17/10/2026
This is profoundly sad.
Two farmers in Alabel, Sarangani reportedly died while undergoing sulif, a traditional trial by ordeal used to resolve a land dispute. Reports say efforts to settle the controversy at the barangay level had failed, after which the two men entered the river and remained submerged for about twelve minutes. Both eventually died. Police are now investigating the circumstances of the incident.
What makes the tragedy particularly painful is that this was, at its core, a dispute over land—the kind of controversy that law, mediation, evidence and adjudication are supposed to resolve.
The immediate question is: Why did a disagreement over property have to be resolved by placing two human lives at risk?
But there is an even larger question: Does this tragedy also tell us something about the accessibility and effectiveness of our justice system?
Philippine law recognizes custom and tradition. But that recognition has never been absolute.
Article 11 of the Civil Code provides that customs contrary to law, public order or public policy shall not be countenanced. Article 12 further provides that a custom must be proved as a fact according to the rules of evidence. Thus, antiquity alone does not confer legality upon a practice. A practice does not become immune from scrutiny merely because generations have observed it.
There is, however, an important additional dimension in this case because the persons involved were reportedly members of an indigenous community.
The Indigenous Peoples’ Rights Act, or RA 8371, gives genuine and substantial recognition to indigenous customary law. Section 63 provides that customary laws, traditions and practices shall be applied first with respect to property rights, claims and ownership, hereditary succession and the settlement of land disputes involving ICCs/IPs. Section 65 likewise recognizes the primacy of customary laws and practices in resolving disputes involving indigenous peoples.
That recognition deserves respect.
Indigenous justice systems are not simply relics of the past. They may embody important concepts of reconciliation, community responsibility, restoration and peaceful coexistence that the formal justice system itself can learn from.
But recognition of customary law is not recognition without limits.
Section 15 of IPRA expressly recognizes the right of ICCs/IPs to use their own justice systems, conflict-resolution institutions and customary laws only insofar as these are compatible with the national legal system and internationally recognized human rights.
That limitation is crucial.
We can respect culture without accepting that every practice undertaken in its name is legally permissible. We can recognize the authority of tribal elders, indigenous mediation and traditional concepts of justice without accepting an ordeal in which the ability to survive underwater becomes the supposed measure of truth or ownership.
Custom may help determine how a dispute is resolved. It cannot place human life beyond the protection of law.
And our legal system already provides mechanisms precisely intended to resolve conflicts at the community level without immediately forcing people into expensive and protracted litigation.
The Katarungang Pambarangay under the Local Government Code was created for that very purpose.
Under Section 408 of RA 7160, the Lupong Tagapamayapa, subject to statutory exceptions, is authorized to bring parties together for the amicable settlement of disputes. In disputes involving real property, Section 409 generally places venue in the barangay where the property, or the larger portion thereof, is situated.
The process is not merely an informal conversation.
A party may bring a complaint orally or in writing before the Punong Barangay. The Punong Barangay first attempts mediation. If mediation fails, a Pangkat ng Tagapagsundo is constituted to hear the parties, simplify the issues and explore possibilities for an amicable settlement. The parties may also agree to arbitration by the Lupon Chairman or Pangkat.
And the law gives real consequence to that process. An amicable settlement or arbitration award may acquire the force and effect of a final judgment of a court, subject to the conditions and remedies provided by law.
Significantly, the Local Government Code itself recognizes indigenous tradition. Section 412(c) expressly provides that, in conciliation among members of indigenous cultural communities, their customs and traditions shall be applied in settling disputes between members of those communities.
That provision is important because it demonstrates that our legal system does not necessarily require a choice between law and culture.
The law itself attempts to accommodate both.
But the recognition of indigenous customs under the Katarungang Pambarangay must still be understood within the larger legal framework—the Civil Code, IPRA, the Constitution and the protection of fundamental rights. A customary practice may guide conciliation. It may inform the community’s understanding of fairness. It may influence the manner by which reconciliation is achieved.
But it cannot reasonably be understood as legal authority to subject disputants to an unreasonable danger of death.
There are also further lawful remedies when community settlement fails.
Under the Local Government Code, when barangay conciliation is required and no settlement is reached, the proper certification allows the controversy to proceed to the appropriate court or government office.
And where the controversy involves rights of ICCs/IPs falling under IPRA, customary remedies are likewise recognized, with the NCIP having jurisdiction over claims and disputes involving indigenous peoples’ rights after the customary remedies required by law have been exhausted. Section 66 even contemplates certification from the Council of Elders or Leaders when those efforts fail.
In other words, the failure of one effort at settlement is not the end of the legal road.
A failed barangay mediation should lead to the next lawful remedy—not to a trial by ordeal.
This is why the report that the parties had already sought assistance at the barangay level deserves serious examination. If true, government should ask what happened after that attempt failed.
Was the full Katarungang Pambarangay process pursued? Was a Pangkat constituted where appropriate? Were the parties properly advised of the next remedies available to them? If indigenous land rights were implicated, were the proper customary authorities and the NCIP meaningfully engaged? Were the parties given practical access to legal assistance, land records, surveys or adjudicatory mechanisms?
These questions matter because access to justice is not satisfied merely because laws and courts exist.
For a farmer in a remote community, justice must be something he can actually reach, understand and trust.
If the lawful mechanisms are perceived as too distant, too complicated, too expensive or too ineffective, people may return to methods that are familiar—even when those methods are dangerous.
That does not make a dangerous practice legally acceptable. But it should force government to examine why people felt compelled to resort to it.
There is also a separate question of accountability arising from the deaths themselves.
We should avoid prejudging anyone while the investigation remains incomplete. But investigators should determine exactly how the ordeal was conducted: who organized it, who supervised it, whether the participants were free to surface, whether anyone restrained them, whether signs of distress were ignored, and whether assistance could reasonably have been given earlier.
The fact that participation may initially have been voluntary does not necessarily end the legal inquiry once human life is lost. The precise criminal or civil consequences, if any, must depend upon the established facts, intent, acts and omissions of those involved.
That investigation should be undertaken respectfully and without turning this tragedy into an attack on indigenous culture.
Because that would be the wrong lesson.
The lesson should not be that indigenous customs are inherently primitive or incompatible with law. Many customary systems promote reconciliation, peace and community harmony.
The lesson is that no culture is dishonored by protecting human life.
Traditions may evolve. Customs may be preserved while dangerous aspects are abandoned. Indeed, cultures survive precisely because they are capable of adapting while retaining their identity.
There should therefore be no false choice between respecting indigenous peoples and enforcing the rule of law.
We can do both.
We can respect traditional authorities while insisting upon human dignity.
We can preserve customary methods of mediation while rejecting practices that expose people to death.
And we can strengthen the Katarungang Pambarangay, indigenous conflict-resolution mechanisms and the NCIP so that ordinary citizens never come to believe that the only way to prove ownership of land is to prove who can survive underwater longer.
Two men should not have had to wager their lives over a piece of land.
And when a dispute that our laws provide several mechanisms to resolve instead ends with two deaths in a river, the tragedy should compel us to ask not only what went wrong with the custom, but what more our institutions could have done to ensure that justice was accessible before desperation—or tradition—became an ordeal.
Tradition deserves respect. Culture deserves protection. But human life must remain beyond wager.
