8:47 AM
An article about Raymund Narag, Rosanne's friend, published today
Finding Purpose in Jail
IN 1995, 21-year-old Raymund Narag had a promising future ahead of him. He was about to graduate cum laude from the University of the Philippines and was a leader in various college activities and organizations. He was set on becoming a lawyer and had plans to enter the UP College of Law. He had a family who was proud of him, friends who cherished him and a girlfriend whom he loved very much.
Everyone thought he was bound for success. However things changed when, just three days before college graduation, he was served a warrant of arrest for crimes he did not do. He allegedly took part in a rumble caused by his fraternity, Scintilla Juris, which resulted in the death of UP student Dennis Venturina, as well as the frustrated and attempted murder of others.
It was one of Raymund's bleakest moments. "Instead of a diploma, I showed my parents the papers taking me away from their custody and placing me under detention. Instead of marching to the stage hearing the applause of friends and relatives, I dragged my feet to jail. My parents figuratively died," he says.
Long immersion
After receiving the warrant, Raymund and his co-accused -- 11 others who were members of his fraternity -- voluntarily surrendered themselves to police authorities. They were placed in the Quezon City Jail while their case was pending.
Raymund was taken aback at the conditions of life in jail. "It took me time to adjust. I had to sleep in a cell that could ideally accommodate 10 inmates but actually contained 50. We had to look for our own food, clothing and beddings because the jail management couldn't sufficiently provide for it," he recalls.
During this time, Raymund convinced himself that he was simply undergoing a long immersion process. "I thought then that our detention was just a part of a long and under-budgeted immersion program, the way I used to immerse in squatters' communities. It was but an education process so that I would be exposed to the ills of society."
Reality check
However, Raymund had a cold dose of reality when the decision for bail petition came out, nine months after he and his co-accused were put to detention. His heart sank when he learned the results.
"Nine of my brods were granted bail but two of us were denied," he says. He was denied bail because a witness identified him as one of those who "whacked the victim [who was] lying on the ground."
Raymund repeated his pleas of innocence, to no avail. When his motion for reconsideration was denied, Raymund decided to face his situation squarely and realized he would probably be staying in jail for a long time.
"I realized that the mess I was in was no longer an immersion. It was destroying my life, and I could not simply rot [in jail]. I then told myself that I had to be productive, and that the idiocy of my situation would not turn me into a lowlife," he says. The first thing Raymund did to improve his situation was to apply for an outstanding pass from the court to be able to enroll in the UP Open University program. The court later allowed Raymund to go to school once a month, taking up a course in New Enterprise Planning.
In turn, Raymund organized and taught in a functional literacy class in jail, teaching his fellow inmates what he had just learned from his course in the Open University program, as well as basic subjects such as English and Math.
His teaching stint began Raymund's transformed outlook on jail life, as he started to regard his fellow inmates "not as individuals to be condemned but as souls waiting to be touched with reformation."
Becoming 'mini-city mayor'
It didn't take long for Raymund to find a "career" in jail. Or rather, his "career" found him.
"Eventually, my fellow inmates recognized my leadership potential and elected me as secretary of the inmate organization," he shares. As secretary, Raymund was able to come up with projects to better the lives of the inmates.
"We organized the 'No Bail Band,' which produced "Hiram na Buhay," an anti-death penalty song that became a hit during the Leo Echagaray execution. We also came up with a cultural committee that held weekly singing, dancing and drama contests," he says.
Raymund also tied up with the Ugnayan ng Pahinungod, a volunteer arm of the University of the Philippines, to conduct seminars on the rights of the accused, the different stages of criminal procedure and different modes of release, etc. They also trained inmate paralegal volunteers.
His dedication to improving the lives of his fellow inmates earned Raymund much-deserved respect and reverence from everyone. The inmates found a leader in Raymund, and eventually everyone began calling him Kuya Raymund-young or old, inmate or guard alike.
Not surprisingly, he was elected mini-city mayor, the top position in the inmates' organization, during his fourth year in jail. In this position, Raymund was able to institute more reforms in jail.
"I endeavored to do away with human rights abuses that were considered standard practice in the jail, like paddling the feet of erring inmates. I also advocated removing the practice of collecting exorbitant 'commitment' fees from new inmates. The commitment fees are like tuition, which were originally used for cell upkeep. However, some inmates and jail officers abused this mechanism and it placed further strains on the conditions of the inmates," he says.
Raymund also spearheaded raising funds the purchase of computers and the construction of a grotto, "which symbolized our commitment to peace," he explains.
Realizing the power of giving recognition to the capabilities of each inmate, Raymund empowered them by allowing every inmate to feel directly involved to the organization. He allowed each "pangkat" or group to resolve its own conflicts. The result was astounding: During his term as mini-city mayor, no major jail disturbance such as riots or escapes occurred.
The changes Raymund implemented at the QC Jail caught the attention of the media. It cited such programs as the graduation of those who took part in the literacy program, the Miss Quezon City Jail (which was a fundraiser), and various other cultural activities.
Free at last
After spending almost seven years in jail, the courts acquitted Raymund and released him from detention in 2002. At present, Raymund, 30, is married and will soon be a father. He is wrapping up his master's degree at the National College of Public Administration and has just finished writing a book about the penal conditions of the Quezon City jail, which he hopes will reach policymakers.
Aside from advocating for penal and criminal justice, he is also campaigning for non-violence in campus among the fraternities.
"I do not want any frat man, or any student for that matter, to suffer the same fate I have suffered. I am doing this on behalf of all the parents who fear that their sons might have a future destroyed. I hope that the fraternity system will find its relevance in the educational system," he says.
Although he found his stay in jail difficult, Raymund has no bitterness or regrets.
"I am thankful I had this experience, which made me more humble," he says. "I believe everyone has a mission in life. Mine was revealed through a long and torturous road. But when one responds to this mission, everything will have a meaning. And then one will truly see the beauty of life."
|
