In August, James Jazmines, 62, and Felix Salaveria Jr., 66, were in Tabaco City, Albay discussing with their families how they would spend their twilight years while enjoying retirement cycling in the province.

Despite living apart, James and his wife, Corazon, exchanged letters reminding each other to care for their health and discussed getting into permaculture as their form of environmentalism. On the other hand, Felix and his two daughters, Gab and Felicia Ferrer, looked forward to venturing into gardening as their bonding activity and future business.

But these plans would be unrealized as, for more than two months now, they remain missing. 

On Felix’s 66th birthday on August 23, he celebrated with his friends, including James, at Tabaco City. James bid Felix goodbye as they retired for the night and parted on his bicycle. Unbeknownst to him, a van had parked at the corner of his house two hours earlier and, as James neared, a group of men ambushed and forced him inside before driving off. Trailing behind was a motorcycle driver who was seen carrying James’s bike.

Five days after the incident, Felix suffered the same fate, as captured by a CCTV footage. He was walking along the side of the road after just buying food when a van abruptly stopped right beside him. Two men exited the vehicle and kidnapped him in broad daylight while suspected lookouts littered the scene. 

Within one week, James and Felix were added to the tally as the 14th and 15th enforced disappearance cases under President Ferdinand Marcos Jr.’s term, with a total of 17 victims actively missing. 

Abductions have long been used by the government to instill collective trauma among victims and suppress its critics. But this extreme adversity can also drive communities to mobilize and seek solidarity in advocacy and protest.

Stories of Struggle

By all accounts, James and Felix are good husbands and fathers, known within their communities as generous and kind. But in the eyes of the state, these two veteran activists became prime targets to cripple their causes.

The two friends had roots in writing and activism. James engaged in these firsthand while studying at UP Diliman as a psychology major, participating in the campaigns of the League of Filipino Students (LFS). His way with words allowed him to be the editor for its publication, the Commitment, in the 1970s and as the information officer of Kilusang Mayo Uno (KMU) from the 1980s to the mid-2000s. Meanwhile, his brother, Alan, became a National Democratic Front of the Philippines consultant. 

James’s deep involvement in student issues would lead him to his wife, Corazon, in LFS. They later became consecutive directors of the Amado V. Hernandez Resource Center, a cultural institution highlighting the struggles of the working class.

“Mas ganon relationship namin, tulungan, [kung] paano namin mas magagawa nang mahusay ang aming trabaho sa mga sektor,” Corazon said in an interview with the Collegian.

Corazon recounted her fond memories with James, built around their shared passion for development work. (Audrey Sanchez/Philippine Collegian)

Like James, Felix and his wife, Merci, traced their activist background during the period of Martial Law. His staunch advocacies for indigenous peoples’ rights would make him the founding member of Kabataan para sa Tribung Pilipino and Tunay na Alyansa ng Bayan Alay, while also publishing books against developmental aggression. 

Decades of activism made the two prominent figures within their respective sectors. Even as they grew older, James continued to advocate for labor welfare while Felix forwarded cyclists’ rights and eco-waste management. But their fight for human rights did not hinder them from spending time at home with family.

In their 25 years of marriage, Corazon remarked that James participated just as much with household work as he did in development work. As they retired, they maintained constant correspondence with each other despite Corazon staying in Quezon City while James lived in Albay to continue his advocacies.

Felix was a constant figure throughout Gab and Felicia’s childhood, guiding them on how to strum their first chords on the guitar, navigate the road behind the wheel, and balance on a bike. Though life had since led them down separate paths, Felix never let distance weaken their bond. He often sent messages, especially during recent storms, checking in with the sisters and wishing them safety.

Felicia often found herself hoping that each passing cyclist might be her missing father. (Audrey Sanchez/Philippine Collegian)

But the recent kidnappings have left both families in limbo, waiting for answers and desperate for leads. 

All indications point to the perpetration of state security agencies, according to the families’ lawyer Tony La Viña. The use of convoys, lookouts, and plate numbers different from those of the registered vehicle are telltale signs of a “professional operation.” The lawyer also said that uniformed police had entered Felix’s residence and took his belongings after the incident was reported.

However, this is not an isolated incident. Abduction cases similar to James and Felix persist despite the enactment of the Anti-Enforced Disappearance Act in 2012. The law is ineffective at exacting accountability because the perpetrators of such abductions are the state itself, which can shield its agents with impunity, according to human rights group Karapatan.

Pattern of Persecution 

In the state’s vendetta against activism, it weaponizes political violence to suppress critics when it lacks legitimate grounds to prosecute them, La Viña claimed. These tactics intend to sow fear and helplessness within communities, aiming to disempower and intimidate.

Corazon laments the grim reality activists face amid a repressive government. In this line of work, kidnappings can happen to anyone, she said. For Felix’s daughters, the ordeal has put them on the brink of physical and emotional exhaustion. ​​”Katulad ni Gab, di ako nabubusog, [pero] di rin ako nagugutom masyado. Hirap [akong] makatulog [at] laging madaling araw nagigising,” Felicia said.

Instances of political violence have psychological impacts beyond family members. Some residents near the abduction sites were hesitant to give witness testimonies, while friends of Corazon have declined to sign petitions for fear of being targeted. “Sabi ko na naiintindihan ko yan pero dyan mo makikita na very successful [ang gobyerno] in instilling fear,” Corazon said.

Another incident that reinforced terror in communities is the case of William Lariosa, a labor organizer for KMU in Southern Mindanao. For months, he was repeatedly harassed by the military at his home before being reported as missing in September. Such violence has forced other union activists to go into hiding to protect themselves and their families, according to reports from the Human Rights Watch.

These tactics inflict an unclear loss that occurs without closure or understanding, which is a means of exerting power and control over victims, according to Simon Roberts, a human rights researcher from the University of York. Communities unaware of what happened to a missing person is a form of disempowerment that the government wields to maintain or widen the power dynamics between itself and its opposition.

In the cases of James and Felix, Gab said they felt no sense of urgency from the police to solve the cases. The families had to refile blotters after finding out that they were not being processed. Local police were apparently unfamiliar with the Anti-Enforced Disappearance Act despite the 1,915 still-missing victims cases since Martial Law. Under the law, the state is expected to immediately issue certification on the presence or absence of the missing person in their facilities.

Gab stressed that disappearance cases have to be treated with urgency, no matter the victim’s background. (Audrey Sanchez/Philippine Collegian)

This inaction and unwillingness to divulge information creates a vacuum that is ripe for political instrumentalization, according to Roberts. It primes the government to advance its own narrative which trivializes the disappearances and demotivates others into finding the disappeared.

Just last month, the state attempted to censor Alipato at Muog, a documentary retelling the story of abducted activist Jonas Burgos. It was initially prohibited from screening for undermining the “faith and confidence of the people in their government.”

These measures aim to disempower communities, brought about by the feeling of victimhood and helplessness against political violence. Yet, in the face of such oppression, resistance often emerges as a response.

A Reinvigorated Movement

While abductions can disempower communities, desaparecidos also ignite political mobilizations. The desire to construct meaning from extreme adversity elicits solidarity through protest to hold the state accountable for its human rights violations. 

Supporters calling for the resurfacing of James and Felix have written to local officials in Albay, urging authorities to investigate the disappearances. On September 21, advocates organized a bike ride from Bantayog ng mga Bayani to the Flame of Courage monument for desaparecidos to further amplify the campaign.

La Viña said that they aim to humanize James and Felix through their stories, so they are not just seen as statistics. “[We want to make] sure that people notice that these people are good people. They have families. There is no reason why they should be abducted or harmed,” he said. 

Amid increasing cases of enforced disappearances, Corazon said that people must not succumb to fear and instead fight back against political violence by forwarding calls to protect human rights. 

Yet, their stories have not ended in silence. Instead, they have sparked another movement, transforming what was intended to instill fear into a force of resistance. James’s and Felix’s communities continue their advocacies in the collective pursuit of justice and the hope that no other families will be violently broken apart by the state’s repression. ●