EDITORIAL: SILENT STAMPEDE

THE NEWS OUT OF PASIG CITY LAST FRIDAY, A mere week after the Ultra
stampede, was equally hard to believe. A veritable arcade of "shabu"
restaurants, which could accommodate hundreds of customers at any
given time, was discovered thriving in the heart of the city-a mere
half-kilometer away from the district police headquarters and city
hall.

Entrance to the "arcade" was for a fee; like some other commercial
establishments, it even offered a discount on group rates. Inside the
600-square-meter compound, customers could choose from a menu of
shabu-related services, from buying the drug per gram, to renting drug
paraphernalia, to hiring the use of DVD players (or perhaps even
prostitutes, a police officer said) in order to while away the time.
All told, some 40 shanties served as shabu "restaurants," the stalls
rented out for short-term drug sessions.

After the massive police raid on Friday, the country's top cop visited
the site, and then described himself in a state of utter disbelief. It
was "incomprehensible," PNP Chief Director General Arturo Lomibao
said. The raid led to the arrest of over 300 people caught inside the
compound, including 59 minors-and to the sacking of every policeman in
the nearest precinct.

Lomibao is right; the shabu arcade in what nearby residents called
Sitio Mapayapa is truly incomprehensible. The concept itself, of a
"one-stop shop" (as another police officer phrased it) for shabu, of a
flea market for the country's most widely used illegal drug, boggles
the mind; but the fact that such a large operation had thrived for
about a year, right under the noses of the local government and the
Eastern Police District, beggars the imagination.

The impact of such a "community" cannot be overstated. A leader of the
raiding team spoke about the two pregnant teenagers who were caught in
the bust. "They were not customers. The children were being used as
runners for the different stalls. They were exposed to the buying and
selling of shabu. What happens when they grow up?"

But if their future was bleak, their present is not exactly bright
either. Already, they are like victims of a silent, slow-motion
stampede: pulled inexorably by the tide of events, unable to cry for
help or perhaps are simply unheard.

It is incumbent on the many stakeholders in Pasig society-not only the
PNP and the national and local governments, but also civic clubs,
church groups and business chambers-to rush in and fill the vacuum.
The local police must be held to account, as must those in local
positions of power who have had a hand in the emergence of the arcade.
But the government's social welfare agencies are overworked and
underfunded; they need help in assisting the minors caught in the
arcade's web (there must be more of them, than the 59 in government
custody). That's where NGOs can come in. The arcade itself must not
reopen for business. That is the only way meaning can emerge out of
incomprehensibility.