In the Philippines, families persist in seeking justice for activists abducted or forcibly disappeared.

Photo credit:  2023 ROLEX DELA PENA/EPA-EFE/Shutterstock

The Origins of Desaparecidos

The word desaparecidos became a global symbol of state repression because of the Dirty War in Argentina (1976–1983). During this time, a U.S.-backed military junta under Jorge Rafael Videla and other generals waged a brutal campaign against suspected leftists, workers, students, and even moderate political voices. Between 10,000 and 30,000 people were killed or disappeared, seized by security forces, tortured in clandestine detention centers, and never seen again.

Photo credit: Espacio Memoria

Among the most iconic figures of resistance were the Mothers of Plaza de Mayo, who began marching weekly in Buenos Aires in 1977. Braving military threats and censorship, they demanded answers about their missing children. Their white headscarves and persistent vigils transformed grief into a powerful political movement, inspiring other struggles against enforced disappearance worldwide.

The Latin American context had a significant influence on the Philippines. Under Ferdinand Marcos’ martial law regime (1972–1986), disappearances mirrored those in Argentina: activists, church workers, students, farmers, and journalists were abducted by state forces as part of counterinsurgency and anti-dissent campaigns. The term desaparecidos was adopted by Filipino human rights advocates to describe these victims, underscoring a shared experience of repression across continents.

State Terror and Imperialist Influence in the Philippines

Enforced disappearances in the Philippines cannot be seen as a separate issue. The word desaparecidos may have started in Latin America, but the same conditions, dictatorships backed by powerful countries, also shaped the Philippine experience.

During the Marcos dictatorship, Martial Law ushered in widespread human rights abuses: arbitrary arrests, torture, extrajudicial killings, and enforced disappearances. These were not only instruments of domestic repression but also part of a larger counterinsurgency strategy shaped by U.S. support. Fearful of communist movements in Asia, the U.S. trained and funded the Philippine military and police forces through programs such as the Joint U.S. Military Assistance Group (JUSMAG) and exported doctrines of surveillance, abduction, and psychological warfare. Enforced disappearances became weapons to silence critics and dismantle mass movements that challenged both local elites and foreign interests.

This pattern reflects a broader imperialist design: repression ensured a political and economic order favorable to powerful nations. Those who “disappeared” were often community organizers, labor leaders, journalists, students, and indigenous peoples resisting land-grabbing, destructive mining, and exploitative trade. By eliminating them, the state not only crushed local dissent but also safeguarded foreign-backed projects exploiting Philippine resources and labor.

The persistence of disappearances beyond Marcos highlights the enduring impact of imperialist influence. U.S.-backed counterterrorism campaigns in the 2000s, for instance, extended abductions and secret detentions under the global “war on terror.” Once again, the language of national security concealed the protection of foreign economic and strategic interests.

The Years After Martial Law

Even after the fall of the dictatorship, enforced disappearances did not stop. The government continued to use this tactic against indigenous peoples defending their land, as well as journalists and human rights defenders. Counterinsurgency campaigns in the 1990s and 2000s, and more recently the ‘war on drugs’ and anti-terror measures, have continued to produce victims of disappearance. 

In 2012, the Philippines passed the Anti-Enforced or Involuntary Disappearance Act (Republic Act 10353)—the first of its kind in Asia—criminalizing enforced disappearance and seeking to hold perpetrators accountable. Yet more than a decade later, implementation remains weak, justice is rare, and the families of the missing continue to endure grief and the absence of closure.

From Jonas Burgos in 2007 to Felix Salaveria Jr. and James Jazmines in 2024, enforced disappearances in the Philippines follow an all-too-familiar pattern: activists snatched by unidentified men, families left in the dark, courts that take months to act, and authorities who see, hear, and speak nothing. Jonas Burgos, a young agriculturist and activist, was abducted in broad daylight at a Quezon City mall, allegedly by military agents, and has never been found. His case became a symbol of impunity under the Arroyo administration.

More recently, Felix Salaveria Jr., a peasant organizer from Nueva Ecija, was abducted in April 2024 along with fellow activist James Jazmines. Both were reportedly taken by armed men suspected to be state forces, highlighting that despite laws against enforced disappearance, the practice continues to silence dissent and instill fear.

Desaparecidos’ kin mark Day of the Disappeared

Families of desaparecidos marked the International Day of the Disappeared last August  30, 2025 by demanding accountability from the Marcos and Duterte administrations for enforced disappearances.

Desaparecidos and Karapatan said disappearances remain a state tool to silence dissent despite the 2012 Anti-Enforced Disappearance Act. They cited over 1,000 victims since the Marcos dictatorship, including 20 under Duterte and 15 under Marcos Jr.

The groups noted the recent abductions of activists James Jazmines and Felix Salaveria, who remain missing despite a Court of Appeals ruling granting a writ of amparo. They said authorities consistently fail to act and criticized the refusal to ratify the UN convention against disappearances.

The commemoration also coincided with the fifth national assembly of Desaparecidos.

Lingering Traces of the Disappeared

The concept of desaparecidos has seeped into Philippine literature, theater, film, and art, becoming a way to process grief and resist forgetting. Works such as Lualhati Bautista’s novel Desaparecidos (2007) explore the trauma of families left behind, while theater groups and visual artists continue to portray the pain, resilience, and memory-keeping of those seeking justice for the disappeared. For Filipinos, desaparecidos is not just a borrowed term—it is part of the nation’s history of resistance, naming the countless activists and people who vanished under state repression and giving language to the grief and strength of their families.

This struggle for memory briefly entered the mainstream at last month’s FAMAS Awards, when the documentary “Alipato at Muog”, chronicling the 2007 abduction of farmer-activist Jonas Burgos, won Best Picture. Once branded “too subversive” and even slapped with an X-rating, its recognition was a rare acknowledgment of a story long buried. Yet for Jonas’ mother, Edita, the accolade offers little comfort. Eighteen years after her son was dragged away in Quezon City, his case remains unresolved despite multiple investigations and presidential terms. “If only someone had stopped them that day,” she laments.

That a film must win an award to spark conversation reveals how little has changed. RA 10353, the 2012 law criminalizing enforced disappearance, promised swift justice. But delays have become a state tactic, shielding perpetrators and leaving families to mark birthdays in absentia. Courts often treat urgent petitions as routine paperwork, while the disappeared remain unheard and unseen.

True accountability, not perfunctory hearings, is what the times demand. Until Jonas Burgos, Felix Salaveria Jr., James Jazmines, and countless others are found, the promise of RA 10353 will remain empty. Closure requires unearthing the truth, unmasking perpetrators, and ending the culture of delay and denial that has long protected them.