From the crops that make up the food on our table, the textiles weaved into our clothing, up to the wood that strengthens our homes — agriculture proves itself to be an industry we cannot live without.

Being one of the most important sectors, it comes as no surprise, and rightly so, that various laws and policies have been established to support agriculture. Among these is the Comprehensive Agrarian Reform Program (CARP), launched on June 10, 1988, with the goal of redistributing land to Filipino farmers.

But now, as it marks its 37th year, a pressing question lingers: has it truly served its purpose?

When you have the money, you look for the most authentic things — whether it is an overly expensive coffee from a curated café or a thousand-peso cotton top from an apparel store named after a deep Filipino word. With exorbitant prices for goods that often claim to be straight from farms, one would expect that the farmers behind these products receive a significant share of the profits.

But even after the establishment of CARP, this assumption remains far from reality.

Today, even with staple agricultural crops like rice reaching up to P50 to even P60 per kilogram, farmers still have a poverty incidence of 27%, the Philippine Statistics Authority (PSA) reported in 2023 — placing them among the sectors with the highest proportion of individuals belonging to families living below the poverty threshold.

One contributing factor to this struggle is the fact that most farmers do not own the land they work on. According to Unyon ng mga Manggagawa sa Agrikultura (UMA) Chairperson Antonio “Ka Tonying” Flores, seven out of 10 farmers remain landless.

This, despite CARP’s existence for nearly four decades — a program supposedly designed to secure land ownership for farmers.

A Long Trail of Broken Promises

CARP was enacted following then-President Corazon Aquino’s issuance of Proclamation No. 131 (Agrarian Reform Fund) and Executive Order No. 229. Its goal: to redistribute agricultural lands to landless farmers.

The Department of Agrarian Reform (DAR) was designated to lead this effort — tasked with acquiring land, distributing it, and protecting farmer rights. Under Republic Act (R.A.) 6657 or the Comprehensive Agrarian Reform Law, DAR was authorized to distribute 8.1 million hectares of agricultural land.

However, execution was flawed. DAR lacked strong mechanisms to verify landowner declarations or prevent land conversion issues, a problem still prevalent today. In the 1990s, DAR was criticized for allegedly favoring private landowners and developers, approving conversion permits under vague “public interest” justifications.

By 1997, R.A. 8435 or the Agriculture and Fisheries Modernization Act added fuel to the doubts towards DAR. It prioritized agribusiness, leading to more DAR-approved land conversions, enabling private landowners to gentrify agricultural lands originally intended for farmers.

In 2009, R.A. 9700 or the Comprehensive Agrarian Reform Program Extension with Reforms (CARPer) extended CARP’s mandate until 2014, aiming to address inefficiencies and legal backlogs. Yet, when its term ended, over 700,000 hectares remained undistributed. DAR, critics said, was trapped by bureaucracy and elite influence.

Under then-President Rodrigo Duterte, DAR Undersecretary Rafael Mariano — a known peasant advocate — attempted to fast-track land distribution and stop land conversion. His efforts, however, were cut short when the Commission on Appointments rejected his confirmation, an instance widely seen as a win for landlord interests. Subsequent DAR administrations shifted focus from land distribution to support services.

In 2023, President Ferdinand “Bongbong” Marcos Jr. signed the R.A. 11953 or the New Agrarian Emancipation Act, writing off P57 million in farmer debt. But critics argue that the debt relief, while welcome, still sidesteps the root issue: actual land ownership.

Today, DAR continues to repeat the same pattern — continually approving land conversions, lacking power to evict corporate-backed cooperatives, and struggling to protect peasant leaders from harassment, red-tagging, or criminalization.

Blood on the Ledger

In Hacienda Luisita, the promise of land was replaced by shares on paper — and blood on the ground.

Rather than distributing land to the farmworkers, the estate’s owners used a loophole under the Comprehensive Agrarian Reform Program (CARP) known as the Stock Distribution Option (SDO). This allowed landlords to retain control of their vast landholdings by offering “ownership” in the form of corporate shares. 

But the reality for workers on the ground was unchanged. They were still earning meager wages, often only P194.50 per week, and getting just one day of work due to increasing mechanization.

The workers petitioned to revoke the SDO. Union strikes were launched. They asked, not just for land, but for dignity.

And in 2004, the government responded — with gunfire and bloodshed.

That tragedy is remembered as the Hacienda Luisita massacre. But its real weight lies in what it revealed: that CARP, for all its promises, was never built to serve farmers. It was built to pacify them.

“Farmers are getting killed for demanding their right to land, and dummy beneficiaries have been settled by landlords on land meant for the landless,” said Lito Lao, chairperson of the agricultural workers’ union in Mindanao, in a 2020 report by Rappler.

In that framing, it becomes clear why after 37 years, land titles remain locked behind red tape, legal disputes, or legal loopholes — ultimately widening the gap between policy and reality.

Decades of Waiting, Abuse, and Neglect

Even with more than three decades of CARP, farmers continue to face violent pushback for asserting their rights to land and dignity. Their land remains under threat and out of reach. Countless cases of urban expansion and city gentrification further intensify this issue, stripping farmers of access to the very lands they depend on.

In early 2024, residents of Sitio Balubad, Angeles City, were violently evicted in a demolition led by Clark Hills Properties Corporation. Despite having Certificates of Land Ownership Award (CLOA) and payment receipts, 500 households or around 2,000 residents were displaced.

In May 2024, the Anunas United Farmers and Homeowners Association (AUFHA) picketed in front of DAR and the House of Representatives to reclaim their 73-hectare land — to no avail.

The Alyansa ng mga Magbubukid sa Gitnang Luson (AMGL) previously asserted that the land grabbing in Sitio Balubad is just one of the many across the province, all done in the name of aggressive development projects in Central Luzon that ultimately benefit only the upper class, not the farmers for whom the land was originally intended.

This is not an isolated story. They echo across different parts of the country.

In Barangay Tartaria, Silang, Cavite, on April 20, 2024, alleged Ayala Land-hired security forces stormed a protest camp. They set fire to shelters, looted belongings, and injured nine people — five of whom required hospitalization. That afternoon, two more were assaulted using metal sheets.

Elsewhere, in Sumalo, Bataan, the struggle for land has taken another shape: legal persecution. Eight farmer-leaders of Samahan ng Nagkakaisang Mamamayan ng Barangay Sumalo (SANAMABASU) were slapped with multiple counts of syndicated estafa for allegedly collecting membership fees — P148,000 in total — for their grassroots organization. Among the accused were elderly farmers battling health conditions. Two were even jailed in 2023 despite a favorable ruling from the Department of Justice.

“Nagdesisyon kaming ipresenta ang aming mga sarili kay Senadora Leila De Lima, kapwa biktima ng gawa-gawang kaso, upang igiit na wala kaming ginawang labag sa batas, at ang mga kaso laban sa amin ay naglalayon lamang pigilan ang aming pakikibaka para sa aming lupa,” said Fe Andulan, one of the accused.

The charges were later dismissed due to lack of evidence, but the legal war wages on, draining what little resources they have.

These stories show us what the law fails to admit: That in the Philippines, owning land as a farmer is not a right — it is a struggle. One filled with threats and violence.

Despite constitutional guarantees, government programs, farmers continue to be one of the most persecuted in our nation, caught in the crossfire between landowners, developers, and the very system that should protect them.

What lies beneath these attacks is not just a failure of policy — it is a failure to value those who feed us, a failure to see farmers not as obstacles to progress, but as the foundation of it.

Now, the next time we eat and drink, it would not hurt to ask: who is paying the price? Because somewhere, a farmer is fighting for their land, their life, and their dignity.

Biting the Hand that Feeds the Nation

Decades of injustice have hollowed out the crop fields, leaving behind an aging, dwindling population of exhausted farmers. The back-breaking labor, unstable income, and chronic neglect have turned farming into one of the least desirable paths for the next generation. 

“If our farmers die in the next 20 years… who will feed the Filipinos?” asked a concerned Jett Subaba of National Center for Postharvest Development and Mechanization.

And yet, while interest in farming declines, the need for food security only continues to grow. This disjunction echoes the harsh truth that when we bite the hand that feeds us — we must be prepared to starve.

“Farmers are poorer than ever… In the Bicol region, farmers sold unmilled rice at seven pesos per kilo instead of 20 pesos just to keep up with the market,” said Danilo Ramos of Kilusang Magbubukid ng Pilipinas (KMP) regarding the concerning state of Filipino farmers.

“Thousands of land dispute cases have piled up… These need to be resolved quickly so that land can be freely distributed and cultivated,” he added.

With the recent senate elections, there is no time like the present to demand our lawmakers  to act — not with slogans, but with legislation.

Incoming Senator Francis “Kiko” Pangilinan is advocating for cluster farming on a national scale, which is aimed to boost income of small-scale farmers and fisherfolk through production expansion and access to larger markets. 

It is a practical and timely initiative, but it must be just the beginning. 

Fair land distribution, modernized infrastructure, guaranteed farmgate prices — these are not out-of-reach ideals. They are the bare minimum requirements to halt the exile of our agricultural sector.

Time to Pay the Debt

It is no longer acceptable to treat agrarian reform as a historical footnote or a distant dream.

Our farmers are not statistics. They are real people who continue to suffer under landlessness, exploitative markets, and government neglect. For over three decades since the passing of CARP, they have waited — and that wait has cost them their livelihoods, their health, and in some cases, their lives. 

It is imperative to demand that the government move beyond lip service and deliver results: expedite land distribution, invest in agricultural modernization, and hold corporations accountable for exploiting both farmers and farmland.

These are not optional reforms — they are moral mandates. 

Our farmers have fed us through every crisis, every calamity, every era. What we owe them is not gratitude — rather, the land, dignity, and justice that are rightfully theirs.