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The lords of the sidewalk

Corn vendors lord over Katipunan's sidewalk even against the law
by Joanie C. Ipili and Kathrine Anne Paula A. Larcia

For Connie Paragas, selling corn is not easy. As a corn vendor, she has to withstand nine hours of boredom and heat—a sacrifice that pays off when customers buy her corn. Sometimes, she is not able to sell anything.

Working for nine hours is not the only thing that rattles her. She pays an Indian man daily for lending her the needed capital. She gives law enforcers corn and money. At the end of the day, she has little money left to support her family.

But Paragas has no choice. After all, like other corn vendors just outside the Ateneo, she is violating the law.

Against the law

Corn vending along the sidewalks is illegal. According to Quezon City Ordinance No. Sp-1444, S-2004, "the use of streets, sidewalks, avenues, alleys, bridges, parks and other public places in Quezon City for commercial and personal purposes are hereby prohibited."

These prohibited acts include "vending or selling of foods, magazines, newspapers, cigarettes, brooms, watches or jewelries, shoes and other footwear, and/or any other items."

Vendors who violate this law pay a P1,000 fine to the Metro Manila Development Authority (MMDA) and the police. They may also be imprisoned for 30 days or less. In some cases, they may receive both forms of punishment.

Despite this, a lot of vendors fill the stretch of Katipunan Avenue, 13 of whom are members of the Corn Vendors' Association.

"Matigas ang ulo namin. Dito kami nabubuhay eh (We are hardheaded about this because this is where we get our living)," says Paragas.

Corn vending is illegal because of sanitation reasons. Manuel Buncio, chief of the Control, Prevention, and Removal of All Illegal Structures and Squatting division of Quezon City's Department of Public Order and Safety (DPOS), says that corn vendors near Miriam College's overpass do not have any sanitary permits.

"Katipunan is a critical area," he says.

Corn vending can also cause traffic, which is the case for vendors along Pinatubo Street in Aurora Boulevard.

Although Quezon City councilor Ariel Inton Jr. has not received any complaints on Katipunan vendors, causing traffic is also a ground for denying them of their application for permits. "It's not like they can choose a place and be given a hawker's permit," he says.

Inton adds that sidewalk vending may at times be a cover-up for drug dealing and stealing. Because of this, the city government has decided to deny the vendors' permits to stay at Pinatubo Street.

He says, "Although they have the right to sell, we also have to [think of the] general public."

DPOS clears 1.5 meters of each sidewalk, the required width of sidewalk pavements to enable people to pass by. The confiscated goods used to be given to youth detention centers, but it was found out that jail guards use them. Thus, Buncio says that his group now throws away the goods into a compactor.

It persists

"Illegal vending exists because of politics," says Buncio.

According to him, it persists because of religious groups' support to the vendors. The Catholic Church and other Christian denominations, he says, denounce the government's plans to drive the vendors away because they are deemed anti-poor.

More so, some politicians help the vendors in hopes of getting votes in upcoming elections.

Jorge Banal, another Quezon City councilor, says that the problem lies in the enforcement of the ordinance, which is a task of the barangay. He explains that tolerating illegal vending may compromise the community's safety and rights.

"The rights of vendors should be upheld and considered, but not to the detriment of pedestrians and motorists who have rights as well," he says.

For most vendors, however, selling corn is their only means of survival. In Paragas's case, corn vending was passed on to her by her father. She earns between P300 and P900 daily.

"Dito lang talaga kami umaasa lahat (We all rely on this for our living)," she says.

Selling corn also means having to give in to bribery and corruption. Paragas says that MMDA officials used to force her and other vendors to give them money to buy gasoline. Once, they even asked for a bottle of an alcoholic drink. Now they only ask for cobs of corn.

"'Pag lumaban ka, may panghataw sila (They have something with which to hit you if you fight back)," she says.

Legitimizing the trade

Inton believes, however, that driving corn vendors away will not solve the problem. "If you drive them out, they will come back," he says.

To legitimize the trade, Quezon City councilors developed an enterprise program called "Barangay Micro-Business." Under this program, small-time vendors like Paragas will pay P100 to apply for a hawker's permit to be renewed every three months.

After approving the vendor's application, the city treasurer will issue a two-year certificate. Both the certificate and the hawker's permit are meant to prevent vendors from being victims of extortion.

"Make it legal for them to sell … so that they will not be victimized," says Inton.

Not everyone, however, views the program positively. More people applying for a hawker's permit means having more vendors on the sidewalks that Buncio's group clears up.

"[The hawker's permit] gives a semblance of reality. But, in truth, it is graft and corruption," Buncio says.

"Barangay Micro-Business" also runs contrary to MMDA's policies. Although the program encourages small-scale businesses, MMDA officials still drive vendors with permits away.

Paragas says that although vendors like her want to comply with the law by paying P100 for a barangay clearance, MMDA officials are still persistent in confiscating their goods—and violently at that, with some vendors claiming to have been beaten up after refusing to surrender.

"'Maglalagay ka. Kukuha ka ng permit. Tapos huhulihin ka (You bribe them. You pay for the permit. And then you'll still be arrested)," Paragas says.

"Eh ‘di huwag na lang (Never mind then)."

Accomplices?

Ateneans get to experience the corn vendors' plight through the Junior Engagement Program (JEEP), a formation program by the Office for Social Concern and Involvement (OSCI) and the Philosophy Department. JEEP requires juniors to work for supermarkets, malls, and other institutions.

With this, is the Ateneo taking part in an illegal activity?

Isabel Karinna Liganor (III AB MEco) once worked as a corn vendor for JEEP. She recalls her co-workers telling her that what they were doing was illegal, but that government officials remain unresponsive to their plea to make sidewalk corn vending legal.

According to JEEP Program Director Ophelia Alzona, however, JEEP does not encourage corn vending. Instead, the program merely serves as an eye-opener to the students.

"Gusto naming ma-experience ng students at maunawaan ang lagay ng marginalized (We want our students to experience and understand the plight of the marginalized)," she says.

Liganor shares the same sentiments. "Having corn vendors as an avenue for JEEP actually helps us open our eyes to what … the marginalized experience every single day," she says.

Alzona adds that most vendors want to follow the law, but are left with no choice since their kind of business has not yet been legitimized effectively as of now.

For Inton, there is nothing wrong with helping sidewalk vendors with programs like JEEP. "We would even encourage you to do that," he says.

Illegal but not over

At the end of the day, sidewalk vending remains illegal. This does not mean the end of it, however.

"Tanggap naman namin na ilegal kaya lang wala na kaming ibang pagkakakitaan (We know that sidewalk vending is illegal, but we have no other means to earn a living)," says Paragas.

"Kaya sabi namin, hangga't kaya naming lumaban, lalaban kami talaga (That's why we tell ourselves to really fight as long as we can)."

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