space shortage
In the shadow of Duterte’s hardline anti-drug campaign, Filipino graves reveal a troubling picture. Peaceful rest is not guaranteed for families who struggle to extend grave leases. When leases end, sites are exhumed with rough tools, stones fractured, and remains packed away in bags to be moved to mass graves or tucked into hidden corners. The scene is far from delicate, a stark reminder of the harsh reality faced by many families who cannot afford continual upkeep.
The campaign’s reach is clear in the numbers. Official tallies speak of thousands of lives lost in the pursuit of a drug-free nation, with estimates showing around 7,000 drug users and traffickers felled by police action. Yet the broader toll is higher, as more than 30,000 people who used drugs were recorded in the country, and the first year of the crackdown saw roughly 35 deaths daily. Those who died often left behind dependents who soon joined the ranks of the poor, adding a layer of personal tragedy to the state’s aggressive approach. The deceased frequently included the primary breadwinners of their families, intensifying hardship for those who remain.
In the Manila metropolitan fringe, neighborhoods such as Nabotas and Caloocan become the focal points of this tragedy. A walk through these areas exposes a landscape of poverty where wooden shacks rise on damp plots, water is scarce, and improvised electricals crackle with danger. The cost of a modest burial slab can be staggering—roughly a thousand pesos, or about 17 euros a year—an amount substantial for households struggling to feed a family. The national average income barely reaches 270 euros per month, and the pandemic has sharpened the gap between need and ability to pay. In many cases, the deceased was the main provider, amplifying the emotional and financial strain on surviving relatives. A grim snapshot, but one that underscores the social inequality baked into the system (Amnesty International, report on Duterte’s anti-drug program).
space shortage
The solution, five years on, has become either a tiny coffin of bone or a common grave. Tensions over space drive a frantic turnover of tenants, with relatives often forced to witness the destruction of graves as a means to reclaim room for new burials. Amid the squeeze, Father Flavie Villanueva has emerged as a steadfast advocate for more humane endings. Since the earlier expiration dates began to bite, she has supported exhumations and cremations to provide families with a container to keep at home. Not wholly aligned with tradition, yet it offers a form of closure and a modest dignity against a growing pile of anonymous bones (International commentary on the Duterte era).
Philippine cemeteries lay bare stark social divides. Just steps apart, well-kept family tombs sit beside cramped niches, some even bearing the deceased’s name written in ink. Cardboard, beer cans, and other remnants document a decay that stands in sharp contrast to the bright colors of the concrete blocks that support the humbler graves. The scene is a quiet indictment of inequality made visible in death and memory.
Children roam freely among the stones, turning space into a playground as funeral rites briefly interrupt their games. Nabotas, one of the hardest-hit cemeteries, became a place of improvised sport where nets strung between graves served as volleyball courts. Voices rise with a mix of humor and frustration as youths ask why there are no parks for them to enjoy. A local contractor with decades of experience notes the workload surge, telling reporters about the demand in a period marked by extraordinary strain on the burial system. Reports from regional outlets recount hundreds of bags of remains left behind near the graves as space grows ever tighter (South China Morning Post coverage cited, with context provided by regional observers).
old tradition
Funerals in the Philippines, a country deeply rooted in Catholic rites, carry heavy emotional and financial weight. Within this whirlwind of loss, many families confront the expense of ceremonies. Neighbors often organize bingo-like fundraisers to cover costs, a tradition that becomes a lifeline when funds fall short. The body is treated with formaldehyde to preserve it for weeks in the open air, and burial follows once the needed money is raised. Police occasionally intervene to pause or end a fundraising effort and hasten burial when necessary. It is common for families to visit the grave on the ninth day, the fortieth day, and at annual anniversaries, a pattern that intersects with modern pressures and changing practices. Against this backdrop, the current practice of hurried exhumations strikes a discordant note with longstanding customs (International humanitarian commentary on funeral rites).
The International Criminal Court, based in The Hague, has probed whether crimes against humanity occurred in Duterte’s anti-drug campaign. Jurisdiction remains contested; Duterte has dismissed the allegations and noted that the Philippines withdrew from the court in 2019. Nevertheless, judges can consider excesses committed before that withdrawal date, and observers continue to debate the reach of international accountability. With Duterte nearing a constitutional end to his term, questions about legal exposure persist, even as the administration maintains its stance on the actions taken during the crackdown (ICC proceedings and regional legal analyses).