RECENTLY, INTERIOR AND Local Government Secretary Jonvic Remulla visited the New Quezon City Jail Male Dormitory and declared it would serve as the detention site for those involved in the flood control mess. He walked through the spartan living spaces, inspected the bunks, peered at the laundry areas, and even noted the drinking water provisions. He expects that at least two hundred people will be indicted in the next three weeks. His reason for choosing the place was simple: the New Quezon City Jail in Payatas is the nearest and most accessible jail to the Sandiganbayan, where the cases will be heard and litigated.
The new Quezon City Jail in Payatas is no small facility. It is a sprawling complex designed for 5,000 Persons Deprived of Liberty (PDLs)—the largest in the country in terms of building size, number of jail cells, and available rehabilitation facilities. It is composed of three five-storey buildings with 440 cells. It was meant to be the most modern jail in the Philippines, a symbol of what correctional reform could be if we dared to dream beyond overcrowding and neglect.
HOW IT BEGAN
I remember how it began. Around 2015, then-Warden Ssupt Randel Latoza of the old Quezon City Jail in Kamuning approached me for a training program. I was then a visiting professor at UP-NCPAG. Together, we developed a course curriculum on a human-rights-based approach to jail management—integrating modern practices such as risk assessment, classification, housing segregation, treatment programming, and case management and documentation.
The late Warden Latoza had a vision: a new kind of jail that would end overcrowding, dismantle the gang and mayores systems, and replace the old preso hierarchy with professionalism and humanity.
‘This should be a welcome development. The jail officers will treat them professionally; no special favors, no VIP cells, no air-conditioned quarters. They will be treated like everyone else—like the thousands who languish there for lesser sins. But if the government is serious, it must address the jail’s unfinished business.’
DIGNITY AND ORDER
We trained all Quezon City Jail officers for four months at the UP-NCPAG campus. After the program, the officers drafted their collective vision for a new Quezon City Jail—a place that would restore dignity and order.
We presented our output to the Quezon City government, and Mayor Herbert Bautista agreed to donate a 2.4-hectare lot in Payatas. In 2016, the International Committee of the Red Cross joined us to develop the architectural design. And with the Build Build Build program of President Duterte, a budget was alloted to the construction of the new facility.
And so the new facility rose, complete with isolation areas for the sickly, quarantine zones for new arrivals, medical clinics, recreational and visitation spaces, and even laundry and cooking areas for PDLs. It was, in form and intent, a model of what jails in this country could become.
TWO PROBLEMS
Except that two problems remain—two problems that betray the promise of the whole endeavor.
First, the fences. The fence is incomplete; it is also built at uniform height despite the hilly terrain. In some areas, the fence towers high; in others, the fence is low enough to jump over. The result? PDLs cannot leave their cells without supervision.
Most of the time, they are padlocked inside, deprived of sun, air, and movement. Many have told me during my interviews they would rather return to the old, crowded Kamuning jail where, at least, they could roam freely during the day. It was a substandard design.
Second, the damage done during the pandemic. In 2020, when COVID-19 hit, the unfinished facility was converted into the “Ligtas COVID Center” of Metro Manila. Certain cells temporarily held new detainees from across the region.
Locked inside 24 hours a day, many inmates protested in the only way they could—they destroyed plumbing, clogged toilets, cut electric lines—just to draw attention and be transferred elsewhere. Ironically, the punishment turned out to be a relief. But the damage lingered: malfunctioning pipes, broken fixtures, and a drainage system that barely worked. To this day, jail officers have to repair what was broken, often with their own hands.
To their credit, the BJMP wardens and jail officers have done all they could. They cleaned the cells themselves, since PDLs cannot be used for maintenance without the security of a proper fence. They worked double and triple shifts to maintain order in a facility that was never fully finished.
A WELCOME DEVELOPMENT
Now, with the flood control contractors soon to be detained here, the spotlight turns once again to the New Quezon City Jail in Payatas. This should be a welcome development. The jail officers will treat them professionally; no special favors, no VIP cells, no air-conditioned quarters. They will be treated like everyone else—like the thousands who languish there for lesser sins.
But if the government is serious, it must address the jail’s unfinished business. Complete the fences.
Repair the pipes and toilets. Fix the drainage. Make the place livable—not for comfort, but for decency. Address the substandard design and construction. Without these, rehabilitation, recreation, and education programs will remain limited, and the promise of modern correction will wither behind padlocked doors.
SUBSTANDARD FACILITY
Perhaps there is some poetic justice in all this.
The DPWH contractors who built substandard bridges and drainage systems may now live in a substandard jail facility. They will, at last, know how it feels to suffer the consequences of their own handiwork—to live amid crumbling walls, leaking pipes, and failing systems.
Let them experience what they built.
Maybe then they’ll understand that corruption, like poor construction, always collapses in the end.
#thefilipinocriminologist