘institution’. It is high time we defined it. Samuel Huntington has offered a definition which is widely used. Said he, institutionalization is “a process by which organizations and procedures acquire value and stability”. (quoted in Tai, 387) In fact, a more careful look at institutions suggests that they also acquire the characteristics of autonomy and adaptability. Indeed adaptability to a changing environment when devising tactics and strategies may be a means to achieve autonomy and stability. For instance, among the multiple services which the YMCA now provides, some were unheard of, or unthinkable, at the time of its founding. Yet that adaptability to changing community needs was essential for institutional survival.

The value that organizations have for their members is expressed in growth and longevity. An older organization is much more likely to be institutionalized than a younger one. So also is an organization that is free of dependency on an outside sponsor. GONGOs, or government-sponsored NGOs, for example, are unlikely to be well-institutionalized, in part because they were created to meet needs other than those of members. As an organization acquires value for its members it is said to become more legitimate, though legitimacy may be bestowed by the community as well as by members.

Our inclination here is to view agrarian reform in institutional terms, essentially an effort to undermine certain old agrarian institutions and to try to build new, more appropriate ones. It could be said that the first goal of agrarian reform is to breakdown patronage institutions that depress income and restrain the freedom of peasants. Since patrimonialism is a set of institutions rooted in economic inequality, to reduce inequality is to weaken it. Yet transforming tenants into owners is not enough. Patrimonialism persists since it provides services not provided by the state: funding of health services, credit, and protection, to mention only a few. The Philippines is, by most measures, a weak state. A stronger state is not only needed to implement land reform in the first place, but to provide the services which can replace those of the patron. Agrarian reform cannot be undertaken successfully outside the context of other basic reforms in state and society, all closely intertwined. But one does have to start somewhere.

II. Institutions Contrasted

A. Beginning of the 20th Century

The institution of private property in land was largely unfettered by social constraints.There were no such things as zoning or land use ordinances or environmental controls. Nor were there limitations on the sale of land according to the economic status of either buyer or seller. And the one piece of legislation designed to facilitate acquisition of title by cultivators/occupants of land, Ley de composicion of 1894 was utilized by the rich and powerful, even if non-cultivators and non-occupants, to acquire larger holdings, just as continued to happen under the Public Land Act decades later.

The institution of tenancy was largely defined by custom, not legislation. While custom heavily favored the rich landlord, allowing him to treat share tenants almost like chattel, it also defined some landowner responsibility-essentially his obligation to care for the health and welfare (and a very minimal level to be sure) of his tenants, usually accomplished through the provision of timely credit. Yet tenants could also be required to provide household help for the hacienda’s manor, and as popular elections began to be introduced, to vote as the landlord instructed. There were a variety of customs governing the sharing of production costs, but in any case the tenant did not get more than 50% of the harvest. Though there was no legal protection for tenants against eviction, in most cases the welfare responsibilities of landlords insured security. But as urbanization began to impinge on the environs of Manila, bringing more commercial transactions in land, that security was threatened. Cash tenants or lessees, usually on friar estates, were not normally cultivators and thus had somewhat greater bargaining power; custom was more flexible. In dealing with their own share tenants lessees seemed to take customary obligations more lightly than established owners. In the first half of the century, at least, most tenants seemed to feel that the obligations on landlords under customary practice were more precious than the constraints on tenants were oppressive. Peasant rebellions often called for landlords to resume duties that they had begun to shirk.

But, of course, this was understandable, since the law itself provided the tenant with almost no protection. In fact, in those few cases when tenants sought to assert their rights under the Rice Share Tenancy Act in the 1930s, they were ejected, quite ‘legally’, at the end of the agricultural year. A responsible patron was the tenants’ only insurance policy under the circumstances; government institutions were not viable alternatives. For instance, as late as 1946 some governors indulged in a practice illegal since 1937: issuing certificates exempting landholdings from the application of the Rice Share Tenancy Act. Nor was there much hope for a tenant to acquire ownership. If tenants petitioned the Rural Progress Administration for acquisition of their landlord’s estate, on approval of their petition they were required to deposit with the RPA an amount equivalent to the assessed value of the land in question. And all but one of the seven expropriation proceedings launched, in response to petitions, by the RPA as of 1948 to acquire landed estates all but one failed in the courts. (Wurfel, 1962: 62) Nor would tenant cultivators have been much better off if the RPA had been successful. Administrative Orders governing redistribution made no mention of “cultivators” or “tillers” and conveyed lots to “bonafide tenants [lessees]” just as under the old Friar Lands purchase early in the century. (Ibid., 121) Even at the end of the first half of the 20^th^ century government institutions were so enmeshed in landlord dominated patrimonialism, that from the standpoint of agrarian reform they were more part of the problem than of the solution.

B. Institutions at the End of the 20th Century

The introduction of legislation, ostensibly to assist the tenant and small farmer, was frequent from the 1950s on. On paper there were substantial improvements in the security of tenancy and a lessening of its burdens. The opportunity for tenants, and, by 1988 farm workers, to own their land was instituted, with considerable funds devoted to the purpose. Yet over all tenants and small farmers seldom found effective protection in the law. Procedures were complex and always favored those with the best trained, and paid, lawyers. Furthermore, judges, court clerks, and even tenant defenders were often subject to the lures of cold cash. Even court fees were an obstacle for a poor farmer. And some judges were so ideologically committed to the landlord’s position that they brazenly ignored the law if it favored the tenant.

To be sure by the 1950s both peasant organizations and government agencies began to provide legal assistance to the peasant cause, but for a few decades it was mostly limited to Central Luzon. Nationally most peasants still felt the need to find security in the protection of a powerful patron. It might not always be the landlord-in the 1980s it was often the NPA. But after 1987 with the return of electoral politics and the decline of revolutionary activity, even the landlord patron made something of a comeback. Government protection of peasant welfare was no more adequate than its protection of legal rights.

There was a substantial increase in the percentage of small farmers using institutional credit, e.g. Rural Banks, and credit cooperatives, from 10% in the 1950s to more than 27% in the early 1970s. (Castillo, 360) However, cooperatives, the organizational form most beneficial to the peasant, were difficult to institutionalize. Very few lasted a decade. In the ’70s the largest group of peasants, over 37%, still had to rely on credit extended by moneylenders charging outrageous interest, and the percentage had hardly declined in twenty years. But landlords were less frequently the main source of credit than in the early part of the century. This was just one sphere in which, while the patron-client system survived, the peasant was developing a greater number of patrons, and thus a somewhat greater degree of autonomy. This autonomy was also facilitated by the fact that the expansion of urbanization offered more and more small farmers the opportunity-and the financial necessity-to take off farm part-time employment. Yet this was still not sufficient to provide real financial security; small farmers who suffered poor crops or illness in the family, or had a penchant for gambling, still lost their land after seeking too much credit.

For those who remained tenants the shift from share tenancy to leasehold offered the greatest opportunity to raise income and expand autonomy. Yet even after a well-publicized campaign was launched by the government to encourage a switch to leasehold, many tenants-over half in some studies (Castillo, 286)-refused to change, most citing satisfaction with the existing share tenancy (only a small percentage were brave enough to say that they feared their landlord’s reaction if they should request a change.) Thus in 1969, five years after the campaign for leasehold had begun, only 3.4% of share tenants had registered written lease contracts. (Koone and Gleeck, 52) And in those days the application of land reform had to be proclaimed, municipality by municipality. Only 154 municipalities were included in these figures; but most were in Central Luzon, where peasant unrest, and peasant organization, was most widespread. In any case, it was difficult to tell whether these registered leases were genuine, or only disguised share tenancies.

Many landlords continued to instruct their tenants how to vote, though that practice was in some decline. At the same time a significant element in the peasant population was affected by the presence of NGOs and the organization of POs. In those communities political advice was available from a source providing very different kinds of information than landlords. Nevertheless, the welfare function of vote buying continued its important role. (In fact, the use of money was itself an indication that tenants’ sense of obligation to landlords was weakening.) Despite the exhortations of Cardinal Sin and of numerous NGOs, poorly educated voters continued to feel some obligation to the politician who was the source of the handout, thus helping to sustain patronage politics, contrary to their own group interest. Only a small minority of peasants participated in the agrarian policy process or voted in a manner consistent with that participation. Peasant organizations themselves were usually not well institutionalized. Yet the contrast with the early part of the century was quite dramatic. Until the 1930s peasant unrest had more often been channeled through millenarian sects than through a peasant movement based either on secular ideology or a rational analysis of policy.

Still the changes in patrimonial institutions which had been so noticeable under the stress or the Marcos dictatorship and rebellion against, did not survive the return to electoral politics in the late 1980s in the degree many expected. Though in the early 1980s an NPA patron was much better than none, with the ‘return to normalcy’ which Cory Aquino’s election heralded, many peasants were more comfortable with returning to traditional patrons. Unwittingly the peasants themselves made the implementation of CARP that much more difficult.

III. The Accomplishments and Failings of Agrarian Reform

A. Maximum Accomplishment—Minimal Impact

The reality we face is a program of considerable accomplishment, especially in the last decade, but with a discouraging lack of impact on agrarian conditions in general. From some respects it is perhaps better to begin with the discouragement.

Certainly a central purpose of agrarian reform is to reduce the percentage of farmers who are tenants. But it has not happened. In the last half of the century the percentage has increased: from 40% in 1960, to 47% in 1980 and, according to a large national survey, 41% in 1997. (Castillo, 262; Quibria, 483; Riedinger, 14). The improvement from 1960 to 1980 can not easily be explained, and certainly not in terms of land reform, unless, inaccurately, holders of Certificates of Land Transfer were counted as owners. (In any case, the Marcos years of martial law generated only little more than 2% of the land reform accomplishment now being touted by DAR.)

In any case, tenancy is probably not declining. This is because of powerful market forces that counteract land reform. As already noted, scarcity of land increases prices and rents, and reduces farm size. Production increases have not been large enough to compensate. Since there is practically no frontier to which the unfortunate farmer can retreat, when he loses his land he either becomes a tenant or a wage laborer. And since employment in manufacturing grew over the last half of the century only marginally faster than that in agriculture-and rapid growth in service employment was usually quite low waged-the non-agricultural alternatives were relatively few and not overly attractive. (Quibria, 416) As we will note below displacement of farmers by urban sprawl over prime agricultural land is today the most controversial dimension of the broader process. Nor over the past forty years has there been any significant reduction in income inequality in rural areas, (Quibria, 432) a problem which must be addressed if patrimonialism is to be weakened. In fact, from 1960 to 1990 the Gini coefficient, which represents inequality, increased from .53 to .57.

Yet the latest land redistribution accomplishment reports are quite impressive. As of December 31, 1999, since 1972-and precious little was done before then-DAR has ‘distributed’ 3.04 million hectares. The DENR, which still has jurisdiction over public lands, is said to have distributed to farmers nearly 1.8 million hectares. (Borras: 2000, 6) No less impressive is the fact that this accomplishment constitutes 47% of total Philippine farm land and 41% of farm households, exactly equivalent to the percentage of tenants most recently reported. Such dramatic numbers may require some examination. In fact, they raise the broader issue of the reliability of government statistics. Frequent typographical errors are compounded by arithmetical manipulation. More serious is the change in definition of categories from year to year, which is neither explained nor compensated for. And, of course, whenever accomplishment statistics affect bureaucrats’ security, numerical inflation is a problem. Gaps in reporting for various reasons may distort, but do not balance out, the inflation. DAR reports still include some Marcos era distortions. Over the century, of course, there have been vast improvements in the quality of data, only partly to be credited to technology, but the problem is still serious enough to make it impossible to draw conclusions from any but the broadest trends and clearest contrasts.

First let us look at the accomplishments of the DENR, the most important agency of which is the Bureau of Lands. To what extent can the Bureau’s distribution to “farmers” be equated with the creation of owner-cultivators, the goal of land reform? Because of the far greater attention given to DAR, in the last 30 years there has been very little research on the Bureau of Lands and its distribution of patents on public land. (And I have myself been laggard.) Thus it may be necessary to delve back into history to get a feel for the character of the Bureau’s statistics. (It should be noted that in 1974 the Bureau of Lands reported that there were only 346,129 hectares of disposable public land over which there were no applications. [Wurfel, 1977:26.] The claimed distribution in 1999 is five times this figure. To be sure an important part of public land distribution in recent years has been on pasture leases and forestry permits which had been-illegally-cultivated. Forestry permits are outside the jurisdiction of the Bureau of Lands, and pasture leases were not, in 1974, ‘disposable’.)

The last major book on Philippine land reform was James Putzel’s, Captive Land, published in 1992. The Bureau of Lands receives only a single mention, but a very instructive one. The Bureau helped implement the 1972 Letter of Instruction from Marcos which allowed Danding Cojuangco to exchange 1600 hectares of developed rice and corn lands-which would have been covered by OLT-for 16,000 hectares of undeveloped land in Mindanao-which was, of course, exempt from PD 27. Cojuangco received 11,000 hectares on Bugsuk Island and the remaining 5,000 hectares in Agusan del Norte. On Bugsuk Island there were already hundreds of settlers with title to their land; some “refused to move”. According to the then Director of the Bureau of Lands, Cojuangco ‘purchased their land rights’ and had them ‘relocated’ to Palawan. (Putzel, 149) But, of course, a lowly bureau director was in no position to halt this totally illegal process.

The Secretary of Agriculture in those days was Arturo Tanco, who had jurisdiction over the Bureau of Lands. He apparently took no position on the Cojuangco land-swap, but he became so disturbed by the widespread reports of land disputes in the public domain and illegal acquisition of titles that he drafted a decree to provide for summary cancellation of illegal acquisitions, without adhering to the lengthy court procedures then required. But Marcos never signed the decree. (Wurfel, 1977: 27)

In any case, the Bureau at that time prepared no data on patents issued by land size, or information on the number of patentees who had tenants-a practice frequently upheld by the courts. It was impossible to tell how many cultivator owners were created by the patenting of public lands. But in a 1972 study in Davao, in an area settled by homesteaders, tenancy rates of 80% were revealed. (Castillo, 270) Thus it would be fair to estimate that the figures for “redistribution” reported by the DENR, would have to be discounted by 70 to 80% to get the number of owner-cultivators created. (The misconception of so many in Manila about what is really happening in Mindanao today underlies the difficulty of coming up with genuine solutions.)

Land settlements on public lands, now administered by DAR, are faced with similar problems. In earlier research the prevalence of tenancy reported was rather high. So even the 633,000 hectares reportedly distributed inside land settlements may now largely be devoted to tenancy. (There does not seem to be any recent research on this issue either.) This is particularly sad since one of the main reasons for the establishment of settlements was to avoid the growth of tenancy that was developing on 24-hectare homesteads.

Data problems are probably less dramatic in other land categories, though DAR was caught in the 1970s trying to equate Certificates of Land Transfer (a promise of future land rights which did not always materialize) with land titles, thus exaggerating their accomplishments several times over. One would hope that there is no recent equivalent of this scam. But, unfortunately even agrarian reform beneficiaries (ARBs)-and one would assume that DAR’s accomplishment reports refers to farmers with that status-are not quite ‘home free’. They may not have received title, only a CLOA; in fact, the Land Bank may not even have reached agreement with the owner on compensation. (Owners have sometimes used such lack of agreement, successfully, to reclaim the land.) Or there may have been an error made in the issuance; thousands of CLOAs have been withdrawn for that reason. And even if the ARB’s are already Amortizing Owners, having received a title, payment records in the Land Bank are poor, and the Land Bank’s patience is by no means infinite.

But greater than the above problem is the illegal transfer of rights, which has been going on since land reform began. When a poor farmer faces a crisis, he sells or mortgages whatever he can, hoping that he can recover it some day. Though anecdotal evidence suggests that this practice is still very widespread, there is no official data worth noting. When a DAR official, or someone assumed to be connected to DAR, if only a researcher, asks “Have you committed an illegal act [i.e. transferred rights to the land to someone not your legal heir]?”, the answer is quite likely to be “No”. There has to be considerable trust between the questioner and the questioned before one can extract accurate answers on this issue. If the transfer of rights were to another landless peasant, then from the standpoint of land reform policy, nothing would really be wrong. But it seldom is. A farmer in crisis needs cash; those with cash are either merchants or those with substantial landholdings, neither allowed to acquire land under CARP. So sadly, it is likely that 20-40% of those whose land was allocated more than ten years ago are no longer in control of the land, and are not exactly credits to land reform. (We recognize, however, that accomplishments in this category may have represented genuine land reform at the time of original reporting, unlike some of the Bureau of Lands data.)

Though allusion has already been made to some of the reasons for the inability of agrarian reform agencies to actually achieve the goals, or even the accomplishments, they have announced, let us now examine those reasons systematically.

B. Market Factors

It is the price of (interest on) credit and the price of land that have been most disruptive to agrarian reform, but the price of produce and of agricultural inputs have also been factors. All have gone up. High interest rates exacerbate the financial difficulties of poor farmers, leading them to borrow in such a way as they lose their land. Rapid increases in land prices are also mesmerizing, causing them to forget that urban jobs are difficult to find. But the impact of rising land prices on the landlord is most insidious.

Prices for the acquisition of land under Operation Land Transfer were set in 1972-3. Since then prices have escalated several times over. Some landowners, at different times, were able to renegotiate with the Land Bank; many others were not. Many of those stuck with the 1973 price simply ‘stonewalled’. They would report to the Land Bank inability to find necessary documents, fail to respond to correspondence, or generally make themselves scarce. For years these tactics slowed down the land reform process, and sometimes caused hopeful landlords to attempt evictions. Finally DAR decided to move ahead with distribution of patents despite landlord delaying tactics. But in some cases this produced further legal complications down the line. The pricing system under CARP from 1988 was even more favorable to the landlord, and gave him numerous opportunities for delay, often financially beneficial.

Delay became especially profitable when land was located on the fringe of an urbanizing area, where land prices were sky-rocketing. In fact, the opportunity for profit was so great at those locations, landlords moved heaven and earth to ‘turn the clock back’. Even when a CLOA had been issued, they tried to manipulate its cancellation. They would NOT allow an ARB to reap the hundreds of percent profit that land flips could earn. Landlords pressing for conversion and intent on ejecting ARBs were so powerful in 1990 that they prevented the confirmation of DAR Secretary Florencio Abad, who had been brave enough to stand against them, by the Commission on Appointments. That lesson was not lost on subsequent secretaries, who have proven to be more ‘flexible’.

From 1991 DAR approvals of land use conversion moved like suburban land prices.

Only 4,754 hectares had been approved for conversion in 1991; by March 1998 it was 57,934 hectares. (Casino, 2,5) This constitutes approval of more than 95% of applications. Field surveys have indicated that illegal conversions, not in DAR records, are much more numerous, usually with connivance of local governments. Casino estimates that illegal conversions may be three times the legal ones. If so, that would mean that land conversions have lost to land reform more than the total distribution of private agricultural lands so far in the Estrada Administration. While some have made way for job-producing commercial and industrial projects, they have most often provided space for golf courses, plush subdivisions, or even mere land speculation. In all cases the ARB is forced out, usually with a payment far below the price that the land would fetch. Some of these cases have been explosive, and more will be. A recent Supreme Court decision confirming land conversion for a golf course and tourist development in Hacienda Looc will probably not end the dispute.

C. Lack of Institutionalization in Agrarian Reform Agencies

It has been rightly said that “access to land and other resources is institutionally determined.” (Polestico, 142) Thus if the state is to be able to influence who has access then the institutions set up to implement this policy must be strong. In the past, however, the landed elite has so penetrated agrarian reform institutions as to seriously impair their capacities, even to make them impotent. This was apparent in the chronic lack of funds, and in the frequent reorganization of agencies (until the 1990s).

Until the creation of the Department of Agrarian Reform by RA 6389 in 1971, the task of implementing agrarian reform had been assigned to several, often competing agencies. The purchase and redistribution of landed estates was handled by one agency, and land settlements on the frontier by another. Public land distribution was assigned to a third, tenancy law enforcement to a fourth and fifth, and agricultural credit to one or two more. Furthermore, there were two or more reorganizations in each agency from 1946 until 1971. Coordination among them was minimal, at best.

In the field of land acquisition and redistribution, the heart of land reform, the Rural Progress Administration was carried over from the Commonwealth. In 1950 it was abolished and its duties transferred to the Landed Estates Division of the Bureau of Lands. Then under Magsaysay the Land Tenure Administration was formed in 1955 to take over these functions. It lasted only until the passage of the Land Reform Code of 1963 created the Land Authority, which was superseded by DAR in 1971. Within DAR were gathered all the agrarian reform functions, excepting financing acquisitions, which is administered by the Land Bank, supervising cooperatives, placed in the Cooperative Development Authority, and distributing public lands outside organized settlements, remaining with the Bureau of Lands. Tenancy law enforcement and mediation were retained by DAR, but much of the adjudication returned to the regular courts, abandoning the rather successful Court of Agrarian Relations.

DAR has now survived for nearly thirty years, longer than any relevant institution except the Bureau of Lands. Within DAR the longest serving secretary was Conrado Estrella, for fifteen years under Marcos; Secretary Garilao served throughout the Ramos Administration, 1992-98. This contributed to institutional stability. But Pres. Aquino’s disinterest in agrarian reform was revealed by the revolving door at DAR. She appointed one excellent person, Congressman Abad, then let him twist in the winds of the Congressional confirmation process. She also appointed the erratic and egotistical Miriam Defensor, who caused many more problems than she solved, and also failed to get Congressional confirmation. Other politicians and technicians-plus five months in which the position was vacant—added up to five secretaries during her term. None got her support for implementing land reform. Pres. Estrada seems to have appointed two secretaries at once: Boy Morales and Danding Cojuangco, of different persuasions. Every reorganization, even every leadership change, caused some personnel reshuffles and slowed down implementation.

Ever since independence one of the most serious obstacles to bureaucratic effectiveness for agrarian reform had been the inadequacy of funding. Most analysts have blamed Congress. In a number of cases this was appropriate. For instance, the Agricultural Tenancy Act of 1954, the first major legislation under Magsaysay, made substantial improvements in the terms and conditions of tenancy. But it failed either to create an agency to enforce it, or to provide funds therefore-surely more than a mere oversight. Pres. Magsaysay thus created the Agricultural Tenancy Commission by administrative order and allocated P150,000 from his contingency fund for the ATC’s first year. (Wurfel, 1962: 265) As recently as 1999 the Senate successfully excised from the appropriation bill almost all funds for new acquisitions of private agricultural land. Only in the following year did DAR recover half of the cut.

Yet it is probably fair to say that the president has sometimes been even more responsible for the precarious financial position of the program. For instance, from 1965 through 1971-throughout Marcos’ presidency prior to martial law, only 27% of appropriated funds for the five agrarian reform agencies were actually released. (Rocamora, 110) But releases jumped to 75% of appropriations in 1972.

Penetration of DAR structures by landlords may have been an even more serious problem, subverting DAR’s institutional autonomy.

D. Late and Inadequate Institutionalization of NGOs, POs and Cooperatives

Cooperatives were the earliest attempt of government to create institutions that might be peasant based. However, they were either established by rules that permitted landlord dominance (FACOMAS) or pushed so hard and so fast by government as to lose any local identity, as in the l970s. And even today, years after any ‘crash program’ perhaps only half of registered cooperatives are actually functioning. But now they are relatively neglected, without adequate funds for education and training: either feast-risking death by overeating—or a famine.

Though the first PO, the FFF (Federation of Free Farmers), had a very constructive role in agrarian reform implementation for awhile, it was not until the l980s that a broad national peasant coalition was formed. And not until the 1990s that NGOs and POs working for peasants were welcomed by DAR and agreed to join in implementation. Today NGO and PO coalitions have infiltrated the highest ranks of DAR, just at the time rapacious landlords have captured Malacanang. And throughout DAR there are still many officials who gained their positions because they could be relied upon by landlord interests. DAR’s autonomy may have increased, but it remains under siege. The outcome is not clear.

IV. Conclusion

We have determined that over the last century there have been significant changes in the institutions of land ownership and in the patron-client system. Yet the landed elite still dominate rural society as its most powerful patrons, albeit in somewhat different forms from those used in the early 20^th^ century. The changes that have taken place are the consequence of demography and the expansion of the market-and to a lesser degree by agrarian unrest and policy initiatives.

There has also been major expansion and increased specialization in the institutions of government dealing with agrarian policy, yet they are still not free of penetration by landed interests, so they often lack legitimacy in the eyes of peasants. In recent years that legitimacy has sometimes been restored by influential participation in decision making by peasant organizations and their representatives. But that participation is sporadic and is sometimes countered by landlord intervention. The autonomy of the bureaucratic institutions for agrarian reform is very limited.

As a result of market and demographic change, and because of the political constraints on the institutions of agrarian reform, the net impact of policy on agrarian society has been minimal, at best, despite growing ‘accomplishments’, i.e. bureaucratic output. Even if accomplishments claimed are discounted by 50%, they should have benefited one quarter of all small farmers. But tenancy percentages do not diminish, and inequality of land ownership actually increases. The share of the rural poor in total income does not improve. For some the conclusion is that land reform is ‘hopeless’, or ‘worthless’. And for some supporters of reform the tendency is to ignore the lack of impact. Neither is a satisfactory reaction to the facts. The approach should be-if it doesn’t work, fix it.

The ‘fix’ will not happen overnight, or even in the next decade. But the pre-condition to a more effective configuration of policy instruments is clear: greater peasant participation in the policy process, at all levels. This is hardly a new idea. The FFF began to try to implement it in the 1950s. And in the last two decades there has been impressive progress in this direction. But the full cooperation of government leaders is required, as was not the case even as recently as the Aquino Administration. Nor is a role for ‘godfathers’ advisable, whether of land reform, of the mafia, or otherwise.

Wider and accelerated organizing in the peasant movement is not easy; at the moment it seems to be suffering a lull. But if land reform is to be achieved with lasting impact, it is essential. Cooperatives providing credit and marketing services, as well as those organizing production, are needed as much as groups focusing on policy critique and advocacy.

Yet the expansion of activities should not be attempted at a rate that is not sustainable. Bursts of energy too often end in collapse. Institutional strengthening requires a slow but steady pace, only possible if there are multiple sources of leadership and organizational strength. If one recalls the ambitious goals of CPAR only thirteen years ago, present circumstances may breed pessimism. That is the advantage of taking a long view: progress becomes more apparent. In any case, a healthy dose of realism in DAR may lead to an abandonment of the redistribution of holdings under 24 hectares in the medium term; the political and administrative obstacles are tremendous. Hopefully an offer from DAR to limit the goal could elicit equivalent concessions from landlords and their political allies.

The further question of how more autonomous agrarian reform institutions would alter the policy mix so as to have a greater long-term impact is the proper topic of a whole galaxy of future researchers. But there is one principle which needs emphasis, and which has not been followed. The issuance of a land patent or title to a former tenant or farm worker should never be considered the end of the land reform process, as it so often has in the past. It is only the achievement of an interim goal. Both the agrarian reform bureaucracy and the peasant movement, hopefully in cooperation, must carefully monitor and assist the new owner, at least for the first decade in the new status. Legal barriers to transfer of rights are simply not effective when such transfer becomes a matter of financial urgency for the cultivator.

Finally it must be remembered that devising more effective policies and implementing them so as to maximize the long term impact of reform cannot be limited to agrarian reform institutions, whether government bureaucracies or NGOs. As we have noted, the power of patronage is rooted in a failure of the rule of law, and in a failure of government to protect citizens’ welfare. Progress in agrarian reform cannot be achieved in isolation from other government reform policies or other kinds of socio-political change. Nor is progress in these other fields likely to be possible without successful agrarian reform. Peter Dorner has called land reform both a “disruptive” and a “creative force in the life of a people”. He adds, “A nation that is to develop may not be able to escape it.” (Dorner, 77)

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Wurfel, David, “Land Reform: Context, Accomplishments and Prospects under Marcos and Aquino”, Pilipinas, No. 12 (Spring, 1989), 35-54.

The environmental damage from mining is much more extensive and the future dangers greater than most people outside Marinduque realize. Even though I had read extensively about conditions there and been briefed by people in Manila, I was not. adequately prepared for what I saw and heard in a six day visit.

I arrived by plane on Wednesday morning, Feb. 18th, and returned to Manila on Monday afternoon Feb. 23rd, by boat and bus. In Boac I visited the Social Action Center (SAC) and talked with Msgr. Senen Malapad, and others; visited the Philippine Rural Reconstruction Movement (PRRM) office and discussed with Trina Malaga; talked with Mayor Madla, with Mrs. Obdulia Palacios of the Department of Social Welfare (OSW), with Bob Telford of Placer Dome Technical Services (POTS), and briefly with Ralph Ante of Marcopper. I toured the Boac River valley from Bgy. Hinapulan to the river’s mouth, talking with barangay officials. In Mogpog I visited the most affected barangays along the river, Nangka and Boboc, talking with both barangay captains. In Santa Cruz I talked with Mayor Red and Engr. Cesar Montante; toured the tailings causeway and talked to the staff of the Calancan Bay Rehabilitation Project (CBRP); and visited Bgy. Botilao, where I discussed the situation with council members.

In Manila I had visited the Legal Rights and Natural Resources Center, talking to Atty. Marvic Leonen; talked to staff of the Center for Environmental Concerns and the Citizen’s Disaster Response Center; consulted with Sister Aida Velasquez of Lingkod Tao-Kalikasan; talked with lawyers in the legal division of the Department of Environment and Natural Resources (OENR); and discussed.the situation with John Loney and others at Placer Dome Incorporated (POI) in Makati.

Let me present my findings by municipality.

BOAC

The river valley looks like a desert, covered with the gray dust of tailings. That dust was particularly bothersome to my eyes after a day of travelling through it. Though the water looks clear, most villagers avoid contact with it. Few use it for washing. There are absolutely no fish, except at the brackish mouth. Since travel to the higher barangays is along a road that criss-crosses the river, in the next rainy season it will be impassable. (One road constructed especially for such circumstances by Marcopper is too steep for any but four-wheel drive vehicles, and will probably be washed out in a heavy rain.) Access to these villages has been possible in the last year because of the very unusual drought caused by El Nino. The river bed was scraped by bulldozers in 1996 to deepen the channel in order to avoid flooding; the tailings and gravel were piled into dikes of uneven height, which will oxidize in the sun, exuding acids and releasing trace metals. According to PDl’s own report (PSIA, 1997,65) in February 1997 tailings showed the first signs of “acid rock drainage” (ARD).

Rehabilitation in the first few months included over 20 deep wells dug by PDI, and a medical clinic. PDI relies heavily on the April, 1996 UN study which concluded that even the river water clouded with tailings was “not immediately harmful to health”. “However,” in a passage not quoted by PDI the Report added, “the long-term effects, which could be correlated to the tailings, need to be evaluated by well-designed epidemiological studies”. The Report. said that, while the threat from the tailings is not immediate, “they could pose a longer term threat through the re-mobilization of trace metals”, (UN, 72) The Report also commented on the siltation dam at the top of the Boac River “which was found to have unacceptably high concentrations of trace metals which are known to be toxic to the environment.. .Such water should be contained and not released into the environment. 11 (UN, 69,70) It should be noted that this water was, in fact, over-flowing into the Boac River for years before the 1996 spill and having a noticeable impact on the fish population, even though the residents did not realize its toxicity at the time- which was concealed by PDI/Marcopper.

When the Department of Health found elevated metal concentrations in human blood samples in late 1996, PDI called the findings “confusing” and “premature”. Clearly a comprehensive study of present health hazards by an independent and highly professional body, as recommended in the UN Report, is urgently needed. People in Marinduque are not aware of any such study being planned, but are eager to have one; PDI reports that researchers from the Canadian Public Health” Authority” (?) are scheduled to visit Marinduque in mid-March, but I have no information on what kind of study is anticipated.

PDI claims that Marcopper, then PDTS, funded a “Medical Mission” which treated 12,000 people, but found “no illnesses related to the spill so far”. (PSIR, 11) It should be noted that these doctors were providing clinical services, not engaging in the research which would be necessary to come to such a conclusion.

Commitment for compensation to victims for loss of income so far has been . provided only for 1996. Several barangays among those which have made claims have not yet been paid for the last four months of that year, primarily due to the elaborate process of checking by the Assessment Committee (which includes, among others, church, NGO and local government representatives) and by PDI, probably justified under the circumstances. According to the DSW, the total amount paid out as of Feb. 24th is P24,462,527. No claims for payment in 1997 have yet been accepted, though fishermen I talked to claim they have had no improvement in catch over 1996, and thus continue to need help. PDI is willing to consider claims for 1997, but probably at a lower level than those for 1996. Considering that claims are paid with checks signed and personally handed out by Mayor Madla, some distancing from the political process in the period prior to the election is probably desirable — payments for 1997 could begin on June 1, 1998.

The amounts approved for payment have not been based simply on requests of the individual victims, but ceilings for certain categories of fishermen, farmers and washerwomen were set, despite the objections of some members of the Assessment Committee. The Marcopper representative on the Committee took the lead in insisting on ceilings, according to some reports. The PRRM member of that Committee, one of three NGO representatives, has not been participating in its work in recent months, — perhaps in reaction to charges made within the community that PRRM was “too close” to Marcopper.

Claimants are, as noted, paid by check, a procedure with some advantages, but to cash that check they must either travel two to five hours (roundtrip) to the Santa Cruz branch of the Rizal Commercial Banking Corporation (RCBC), or cash it at a bank in Boac and pay a P50 fee! (A very substantial deduction from compensation given the incomes of most villagers. One would have hoped that Marcopper, a major customer of RCBC, could have arranged to waive that fee in this instance. Or perhaps PDI itself should pay the fee. )

Removal of the one million cubic’meters of tailings (about 2/3 of the total) remaining in the river bed is still a very big problem; there is no agreement on how to go about it. (About a half million cubic meters were already washed into the sea.) In July of last year Marcopper (not PDI) made an application to DENR for a permit to redredge the Boac channel (near the mouth of the river where a pit is now holding 500-600,000 cubic meters of tailings) and discharge these tailings through a pipe to 35 meters below sea level, 500 meters off shore. The redredged channel at the river mouth would then hold the remaining tailings that would gradually be washed down by the rain, only a small part of which would reach the sea. Marcopper claimed that their studies concluded that the “deep sea” [35 meter] discharge would be swept by ocean currents into very deep water and would thus do no damage to fisheries. Marinduque fishermen, in Boac and other municipalities did not agree; after three major failures in Marcopper engineering-while under PDI management (in Boac, Mogpog and Calancan Bay) company ‘experts’ have no credibility in the island.

Mayor Madla of Boac opposed the application, and DENR, after their own technical assessment, rejected it. Marcopper has asked DENR for reconsideration. Mayor Madla has proposed disposal of the tailings in the lower river to a landfill near the river mouth (adjacent to land he owns) but has not had the funds to commission technical studies to support the viability of that option; EMB has rejected it. He has also proposed that in the first ten kilometers of the river below the Tapian Pit, the remaining tailings be scraped up and trucked back to the Pit. Marcopper (or PDI?) is now studying this. For the sake of the residents a decision should be made shortly.

When Marcopper first made their application to DENR at the beginning of the 1997 rainy season they said “With the channel almost at full capacity there is a serious risk that during the 1997 wet season the tailing will be released into the sea in an uncontrolled manner.” Fortunately for the fishermen there has been almost no rain since then so the sea has not been further polluted. Weathermen are now predicting “La Nina” a wetter than usual rainy season beginning next July. So a few months more of inaction could be disastrous. Some observers in Marinduque suspect Marcopper (or PDI?) of favoring further delay to permit “uncontrolled disposal” so that they can avoid the cost of “controlled disposal”. Delay could then be blamed on Mayor Madla for opposing the Marcopper application. This suspicion may be entirely unjustified, and could be dispelled if PDI initiated early negotiations with the Mayor to come to a compromise agreement quickly enough to beat the oncoming rains—something I suggested to both parties.

PDI has also instituted some livelihood projects on its own, mainly the launching of three cooperatives. The first one for fishermen in Bgy. Tabigue at the mouth of the river, has already financed a number of motors for fishing banca by means of loans. (PDI gave a grant for purchase of the boats. some of which I saw.) This is a well intentioned initiative and in the short run seems to be successfull. Even initial loan repayments are coming in faster than scheduled. But in the longer run its viability could be in doubt. Unfortunately, the history of cooperatives in the Philippines which start with substantial funding from outside sources is not good—a process I have studied for more than 40 yeas. There is a tendency for the fishermen or farmers to think-that the government or wealthy donor does not really need the money back, so repayment is poor; and the frictions within the cooperative that develop from the effort to secure repayment cause the cooperative to collapse. The good will initially gained by the fund donor finally turns into resentment.

In this case, the problems are even more imminent. Though boats with motors can travel farther to fish. because of depressed prices (public fear of fish caught near the Boac River mouth) and fuel costs, there is no clear indication yet that fishermen’s income has increased since 1996, though PDI claims that it has. So the surplus over family subsistence which is assumed to allow for loan repayment may or may not exist. River fish had been used for supplementing the meager family diet but this is now impossible. Probably the motors should be given as ‘compensation.’

To be sure, finding a good mechanism for sustainable development is not easy; in any case, it is not a short term task. PDl is not now projecting its involvement beyond three years — entirely inadequate in this field of endeavor. There are, however, various alternatives. 1) A trust fund could be established, of P100 million or more, for use over the next decade by local NGOs, e.g. the Social Action Center, or PRRM, both of which have their own livelihood projects and cooperatives. 2) A more ambitious proposal comes from the mayor, to use a trust fund to establish income generating projects, such as an ice factory (now none in Marinduque) or a noodle factory (using cassava), returning the proceeds to the fund to be used for maintaining a health clinic. Such a plan could be successful, though as with everything, success would depend on who was given major responsibility. The mayor insists it should not be linked to the municipal government. One would hope that these and other options would be actively explored. But whatever the mechanism, it is essential that some provision be made by Placer Dome for long term care of those whose health problems, present or future, have been the result of mine-caused pollution. .

As you may know, there were criminal charges filed against the 1996 officers of Marcopper for the Boac spill. Some of the charges have been thrown out by the Court of First Instance judge in Boac, but others remain to go to trial. The retirement of the judge in February of this year caused a three month delay. But the legal division of DENR is actively working on the case—a classsic example of young, underpaid government lawyers facing the experienced, highly paid attorneys of a large company. One should not be confident about the victory of the prosecution, no matter what the facts.

Mayor Madla has also submitted a formal intention of filing a P1.2 billion civil suit against Marcopper, even though the company has recommended that he go after PDl in Canada instead. (I tried to explain to him the very slim chance of success of such a venture.) He, in cooperation with Msgr. Malapad, is contacting environmental lawyers in Manila to help him prepare the case.

MOGPOG

This municipality, adjacent to Boac, has not received nearly the attention that it deserves. This may in large part be due to the fact that the mayor has, until now, been rather cozy with Marcopper — not exactly a ‘champion of the people’. (He cannot now run for reelection, but is putting up his wife.)

At the top of the Mogpog river Marcopper built an earthen siltation dam in 1990 to catch the silt associated with the run off after heavy rains from the San Antonio pit. Contrary to the most basic engineering requirements, it was constructed without a spill way. So in 1993 it broke at the time of a very heavy rain; there was severe flooding in the barangays along the river. Fortunately no one died. Marcopper never took responsibility for this nor offered direct compensation to the residents along the river. However, it did give a grant of approximately P3 million to the mayor of Mogpog, some of which was distributed to those who suffered from the flood, a maximum of P1 000 to each household. Marcopper also scraped the river with bulldozers to deepen the channel, and built a cement dike to protect, at least partially, the most exposed barangay, Bocboc — though the efficacy of the dike is in doubt. Marcopper is now cleaning the existing siltation dam so as to reduce the danger in case of another flood. But earlier plans to build a second siltation dam were put on hold when the mine stopped operating.

The water quality looks, to the untutored eye, much worse than the Boac River-even though Ralph Ante of Marcopper recently reported to the DENR in Manila that the river water was “just fine”. Residents complain of skin irritation. Fish kills have been reported as recently as January this year, after a locally heavy rain. But Marcopper denies any toxicity. Nevertheless its own study of heavy metal accumulation in fish tissues reports that “For some metals in some species, there were indications that the tissue concentrations were elevated in the Laylay Bay and Mogpog areas “ (PSIA, July 1997) As in Boac, a comprehensive independent health study is urgently needed, but PDI denies any responsibility. Following a study, Placer Dome should provide funds for long term health care.

CALANCAN BAY

This is the site of the oldest environmental disaster in Marinduque, which Marcopper and PDI are now attempting to downplay. The mine began to dump tailings in the Bay in 1975 via surface disposal (not deep sea) and continued to do so until 1991, The turbidity which this disposal caused immediately began to drive away the fish and covered coral and sea grass with the gray mud of tailings. Active damage continues. In the last few years storms have eroded 500 meters from the end of the ‘causeway’, the 7 kilometer spit of land made up entirely of tailings. Thus fresh tons of tailings are spread over the ocean floor.

The Calancan Bay Rehabilitation Project(CBRP), supported by the Ecology Trust Fund set up by DENR order in 1988, and supervised by Marcopper, has been planting mangroves and other varieties of trees on the causeway, though many have died and the last kilometer or two before the end of the point looks like a desert. On older portions of the peninsula, however, tree planting seems to have been largely successful. The CBRP has also attempted to plant coral polyps on artificial reefs. The use of old tires failed, but the implantation on cement ‘reefs’ has been more successful, at least on a small scale. Sea grass was planted and even artificial (plastic) sea grass .was put in place where the natural grass would not grow. ‘(No one bothered to enquire whether the fish were fooled!) The CBRP has also been trying to monitor fish harvest, but their methods make no distinction between fish caught in the Bay and those caught outside, so their data is not a very useful measure of fish stocks in the Bay. And, of course, they have no baseline studies of their own regarding fish stocks and water quality prior to the pollution of the Bay by Marcopper. Studies had been done, however, by other agencies before 1975 and presented by the fishermen to the National Pollution Control Commission when they tried to force Marcopper to stop dumping in 1986. These studies seem to have been forgotten by most present actors, but I am trying to locate them. Fishermen, supported by the Sangguniang Bayan of Sta. Cruz, originally made claims for five hundred million pesos, in a case now being reactivated, but they may not have scientific studies sufficient to support their claims. Meanwhile Marcopper paid no compensation for loss of livelihood, but only gave small amounts of money to a few cooperatives, and offered some assistance to residents whose children were found by a study of Philippine General Hospital to have elevated heavy metals in the blood. In March 1996 the Acting Secretary of Health proposed the banning of the harvest, sale and consumption of fish and oysters in Calancan Bay which had been found to have heavy metal contamination, but was not supported by the DENR, so the ban was not implemented. CBRP authorized a ‘follow up study’ in order to ‘validate’ the earlier finding. (Local government representatives on the CBRP steering committee had been complaining that the Project only did research, and never followed up on the findings produced.) However, nothing more was heard of the ‘great fish scare of 1996’; apparently such a study was never done.

There is only about P7 million left in the Trust Fund, and given a recent court decision, it may not be renewed. In 1988 Pres. Aquino had overturned a Pollution Adjudication Board decision to stop the dumping of mine tailings in Calancan Bay. At the same time, recognizing the damage being done, the presidential order required Marcopper to make a contribution of P30,OOO per day to the Trust Fund. On June 30, 1991, Marcopper, by then having the option of dumping in the Tapian Pit, where mining had ceased, stopped discharging tailings into the Bay—though the pollution continued. At the same time, the mine unilaterally stopped making the daily contribution to the Fund, notifying DENR of its action. Not until early 1997, however, did Mayor Red of Santa Cruz, at the urging of the fishermen, remind the DENR that Marcopper was no longer making its daily payments. In April the DENR, having discovered that the presidential order in question had expired in 1993, directed Marcopper to make payments up to that time, amounting to about P26 million. Almost immediately Marcopper went to court asking for an injunction against the DENR. On January 7 of this year the Court of Appeals granted the request for a permanent injunction, arguing that the DENR had not followed due process in the manner it issued its directive..

If no further steps are taken, CBRP will expire in a year or so. While some of its activities have not been too effective, it could be the vehicle for more potent measures, especially if local fishermen were represented on its steering committee. Large rock could be brought in to halt further erosion on the point, valued fish types could be restocked in the Bay, fish farming techniques introduced, socio-economic impact studies could be launched, etc., etc.

But justice for the fishermen of Calancan Bay will not be done—or seen to be done, until there is direct compensation for economic loss; as in Boac. Both PDI and Marcopper have an uncooperative attitude on this matter: PDI insists that it is Marcopper’s responsibility, and Marcopper stonewalls. Thus there seems to be no other alternative to court action remaining. Yet so far there have been only feeble efforts to pursue compensation through the courts. A case was filed in 1988 with the help of the late Lorenzo Tanada, but was not pushed through. Then last year Mayor Red, on behalf of the fishermen, revived the case, estimating damages of over a billion pesos. More expert legal counsel is now being sought in Manila. But the data base of a forceful claim may be lacking without a new, highly professional independent assessment of economic loss and of health problems.

SANTA CRUZ

Not only the Calancan Bay area of Sta. Cruz is suffering as a result of the mine. Since the mine headquarters is located in the municipality and at peak employment several hundred residents worked in the mine, Sta. Cruz was perceived before as a bastion of support for Marcopper’s continuing operation.

But no longer. For one, a labor dispute between the mine and the Marcopper Employees Labor Union (MELU) which began in early 1995 has festered, with 335 workers already laid off at the time of the March 1996 closure. In January 1998 the

National Mines and Allied Workers, MELU’s national federation, issued a critical report on “The Mine-Related Environmental Disaster in Marinduque”.

Furthermore, the present drought is revealing the extent of damage caused by the San Antonio Pit to the town’s water sources. Water has customarily been taken from springs and spring-fed streams that originated from underground rivers in the mountain. As the San Antonio Pit was dug deeper and deeper some of these aquifers were ruptured; this is admitted by the PDI. This appears to be at least part of the reason that some surface streams have dried up for the first time in memory — the problem had been noted already before the present drought. For this there is no easy cure. It is an issue that affects everyone’s daily life.

Finally, Santa Cruz, as the site of the mine headquarters, suffers most from Marcopper’s non-payment of taxes since 1996. Mayor Red claims, and Mayor Madla confirms, that the mine now owes about P100 million (including all types of taxes to both provincial and municipal levels of government on the island). This further handicaps the town when dealing with the water crisis. The mayors are contemplating drastic action to recover this tax revenue. What is remarkable is that the unpaid taxes are greater than the total amount paid out to villagers in compensation or rehabilitation since 1996, so that PDI/Marcopper is, in effect, forcing the people of Marinduque to pay for the clean-up of the damage it caused!! To be sure Marcopper, without PDI, is now the tax delinquent; this is hardly consistent with PDI’s professed “core value of environmental responsibility” (PSIA, 140)

CONCLUSION

Placer Dome takes great pains to distinguish itself from Marcopper since it divested itself, apparently without compensation-other than freedom from liability in Calancan Bay, from this mine last year. It also complains that the public often fails to make the distinction. But perhaps the confusion is justified. In the Oct. 1997 “Post Spill Impact Report” there is reference to all the Filipinos and expats “hired by Marcopper/PDTS to solve the problems created by the spill.” (4) And on the Assessment Committee of the EGF which deals directly with villagers, Marcopper, not PDI, is represented.

Furthermore, for nearly 30 years Placer Dome managed Marcopper, for most of that time working hand in glove with the dictator, Marcos, who was majority owner through . his dummies. In that period the motto seemed to be “the environment be damned”. At the same time PDI and Marcopper enjoyed, in addition to profits, hundreds of millions of pesos in excused taxes. And PDI was administratively in charge when tailings were dumped in Calancan Bay without the slightest thought for the environment, when the Mogpog siltation dam was built — and broke, and when the Tapian Pit — whose tunnel had been ‘sealed for the ages’ — spilled into Boac Valley. PDI managed a mine which is said by some of its former employees, to nave imported toxic waste from other islands — without a permit — to be used for acid leaching, a waste which may help explain heavy metals showing up in human blood. A financial divestment in 1997 cannot wipe out memory of previous years’ events, which were shaped by PDI management.

It Is memory of past events that make so many Marlduqenos, rich and poor, weak and powerful; fear the future — if the mine is to reopen. For .the safety of the Tapian Pit is still in doubt. It still sits on an earthquake’ fault. The rock in its walls is cracked by frequent dynamiting. If the March 1996 breakage of the tunnel plug is to be blamed on an earthquake of magnitude 3.5, how much greater the danger from a more substantial quake. If the pit is full of tailings, and an earthquake ruptures the outer wall most of Boac could be wiped out by the ensuing flash flood. Could it be that PDI divested from Marcopper without compensation because it feared future disasters? Or was it because PDI was skeptical that DENR and the people of Marinduque could be convinced to approve the mine’s reopening?

In sum, if PDI wants to build an international reputation on respect for the environment, or if it wants to obtain future mining licenses in the Philippines, it must fulfill its obligations to the people who have to live in the environment it has damaged. Millions of dollars of additional compensation, health care and cleanup is needed. PDI can avoid these costs only at great risk.

RECOMMENDATIONS

Churches and NGOs in Canada can contribute to social justice and environmental protection in Marinduque, and in the Philippines generally-since Marinduque is setting important precedents, for good or ill by helping to clarify the actual conditions of health, livelihood and safety. Further visits by concerned laypersons are not needed, but assessments by technical experts are. A comprehensive, independent (and thus credible) study of the relationship between environment and health is essential for establishing the full dimension of PDl’s future responsibilities. This would include a careful assessment of water quality. An experienced mining engineer, with a commitment only to the environment and not to any mining company, is also needed to assess the safety of the Tapian Pit. And Calancan Bay and Mogpog deserve the same detailed assessment of the socioeconomic effect of pollution as was provided in Boac—at PDI/Marcopper’s expense but in cooperation with NGOs. Hopefully PDI and Marcopper will understand the advantages of fully accepting their responsibilities without facing more court battles. Forceful persuasion by churches and NGOs in Canada could help. But if it must be fought out in the courts, the companies should know that some prominent lawyers are becoming aware of the importance of precedents being set in Marinduque for the future of the Philippines, and thus are showing interest in a civil case there.

Canadians need to remember that while setting ‘guidelines’ and ‘benchmarks’for corporate behavior vis-a-vis the environment may be a useful exercise, without enforcement of existing law and regulations when those principles are violated makes them meaningless. The Marcopper case is being closely watched by dozens of other mining companies in the Philippines with pending applications for permits under the Mining Act of 1995. Unless PDl/Marcopper’s failure to meet their responsibilities is very expensive for the company, then other firms will regard existing laws and regulations lightly. The conditions of Philippine forests, rivers and oceans throughout the country and the livelihood of thousands, perhaps millions, of villagers and townspeople is at stake. Surely environmentally concerned Canadians—most of all those who have stock in Placer Dome— have a responsibility in this process as well.

REFERENCES

“Application for a Permit to Redredge the Boac Channel with Managed Submarine Placement of Dredgate” , by Marcopper Mining Corp., Manila, 8 July 1997

Benjamin Alfante, et ai, in their own behalf and in behalf of other residents of Sta. Cruz, Marinduque, plaintiffs, vs. Marcopper Mining CorporatiQn, defendant, Civil Case No. 18727 for abatement of nuisance and damages, “Complain!”, filed in Regional Trial Court, Makati, 12 Jan. 1988, by Atty. Lorenzo Tanada and Domingo Abadilla.

“Case Study on the Mine-Related Environmental Disaster in Marinduque: Summary of Findings and Recommendations”, by National Mines and Allied Workers Union, through assistance of ILO. Manila, 30 January 1998.

Coumans, Catherine, “Placer Dome in the Philippines: an illustration of the need for binding international regulations on mining”, pps. 53-68, in Social Investment Organization, Canadian Mining Industry Focus Report, 1997. Toronto, 1997. .

Department of Environment and Natural Resources, et ai, complainants, vs. John E. Loney, et ai, respondents, I.S. No. 96-272, “Memorandum”, [from DENR legal staff requesting Department of Justice to file criminal charges], 31 May 1996.

“First Evaluation Report of the Health Assessment Activities of the Communities along Calancan Bay in Sta. Cruz, Marinduque [to the Secretary of Health]”, by Or. Nelia Maramba, Occupational Toxicology Program, DOH and Or. Cristina Dablo, Non-Communicable Diseas Control Service, DOH. Manila, 18 August 1997.

Marcopper Mining Corporation, petitioner, vs. The Polllution Adjudication Board, respondents, Court of Appeals-G.R. SP No. 44656, “Decision”, 7 Jan. 1998.

“The Marcopper Mine Tailings DisasterJl , by Citizens’ Disaster Response Center, Center for Environmental Concerns, Health Alliance for Democracy, Management Advance Systems Association, Inc., Social Action Commission of the Diocese of Boac, Prof. Nestor Baguinon of UP Los Banos, Engr. Lutgardo Jurcales of BAY AN, and Dale Hildebrand of Mennonite Central Committee. Manila, May 1996.

“The Marcopper-Placer Dome, Inc. Rehabilitation Strategies for the Boac River Ecosystem: A Report” , by Center for Environmental Concerns-Philippines, Citizens Disaster Response Center, Children’s Rehabilitation Center, IBONPhilippines, KAMP, AMIHAN and Social Action Center, Diocese ot” Boac. Manila, October 1.997.

Memorandum of Agreement: Operationalization of the Environment Guarantee Fund, between Environmental Management Bureau of DENR and Marcopper Mining Corporation, 29 June 1992.

Post Spill Impact Assessment, by Placer Dome Technical Services (Philippines) and PDI, Vancouver, July 1991.

Post Spill Impact Report, [by PDI], October 1977.

Proceedings of the Workshop to Develop an Integrated Management Plan for Calancan Bay, 13-14 March 1997 , SEARCA, UP Los Banos.

“Quality of the Waterbodies Affected by the Marcopper Mine Tailings”, by Nenita Tinoko, Chief, Laboratory Services Section, and Ella Deocadiz, Chief, Research and Development Division, Environmental Management Bureau, DENR,3 Ap~11996.

“Resolution Requesting Marcopper Mining Corporation and the Placer Dome of Canada to Undertake a Social Impact Assessment of the Effect of the Dumping of Mine Tailings in Calancan Bay, Sta. Cruz, Marinduque and to Pay the Damages Thereof [estimated at roughtly P500,000,000]”, Resolution No 60-A of the Sangguniang Bayan of Sta. Cruz,’ Marinduque, 24 October 1996. .

Social Impact Assessment of Marcopper Mine Tailing Spill Remediation Options, by the Centre for Human Settlements. School of Community and Regional Planning, University of British Columbia and the School of Urban and Regional Planning, University of the Philippines. Manila, June 1997.

United Nations, Final Report on Marinduque

Some view the party-list system as the best hope for a system that will finally address the needs and concerns of the country’s neglected and marginalized sectors. It is even brandished by the government as the cure to the cancer of traditional politics and politicians. Others, however, are reluctant to pin their hopes on the party-list system for a good reason. Although a more than sufficient number of groups, organizations and parties have expressed interest in the system, the fact remains that very few would-be voters, including some in the Commission on Elections (COMELEC), actually know about it. Even fewer actually understand what it is or how it works. Blamed, as usual, are the lawmakers and the Commission. The Party-List Act begins by carefully distinguishing the concepts of “parties” and “sectors” and “regional” and “national” but recklessly obliterates the distinctions in the latter portions of the law. The law also disqualifies the five largest parties from individual participation, in order to level the field, only to allow the same to participate anyway through a coalition loophole. The solons accidentally or deliberately left the door open for manipulation and confusion while protecting their interests. The COMELEC has likewise failed to inform the voters about the party-list mechanics and to provide a reasonably tamper-proof counting system that can withstand the return of the dreaded dagdag-bawas. In theory, the party-list system offers a better alternative but it must first get past the trapo¹system that is bent on self-preservation and survive a COMELEC that is consistently getting better at creating more problems than solutions.

The party-list system (PLS) is the major innovation in the 1998 elections. In the long run, it is the best hope for the transformation of the trapo system into one with more programmatic parties, more responsive than at present to the needs and concerns of the majority of the people—the workers, farmers, and fishermen. It holds out the prospect that marginalized groups will have a chance for substantial representation in the legislature that they seldom have today.

In implementing this provision in the 1987 Constitution, the Philippines is part of a trend among Asia-Pacific democracies. In 1993, both Japan and New Zealand introduced proportional representation, or the party-list system, to elect a substantial percentage of their legislative seats. Both have had one election so far under the new system.

Sadly, however, the implementation of this progressive step in the Philippines isfaced with many difficulties, a result of both misunderstandings and devious intentions. ln l995, some key members of Congress appeared to be determined to prevent the party-list system from being used to substantially boost the representation of mass-based, cause-oriented groups. At the same time, few people in either Congress, or the present COMELEC, understand the party-list concept, or how it has functioned in other countries. (Although some of the COMELEC staff are very well informed, they have not been allowed to have much input into decision-making by uninformed Commissioners.)

In fact confusion began in the 1987 Constitutional Commission (ConCom), where a few Commissioners even thought that sectoral representation was some kind of “communist idea”—despite the fact that it is not used in the election of legislatures in either China or Vietnam. Two different systems—party-list and sectoral representation—were actually proposed and eventually merged into a single constitutional provision.

Proportional representation, implemented through a party-list ballot, is designed to make the number of seats in the legislature proportional to the votes cast whereas in a single member district system, the largest party is grossly over represented, and minor parties are shut out. It is used in some form in 57 of 150 reporting countries. In the process of introducing proportionality, the new legislature would also be more representative of the social make-up of the country. For instance, among 53 democracies around the world where there are single member districts, only 7.3 percent of legislators are women, but in legislatures elected entirely by a party-list, women make up 17.2 percent of members.² For the Philippines, there is particularly another advantage which is also relevant in Japan. The party-list system focuses attention on the party, not on personalities. Name value is meaningless, since most voters would not even know the names of the candidates chosen by the parties when they are asked to vote for a party. This should also reduce money politics and put emphasis on party platforms and programs.

Sectoral representation was first introduced to the Philippines by the Marcos dictatorship. Marcos, in turn, borrowed it from fascist Italy as part of his plan to institute a corporatist system in which every sector would have a single organization approved and controlled by Marcos. (Several Latin American dictatorships had also had corporatist experiments.) Elections for sectoral representatives are feasible only through corporatism, with sectoral organizations that have separate, and officially sanctioned, voters’ lists. But Philippine society was too fluid and democratic traditions too strong to permit Marcos to impose corporatism fully. Instead, he “appointed” legislators to “represent” sectors-a procedure found also in fascist countries. The most important qualification for these appointees was their expected “cooperation” with the Marcos leadership. (At the local level, they were expected to cooperate with the mayor; to be sure, expected cooperation did not always materialize.) In any case, there was no mechanism by which these appointees could be held accountable to their respective sectors. Sometimes, appointed legislators could hardly be considered typical of their sectors (e.g., large landlords) to represent “peasants.”

In view of this history, it is amazing that in 1986, Constitutional Commissioners identified with the far left and others who had been anti-Marcos activists were among the most enthusiastic supporters of sectoral representation.³ The enthusiasm of the small group of Marcos sectoral appointees also chosen by then President Aquino for the ConCom was, on the other hand, much more understandable. Commissioner Lerum, who himself had been a beneficiary of sectoral appointment, admitted that it had been impossible to agree on a mechanism for electing sectoral representatives under Marcos,⁴ so the ConCom, after considerable debate, again agreed on the presidential appointment of 25 sectoral representatives for three terms, i.e., until 1998. (Debate on the number and names of the sectors was long and inconclusive.) Thus, the Marcos system survived under Aquino.

President Aquino sometimes tried conscientiously to get the advice of representative persons in a sector before making an appointment; other times she did not.⁵ In any case, little notice was given to her decisions in this regard; a very serious and comprehensive review of Mrs. Aquino’s presidency made no mention of them.⁶ President Ramos seldom made the same effort to consult the sectors. Joel Rocamora judges the arrangement: “With few exceptions, sectoral representatives were either labor bureaucrats from the Trade Union Congress of the Philippines (TUCP), fake peasants…or even people who bore no recognizable relation to the sectors they were supposed to represent.”⁷ Thus, even after martial law, “sectoral representatives” in Congress usually failed to truly voice the concerns of those in their sectors. In any case, they were marginalized by the elected Congressmen in the House of Representatives.

In the ConCom debates, some Commissioners were under the misimpression that the party-list system was equivalent to functional representation.⁸ However, Commissioner Monsod tried from the beginning to make a distinction. Said he, “The proposal for the party-list system is not synonymous with that of sectoral representation. Precisely, the party-list system seeks to avoid the dilemma of choice of sectors.”⁹He pointed out further that “if this body accepts the party-list system, we do not even have to mention sectors, because…there can be sectoral parties within the party-list system.” But he was not successful in persuading the Commission to accept his point. Only with the enactment of Republic Act No. 7941 in 1995 were sectors relegated to a type of party under the party-list system, making irrelevant the listing of sectors.

The language proposed by the COMELEC in 1993¹⁰for revising the Election Code had been different. Part ‘F’ on Party-list System of Article III had not mentioned ‘sectors’ at all, but only parties, organizations and coalitions. Each was to be allowed to elect up to five members of Congress. No restrictions were put on the participation of the top five parties in the previous election, and no minimum percentage of the vote was required to gain a seat. The draft code was brief and straightforward.

Nevertheless, by the time Congress finished deliberating on a new Election Code in 1995, the text clearly revealed multiple authorship and the confusion that such often produces. The Party-List Act continues to read in some passages as if sectoral representation were a separate concept or process. “Sectoral party,” “sectoral organization” and “political party” are carefully defined in Section 3, even though the distinctions are meaningless in the subsequent sections of the law. In fact, 12 sectors are enumerated, but there are no provisions for refusing to register parties or groups formed around other, unnamed sectors. The only restriction on any sector is that a nominee of the youth sector may not be more than 30 years of age on election day (Section 9). But, of course, there is no age restriction on those who may vote for a youth nominee.

In fact, when it comes to procedures for registration, deregistration, or nomination, qualifications of nominees (with the one exception mentioned), term of office, method of counting votes, or rights and privileges of members elected, there is no distinction made between national parties, regional parties, sectoral parties or coalitions, or just plain “organizations.” Thus, one wonders why the definitions were provided in the first place.

An understanding of this inconsistency can be found in the history of the legislation. An amendment to the original House Bill, which was introduced by Rep. Michael Mastura, was filed by Rep. Leonardo Montemayor which specified that 50 percent of the party-list seats should come from six sectors. The amendment was adopted. An amendment to the senate bill by Sen. John Osmena made the distinctions even more rigid: in addition to 50 percent of the seats for sectoral representatives, he proposed that 30 percent of the seats should go to national parties and the remaining 20 percent to regional parties. Not until the Conference Committee were these restrictions removed, but the elaborate differences between these categories remained.

Some critical observers assume that a certain amount of this “confusion” in the law is deliberate—to confuse COMELEC and the voters, so that the new law will be difficult to implement. There is evidence of this in the much debated provision—unique in the world -that the “first five” major political parties on the basis of party representation in the House of Representatives at the start of the Tenth Congress shall not be entitled to participate in the party-list system (Section 11). This was designed by sympathetic legislators to give a breathing space to new parties trying to represent marginalized sectors, so that in their first electoral attempt, they did not have to face unrestrained competition from the richest and best organized of the existing parties.

In fact, in the bill passed by the House, the prohibition would have lasted for three terms, until 2004. The Senate, on the other hand, regarded the prohibition unconstitutional. So in the Conference Committee, a compromise had to be struck: a one-time prohibition in 1998.¹¹ Hence, in the party-list system debut, the Lakas-NUCD, the Laban ng Demokratikong Pilipino (LDP), the Kilusang Bagong Lipunan (KBL), the Nationalist People’s Coalition (NPC), and the Liberal Party (LP) will be non-participants.

One would have assumed that this would prohibit the creation by the top five of ‘dummies’ among sectoral groups or political parties participating in the party-list. A senior staff member of COMELEC even suggested in 1997 that it might prevent a party in the party-list system from receiving direct or indirect assistance from one of the “first five,” on penalty of deregistration.

But another, curiously worded passage in Section 3 seems to provide a way out for the trapos. It reads, “Component parties or organizations of a coalition may participate independently provided the coalition of which they form part does not participate in the party-list system.” (The failure to attach this provision to Section 11 makes it easy to miss, perhaps deliberately.) Thus, a major party that classified itself as a coalition”—and most are, could support a satellite or dummy in the party-list under this provision. The prohibition against the participation of the “first five” is thus unenforceable.

Confusions that existed in Congress have even persisted in some segments of the press. In a February column that was replete with quotations from the law, former Supreme Court Justice Isagani Cruz opined that “it resurrects the odious practice of block-voting.”¹² Justice Cruz apparently had forgotten that “block voting” as practiced in the 1940s was based on the plurality system, with the party having the largest number of votes getting all the seats, the very antithesis of proportional representation. The only thing that the two systems have in common is that voters write the name of a party, not a candidate, on the ballot; the results are radically different.

The confusions imbedded in the law have been effectively transmitted to the COMELEC—though cynical observers would suggest that the present COMELEC needs no outside intervention to foster legal-illiteracy and confusion! For instance, the ban on participation by the “first five’ parties in Section 12 was again effectively nullified by a passage incongruously tucked into Section 1 of the Implementing Rules and Regulations (IRR). Furthermore, the careful distinctions between ‘parties’ and ‘sectors,’ ‘regional’ and ‘national,’ and the long list of approved sectors found in the Act are repeated in the IRR regardless of their lack of relevance. Nevertheless, it should be noted that a senior COMELEC official in 1997 was alert to the fact that the list of sectors was not exhaustive and therefore proposed the inclusion in a ‘primer’ for voters of the phrase “and such other organizations as maybe registered with the Commission,” despite its omission from the IRR.

What was also revealing was the explanation provided at the time of the refusal to register one of the most prominent of the ‘national parties’ under the party-list system, AKBAYAN! (Citizens’ Action Party). In the first place, this denial violated the most fundamental principles of due process; the IRR itself (in Section 6) allowed for such denial of registration only after “due notice and hearing,” and on one of eight specified grounds. Not only was no hearing held prior to the announcement that the registration had been denied, but no grounds for denial were listed. AKBAYAN! chose to emphasize political protest against this ruling—at both the central and several regional offices of COMELEC—at the same time it filed a formal request for reconsideration.¹³ Before that request was heard, one commissioner, perhaps the brightest and mostactive among his colleagues, suggested to AKBAYAN! that its real problem was that it did not represent a sector! If one of the brightest had this misconception, one can only imagine what the other commissioners were thinking. AKBAYAN! was, finally granted registration, but without COMELEC admitting its earlier error.

Confusion about the law within COMELEC was even admitted by Augusto Toledo, the head of the education and information department of the Commission. He said that he and other COMELEC officials “do not completely understand” the party-list system,¹⁴ which prompted some other COMELEC staff who had carefully studied the law to retort, “speak for yourself, Mr. Toledo.” But such remarkable self-criticism was associated in the same statement with a complaint about insufficient funds-which many doubt -to print more than 200,000 primers on the new law. Mr. Toledo may have been preparing the public for a breakdown in COMELEC implementation, comparable to other breakdowns that have already occurred. COMELEC is showing more evidence every week that it is part of the problem of, not the solution to, electoral fraud.

Perhaps out of the experience of this election it will become clear to policy makers that the attempt to distinguish between sectors and parties in Republic Act No. 7941 was useless.

Even a “peasant sector coalition” like Alyansang Bayanihan ng mga Magsasaka, Manggagawang-Bukid at Mangingisda (ABA) has – quite appropriately prepared campaign material appealing to other sectors, though, perhaps because of the earlier emphasis on sectoral distinctions, feel under some obligation to establish linkage between it seems to a them. For example, in its pathetic appeal to “All Justices, Judges, Lawyers and Administrators of Justice,” the emphasis is on “The Socio-Economic Obstacle to the Administration of Justice.” Or in the appeal to “All Military and Police Officers and Men,” the focus is on “Peace and Order and the Peasants.”

But there are other serious difficulties in the law and regulations which could have very unfortunate consequences for the NGOs and POs which were its strongest advocates. We have already mentioned the problem of a surreptitious role for the “first five” parties. Deprived of the option of trying to enforce the exclusion of the “first five” through the courts, the progressive parties in the parly-list system have decided on a strategy of political attack on twapo dummies.

Another difficulty is, of course, the perennial dagdag-bawas. Unveiled in the 1995 elections, the process involves the systematic addition (dagdag) to the tally of a “preferred” candidate votes systematically subtracted (bawas) from the tally of other candidates. But there is a special twist for the party-list, where votes necessary for election are calculated as a percentage of “the total votes cast for the party-list system. This will constitute a new burden on the Board of Election Inspectors (BOI), many working through the night anyway. That total must be tabulated and recorded separate from the total number of voters. If at the precinct level this separate count is neglected there will probably be a tendency in the first and second canvass to neglect it as well. Many people expect that voting for party-lists will be far below – perhaps only 50 percent – than that for candidates. Thus, there will be a huge undefined gap to be filled by those engaged in illegally augmenting the count. The only hope this time for those who are looking for reform in the electoral and party systems is that the masterminds of dagdag-bawas may be too busy manipulating the vote for well-known candidates to even bother with the party-list system. (But in the long run, the system of counting must be fundamentally restructured.)

There is also the danger, though small, of a challenge to the law on constitutional grounds, since some legal experts have already claimed that the law has unconstitutional provisions. The most prominent of these is the ban on the “first five,” though the ease with which they are getting around it, reduces the chances of legal action. Another weak spot in the law is the cap of three seats per party, regardless of the number of votes a party receives. This is contrary to another sentence in Section 11 which reads—reiterating the basic principle of proportional representation stated in the Constitution—“those garnering more than two percent of the votes shall be entitled to additional seats in proportion to their total number of votes.” Since the victims of the three seat cap will not be known until after the elections, we could only speculate as to who might make a protest beforehand, but trapo dummies could well take the lead.

Under the existing law, it may happen that the party-list election does not fill all the 51 seats it has been allotted. This could result if the bulk of the votes were concentrated on ten or less parties—some of which may turn out to be trapo satellites, with a lot of excess votes, unable to produce more seats because of the cap, and if at the same time almost all of the remaining parties failed to get the minimum two percent of the votes. But such an outcome could be a learning experience, and should lead to the law’s amendment.

This would be one more powerful argument for the elimination of the caps—not to be found in party-list systems anywhere else in the world. And, in fact, the long run goal of proportional representation to equate the percentage of seats with the percentage of votes, to force all parties large and small—to define themselves more clearly in terms of program, and to de-emphasize the lavish use of money for vote buying, cannot be achieved with a cap on the number of seats a party may win. Small progressive parties must be allowed to expand, and large parties must be exposed to the impact of the party-list system on their methods of operation.

In the short run, the effect—and for some Congressmen perhaps the purpose of the cap is to divide mass-based organizations and progressive groups. It has encouraged numerous separate filings, rather than the creation of coalitions: altogether 125 parties and groups as of March 11. In the “labor sector” alone, there are 13 registered, and in the “peasant sector,” nine; some of these are based on well-established labor and peasant organizations, e.g., ABA, led by the long-time officers of the Federation of Free Farmers, while some of the others are of more doubtful connections. And under the category “organizations” are another 37, ranging from the Estrada-backed Citizens Movement for Justice, Economy, Environment and Peace (JEEP), or the elite Philippine Chamber of Commerce and Industry (PCCI), to several unknowns, e.g., Alliance for Natural Law, Ampo Party, or Philippine Jury Movement. That so many groups with no previous political activity have been registered by COMELEC, while AKBAYAN!, which included well-known intellectuals with a trenchant progressive critique and had been organizing nationally for over a year, was initially denied registration, is also an indication of the bias of the COMELEC and its easy disregard for the law.

A measure of the divisiveness of the three-member cap is found as well in the fact that 16 of the parties and groups registered are blatantly regional, seven of which propose to represent the Visayas. Regionally defined parties are more likely than most to be trapo creations. The first election under the party-list system will be a cold shower for most of the groups registered; but excessive splintering will continue in subsequent elections if the cap is not removed. (This is not to suggest that Filipino parties are not capable of splintering even without a special electoral incentive.)

In conclusion, it must be said that for all the problems that have been enumerated, and more that could be, the party-list system is still an essential asset for reforming the fundamental character at the Philippine political system. It cannot achieve its goals without being surrounded by educational programs and political mobilization to raise citizens’ consciousness and motivate them to act in their own best interests. But the party-list is itself worth a vigorous struggle by proponents of reform, for if it fails in implementation – as many trapos must wish – the whole progressive reform movement will have suffered a severe setback. A quick surge of volunteers for poll watching is urgent.

We have commented on the confusion and misunderstanding among decision-makers that has complicated the implementation of the party-list concept. And yet on reflection, that confusion and misunderstanding may have been a blessing. Seldom do elites – and least of all Filipino trapos – give away wealth and power without reaping compensatory benefit. If establishment politicians had really understood the purpose of the party-list system, and believed that it was actually capable of achieving that purpose, they may have done an even more thorough job of frustrating its implementation. To be sure, with the end of the appointive sectoral representation in 1998, they were under some pressure to do something to fill the void. And Congress did need to act within the framework of the Constitution. But the passage of the PartyList Act may have been premised on the assumption by a majority of the members of Congress that its stated goals were just airy ideals that did not require careful study and could, in any case, be successfully subverted by the old politics, as was sectoral representation in the past. It will require tremendous effort by mass-based reformers to prove them wrong.

The law needs revision, as we have noted, and the only way to ensure that it does not change for the worse in the next Congress is to elect a large number of reform-minded members from progressive parties and groups. The present law is certainly an innovation, whether viewed in the context of Philippine political history, or on the world scene. But it will best be strengthened by building more effectively on the experience of other countries that have themselves used proportional representation to stimulate political reform.

Endnotes

¹ “Traditional politicians” or trapos are perceived as a terribly corrupt, self-serving breed of elected officials. often eloquent and ultimately unreliable, these public servants are viewed as the embodiment of everything wrong with Philippine politics.

² Pippa Norris, “Choosing Electoral Systems: Proportional, Majoritarian and Mixed Systems,” International Political Science Review 18:3 (1997), 309. See also Arend Ljjphart, Electoral Systems and Party Systems: A Study of Twenty-Seven Democracies, 1945-1990, (Oxford Univ. Press, 1994).

³ Among those anti-Marcos supporters of sectoral representation were Jaime Tadeo, Constitutional Commission, Journal, August 1,1986, p. 562-563; and Fr. Joaquin Bernas, SJ.

⁴ Ibid., p. 564.

⁵ The progressive (elected) Congressmen who had supported a law that would truly benefit peasants boycotted the signing of the Comprehensive Agrarian Reform Law (CARQ in June 1998 while the two (Aquino-appointed) “peasant representatives,” neither of peasant stock, did not. They thus disassociated themselves from the Congress of People’s Agrarian Reform, and became more identified with the pro-landlord bloc. (Cielito C. Gono, Peasant Movement-State Relations in New Democracies: The Case of CPAR, Pulso Monograph No. 19, Institute on Church and Social Issues, 1997), p.@ 41. To be sure a subsequent “peasant representative,” again not of peasant stock,” Leonardo Montemayor, proved to be a very effective spokesman for peasant interests.

⁶ Jose Abueva and Emerlinda Roman, eds., 7he Aquino Presidency and Administration (1986-1992), (UP Press, 1993).

⁷ Joel Rocamora, “The Party-List Elections: Making the Best of a Bad Deal,” Conjunc­ture, 9:6

⁸ Among those who had this misimpression was Sen. Blas Ople.

⁹ Ibid., July 22 1986, p. 85.

¹⁰ Proposed 1993 Election Code of the Philippines (Manila, 1993, mimeographed).

¹¹ Tet Abelardo, “Streams Towards the Party-List Law” manuscript, March 1998, p. 8.

¹² Philippine Daiiy Inquirer, Feb. 15, 1998.

¹³ Manila Times, Feb. 13, 1998.

¹⁴ Philippine Daily Inquirer, March 7, 1998.

This paper, based on interviews in both northern and southern villages in 1991 and 1994, plus consultations with Vietnamese researchers and a survey of existing documentation, attempts to assess the extent and pattern of change and continuity in the Vietnamese village over the last 15 years, primarily the resuIt of changes in agrarian policy. This combination of change and continuity, creating new or reviving old social structures, social organizations and elite composition, could be destabilizing for Party/state control of rural areas.

Even though the market economy is now more developed in the South, change during the period of this study is probably less there than elsewhere, simply because collectivization even at its height was mostly on paper in that region. The de facto private ownership of today thus does not constitute a great change. Viewed from the perspective of the early 1970s, there is a surprising degree of continuity.

In the North, on the other hand, almost all villages had been effectively collectivized by the 1960s and remained so for a generation. So rapid transition to long term use rights for the family farm, approximating private ownership, was in some respects a greater change than in the South. Yet from pre-revolutionary times there has also been continuity, with some old landowning families reemerging among the most prosperous in the village, while pre-revolutionary communal consciousness tempers the process of privatization.

Fundamental change in agrarian policy began incrementally in the late 1970s with the locally initiated “contract system” which allowed farm families to keep rice produced over and above their assigned quotas — which had to be sold to the government at a low, fixed price. Finally by 1981 the Party accepted the advantages of this contract and made it national policy in Decision #100 of the Central Committee.

With increased incentive for labor input, production grew — on some land by more than 30% in the first two years. But such growth did not continue; from 1985 to 1987 productivity actually declined. A major reason was that the state (i.e. village cadre) could, after three years, increase the quota for the farm family as their production increased, thus undermining the incentive for further increases.

To deal with this production crisis, the Party introduced another major policy change in 1988 in Politburo Resolution #10 and the Land Law enacted by the National Assembly. Land was to be allocated for farm families for at least 10 years and all the produce could be sold in the market, with farmers able to pay taxes either in cash or in kind. Farm inputs could also be bought on the open market, thus undermining an important role of the cooperatives. Furthermore, Politburo Directive #47 in the same year had a special impact on the South, allowing the return of land to pre-1975 owners if it had been “illegally or arbitrarily appropriated” during the collectivization campaign. Ensuing conflicts between former owners and the Party sometimes erupted in street demonstrations.

Pressures for full private ownership of land, especially from the South, where land allocated to families was already treated as if it were privately owned, were beat back in the 7th Party Congress in June 1991 by local party representatives from the North and Center who feared that this would upset the rural power structure. Finally in 1993 further policy change was to be found in Central Committee Decision #45, followed by a new Land Law from the National Assembly — which struck a compromise. (Many provinces issued decrees to implement the 1992 draft of the Land Law — so much for the niceties of constitutional government.) While these documents reiterated state ownership of all land, the rights of “long term use” were almost equivalent to ownership: inheritance, mortgaging (but only to state banks), sale (but only to other cultivators), and lease.

However, the state did reserve the right to “recover” land allocated to individuals under certain circumstances. All of the rights granted were already being widely exercised in the South. In the North, however, “transfer of rights”, or sale, was rare, and de facto mortgaging to private parties seemed to be infrequent. Restrictions on “long term use” seemed to be enforceable only where Party authority was still largely in tact and where a communal spirit in the village was still strong.

Change in Vietnamese villages over the last fifteen years has, of course, been the result of more than just agrarian policy. Population growth has reduced farm size, overseas workers’ families have been able to inject new capital (often apparent in house construction), and loss of CMEA markets has required rapid changes in patterns of production. Yet agrarian policy has probably had the greatest impact: (1) by increasing incentives for production by abandoning the wage basis of collective cultivation, assigning family production quotas, and then abandoning quotas altogether for a system of open market sales and revenue through taxation; (2) by allocating land to farm families, which by 1994 they had largely come to regard as “their own”; and (3) by sharply limiting the role of the cooperative, e.g. abandoning collective ownership of tractors and work animals, and reducing it in many case to only one among several village input dealers, thus requiring a reduction in staff by 2/3 or 3/4. Tax collection and land assignment in the 1990s has been transferred from the cooperative to the People’s Committee, which is the state authority at the village level. Coops are dead in the South, and often moribund in the North.

Given the remarkable changes in agrarian policy, to discover continuities in the contemporary village is perhaps surprising. The dimensions of continuity are several:

(1) Despite the emphasis in government policy on the desirability of partici pation in the market, half or more of Vietnamese farmers still produce primarily for family consumption, often participating in no market beyond the village itself. (Tuan [1994]) The exclusive emphasis on rice production in past policy is so deeply engrained that it is not easily changed; this slows diversification, and thus market involvement.

(2) The persistence of pre-revolutionary practices is revealed in the revival of the importance of the hamlet, or thón. Thus cooperatives which cover more than one hamlet are either split, or are less likely to survive than coops that are coterminous with only one. (Neither Party nor government have any separate structure at hamlet level.)

(3) Pre-revolutionary elite are also reviving: in the South by the recovery of previous landholdings; by the use of hidden savings to finance trading or animal husbandry; by the persistent family tradition of stressing education; and by revival of the significance of lineage in village society, as well as of traditional ceremonies. (Luong, 1993; Lai, 1994:47; Kleinen, 1994) In fact, there is now evidence that the inequality in size and productivity of household plots, the “5% land”, during the collective period was sufficiently important to permit savings by the more fortunate. (Tuan [1994]:7)

(4) In fact, the plots of land now farmed under allocation by provisions of the New Land Law are often the very same plots held by the family before the revolution. While more common in the South, this is also often true in the North. For the peasant cultivator this creates a strong sense of continuity.

(5) Nevertheless, despite these signs of continuity with the pre-revolutionary past, continuity with the 1980s is still more important: continued Party/state control of village political life, even though its legitimacy may have declined.

Signs of declining legitimacy may be found in the growing backlog of uncollected fees and taxes, which often causes the cooperative in the North to seize the land of delinquent farmers. (Fforde, Dec. 1993:60) Researchers now sometimes hear open criticism of local Party leaders from farmers, or guffaws from peasants when Party slogans are naively repeated as if they represented reality. In the South the legitimacy of state law is ridiculed by ignoring the limitations on sale and mortgaging of land. In effect, Party control is sustained in large part because with doi moi its scope has been narrowed — control is no longer attempted over wide areas of village economic and social life. But despite doi moi, and the announced intention to separate the roles of Party and state, no such separation is apparent at the village level.

What are the likely consequences of these uneven patterns of continuity and change for the future structure of village life? and for the party/state hierarchy itself? There are at least four dimensions to the answer.

(1) Increased productivity has been the goal of agrarian reform for more than a decade; it is the basis of peasant satisfaction and thus the security of the state. As noted, productivity of rice lands did increase after the policy changes of 1981 and 1988. (However, since 1989 paddy yield per hectare has scarcely risen. Fforde, Dec. 1993; 45.) Since the security of tenure offered the peasant under the new Land Law is greater than before) this should, theoretically, provide new incentives for family investment in the land, but whether the peasant perception of such security is strong enough to modify behavior remains to b e seen. It seems likely that in the near future increased productivity will be more strongly affected by credit policy, input and commodity prices, crop diversifica tion and new technology. In fact, adequate credit for small farmers has been proven to be crucial in the success of the Green Revolution in other Asian countries. But until recently the Vietnam Bank for Agriculture has been engaged in providing cheap credit to inefficient state farms. Only in mid-1991 did it begin to offer credit to individual farmers. (World Bank, 1993:149-150) By 1992 only 26% of its portfolio went to the private sector — of which small farmers were only part.

In fact, the Bank was only able to provide credit to about 10% of potential private rural borrowers, even though it had branches in almost every province and in 405 districts. And even the 10% figure may have been an exaggeration, since a substantial portion of the loans were diverted to the private pockets of local cadre and perhaps not used for agricultural purposes. (Fforde, Dec. 1993:61.) In the meantime many small farmers are forced to go to usurers asking interest of 100% and up.

Nor do the prices of agricultural inputs or commodities in recent years seem likely to spur production. Input prices have risen sharply in the last few years as they have been based on the free market, while rice prices, rising previously, fell 23% in 1993. So for the farmer fertilizer is more difficult to buy than ever. Crop diversification, though scienti fically advisable, is blocked by the tra’ditional overemphasis on rice. New technology, though available, is slow in getting to the farmer because of an entirely inadequate agricultural extension service, and because it also requires capital and risk taking.

In the longer run most experts agree that increases in farm income, especially in the overcrowded Red River Delta, are more likely to come from expanded non-agricultural production, handicrafts, rural industry, etc.

But advances in this area are small compared to the need. If the initia tive is taken by new rural elites to provide employment, the consequence will also be increased inequality in the village.

(2) For a Party which preached egalitarianism for so long, the growth of rural inequality as a result of agrarian reform is a particular worry. In January 1990 and again in 1993 a large sample survey was conducted in Vietnamese villages from all regions. Income inequality did indeed increase, more rapidly in the North than in the South, where inequality was greater to start with. (Tuan [1994]:3). Another study found that differentiation was greatest where the market economy was most developed, with incomes of the wealthiest families sometimes 100 times those of the poorest. (Long, 1992:42)

In the South particularly land accumulation by wealthy farmers has sometimes reached several times the legal limit, while private mortgaging and usury is widespread. Nevertheless, while the trend is toward inequality, North Vietnam is still perhaps the most equitable rural society in the world, with Gini coefficient of 11 in 1989. Yet for social stability the trend may be more important than the absolute level.

(3) Changes in social organization reflect changes in social structure — and policy. The government-imposed cooperative, the one rural institution clearly dedicated to egalitarianism, is dead in half the country, and weakened or dying elsewhere. Only in the north cent er and the north are there a significant portion, perhaps 20-30%, of cooperatives still active; many show their strength, and their financial desperation, by reclaiming land distributed to delinquent farmer members. But even in the North there are many villages where the coop has been officially dissolved.

In some villages where the official cooperative is moribund, new voluntary coops, fulfilling particular functions, e.g. credit, irrigation, or sugar production, are springing up. These seldom emerge with official blessings, but so far do not seem to have produced overt official hostility. Not all are successful in achieving their goals, but many are. Some observers regard these new coops as the most important, and most hopeful, development in the Vietnamese village this decade. While this may be true, they are not likely to be a panacea.

For one thing, the organization of a cooperative usuallly requires initial capital input by members, thus excluding the poorest families. Furthermore, the exper ience in other SE Asian countries has shown that it takes a few years for what ever problems there may be to emerge. So it is too early to judge their success. But this is a development to be supported, and closely watched.

Alongside these new cooperatives, usually production-oriented organizations, is the revival, mentioned above, of groups within the village devoted to traditional ceremonies and beliefs. Their activities are, in theory, regulated by the People’s Committees, which in practice seem to have been reluctant to interfere.

(4) De facto private owneship of land in many areas, a burdgeoning market economy and cultural revival help to create increased inequality and new elites.

Before doi moi, when political cadre controlled economic life and traditional ceremonies were prohibited or effectively discouraged, there was but one elite in the village. Now there are distinct, potentially even competing, elites, though the Party/state cadre in the People’s Committee, the Party commitee, the — military and police, as well as in other state agencies that intrude upon the village, are still dominant.

In some villages cultural, economic a nd political elites are distinguished by age and ideology, as well as by function. Elsewhere the political/economic distinction may be blurred by Party/state cadre increasingly involved in the market. They have access to the state budget (an instruction project provides them with “private income”); they control, and thus manipulate to their own benefit the release of state credit to farmers; and they determine the disposal of state land in the village, often illegally for residential or commercial construc tion, having received their “cut”. (See Fforde, Dec. 1993:57; April 1993:65)

Thus they have capital to engage in legitimate trade and commerce. (Such engage ment is contrary to party guidelines, but they have found that they cannot recruit local cadre without allowing for extracurricular income. Being of some urgency, this matter was systematically researched by the provincial party in Hai Hung.)

In some respects this fused political/economic elite might be the most stable arrangement, with political cadres being tolerant of rich farmers and private entrepreneurs (having acquired more than their own share of the increasing wealth. In turn, the non-official economic elite accept the arrangement as long as they too can prosper. There is, nevertheless, a serious danger in this situation, now so widespread: the obvious corruption, well known in the village whether it is publicly denounced or not, undermines what remains of Party/state legitimacy. A configuration more dangerous for the Party and government would be one where a new economic elite largely excluded cadre, either because those cadre were rather old fashioned and not very enterprising, or because, as often happens in the South, the village People’s Committee is not reinforced by a Party commit tee located in the village, and thus is not so bold. If the new economic elite has close links with the revived cultural elite and increasingly displaces and is resented by the Party/state cadre, this may lead to draconian measures to restrict its role)and thus to conflict. An early version of such conflict seemed to emerge in the Mekong Delta in 1988-91 around competing land claims. (In this situation, however, it was the former owners, acting under terms of Politburo Directive #47 of 1988, who took the initiative.)

In any case, the likely patterns of elite interaction, cooperation and conflict, within the decollectivized village, and the consequences of growing inequality are not yet clear, and need considerably more study. To understand these trends may be the key to understanding the future prospects of the Vietnamese state and society as a whole.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Communist Party of Vietnam, Political Report of the Central Committee Mid-term National Conference (Hanoi: Gioi Publishers, 1994)

Fforde, Adam, Vietnam: Economic Commentary and Analysis (Canberra: ADUKI Pty Ltd)

Institute of Land Management/Government of Western Australia, Feasibility Study on Vietnam Land Management System, Report 1 (Draft) (Hanoi: UNDP, April 1993)

Kleinen, John, “The Transformation of Rural Social Organization in Northern Vietnam and the Debate on the Asian Village”, paper for the Annual Meeting of Association for Asian Studies, Boston, March 24-27, 1994.

Land Law of Vietnam (Hanoi: Project UNDP-VIE/91/004, 1993)

Tuong Lai, “Tradition et modernite dans la campagne du delta du Fleuve Rouge”, Vietnam: Social Sciences, 2(40) 1994, 35-51.

Ngo Vinh Long, “Reform and Rural Development in Vietnam: Impact on Class, Sectoral and Regional Inequalities” (Draft), Feb. 1992

“Communal Property and Peasant Revolutionary Struggles in Vietnam”, Peasant Studies, 17:2 (Winter 1990), 121-140.

Pingali, Prabhu and Vo Tong Xuan, “Vietnam: De-Collectivization and Rice Productivity Growth” (Manila: Agricultural Economics Dept., International Rice Research Institute, Oct. 1989) IRRI Agricultural Economics Dept. Papers No. 89-16.

Hy Van Luong, “Economic Reform and the Intensification of Rituals in Two North Vietnamese Villages, 1980-90”, in Borje Ljungren, ed., The Challenge of Reform in Vietnam (Harvard Institute for International Development, 1993)

Dao The Tuan, et al, “Enquetes sur des experiences d’organisations paysannes au Vietnam” (Hanoi: Programme National de Developpement Rural KX 08, sous programme 05, Mai 1994) (Realise en collaboration avec: Groupe de Recherche et d’Echanges Technologiques, et Agriculteurs Francais et Developpement International, Paris)

“The Peasant Household Economy and Social Change in Vietnam” (Hanoi: mimeo [1994])

Vietnam Peasants’ Union, Report of Second National Congress (Hanoi: mimeo, Nov. 1993)

World Bank, Vietnam: Transition to the Market (Sept. 1993)

Wurfel, David, “Reforming Vietnamese Agriculture”, paper for Conference of Canadian Council for Southeast Asian Studies, York University, Toronto, Ont., Oct. 1991.

The “voluntary offer to sell” provision of the comprehensive Agrarian Reform Program was the first to be implemented and was highly corruption prone, causing the resignation of the Secretary of Agrarian Reform. This happened because of a badly written law and poorly framed regulations, implemented within the framework of a neopatrimonial system, and weak state, though not exactly as described by Migdal. Prospects for change in the short term are poor.

Among many peasants and their advocates there was high hope of land reform when Cory Aquino came to power. She had promised it during her campaign; some of its more forceful proponents were given key appointments. But during her first year in office she seemed to be abandoning the peasants’ cause.

Not until the horrified national reaction to the shooting down of unarmed demonstrators for agrarian reform in front of Malacanang Palace in 1987 did she appoint a cabinet action committee to draft an executive order on the subject. That process seemed to go fairly well for a few months, until landlord interests and the prejudices of her executive secretary intervened. The result was an executive order(No. 229) in July — just before the convening of an elected Congress and the end of the President’s transitional legislative powers powers — that was conservative in tone and referred the hard decisions to Congress.

When a Congress in which landlord interests were amply represented finally passed a law (Republic Act 6657) for a “comprehensive agrarian reform program” (CARP) in June 1988, the President called it the “centerpiece” of her administration. But, in fact, the post of Secretary of Agrarian Reform was left vacant months; it was never filled by anyone of great political weight; and the president herself never exhibited any personal interest in the program. Thus the subsequent inability of officials of the Department of Agrarian Reform (DAR) to fend off pressures or avoid succumbing to temptations is not surprising.

They had no leadership or support for doing their assigned task, and the task itself was very poorly defined by law and regulation.

The peasant movement, organized in a coalition called Congress for a People’s Agrarian Reform (CPAR), was partly responsible for the fact that there was any new legislation at all. But its members had almost no role in program implementation.

The program began with the announcement of the impossibly ambitious goal of distributing over 10 million hectares of land (more than the total farm area as reported by the 1980 Census of Agriculture) to nearly 4 million farmer beneficiaries (FBs). By the end of 1991 the always bloated DAR statistics reported that certificates of award (not yet titles) had been distributed to 167,297 FBs covering 376,255 hectares. Most of this was rice and corn land on which reform was initiated by Marcos. The “centerpiece” had become, in the words of a well-informed cynic from Bicol, just what it was intended to be, “decorative and stationary”.

Merely to cite failure in Philippine agrarian reform has tiresome, however. The real challenge is to explain the of that failure and find ways of overcoming them.

We will attempt to meet that challenge at the end of this paper, in the meantime using a case study of voluntary land transfer under Republic Act 6657 as a means of providing some new insight into causes and solutions.

For some the monotony of failure in Philippine agrarian policy has led to severe doubts about whether reform can ever be achieved and questions as to whether it is even necessary or desirable for the development process. Intellectual fatigue is understandable, but to find a rational and empirical basis for dismissing the need for agrarian reform is very difficult. It is still an essential stepping stone to optimal agricultural productivity and to stable representative democracy.

Voluntary Transfer: History of the Concept and Legal provision

The reason for the introduction of the concept of voluntary transfer was summed up in a position paper of the Integrated Bar of the Philippines: “… less problems will be met in this mode of coverage.” (IBP, 1987).

“Less problems” meant especially less between landowners and the DAR, as compared with compulsory acquisition. Indicative of the early consensus on this measure was its appearance in the draft bill presented by CPAR to the House Committee on Agrarian Reform in August 1987.

CPAR in “phase one” priority “private holdings voluntarily offered by their owners”

Later, however, the early concept was divided into two measures, on which there were different opinions. “Voluntary land transfer”, which ultimately was the subject matter of two sections in the law (Sec. 20, 21), came to mean direct transfer from landowner to beneficiary, not involving government acquisition of the land. There had already been a section on VLT in the earlier, stronger drafts of the executive order. Some feared, however, that provision would help preserve the subordination of the tenant-client to the landlord-patron, and might even postpone the acquisition of clear title by the tenant. It would certainly have placed greater pressure on the tenant to pay his amortization installments than existed under the terms of government acquisition. Certain of these concerns were met later in the draft bills in Congress. Nevertheless, despite criticisms by the World Bank team, provision for VLT was still not opposed in principle by the peasant coalition in 1988.

After passage of RA 6657, which CPAR regarded as an entirely unsatisfactory piece of legislation, was revealed by Sec. 6 (3) of the proposed People’s Agrarian Reform Code (PARCODE). That provision read: “Direct sale by the landowners to the beneficiaries under the terms and conditions of this code” is an accepted “procedure for acquisition”. The moral right of landowners to negotiate directly with and transfer land to their tenants or farmworkers was widely accepted in Philippine society.

The option for landowners to make a “voluntary offer to sell” (VOS) to the government at first received less attention in drafts of and debates on agrarian reform legislation. As late as the May 25, 1987 draft of the cabinet action committee the VOS option offered no particular advantage to the landowners. (Sec. 8)

By June, however, the draft executive order included certain tax exemptions for landowners who made a voluntary offer.

Policy makers saw this as worthy of encouragement. When the legislation had completed its passage through Congress there was an even more tempting incentive: “Landowners … who voluntarily offer their lands for sale shall be entitled to an additional five percent cash payment.” (RA 6657, Sec. 19) Under compulsory acquisition lands above 50 has. were limited to 25% payment in cash.

The pricing formula for compulsory and voluntary sales was to be the same, however. Both VLT and VOS were welcomed by administrators who thought they would lessen the administrative overload that RA 6657 was sure to impose on DAR. Woe to those with lack of foresight!

VLT. VOS and BARC: Law and Regulations

Philip Juico was appointed Secretary of Agrarian Reform in July 1987, just after Pres. Aquino signed Executive Order 229, which left so many issues to Congress to decide. The office had been vacant for months. Reasserting the secretary’s authority over a sprawling, faction-ridden agency was not easy. Juico, originally from an agribusiness background, was working in the Department of Agricul ture at the time of his appointment. He was a family friend of the President.

By the passage of RA 6657 in June 1988, Juico had been in office for a year. But it took more than six months before some basic administrative orders were issued so that all portions of the act could be implemented. Early attention had to be given to VLT since RA 6657 required that landowners wishing to avail themselves of this option should notify the DAR within one year of passage of the act.

(Sec. 20[a]) Failure of the landowner to come to an on the price with qualified beneficiaries within a year of commencement of negotiations would cause the land to be subject to government acquisition. Thus the landowner could not extract a price from his tenants—if they were well informed—higher than that to be determined by the DAR for government purchase. Perhaps more important, however, was the fact that landowners were left with the responsibility of collecting amortization payments from tenants, as onerous as collecting rent. And there was no prospect of cash up front. The VLT process was therefore less popular among landowners than the law’s drafters had expected.

Because of rising demand, DAR’s attention necessarily shifted to VOS. By the end of 1990 nearly a half million applications had been received in the DAR central office, and more remained in regional and provincial files.

Administrative Order No. 3, the first to be issued on VOS, was signed on Feb. 20, 1989. It provided for a long and complex bureaucratic procedure to be followed by the landowner and by DAR officials themselves. That helps explain why by Dec. 31, 1990 only 71,000 landowners’ VOS applications had been processed and submitted to the Land Bank of the Philippines (LBP) for payment.

But AO#3 cannot be fully understood outside of the regulations on land valuation, set forth in AO#6, signed on March 8, 1989.

Land valuation was, of course, at the center of the political over agrarian reform fought within the executive and legislative branches of government.

In the early drafts of the cabinet action committee land valuation was to be based on “market “ as determined by the tax assessor, with a maximum of ten percent of the payment in cash. (Tax assessments are traditionally only a tiny fraction of real market value.) By the time the President signed the executive order, the provision on land had escalated to “the owners declaration of current full market value”, but “subject to certain controls to be promulgated by the Presidential Agrarian Reform Council”. In fact, little was done before Congress passed legislation a year later.

The first, and most radical bill (No. 400) filed on agrarian reform in the House of Representatives had called for expropriation entirely without compensation for properties of more than 50 has. Many months and many landlord amendments later RA 6657 in Sec. 17 provided that “in determining just compensation, the cost of acquisition of the land, the current value of like properties, its nature, actual use and income, the sworn valuation by the owner, tax declaration and the assessment made by government assessors shall be considered.” The imprecision of this passage has been the bane of bureaucrats and the source of solicitors’ income ever since.

It was inevitable that DAR would simplify and clarify this provision.

Administrative Order No. 6 (March 8, 1989) did just . It ignored “cost of acquisition” and “actual income” and set forth the (almost) simple formula: Market value as determined by comparable sales plus assessment plus declared value (which could not be more than twice the average of the other two components) divided by . The vaguest provisions, and thus the most difficult to implement were those regarding “comparable sales”; no guidelines were given.

And where there were no “comparable sales”, the average of the other two was to be the true land value.

While such a formula might have been accepted in other countries, many Filipino landowners were outraged. The “true” value might actually be less than “comparable sales”. The law gave landowners the right to appeal land valuations to the courts, and hundreds did.

In May 1989, during the brief term of office of Miriam Santiago, DAR Administrative Order No. 17 was promulgated, both further complicating and clarifying the formula. Capitalized net income was spelled out and given a prominent place; guidelines were provided for the application of “comparable sales”. The new formula, which was supposed to take effect only after Dec. 31, 1989, slightly reduced the weighting for the tax assessment, which, of course, favored landowners.

The biggest change in favor of landowners took place in the term of Ernesto Garilao, Pres. Ramos’ appointee as Secretary of Reform. Admin. Order No. 6 of Oct. 30, 1992, reduced the weight of the tax assessment in the formula by 2/3; the capitalization of net income was changed from 20% to 12%. These and other changes in AO#17 would allow a valuation of the same land with the same production at a price more than 50% higher than before. AO#6 also helped break some administrative bottlenecks by providing special formulas for land with different types of crops, for instance, raising the valuation for rubber plantations on which there had been a deadlock between DAR and landowners. Sec. Garilao made it clear that he believed the major cause for the slow rate of acquiring private lands “is the discontent among landowners on the low valuation of their lands.” (DAR, “Toward a Faster, Fairer and More Meaningful CARP…”)

There were other reasons, of course, for DAR’s low rate of output. Despite the clarifications in AO#17 there were still ambiguities, allowing tremendous administrative , and thus DAR bargaining with landowners—nor were DAR officials always bargaining on behalf of peasants.

Recognizing, at least superficially, that peasants needed to be given a chance to look after their own interests, Congress had written into RA 6657 that Barangay Agrarian Reform Committees (BARCs), to be formed in every village, should be allowed to “assist in the initial determination of the value of the land”, other functions. (Sec. 47)

It was a vague reference, without much force. The provisions on BARC in Sec. 19 of Executive 229 were not much help either; while the categories of membership were mentioned, the exact number of BARC members was never specified. On March 3, 1989, Secretary Juico signed Admin. Order No. 5 which provided for the structure and functions of the BARCs in more detail.

A BARC was to have eleven members, one from the barangay and four from government agencies, the Dept. Of Agriculture, the Dept. of Environment and National Resources, DAR, and LBP. Two were to be farmers or farmworkers; another was to represent a farmers organization, and a fourth, an agricultural cooperative. There was be one NGO and one landowners’ representative. Except for the first five, all were to be elected in a meeting called for the purpose, from among and by the members “of each sector”. “Sectors” referred to farmers, landowners, NGOs, farmers organizations and agricultural cooperatives. The Municipal Agrarian Reform Officer (MARO) was to prepare a voters’ list for each sectoral group. This was a concept and a procedure left over from martial law days.

But there was no definition of membership in any sector. While this might cause no difficulty in many barangays_,_ where social Class identities were unclear, disputes would surely arise if the BARC became an important organization in the community, wielding real power.

Most potential problems were avoided by simply ignoring the regulations. BARC members were usually appointed by DAR personnel, according to a study commissioned by DAR itself. (Ledesma, 1991)

More than 2/3 of BARCs never met after they were organized. In , the author’s field interviews revealed that many BARCs existed on paper only. In effect, they were an unwanted burden on local DAR officials. And since their functions were so poorly defined, e.g. To “assist in the initial determination of the value of the land”, they could easily be ignored. However, as we shall find later, they could called into service when the MARO needed them.

By 1990 DAR leadership had become aware of the non-functioning BARCs. Admin. Order No. 14 was promulgated in August to try to the problems.

The change in BARC membership was an step in the right direction. Voting members were limited to seven, including only one non-cultivating landowner; all voting members were to be _barangay_residents. Government agency and NGO representatives became non-voting members.

There was also a refreshing realism in the decision to limit DAR assistance to BARC formation to “barangays which have expressed needs for one”, with the MARO in a strategic position to overlook “expressed need” if he wished.

Nor was there any sharpening of the definition of BARC functions. In any case, for nearly a year after the AO was signed, very little was done to implement it. BARCs are still mostly non-existent, even in barrios with agrarian reform activity. The ionalized voice for the peasantry in the agrarian reform decision-making process is still missing.

But even if BARCs had been active there was a provision in the law that reduced the likelihood that they could have become watchdogs of VOS overpricing. Sec. 26 of RA 6657, which expressed sentiments of many peasant advocates at the time of passage, limits amortization payments for land reform beneficiaries to “5% of the value of the annual gross production” in the first five years, and allows the LBP to reduce payments in the following years so that they do not exceed 10% of annual gross production. The paid by the government to the landowner is thus less relevant to the prospective beneficiaries. Yet if the massive non-payment of amortization payment of amortization under the Marcos-era Operation Land Transfer continues to be tolerated, then these legal provisions become insignificant to the peasant.

In sum, the law and regulations providing the context for the transfer of land were designed to increase landowner co operation and reduce the administrative burden on DAR—but had different consequences.

The language was vague and imprecise, considerable discretion to officials and opportunities for intervention by landowners; clarifications were usually in the landlords’ favor, but in the long run did not secure their cooperation. An institutionalized opportunity for a peasant voice in the agrarian reform process was suggested by the formal provision for BARCs, but it did not materialize.

Policy Implementation

Because of the lack of incentives to landlords mentioned , only 2,036 farmers had received certificates of award to land under the VLT provision by the end of 1990, which jumped to 11,839 by the end of 1991.

Still this was only 7% of the total of certificates received under all provisions of RA 6657 in the same period. In any case, while the advantages to the farmer beneficiary from the VLT procedures may have been less than when the land was acquired by the government, depending on the attitude of the landlord, it can be said that VLT produced no headlines about corruption. If it happened, it was on a small enough scale to escape wide public notice. The same could not be said for VOS.

As mentioned, voluntary offers to sell from landowners had piled up by the end of 1991 which covered a half million or more hectares. Landowners who had studied the law or talked to their favorite DAR official had visions of sugarplums dancing in their heads. This was all the more remarkable in view of the fact that before RA 6657 was finally passed, landlord groups in both Negros and Mindanao had threatened to take up arms against the government rather than give up their lands.

In fact, by 1991 new applications for VOS had slowed to a trickle. Applications covering only 21,817 has. were received in the central office in that year and they had undoubtedly been sitting in provincial or regional offices some time before that.

Even in the first half of 1990 applications for only 34,015 has. had been received in Manila. About 80% of all applications were already in the head office by late 1989. Why the slowdown? Did the VOS somehow lose its attractiveness? The cause was to be found in a case of excessive greed by people with good connections, and its aftermath.

Applications for VOS were not distributed evenly around the country; 31% came from the Bicol region. (Putzel, 1992: 316) The Southern Tagalog and Central Luzon regions were not far behind. But why Bicol? Perhaps the Regional Director, Salvador Pejo, gave landowners some encouragement, or so one might deduce from subsequent events.

The nation’s eyes were opened to the underlying realities of VOS by a single transaction, in the province of Camarines Sur, Bicol. In 1982 the United Coconut Planter’s Bank (then controlled by the top Marcos crony, Danding Cojuangco) acquired through foreclosure a 1,887 ha. estate in a remote area of the province.

It was once owned by an established Spanish family, the Garchitorenas, whose name was also that of the municipality, by early 1980s a stronghold of the NPA.

In February 1988, in with Exec. Order 229, it was registered with DAR by the UCPB with a declared value of P3.2 million.

With Cojuangco in exile abroad and his properties being sequestered, the UCPB was circumspect.

In April it executed a contract to sell the property to Sharp International Marketing, Inc. By its president, Lina, for P3 million, with a downpayment of PI million. The next month Lina filed an offer to sell the exact same land to the government under CARP for P56 million (sic). In early August Lina visited Sec. Juico and, by then, Undersecretary Pejo to complain about the delay in processing his offer. Within a couple of weeks a party of ten set out for a seven day ocular inspection of the land, 17 kilometers of which was on foot. The party, headed by the DAR district officer, included the BARC chairman. All but one of the members of the team, including the BARC representative, commented on the “good production” of the land and agreed to a price of more than P30,OOO per hectare, greater than the asking price! Only the Land Bank member, noting that most of the area was simply grazing land, recommended the still generous price of P15,OOO per ha. (See Senate, Committee on Agrarian Reform/Report,” June 1989)

This one slightly sour note did not slow the progress of the , however. It received top flight help. Only in December did the UCPB finally execute its deed of sale to Sharp, with the assistance of a fraudulent document from Undersecretary Pejo. When the Sharp VOS claim folder finally reached the Land Acquisition and Valuation Division in the DAR central office on December 15 ^th it was accompanied by a personal note from Sec. Juico marked “rush” which concluded, “Please expedite. This is being followed up by Sen. [Joey] Lina.” Obviously Alex Lina, a relative, was confident things were going well.

The same day he “borrowed” his claim folder from DAR, returning it on the morrow with the price changed P56 to P65 million!! On December 28 ^th the first meeting of the DAR-LBP Compensation Clearing Committee was held, under the chairmanship of Undersecretary Pejo, making the approval of the Sharp offer their first item of business.

(The committee also approved three offers by Romeo Santos, the major financial backer Sharp, whose election to Congress was under challenge for irregularities.) A few days later Sec. Juico signed the deed of absolute sale and order of payment for P62.7 million (only) to Sharp International; the money would come from the Land Bank. But in February 1989 Land Bank President Deogracias Vistan called Secretary Juico, informing him of Sharp’s P3 million acquisition cost and declaring there is…“no way Land Bank will pay.” Juico agreed with Vistan to suspend payment to Sharp. The matter did not end there, however.

Apparently in early April Ateneo de Manila University President, Fr. Joaquin Bernas, S. J., who sometimes acted as an advisor to the president, told Mrs. Aquino about the scandal. (Putzel, 1992: 315)

(Perhaps she already knew what later hit the press, that her brother Congressman ‘Peping’ Cojuangco was closely associated with Romeo Santos.) She met with Vistan and Juico. But the story still did not reach the public domain until Vistan, to let the matter be covered up, told Congress; the ensuing uproar practically brought the work of DAR to a halt.

In addition to all the press coverage, the Senate and House of Representatives committees on agrarian reform held a joint hearing, after visiting Garchitorena. The joint committee pointed out that the Garchitorena estate was, in large part, not eligible for DAR purchase in any case, since it was too hilly. After chronicling the series of frauds, they accused Sec. Juico of “grave abuse of discretion” and asked for his resignation.

Undersec. Pejo was charged with violation of the Anti-Graft and Corrupt Practices Act, lesser officials were said to be guilty of falsification of public documents. Juico did resign; Pejo and others were suspended.

But criminal charges were not pressed, and most of those suspended eventually returned to DAR. Pejo probably already knew, if you cavort with the very powerful, they can and will protect you, for they are simply protecting themselves.

Nevertheless, the spotlight of publicity was shining on the VOS process. Rumors circulated that the scandal only the tip of the iceberg, that Congressman Cojuangco had prompted a number of anomalous VOS transactions as a means of raising money for the 1992 election campaign.

Certainly Romeo was involved in more than just the Garchitorena deal. What was most interesting was that the Bicol scandal contained so many elements that were common in VOS transactions.

In fact, the price almost paid in Garchitorena was not too much higher than the price actually paid for 305 has. In Northern Mindanao, an impressive P27,161 per ha. (DAR sources, as compiled by Putzel, 1992: 313). Prices paid in Region 2 (Cagayan Valley), Region 11 (So. Mindanao) were also higher than the per ha. Price of P20,951 actually paid for VOS in the Bicol region.

In Basilan province in Region 9 (Western Mindanao) no land VOS had actually been acquired and paid for by the LBP as late as February 1991.

A special reason for this was hard with plantation owners about the price of rubber land. A rubber industry committee was formed in early 1991 to hammer out an agreement.

Not until October 1992, however, was a new administrative order (AO#6) issued that had specific provisions for “landholdings planted to permanent crops”.

Interest in the VOS option had been widespread in the province for two reasons: Muslim rebels were active in many areas, sometimes disrupting the harvest, or the transportation of the product to market.

They also made financial demands on plantations. In fact, plantation managers they were losing money, both for the above reasons and because world market prices for rubber were down.

Sime Darby, the Malaysian-based multinational, offered over 1000 has. of its Tumajubong Plantation for a handsome P75,489 per ha., while Menzi Agricultural Corporation offered its 1020 ha. farm, planted mostly to rubber, for a mere P61,500. (Interview with MAC mgr., Feb. 1991) In both cases, despite complaints about poor rubber prices, it was clear that the corporations did not want to stop producing, but planned to sign an agreement with the new owners, a workers’ cooperative, that would give the corporations to labor more cheaply than under then current conditions. But because the corporations either temporarily suspended operations or stopped planting new trees, which cut present or future income for workers, their unions became the loudest voices for early payment by the Land Bank. Union officers did not seem to be particularly worried about the high land prices being demanded.

On both plantations the corporations expected to retain ownership of processing facilities and the land where it was located, thus preserving powerful leverage on the workers’ cooperative.

In Negros Occidental, the Philippines’ premier sugar producing province, there were similar conditions on VOS lands. One field investigation found thousands of hectares that were far from the , in hilly and mountainous terrain, and the scene of clashes between the NPA and the military.

Negros also had its own land scam, where DAR purchased the 374 hectare Villasor Estate for P7.7 , an average of P20,517 per ha. (Putzel, 1992: 317) This land, which was mostly abandoned, upland property, had originally offered by the owners for P3 million! Receiving much less publicity than the Garchitorena case, there were no suspensions, dismissals or prosecutions of DAR officials.

Other cases of exorbitant overpricing and suspected fraud were reported from Sorsogon, Sulu and Agusen del Sur provinces. (Daily Globe, May 7, 1990).

In Bicol the anomalies in the implementation of VOS extended far beyond the municipality of Garchitorena.

Romeo Santos, the angel for Sharp, had been playing a double, or triple, game for years, usually with the cooperation of Atty. Pejo. Santos was a high flier, who used to survey his land from atop a thoroughbred horse, clad in embroidered shirts and expensive cowboy boots. He had been a friend of Marcos chief of staff, Gen. Fabian Ver, until 1986, and soon thereafter became close to President Aquino ‘s brother, who backed his appointment as manager of the Manila International Airport, a strategic position if one were interested in smuggling.

Soon after the initiation of Marcos land reform in 1972, Santos, who had acquired considerable holdings by marriage into the Garchitorena family, physically drove off tenants planting corn in the town of Tigaon, Camarines Sur, to avoid coverage of PD 27, so he could then plant sugar, cashing in on high world prices. When the sugar boom collapsed, he offered these, and other acquired lands, to the government under operation Land Transfer in the late Development of Human Resources in Rural Areas [PHILDHRRA]), and researchers for the Institute of Popular Democracy.

The 1036 ha. Estate was offered by the Tuazon family to DAR under EO 229 even before the enactment of RA 6657. Though about 80% of the land was in pasture, the owners asked P40 million in compensation. The municipal office of DAR, however, with honest diligent leadership, concluded that it was only worth P12 million. (After all, the owners had abandoned the hacienda in 1985 because of NPA activity.)

Then the Tuazons challenged the DAR valuation in court; in the long delay problems erupted.

In early 1988 DAR had compiled a list of about 480 “pre beneficiaries”, most of whom had been hacienda employees before 1985, all landless residents of the barangay where the hacienda was located. But with the delay over pricing, the land remained vacant and uncul ti vated.

In late 1989 a group of 55 farmers—Iater expanding to more than 200—entered and proceeded to portions of the estate, claiming to be a chapter of the long established Federation of Free Farmers.

They were led by an employee of the office of the provincial governor (a very large ); the mayor was also the governor’s protege. The Tuazons filed a suit against the FFF group, who were then defended by the national FFF legal staff. In various appeals to DAR, the national and regional offices seemed to favor the FFF, while the MARO and CSPARD community workers sided with the originally designated beneficiaries. Despite a court order ejecting the FFF as “illegal entrants” on the land, they remain. In the meantime 316 of the “qualified beneficiaries” also entered and began cultivating plots of land.

The good news is that there has not been an armed struggle between the groups, thanks in part to NGO help in forming a “peace council”. But as of 1992 the land valuation was still not resolved to the satisfaction of the parties and both groups of claimants were occupying the land.

In sum, the VOS came to be seen as a chance for a top price the government for abandoned, unproductive, or unprofitable land. Some, like Santos or Villasor and scores of others with strong political connections, did get paid. But by late 1989 the gravy train was over.

This was not the result of the moral of the president, or of the force of the protest by peasant organizations but of an intense inter-bureaucratic rivalry between the DAR and the Land Bank over control of the valuation process.

From the beginning of the implementation of CARP the initial evaluation had been made by DAR, which was then passed on to the LBP for checking. After field observation in early 1991 I wrote: “The relationship of the two main CARP agencies, DAR and the Land Bank, often seems like guerilla warfare, with each…tossing VOS claim files back and forth like hot potatoes”.(Wurfel, 1991:5)

But DAR’s tarnished reputation after Garchitorena left an opening for the Land Bank. Despite last minute press releases from DAR indicating that the LBP did not have sufficient field personnel to conduct land valuations (Business World, June 6, 1990), the president on June 14, 1990 issued Executive Order No. 405 which that

“The Land Bank of the Philippines shall be primarily responsible for the determination of land valuation and compensation for all private lands suitable for agriculture…as governed by RA 6657. The Department of Agrarian Reform shall make use of the determination of the land valuation and compensation by the Land Bank…in the performance of its functions.”

DAR was still expected to gather and help provide the Bank with documentation, however. (The Registrars of Deeds were particularly recalcitrant, both because they were embarrassed by the fact that the records of “comparable sales” were so often fraudulent and because they were bargaining for more money to hire additional personnel.)

While the executive order may have simplified the valuation process, it certainly didn’t speed it up. The LBP had to recheck many documents from DAR, so the rate of payments under vas actually slowed down. Nothing was paid to landowners in 1990. This reinforced the growing complaint from landowners that “the government doesn’t have any money”, a complaint, though untrue, echoed by some mayors and governors. In fact, landowners, disillusioned about the prospects of generous compensation, by 1990 began to drag their feet on the submission of documents. This stance was made safer after it became clear that there was to be no enforcement of the compulsory acquisition provisions of RA 6657 — almost certain after the failure of the Commission on Appointments to confirm Florencio Abad, the only pro-peasant Secretary of Reform, who after a few months in office was abandoned by the president. In 1991 many landowners began to “withdraw” their offers to sell, even though there was no legal procedure for doing so. In fact, Admin. Order No. 19, issued by Sec. Santiago in November 1989, had specifically said that “all lands which are voluntarily offered for sale to the government may no longer be withdrawn.”

The issuance of DAR Administrative Order No. 5 on April 6, 1992 (just before the presidential election) may have marked the beginning of the end of the VOS era. It provided that “DAR may allow the withdrawal of voluntary offers to sell” if the notice of valuation has not been issued. It also provided three conditions which DAR could reject a VOS: if the land is not suitable for agriculture (which should have been used in Garchitorena);if there are no beneficiaries who want to farm the land; and if the only identified beneficiaries are the children of the landowner!! The Secretary of Agrarian Reform appointed by President Ramos, who comes from an NGO background, seems to have learned a great deal from DAR’s past failure. He has made a very cautious start, but those who are committed to genuine agrarian reform have observed that Sec. Garilao is saying and doing some good things, in spite of the fact that most land reform specialists expected the Ramos Administration to be “inactive” in this area.

In a September 1992 document from the secretary’s office (“Toward a Faster, Fairer and More Meaningful CARP…”) it is said that “The active participation of non-government organizations and people’s organizations in coordinative bodies will be encouraged.”

High priority is to be given the distribution of the vast lands owned by government banks and corporations which have been transferred to DAR; landlord intervention is thus minimized. Most is the revival of an old, important, but politically unpalatable proposal for the imposition of a progressive land tax. Yet all of the political forces and economic interests which have frustrated land reform in the past are still present and active.

Thus hope for early accomplishment by Sec. Garilao is dimmed by our concluding analysis.

Conclusion

As has been frequently asserted, the Philippine state is weak.

A former Sec. of Agrarian Reform, Heherson Alvarez, has been frank in admitting it. The state exists within the context of a neo-patrimonial political system, a system in which patron-client hierarchies define the most important dimension of social structure.

Thus state policy embodied in legislation cannot be implemented if it embraces goals that are in conflict with the interests of dominant patrons.

Policy which in any way attempts to reflect mass pressures or values of social justice will frustrated by the involvement of the neo-patrimonial oligarchy in the implementation process. As Joel Migdal has said, “The state is part of society”. (Migdal, 1987: 396) The making and enforcing of rules will largely reflect the structure and interests of patrimonial society.

But Migdal’s analysis is not entirely suitable for the Philippine case. He contrasts the role of the “state leader”, using modern bureaucratic mechanisms or mass mobilization as his instruments of power, and “strong men”, patrimonial figures at the l or local level. However, state leaders themselves may be part of the patrimonial hierarchy, manipulating their own clients, who may include local “strong men”. Peping Cojuangco was certainly one of the most powerful national patrons during the Aquino Administration, some would say, without peer. Romeo Santos fits Migdal’s definition of the “strong man” rather neatly: large landowner, with political ambitions, even capable of manipulating the state’s armed forces to his benefit. But he was not acting in competition with state leaders; he was in cahoots! He was a cooperative client of the major national patron.

President Vistan of the Land Bank was acting more like a “state leader”, protecting the bureaucratic interests, the turf, of the institution he headed. Unlike the head of a line agency who required annual budgetary appropriations by the Congress, a bank president needed to protect his capital, avoiding its extravagent use.

He did not have to cultivate Congressmen in order to get funds annually. Sec. Juico was less isolated from congressional pressure.

But a strong secretary maintains some autonomy by multiplying his patrons in Congress and not relying too much on one.

Within the DAR was an undersecretary who, when he was regional director, had taken on the role of “strong man” himself, even trying to run for elected office. But he was wise enough— according to the rules of patronage politics—to subordinate himself to a more powerful regional strongman, Romeo Santos, and find national patrons as well. The bureaucracy was not only penetrated by the patrimonial hierarchy, but some leading bureaucrats took on the role of patrons, or clients, themselves, more identified with society than with state. Salvador Pejo was terribly unusual in the Philippines. The only thing special about the Garchitorena scandal in the history of Philippine land reform was the percentage of corrupt profit on the deal and the level of protection the schemers had.( It ranks with the Buenavista-Tambobong scandal in the Quirino administration.) In return for protection from the President’s brother, however, Santos and Pejo undoubtedly had to share generously. That aspect of the deal was never investigated.

Even in a neo-patrimonial system, however, there may be pockets of mass mobilization, and not necessarily initiated by state leaders. In fact, in the Philippines such mobilization in recent years has been more often directed against them. Mobilized peasants could have an impact on policy implementation if the law permitted it and if those peasants developed strong, institutionalized organizations. As we noted with CSPARD at the Pecuaria Estate, NGOs could make some positive contribution, even without clear and effective provisions in law or regulation on the creation of the BARC. Yet mass organizations could also be penetrated by landlord patrons, as was also true at Rancho Pecuaria, in some plantation unions in Basilan, and in the Garchitorena BARC.

Sadly the weakness of peasant organizations was not simply the result of outside pressures. The intensity of the competition for land tended to factionalize potential beneficiaries of land redistribution. Furthermore, the ideology of the peasant movement may immobilize its participation in policy implementation. Unlike the Federation of Free Farmers, which was a major force pushing for the implementation of agrarian reform legislation in the late 1950s and ’60s, a large part of the peasant movement in the 1980s was guided by a revolutionary ideology, and many of those organizations who were not of the Left were more utopian than the FFF (which was in the 1990s a mere remnant of its former self).

Thus there was almost no effort on the part of peasant organizations to help in the formation of BARCs, as difficult as that would have been. Nor were there any steps to monitor the valuation process in other ways.

When CPAR leaders made presentations to a joint hearing of the House and Senate committees on agrarian reform in March 1989, some of their criticisms were valid, but others revealed some ignorance of what was happening in DAR. CPAR admitted that attendance at that hearing was the first time since the passage of RA 6657 that any CPAR representatives had taken part in a government-initiated forum. (Agrarian Reform Monitor, First Quarter 1989: 4) The main of CPAR’s coalition activity in 1988 and ’89 had been seeking signatures on a petition for the enactment of the People’s Agrarian Reform Code (PARCODE), under provisions of Art. VI, Sec. 32 of the constitution, which allowed people’s initiatives. CPAR sometimes failed to explain to those whose signatures were sought that even if the daunting 10% of all registered voters were signed up, this would merely present the CPAR draft bill to the Congress for debate, amendment, and enactment—or rejection.

Eventually, however, the complexity of the task became more widely known and by , with less than half of the required signatures, the campaign was abandoned in most communities. The draft bill was so strong that, though desirable, it would never have passed through Congress.

In the meantime, most chapters of CPAR’ s largest constituent organization, Kilusang Magbubukid ng Pilipinas (KMP) , regarded their major role to be that of “mass base” for the armed struggle by the NPA. So there was no enthusiasm for helping to implement a clearly flawed piece of legislation.

If one puts landowner reaction to land reform in five ¯ignoring, evasion, obstruction, manipulating and cooperation—VOS seemed to produce one of the milder forms at , manipulation.

But as one should expect in a patrimonial , landowners didn’t usually act as a group, but individually, in dyadic relations with patrons and clients. (Interviews with Wifredo Clavecilla, LBP, and with Engelberto Barbosa, newspaper editor, Naga city, 1991)

Only rarely did the formal political elite at the local level, headed by the mayor, act on behalf of landowners. Most landlords went directly to DAR, their level of access depending on the size of their holding and their political connections. Conversely, DAR municipal officials who- rarely—appeared to side too openly with the peasants were sometimes subject to physical threats by landowners who wanted no part of reform, which fits in the “obstruction” category. By the 1990s the reaction of many landowners to VOS had regressed to “ignoring” when they failed to respond to requests from DAR or the LBP for documents necessary to the valuation process.

Even under the very inadequate law and regulations that exist today, it would be possible to improve the rate of land distribution to the peasant. Concentrating on those lands to which DAR already has title would seem to be a wise strategy.

But it will require an honest and forceful secretary of agrarian reform, with backing from Malacanang, ready and willing to prevent any improper intervention in administration processes. It would also NGOs and peasant organizations dedicated to working both within and alongside the reconstituted BARCs to defend farmers’ interests and help prevent factional struggles among local peasants that would make it very difficult to allocate land. Foreign aid projects for agrarian reform with built-in corruption monitoring and automatic cut off mechanisms would certainly help. (Dutch funding of phantom settlement projects could have been avoided.)

No substantial progress toward distributive agrarian reform is possible, however, without major changes in law and regulations. What such legislation should contain, and how it might be enacted are subjects for another paper. It is encouraging that such questions are getting new attention under the framework of the peace process. But one has little hope that an agenda for genuine agrarian reform can be successfully transplanted from the NUC to Congress.

Haydee Yorac the miracle worker will probably not be able to go that far.

Table 1. CARP Accomplishments

	1989 Dec. 31 (Cumul.)	1990 Dec. 31 (Cumul.)	1991 Dec. 31 (Accompl. during)	1992 Jan. 1 (Cumul.)	1992 Jan.-Nov.	1992 Nov (cumul)
CLOA Distribution
no. of Farmers		45,357	121,940	167,297
Area (Has.) [includes PD 27]		78,693	297,562	376,255
Voluntary Offers to Sell
Area of Applic- ations Received in Central Office	396,653	471,136	21,817
LO Claims Submitted to LBP
no. of FBs	3,812	20,478	42,982	63,460
Area	8,109	71,161	93,513	164,674	39,347	193,980
CLOAs Distributed						[204,021]
no. of FBs	876	3,598	14,871	18,469
Area	2,013	8,812	32,278	41,090
LO Claims Approved for payment by LBP
no. of FBs	1,603	1,603
Area	3,083	3,083
Voluntary land Transfer CLOAs Distributed
no. of FBs		2,036	9,803	11,839
Area		3,215	14,626	17,841
Compulsory Acquisition CLOA Distribution (over 50 has.)
FBs		4,471	4,365	8,836
Area		7,430	9,608	17,038
Total: CARP
ID Claims Submitted to LBP [processed by DAR]				288,000	78,888	367,520

Sources: DAR, “National Summary of Accomplishments, as of Dec. 31, 1991”; DAR, “Claim Folders Transmitted to Land Bank of the Philippines”; [ca Jan. 1993]

Bibliography

DAR, [1992] “Toward a Faster, Fairer and More Meaningful CARP Implementation under the Ramos Administration”.

DAR, 1992, “National Summary of Accomplishments as of Dec. 31st, 1991”.

DAR, [1993], “Claim Folders Transitted to the Land Bank of the Philippines”.

DAR, Administrative Orders.

Integrated Bar of the Philippines, 1987,“Position Paper on the 1987 Agrarian Reform”, October 8.

Ledesma, Antonio, 1991, “Community Based Agrarian Reform: The BARCs” paper presented at International Conference on Agrarian Reform, San Leonardo, Nueva Ecija.

Migdal, Joel, 1987, “Strong States, Weak States: Power and Accommodation” in Myron Weiner and Samuel Huntington, eds., Understandinq Political Development. Boston: Little, Brown.

Putzel, James, 1992, A Captive Land: The Politics of Agrarian Reform in the Philippines. Quezon City: Ateneo de Manila University Press.

Republic Act 6657, 1988, “The Comprehensive Agrarian Reform Law of 1988”.

Senate of the Philippines, Committee on Agrarian Reform, 1989, “Report on Legislative Inquiry into the Garchitorena Estate Transaction…”, June 28.

Wurfel, David, 1988, Filipino Politics: Development and Decay. : Cornell University Press.

Wurfel, David, 1989, “Land Reform: Contexts, Accomplishments and Prospects under Marcos and Aquino”, Philipinas, No. 12, pp. 3554.

Wurfel, David, 1991, “Elites and Agrarian Reform in the Philippines: Preliminary Comments on a Research Project”, February, 12pp.

Agrarian Reform Monitor

Business World

Daily Globe

Handiong (weekly, Naga City)

Interviews in Manila, Camarines Sur, Negros Occidental, and Basilan, 1991