Her name is as sweet as a rose, but that is all the sweetness left in her life. A dark cloud of uncertainty hangs heavy over Jocelen A. Dee and her family — a cloud that, unless blown away, could mean the loss of their livelihood and a life of penury. As she puts it: “Where will we live if we completely lose our place in Carbon?”
A Vendor's Struggle
Jocelen, 39, a mother of five (the youngest being only nine months old), lives in Carbon. She operates from a pushcart as an ambulant vendor, providing for her family’s needs by selling bahalina. Her husband, Ronnie, has no regular work, finding only occasional jobs as a construction worker or porter. Jocelen has been selling bahalina in Carbon since 2014, when her mother turned the family business over to her.
Before the joint venture agreement (JVA), her daily sales — not profits — ranged from P1,500 to P2,000. After the JVA, as the redevelopment of Carbon went into full swing, she says, “It’s lucky if it even reaches P1,000.” Asked how she manages now, she said: “I just make sure we have food, but even then, I limit it to only P500 a day.”
Intimidation and Fear
Tears rolled down her cheeks as she spoke. I held back my own, imagining how difficult life must be with such a measly income. As an aside, she told me how, for a whole year, men in uniform kept coming to ask her for the names of the leaders in Carbon. She refused to answer because the leaders are a matter of public knowledge. Still, she cannot help feeling scared whenever they appear.
It is an obvious case of intimidation. Why ask a lowly vendor for the names of leaders when those names are public knowledge? I was made to understand that some military personnel even went as far as to “red-tag” other vendors.
When I asked Jocelen what her greatest fear is at the moment, she answered without a second’s hesitation: “My worry is where we will find a spot. If we are removed from Carbon, what will happen to us when we are already struggling to survive on P500 for food every day?” One can easily imagine Jocelen’s agony in dealing with the existential problem of having too little money for the most basic needs.
Broader Impact on the Community
Jocelen is not the only one worried. There are porters and pushcart vendors who feed their families on the little they earn in Carbon. They, their labor and their products simply have no place in a mall. Lest we forget, bahalina — which will disappear from Carbon along with Jocelen — is culturally the poor man’s drink.
Jocelen’s face is the distraught face of thousands of ambulant Carbon vendors who worry about where they can sell the goods that keep their families alive, however marginally. Hers is the desperate face of a victim of Cebu City’s abandonment of the poor in favor of big business.
A Call for Justice
Jocelen and her kind are not asking for pity, but for justice and fair play. The Cebu community needs to join them in the fight to keep Carbon market public, if only so it can continue supplying us with affordable basic commodities. Megawide can be forgiven for being profit-oriented, as that is the nature of business. But Cebu City’s abandonment of poor vendors in favor of big business is unconscionable conduct for a service-oriented government unit.
Save small vendors. Keep Carbon market public.
