While officials reduced the dead to statistics, Fr. Flavie Villanueva saw families–wives in shock, children grieving fathers who never came home, and communities drowning in fear and stigma. Through the Arnold Janssen Kalinga Center and its offshoot, Paghilom, he offered what the state denied: dignity, presence, and healing.
“They saw the dead were not only statistics,” Fr. Flavie said. “They were human, and there were people who cared about them.” In the ruins of the drug war, he became not just a priest, but tatay (father) to the wounded it left behind.
In the shadows of the Philippines’ war on drugs, where fathers were taken and families shattered, one Catholic priest stepped into an unexpected role: tatay to the children left behind. “My journey toward priesthood was a journey of grace,” he said. “Grace that in the beginning I did not feel worthy of. That means I never wanted or dreamed of becoming a priest.”
Raised by “beautiful, pious, disciplinarian, and God-fearing parents,” he grew up with Christian values, but also with influences far beyond his age. As the eldest of two, surrounded by older cousins from the province who lived in their home while studying in college, he was exposed early to vices. He recalls being caught smoking outside his elementary school.
“We beat up the student who reported us for smoking,” he said. “It worsened things.” The threat of not being allowed to graduate elementary school pushed him into his first real moment of prayer. “That’s when I found myself really praying hard,” he said.
He juggled many identities–student, athlete, lector, and commentator–he also began slipping into substance use. “Substance was introduced to me and it was also affecting my decisions, my relationships, and even my behavior,” he said. “But I graduated on time. What I am proud of is I never repeated a year.”
AN UNPLANNED CALLING
Fr. Flavie later on joined the Society of the Divine Word (SVD), unaware that his path would lead to the streets. He was assigned to lead two offices: Justice, Peace, and Integrity of Creation (JPIC), and the Mission Secretary. Both, he said, lacked direction and programming when he arrived.
“There was no program…so I did the program, objective and everything, planned it very well,” he said. In researching who they should serve, he looked not to boardrooms or convents but right outside the building. “I saw the life of the homeless… and I only had one question: How can we be part of their plight and their stories?” Instead of simply offering food, he offered dignity.
“What they need is basic care,” he said. “The solution was not food, but cleanliness. Apart from food, bath. And I don’t like just food, just bath. I wanted to have a dignified form of care. We did it in three ways–dignified, systematic, and holistic care.”
At the Arnold Janssen Kalinga Center, he added grooming mirrors so the homeless could see themselves again. “The streets rob them of the value of cleanliness, not only the outside appearance, but also the goodness inside them.” Over time, he witnessed transformation.
A STORY OF HOPE
One man left a mark on him during the pandemic–Ali, nicknamed “Highway” for the bald strip across his head. He had been disowned and beaten by his father after admitting he was gay, leading to 22 years on the streets.
They met when Kalinga Center opened seven shelters for the homeless during lockdowns. Ali saw food being catered and made a suggestion that changed operations. “He suggested that we cook instead of getting catering service so we could cut on expenses.” From 100 meals, they grew to serving 1,000 daily.
Fr. Flavie credits Ali’s healing to being trusted and heard. “One of the things lacking in them is no one is giving them way for hope, no one is giving them a chance, and no one is trusting them. But we did.” Today, Ali works in a canteen and has reunited with his family. “His story is a story of brokenness, but he started believing that it cannot remain broken.”
The Kalinga Center would soon lead to something even more urgent–Paghilom, a program born out of guilt and responsibility. “Paghilom is simply an offshoot of Kalinga Center… as payment for my mistake for voting for the man who architected the mass killings, I created a program,” he said.
He learned that those killed in the drug war were often breadwinners. “If the families of the dead would not be helped in their grief, healing, and recovery, they would also end up in the streets.” He began by reaching out to one family, then another. By 2024, the program had served 327 families. In 2025, twelve more were added.
The impact went beyond grief support. “The orphaned wives and children healed, but in the deeper sense they saw the dead were not only statistics. They were human and there were people who cared about them.”
When asked about justice, Fr. Flavie’s answer is grounded in daily survival. “Justice has many faces. When a mother or a grandmother rise early in the morning for work, it’s justice. When an orphan decided to study and persevere, he gives justice to the justice denied to them. When they tell the story with courage and truth, justice is being reflected in their lives.”
He also helped them reclaim legal narratives. “Their narrative became the affidavit they signed and sworn. It becomes a legal document that counters the police report that forced them to make false narratives.”
The Kalinga Center was built on a belief in a hospitality that crosses barriers. “It is synonymous to dignified caring for the homeless in a dignified way,” he said. “Even the church had no clear plan for the homeless when I started this, except for the traditional feeding.” For him, the Church must not be distant. “The church’s role is not really to bring them out of poverty, but to mirror the God of poverty. This God of poverty is a radical God who is not afraid to smell like the sheep.”
He insists that presence is ministry. “The church’s task is to be a priest to help them recreate their self-image… to help reclaim their self-respect… to help the poor and wounded recreate, reclaim, and regain their self-worth.” His advice to people feeling helpless is simple but demanding. “Do not lose hope. There are always things that we can do in everyday life. Just by telling the truth, confronting lies, standing by the Gospel, is already a big thing.”
Even gestures matter. “Just by greeting others, by asking the name of another, by carrying hope and joy each day and make it felt around, I think it’s already a big thing. If I go to the office wearing a smile and bearing a flicker of hope, it’s already a big thing.”
RECOGNITION AND MISSION
In 2025, he received the Ramon Magsaysay Award, Asia’s equivalent of the Nobel Prize. Recognition did not come naturally. “I am slowly embracing the Ramon Magsaysay Award,” Fr. Flavie said. “I am not used to recognition. We silently work not to be recognized because it is needed.”
But he sees meaning in it. “The award revolves around selflessness, transformative leadership, compassion, and companion. We should let the Filipino once again recognize the greatness in each one. And that greatness need not involve doing great things.” He believes greatness is found in everyday faithfulness. “If I sweep the streets, I will make myself the greatest sweeper. If I’m a factory worker or a driver, how does it mean to be a great factory worker or a great jeepney driver?”
For him, the goal is nation-building. “We are doing and recognizing this greatness not because for us–it is our calling towards holiness. It is a calling to rebuild our wounded nation… and to live something better for the next generations.”
Fr. Flavie dreams of a future where the Kalinga Center is no longer needed. “We wish that someday it will eventually close its doors because there are no more homeless in the streets. The homeless are fully humans again and they are now offering care for those in need.” But until then, they plan an extension–a center for the elderly and terminally ill.
REDEFINING HOMELESSNESS
For him, homelessness is not always about sleeping on pavements. “There are many people who have a home who also feel homeless and are subject to homelessness,” he said. “They are homeless because they lack understanding from others… because no one listens to them.”
His call is both spiritual and social. “Let’s find these people and offer them food, shower, and education so that they become better. Let that greatness in spirit, no matter how simple it is, be felt by them through us.”
In the aftermath of a deadly war on drugs, he did not respond with slogans or silence–he responded with fatherhood. In the eyes of hundreds of children, Fr. Flavie Villanueva is not just a priest. He is tatay.
