VLAD: When words heal

Imagine a young nurse, cool and tip-top in a white scrub suit, surveying her anxious household before waving goodbye — generously, unflinchingly.

Imagine that from an island barangay southeast of Manila, she heads into the mainland hospital, wary of the virus that’s everywhere yet nowhere in sight.

Imagine that outside she is met by the barangay chairman’s wife who stops her from coming back. The words “stay in the hospital” send a fluttering in the gut. Like the grim prognosis you wish you never heard from a doctor’s mouth.

Imagine that she trudges off to the ferry port anyway because she is not just a faithful servant. She too is a good neighbor.

Imagine that she is refused a boat ride, not once but many times, until one reluctant driver strikes a hard bargain. “Last na ito, ha?”

Imagine that across the lake her employer calls her a reliever despite all six months spent substituting or supplementing staff. Nurses are not paid the minimum let alone hazard pay. And the time allotted for charting or endorsing shifts is not compensated. Those who complain are told instead to tip their “caps” off to a suitable institution.

Now imagine that hospital personnel battling the spread of diseases have also been fighting for basic safeguards from the coronavirus. Some make do with homemade protective wear without antiviral design.

This is more or less what happened to Jenny (not her real name) who has been staying in the hospital for more than three weeks, bouncing between departments when on duty to a cramped stock room where she sleeps.

She misses her family badly. “Gusto ko na umuwi, pero kinakabahan po ako.” Isolated, she is worried sick that she’ll be refused a ride, blocked along the way, or ejected if she ever gets to her place.

For health care providers like Jenny, rendering a solemn medical obligation means being thrust into an uncomfortable but necessary station. Many are worse off. They find themselves suspected as potential carriers of the pathogen in their own towns. How our policymakers and legislators respond beyond the shibboleth of calling them martyrs and heroes will test our resolve in upholding the sustainability and dignity of their profession. Will such a response afford them a reason to live for or a pittance to live by? This pandemic seeks as much our greatness of heart as it does the ultimate cure.

An encouraging thought for now is knowing that many people “go out” of their way to make a difference even when the times have made their own lives difficult.

That’s exactly what Volunteer Lawyers Against Discrimination or VLAD has been doing since offices and most courts are closed. VLAD has created a venue for persons requesting assistance called PRAs to stay connected and assured in stressful situations. In a short time, VLAD’s membership jumped from a handful of UP law blockmates to more than a hundred lawyers from different schools nationwide helping victims of eviction from homes or villages, breach of lease contracts, denial of access to public places and transport, employment termination and deprivation of benefits, unjust vexation, libel and defamation, and other forms of COVID-19-related stigmatization.

When VLAD called, an unknown neighbor had just dropped by and volunteered to secure a quarantine pass for each homeowner so people need not step out of their houses. After just an hour, he came back with our card on hand. I thought one good turn deserves another.

Far apart and sheltered in place, Jenny and I were able to communicate. Thanks to the free social messaging app. Where one’s access to help desks outside is limited, this platform comes in handy. The talk is the walk.

“Salamat po sa tulong, attorney. Hindi ko akalaing may sasagot sa message ko sa VLAD. Masaya ako na may ba-back up pala sa akin,” she says. I advised her to secure a certificate from the hospital stating that she is a nurse without symptoms of any sort and that no COVID-19 patient has been admitted to her workplace. I also drafted a letter for her addressed to barangay officials and the police asking them to ensure that her freedom of movement and right to stay home are respected to avoid a formal complaint against them.

Her appreciation along with those that I have had the benefit of receiving in this crisis would make you believe all the platitudes about how words can bring a world of happiness and hope and, as the Proverbs say, “healing to the bones” — one PRA at a time.

Thus, a reassuring call buoyed a returning cruise ship worker, who was unaware of quarantine rules, after a long haul from Spain back to Bicol. A legitimate appeal helped convince suspicious barangay officials to let a transient firefighter remain in his house in Tacloban City. And a cautionary message warned a student in Makati City against Facebook use that threads on privacy rights.

In the long days of social distancing, we can be thankful for how a word of legal advice kept us entwined to get something right when everything else seemed wrong.

I’d like to imagine how Jenny returned home, after her unexpected confinement, tired but grateful. And like in reality TV, your household, your barangay especially, got to watch a family welcome their daughter back — generously, unflinchingly.

(Editor's note: The author is a volunteer lawyer doing pro bono work. He is also the general counsel of a publicly listed company. He graduated from UP College of Law.)