Squatting problem and its social ills in MANILA

Depending on the economic standing of families illegally occupying government and private
lands without the tacit approval of the owners, squatting is a social problem that is also rooted on
distorted moral values. That being so, there emerged two kinds of squatters – the real and
professional squatters.
The real squatters are those that can be called informal settlers for they are really poor. Thus,
they need government help to be relocated to safer relocation sites. On the other hand,
professional squatters are those who are gainfully employed but they choose to live as squatters.
Some of them have been illegally occupying government and/or private lands for over 20 years,
and they even brag about it. Thus, three-story air conditioned concrete homes are now a common
site in many squatter communities.
Squatter communities along water tributaries considered danger zones by the government have
been found to be one of the causes of siltation and clogging of critical waterways. Moreover,
poor access of fire trucks to squatter colonies poses great risks to entire communities as fire
fighters are practically helpless in combating fires in these areas. It is, therefore, imperative for
concerned government officials to act on this problem seriously and immediately.
Emboldened by the soft treatment of squatters by the private and public sector, including the
church, which even branded squatter colonies as developing communities, squatting has become
a problem that needs to be addressed comprehensively at its social, economic and moral aspects.
Addressing this social ill
Solving the problem on squatting is a very tall order. But with determination, commitment and
community involvement, squatting can be prevented, especially in areas considered danger zones
by government authorities.
To do this, full implementation of housing rules and laws is needed among the barangay
officials, utility companies and community members. For instance, local barangays must
undertake a census of squatter communities to identify the residents, their livelihood and origin,
among others. The procedure should be able to identify the real from the professional squatters.
Second, utility companies, like water and power, should also scrutinize the legitimacy of
applicants for water and power service in squatter communities, including the structural integrity
of their housing units, which must comply with building regulations such as electrical and
sewage plans, among others.
I wonder why utility companies would require land titles as proof of ownership for their property
and a duly approved electrical plan by building officials when legitimate homeowners apply for
their services. And yet, when squatters apply for power or water service, a barangay clearance is
all that is required of them. Does this not pose a fire risk to an entire community of legitimate
homeowners and not only the community of squatters?
Who would be liable if homes of legitimate landowners would be burned because of fires that
started in squatters colonies? Would local government officials be culpable for reneging on their
responsibility to monitor the community of squatters? This, for all intents and purposes, is an act
of omission on the part of local government officials.
In 2017, for instance, how many of the fires in Metro Manila originated in squatter communities?
A big part of it started in these areas.
Keeping informal settlers off critical waterways is the principal responsibility of barangay
officials. Unfortunately, the problem on squatting has become a political issue. It has become an
issue between political and community interests.
In vote-rich squatter communities, many politicians do not even want to meddle with the
legitimacy issues of squatters. It is about time, therefore, for legitimate property owners like us to
have our voice heard by political and business leaders, if only to send the message that we also
have our rights as legitimate property owners. And that it is the responsibility of concerned
government officials to protect our homes from being conflagrated with fires that started in
squatter colonies. And, most importantly, that it is also the responsibility of concerned local
government officials to protect our legitimately-owned properties from being illegally occupied
by squatters.

Down a narrow alleyway in Manila, the capital of the Philippines, is the squatter community of
Estero de San Miguel. Although the primary passageway is only five or six feet wide, the
neighborhood itself is often bustling with activity. Kids play basketball with homemade hoops
and neighbors lean out their windows, watching the world go by. A hundred families, or about
500 people, live here in homes hammered together out of flimsy plywood and corrugated tin.
Their future homes will be equipped with a bathroom, indoor plumbing, and electricity.
In Manila, more than 500,000 people live as squatters, or as they call themselves, informal settler
families. Because they don’t have land titles, their right to live in their homes is regularly
challenged by the government and private landowners. Despite this, some of Manila’s informal
settlers have found power in numbers and wielded their electoral weight to their advantage.
Estero de San Miguel is typical of squatter settlements in Manila. Electricity is jumped from a
main line and there is no plumbing. The canal is gray and murky from the sewage of makeshift
homes, and the area floods pretty badly during typhoons. The water doesn’t smell great and the
houses aren’t much to look at, but the people who live here love their neighborhood
“We like to live here because it is practical,” said Filomena Cinco, the elected leader of Estero de
San Miguel. Cinco says being close to schools, hospitals, markets, and churches make the
neighborhood an ideal place for local families to live. And besides the prime location, they’ve
built a strong sense of camaraderie over the decades they’ve been there.
“If a family doesn’t have any food to cook, then we all get together and give food to that family,”
Cinco said. “If someone loses their job, we help them out. We give him something to do, like
clean the canal in exchange for some money. It’s a system of support, support of each other.”
In Tagalog, this system is called bayanihan, or communal work. When the whole neighborhood
burned down a few years ago, residents got together and rebuilt each other’s homes within a
week. And when an older neighbor had to go to the hospital, the community collected money to
pay for her bill. For the families that live in Estero de San Miguel, that social togetherness is
something worth fighting for.
“We’ve stood our ground over a relocation before,” Cinco said. “To show them how serious I
was, I said, ‘Over my dead body.’ If you take down one roof or a single nail, or demolish
anything, there’s going to be a revolution. We stood our ground—not just me, but the whole
community.”
For decades the Philippine government had a policy of relocating squatter families “off-city,” to
the outer reaches of Manila. But the relocation sites seldom had the economic infrastructure that
attracted squatters to the city in the first place. There were no nearby schools, hospitals, or
markets, so many ended up moving back to the urban center and starting another cycle of
squatting.
People like Cinco are willing to put up with substandard housing in Manila to be close to the
things they need to live. And the dependence goes both ways—residents of these neighborhoods
often work jobs that the city needs in order to function. Many work as sidewalk vendors, pedicab
drivers, security guards, or carpenters. Informal settler families are an important part of the
economic fabric of Manila; they’re just not paid enough to live in it. Even if community
members are government employees, their salaries are minimal.
“We also have skilled workers and professional workers here because many of our children have
graduated also in colleges, and now they are private employees and some of them are working
with the government,” Cinco said. But even if community members are government employees,
Cinco said their salaries are minimal.
The minimum wage for someone with a steady job in Manila is 466 pesos, or about $10 a day.
But many people don’t have regular work. Most are forced to cobble together an unstable living
and rely on sporadic jobs. This type of work makes it difficult to commit to paying rent, which
even at a few thousand pesos a month is already out of reach for squatter families.
But however poor Manila’s squatters are, they’re not powerless.
“If there are a lot of you, you can pressure the government,” said Luz Sudueste, a member of
Urban Poor Associates (UPA). The organization helps communities like Estero de San Miguel
organize and form a united front to lobby the government for squatter’s rights.
“It’s a matter of how many of you there are struggling against the issue,” said Sudueste. “If there
are only a few of you, there’s no way to influence the government. You need a burst.”
Informal settler families are an important part of the economic fabric of Manila.
Several squatter communities of Manila banded together in 2010, when the government started
an initiative of mass relocation of their communities. About 900 people died as a result of severe
flooding in Manila back in 2009, and the aim of the initiative was to move families out of harm’s
way. But when the government turned to faraway relocation sites as a solution, residents like
Cinco weren’t happy.
With help from Urban Poor Associates, the informal settlers approached Benigno Aquino III,
who was running for president at the time. They offered him the electoral support of the urban
poor in exchange for an open dialogue on demolition, relocation, and decent housing. In May of
2010, Aquino won the presidency and Cinco’s settlers had an ally.
The Aquino government doesn’t outwardly acknowledge the electoral deal and sometimes even
denies it. But it’s an open secret that the government has been hearing out the squatters’
demands. Rather than accepting a distant relocation site, the people of Estero de San Miguel
proposed an alternate plan to the government and were awarded government-subsidized housing
that’s a five-minute walk from their current settlement.
Their future homes will be concrete, three stories tall, and equipped with a bathroom, indoor
plumbing, and electricity. The new structures are also designed to be earthquake-safe and built
outside of the area’s flood zones. Families will pay between 500 and 1,000 pesos a month ($1-
$22 U.S.), to live in their new homes.
The buildings are painted bright pink, turquoise, and blue. The children of Estero de San Miguel
have started a mural on one of the newly built walls.
“It’s important to us because we inherited being squatters from our grandparents,” Cinco said.
“We don’t want to pass that on to our children, and our grandchildren, and even the generation
after that. We want their dignity as a family, as people, to be returned to them.”
There are still more than 100,000 families living along Manila’s waterways, all of whom are
slated for relocation in 2015. But for Estero de San Miguel and a couple dozen other squatter
communities, their in-city relocation is a victory.
 Homeless Filipino Families Occupy
6,000 Vacant Public Housing Units
"Look at those houses, they are idle. The grasses have grown tall, the houses are being invaded
by soil. Why don't they let the homeless live there?"
BY KARLO MIKHAIL MONGAYA MAR 31, 2017 3 MINUTES
Save For LaterSave Homeless Filipino Families Occupy 6,000 Vacant Public Housing Units For
Later

#OccupyBulacan. Photo by Paula Sabrine Janer. Used with permission.

Thousands of homeless families have occupied over 6,000 abandoned and empty housing units
in six public housing sites in Bulacan province north of Metro Manila since March 8, 2017,
International Working Women's Day.
Led by the Kalipunan ng Damayang Mahihirap (Kadamay), an urban poor organization,
and supported by various activist groups, those who taking part in the occupation have put up
barricades and held their ground for almost a month already in the face of harassment and threats
of eviction by housing authorities and police forces.
Early into the occupation, President Rodrigo Duterte accused the movement of sowing “anarchy”
and vowed to use force to evict them from the mass housing units. “If you want to ignore the
law, you cannot do that. I will force the issue with eviction,” he said.
“Hold Duterte accountable for his crimes against the poor!” Photo by Paula Sabrine Janer. Used
with permission.
Insisting that the occupied households have been vacant and left to rot for years while thousands
remain homeless, Kadamay did not back down from their assertion of the right of the poor to
avail of free public housing.
After a dialogue by housing officials with Kadamay, the Duterte government backed off from the
planned forced eviction of the families, which was scheduled to begin last March 27. Kadamay
called this an important victory of the collective struggle of the poor.
Below are some testimonies of the #OccupyBulacan participants in their own words as
documented by youth activist group Anakbayan:
“Renter ako ng 20 yrs. Dahil hindi ako makabayad, nagkautang ako P2500. Pinagtatadyakan ako
nung may ari. May pasa pa ako. Anong ebidensya pa ang kailangan nila para makita na mahirap
kami?”
I was a renter for 20 years. Because I cannot pay, I accumulated a debt of P2,500 (50 US
dollars). I was kicked by the owner. I still have bruises. What more evidence do they need to
prove that we are poor?
“Yung mga bahay ayan o, tiwangwang. Ang mga talahib ang tataas, ang bahay kinakain na ng
lupa. Bakit di nila patirhan sa walang bahay? Anong proseso pa ang gusto nila?”
Look at those houses, they are idle. The grasses have grown tall, the houses are being invaded by
soil. Why don't they let the homeless live there? What process do they want?
“Dala dala ko itong anak ko (babae, nasa 5 yo) sa lahat ng laban. Nung may nagpaputok (ng
baril) doon sa Muzon takot na takot po ako. Pero para lang may mauwian siya, kasi kung hindi sa
kalsada talaga kami.”
I always bring my child (female, 5 years old) in every struggle. When gun shots were fired at us
back in Muzon I was really afraid. But we are doing this so she has somewhere to go home,
because otherwise we'll just be in the streets.
“Dapat sama-sama tayo, wag panghihinaan ng loob sa mga paninira. Ang bahay ng isa
ipagtatanggol ng lahat. Hindi tayo aatras. Yung mga wala pang bahay titiyakin natin na
makakuha din. Ang kaayusan at kalusugan dapat tiyakin din.”
We should stay together, don't lose heart amidst the black propaganda. The house of one,
everyone defends. We will not retreat. Those who still don't have a home, we will ensure that
they can have one too. We should also ensure order and health.
“Bakit tayo sasabihan na kriminal, magnanakaw? Hindi ba ang krimen ay ang pagkaitan at
nakawan ng karapatan ang maralita?”
Why are we called criminals, thieves? Is it not that what is criminal is for the poor to be deprived
and stolen of rights?

Other sectors express solidarity to #OccupyBulacan movement. Photo by Paula Sabrine Janer.
Used with permission.
Activist researcher Arnold Padilla questioned Duterte's description of the occupation as
“anarchy”, retorting that what is “anarchic” is the fact that 52,341 public housing units have
remained unoccupied nationwide while thousands continue to be deprived of decent homes:
These housing units have been unused not because of lack of demand. According to the Housing
and Urban Development Coordinating Council (HUDCC), the housing backlog as of December
2016 is pegged at 2.02 million units. From this backlog, the total housing needs is expected to
swell to almost 6.80 million units by 2022, growing annually by more than 796,000. Meanwhile,
there are more than 1.5 million informal settler families (ISFs) nationwide, of whom 39% are
concentrated in Metro Manila, based on government’s latest data.
Independent research group Ibon said the housing crisis in the country has been spawned by a
profit-oriented approach that has meant contracting out “socialized” housing to private business
rather than providing them free to the homeless:
 Despite government and private sector claims, these “socialized” housing units remain
unaffordable and unattainable for many informal settlers, said the group. A Bistekville unit, for
example, does not require a down payment, but still has an amortization of Php2,273.84 (49 US
dollars) per month over a period of 30 years. Many informal settlers are struggling to meet their
families’ daily basic needs, and are also ineligible for housing loans from the Home Mutual
Development Fund (HMDF) and Pag-IBIG.
Aside from enduring homelessness, poverty, and hunger, the country's urban poor have also bore
the brunt of Duterte's “war on drugs” which has victimized and indiscriminately killed without
trial more than 7,000 small-time drug users and dealers in the country's sprawling slums.
Kadamay has vowed to continue the fight against an unjust system that has allowed thousands of
public houses to be vacant, even as thousands of poor families continue to remain homeless.
Originally published in Global Voices.
ARC 050: Professional Practice 3

DEPARTMENT OF ARCHITECTURE
(Global Practice for the 21st Century)

RESEARCH WORK NO. 1

Supplemental Services of the Architect

T/TH 3:00 PM – 4:30 PM

Schedule

INFANTE, JENNIFER JOY

Student

Ar. MANDIE D. PAGAGUAN UAP, PIA

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ARC 050: Professional Practice 3

DEPARTMENT OF ARCHITECTURE
(Global Practice for the 21st Century)

RESEARCH WORK NO. 1

Supplemental Services of the Architect

T/TH 3:00 PM – 4:30 PM

Schedule

DOMINGO, JOHN KYLE

Student

Ar. MANDIE D. PAGAGUAN UAP, PIA

Instructor