“I’ve had veiled threats, been called slurs, and been ‘red-tagged’ in coordinated attacks”

When I see the hate messages against me, of course I feel numb at first. It does take a toll in the long run. It takes a great deal of mental fortitude to withstand that amount of hate.

Most of the hostility I face comes through online intimidation. The abuse on social media mostly comes from troll accounts, but there are many from real people. A lot of misinformation and disinformation is spread to discredit me or mislead people around the issues. Where I can, I try to correct the narrative and take an educational approach in my responses.

I’ve never had a direct death threat, but I’ve been a victim of veiled threats. People are creative in hiding violent messages. They will post on Facebook: “If you continue to do this, it would be better if you were dead.” The intent is unmistakably malicious. 

I’ve also received menacing phone calls from unknown numbers. During one of them, I was called “thick faced” to go against a former president and told my family must be ashamed of me. This shatters the security and peace of my private life.

I’m cautious about who might be following me. I’ve been a victim of ‘red-tagging’ – a form of harassment where individuals and organisations are labelled as communists or terrorists, and treated as enemies of the state. It's a dangerous label that has often led to violence and even extra-judicial killings.

As a woman, my appearance is often the subject of ridicule. When I see comments about my thick lips, I reply with more of my photos. I sometimes get called ‘palaka’ which means frog. I try to have a little fun. I keep a folder of cute frog photos on my phone which I send back to the trolls.

The perpetrators I act against often hold prominent positions in government and society. This means, despite the violations and abuses we are challenging, they have a loyal supporter base and more probably, a paid troll army, which work to defend them.

Because of the threats I face, the Law Society of England and Wales wrote to Philippine authorities and issued a statement in support of me and my work. That sends a strong message. It’s proof that lawyers around the world are banding together – an attack on one is an attack on all.

In the Philippines, we carry a deep-rooted cultural concept called ‘hiya’ – a sense of shame we instinctively try to avoid. So, when international legal communities call out our human rights record, that cultural pressure should push the government to act.

I’ve been interested in activism since college, and my belief in justice has had a big influence on my career. Growing up, my mother was a public attorney in government representing clients who couldn’t afford to pay. I came across many other examples of activists and human rights lawyers.

I’m a people’s lawyer (or public interest lawyer), which is a more discerning type of human rights lawyer. My group is committed to the people, or the 99%, and their causes. I represent marginalised groups – from women and workers to farmers and fisherfolk – in cases tied to systemic power imbalance.

When I first started working as a lawyer, I handled a lot of criminal defence cases. Most involved trumped-up charges against activists and government dissenters that met the threshold of probable cause, but often fell apart under cross-examination at trial.

Now, I focus on counter charges holding perpetrators and abusers to account. My team filed the first substantial civil challenge to red tagging on behalf of activists who have been victims. There have been positive developments, and we could potentially change the dynamics of red-tagging.

Working with the National Union of People’s Lawyers (NUPL) has been a powerful collaborative experience. During the Morong 43 case in 2010 – where 43 health workers were arrested for illegal possession of firearms and explosives – international legal support and attention helped us secure their release. Both legal and meta-legal tactics were in play, and in the end, the government had no choice but to drop the charges.

It was a poignant case for me, because Palparan was found by the court to have abducted my friend Karen Empeño. Karen and I connected at college through our shared passion for activism. Her disappearance was one of the reasons I went to law school, when the legal remedy of amparo – an extraordinary judicial remedy to protect constitutional rights – became available.

I started working on this case with the NUPL as a paralegal when I was still at law school. It was a formative experience – I learned cross-examination tips and trial techniques that I use today. I also assimilated the whole notion of taking the powerful to account, and appreciated the maximal and multiplier impact of strategic human rights litigation.

Looking to the future, I’d like to achieve justice for the victims of the Philippines ‘war on drugs’ by convicting those most responsible in the International Criminal Court. This would shatter the culture of impunity – and for the rich and powerful, the expectation of it – in my country. I’d also like to see public interest law become a first choice for young lawyers. We have a mandate here that requires lawyers to render hours of free legal aid a year. It’s a good system, but some lawyers can pay their way out of it.

In many developing countries, lawyers are seen as corrupt or bad, and as enablers of the inequitable status quo. We need to educate the public that lawyers really should work for the good of all. It’s a noble profession, and whether you're a corporate, public interest, or a government lawyer, we are all bound by the same principles. When legal systems are broken in one part of the world, it weakens the rule of law globally.

Photographs courtesy of Kristina Conti, The National Union of People's Lawyers and CSU Law.