Reproductive politics in the Philippines has, for more than a decade, raised important questions and incited public debate about state definitions of “life” and “death”, and the complex relationship between religious values and government policymaking. In 1987, it was officially written in the Philippine Constitution that the state “shall equally protect the life of the mother and the life of the unborn from conception” (Article 2, Section 12). This declaration reflects the nation’s commitment to its strong Roman Catholic values, including the conviction that life begins at the precise moment of conception. Also realized through a number of social policies, the constitutional belief in the protection of the “unborn” has led to the lack of sexual education in schools, the criminalization of abortion, and the uneven distribution of contraceptive resources for Filipinos, whose access to such services are dependent upon class and economic status.¹ Fully implicated at the core of these policies are poor Filipino women who continue to endure the consequences of not having universal access to safe abortions (or substantial care for post-abortion procedures), birth control, or even non-judgmental sexual information at local health centers. The Center for Reproductive Rights has found, for instance, that “despite the criminal ban [of abortions] , in 2008 alone, an estimated 560,000 induced abortions took place in the Philippines; 90,000 women sought treatment for complications and 1000 women died” (2010, p. 13). The physical complications from unsafe abortions or multiple pregnancies are oftentimes escorted by psychological, financial, and emotional implications. For poorer families, having large families worsens their economic struggle. And for a number of Filipino women, the lack of state-funded reproductive and family planning services can strain marital and intimate relationships and be a cause for household conflict. Many cite cases of domestic abuse and violence from their conjugal partners when they refuse sexual intercourse (Center for Reproductive Rights 2007, p. 54).

Thus, in response to these unsettling effects on Filipino women (and in addition to high population and unemployment rates), the Philippine government under President Benigño Aquino signed “The Responsible Parenthood and Reproductive Health Act of 2012”—or, “The RH Law ”—into passage in December 2012. With the intention to offer a broad range of reproductive and family services to the public, the legislation calls for the state to provide:

… universal access to medically-safe, non-abortifacient, effective, legal, affordable, and quality reproductive health care services, methods, devices, supplies which do not prevent the implantation of a fertilized ovum as determined by the Food and Drug Administration (FDA) and relevant information and education thereon according to the priority needs of women, children and other underprivileged sectors … (Republic Act No. 10354, Section 2, d)

As well, while the law does recognize that abortion in the state is “illegal and punishable by law”, it still asserts that the government will “ensure that all women needing care for post-abortive complications and all other complications arising from pregnancy, labor and delivery and related issues shall be treated and counseled in a humane, nonjudgmental and compassionate manner in accordance with law and medical ethics” (Republic Act No. 10354, Section 3, j).

The Philippine Catholic Church has taken great measures to prevent the passing and implementation of the country’s reproductive health legislation. After gaining notable credibility as a key civil institution—particularly since helping to overthrow the oppressive Marcos administration in the mid-1980s²—the Church has been influential in government decision making on matters of marital, family, and intimate life in the Philippines. In public statements arguing against the passage and implementation of the RH Law , Church leaders have even strategically integrated Catholic teachings into their own political rhetoric. Filipino bishops, for instance, have appropriated Pope John Paul II’s term “culture of death ”, and transformed the word “death” into an acronym representing divorce, euthanasia, abortion , trans-sexuality , and homosexuality—all of which are believed to be moral “threats” to Filipino society.³ By challenging reproductive health legislation with a rhetorical tool inspired by the words of the previous Pope and the Vatican , the Philippine Church has been “able to declare that the campaign against [the RH Law ] is not merely one about sexual health and demography, but a general crusade against a broad spectrum of the moral tribulations of Filipino society” (Bautista 2010, p. 37).

The use of such political and religious rhetoric has been effective in the Philippine context, where Roman Catholic and nationalist ideologies work connectedly in their interference with reproduction and family planning . First introduced to the country by the Spaniards during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, Roman Catholicism is considered to be the product that was used in colonial attempts to unify the archipelago and establish a homogeneous Filipino identity. Shirley (2004) argues that a common national identity had not existed prior to the arrival of Catholicism, and posits that the introduction of organized religion helped to construct a more cohesive Filipino identity (Shirley 2004, p. 5). Today, the Philippines has the largest Roman Catholic presence in Southeast Asia and Asia-Pacific,⁴ with approximately 80.6% of the population self-identifying as Roman Catholic (Buenza 2015).

The linkages between Catholic principles and state legislation in the Philippines is not limited to the nation’s definition of “life” and its objective to protect the “unborn”. The traditional Filipino family is also considered to be one of the most significant social strongholds of the country, and a social and cultural manifestation of Roman Catholic values. As defined in the 1987 Family Code of the Philippines , this traditional union is a heterosexual arrangement between a married husband and wife who are heads of their own household, shared with their own kin:

Family relations include those:

(1) Between husband and wife;

(2) Between parents and children;

(3) Among other ascendants and descendants; and

(4) Among brothers and sisters, whether of the full-or half-blood. (217a).

(Executive Order No. 209, Section 150)

Similar to the life of the unborn child, the Filipino family must be protected and cherished by the state: “The family, being the foundation of the nation, is a basic social institution which public policy cherishes and protects. Consequently, family relations are governed by law and no custom, practice or agreement destructive of the family shall be recognized or given effect” (Executive Order No. 209, Section 149). It is no wonder then, why the path to passing and implementing a comprehensive law on reproductive health services has been fraught with challenges on multiple fronts. Accompanying the 1987 Philippine Constitution’s declaration to protect unborn children (and thus, firmly criminalizing abortion ), the Family Code of 1987 envisions a particular social network that defines the family structure as being both a fundamental and foundational component of the Filipino nation. Thus, when the Church and other conservative religious groups express anxieties about the mandates of the RH Law , they are concurrently expressing their concerns with how modern family planning and reproductive services threaten the traditional Filipino family and the Filipino nation, which have both been built and strengthened by Roman Catholic values and ideals.

An assemblage of Church leaders and communities of “pro life ” Filipinos have thus been rejecting and actively opposing the RH Law for more than a decade, interpreting its policies as a means to destroy the traditional family structure, and promote “death” (of the unborn fetus) rather than the sacredness of life, amongst other moral and religious concerns. Shortly after the RH Law’s passage, for instance, influential opposition groups including the Catholic Bishop’s Conference of the Philippines (CBCP) successfully lobbied the Supreme Court to halt the law’s implementation on the grounds that it is unconstitutional, arguing that it promotes the use of abortifacients. In April 2014, more than a year after it was signed by then president Benigño Aquino, the RH Law was declared “constitutional” by the Supreme Court, excluding a list of provisions that posed a threat to the religious beliefs and practices of educators and health practitioners.⁵ Today, the RH Law’s mandates have yet to be comprehensively and fully implemented across health centers, clinics, and educational institutions at both the local and federal levels. But there is hope for the law’s future under current president Rodrigo Duterte, who favors modern family planning for women and couples longing to space out and plan the number of children they wish to have. Filipino women and men await 2018, the year in which their new president promises them improved access to modern family planning and reproductive services.

Certainly, the strategies used by conservative religious leadership and communities in blocking the RH Law’s implementation are telling of the entangled histories between the state and the Church in the Philippines, and of the intricate connections between religious discourse and governance. The RH debates themselves have even been framed by certain conservative groups (e.g. the CBCP) as dichotomous, indicating to the Filipino public that they are either “Anti RH ” or “Pro RH”, or that they must choose between valuing the sacredness of life or a “culture of death ”. Such religio-political maneuvers are also reflective of the deep concerns about the moral fabric of the Filipino nation amongst faithful communities.

Select scholars and activists thus rightfully look at the role of the Catholic Church and religio-political leadership in hindering reproductive health legislation in the country and preventing poor Filipinos from accessing much needed family planning services. Dr. Junice Demeterio-Melgar (2005) documents attitudes toward sexuality during her time as an active member of the Communist movement during the 1980s, and then later outlines the various obstacles in organizing for reproductive health within a context significantly shaped by “Catholic politics” (p. 155). Demetrio-Melgar goes into historical detail about the beginnings of Linangan ng Kababa...