I marched in the graduation ceremonies of Michigan State University in East Lansing, Michigan, last May 4. Pending a successful defense of my dissertation, I will receive a doctoral degree in criminal justice. From a maligned ex-inmate in one of the most crowded jails in the Philippines, I will become “Dr. Narag,” with specialization in prison administration.
I was once accused of a crime I did not commit—the murder of an equally promising young man a few months before my graduation at the University of the Philippines. From May 24, 1995, until Feb. 28, 2002, I was arrested by the police, prosecuted in the courts, and held in the Quezon City Jail. I was only 20 years old and naïve to the harsh realities of the world. When I was released at age 27, I was a changed man.
I was initially bitter about my incarceration. I could not fathom why a person as idealistic as I should undergo such travails. I could not comprehend why I had to live in a cell that held 30 inmates instead of the humanely prescribed five. I could not understand why I was forced to live on tuyo (dried fish) that barely sustained my flesh. I could not grasp why I had to leave the cell in handcuffs and why the media were too willing to proclaim that I was the person to be hanged. In my myopic mind and shortsighted understanding, I questioned God: “Do I deserve this suffering?”
But God sent people who served as floater when I was about to sink in the sea of despair—Sister Auxi, a nun, who made me her assistant in her prison ministry; Bobby and other brothers in the Christ Youth Action, who introduced me to the Bible; the UP Pahinungod, which provided me the opportunity to be a “full-time” volunteer. He kept my parents and sisters steadfast in believing that I was not involved in the crime; steadfast, too, was my girlfriend, whose advice—“Be a good boy”—continued to ring when the jail’s corrupting influences tempted me. And He gave me Dan, my fellow accused and who served time with me, whose character was a pillar of strength.
Responding to the hook God gave me, I volunteered my services to the Jail Bureau. I taught in the literacy program, where we introduced the basics of writing and reading to our fellow inmates. I worked as a paralegal coordinator, monitoring the cases of inmates long overdue for release. I organized a Bible study group called Kristo Okay sa Amin (Kosa) to generate brotherly love among the warring gangs.
In my fourth year of imprisonment, I became the mayor de mayores, the top post in the inmate political hierarchy, where I helped the warden in managing the jail’s affairs: how to keep the surroundings clean, prevent conflicts among the gangs, and generate funds to keep the reformation programs going. I saw firsthand the intricacies of managing a crowded, underfunded, undermanned prison institution.
Thus, instead of being embittered by my prison experience, I was “embettered” by it, as Fr. Tony Ranada, the jail chaplain, would say. I found the reason God sent me there: to tame my wild and insatiable soul. Before my incarceration, I was headed to the worldly and Machiavellian life of the legal profession, where I envisioned myself as a shrewd lawyer.
But I realized I was in jail to discover God’s undying love for me. Having found the reason, I claimed my freedom and clung to His promise: I may be the maligned inmate, but I was spiritually free. I shall use my academic and intellectual skills for His greater glory.
I was invigorated to document what ailed the jail administration and to understand why and how my fellow inmates ended up in jail. I tried to understand why gangs engaged in violence and drug distribution and how jail officials maintained their professional integrity despite low salaries and inadequate personnel. I wrote letters to the media and to politicians and administrators to provide a realistic analysis of why jail escapes happen, why inmates engage in riots, and anything that would portray a true understanding of jail life.
Right in the confines of the Quezon City Jail, I was introduced to the academic field of criminal justice.
After six years, nine months and four days, I was proclaimed a free man. Of course, I was wrongly accused! Immediately, I wrote a book titled “Freedom and Death Inside the City Jail,” which was supported by the United Nations Development Program and published by the Philippine Supreme Court. In his message, then Chief Justice Hilario Davide described my book as an “eye-opener.” He used it as one of the bases for the wide-ranging Action Program for Judicial Reforms. In one unforgettable moment, I delivered a speech in front of the 15 justices of the Supreme Court, telling them my story of incarceration and redemption. Almost in tears, one of the female justices approached me and whispered, “Our courts can only express our apology.”
Apology accepted! But more than an apology, I wanted our leaders to act in behalf of the inmates and other downtrodden people. I wanted them to develop a passion for the people they were serving.
Using my extensive experience on how the inefficacy of prison records lengthens the stay of inmates in jail, and inspiring a group of computer programmers, we came up with a simplified inmates records system. We also developed a detainees’ notebook, where inmates can monitor their own cases. These efforts to declog the jail were noticed by the Quezon City government, which gave me the Outstanding Citizen Award in 2005.
But when it rains, it pours. As a Fulbright scholar in August 2005, I was sent to Michigan State University to work for a master’s degree in criminal justice. For my thesis, I studied the correlates of victimization among Filipino respondents. I was subsequently offered another scholarship, this time for a doctorate.
The road to the PhD was long and rigorous. I had to burn the midnight oil to read theories on crime; I stayed in the library for long periods to master the methods of collecting data; I had to refresh my old mathematical skills to understand statistical analyses. There were times that I almost gave up, asking God if I had made the right decision to pursue a PhD. I had two kids by then, and they were growing right in front of my eyes. But again I clung to God’s promise. I remembered: He sent me to prison, and He plucked me out.
After seven years, the same length of time I spent in jail, I am done with my two postgraduate degrees.
I marched tall and proud. I marched to give thanks to all those who kept and continue to keep the faith. (I will reiterate: Hang on and never give up.) I marched to declare that everyone makes a mistake and it is important to learn and grow from it. I marched to testify to the triumph of the human spirit in the face of seemingly unending odds. But most importantly, I marched as a proclamation of God’s love.
Raymund E. Narag is with the School of Criminal Justice of Michigan State University.