State power does
not respect or protect our liberty
By DANILO REYES, Asian Human
Rights Commission
April 2, 2014
(Note: this article was first published in the March 23, 2014 issue of
the Sunday Examiner)
"He who opens a school door,
closes a prison."- Victor Hugo, author of Les Misérables
I was observing a trial in a
crowded court room in Manila when, in a middle of packed bench, a
public lawyer drew the attention of his client seated at the back with
another accused wearing prison uniforms. He said:
"Tayo ka! Anong pangalan mo?
Babasahin na sentensiya mo. (Stand up! What is your name? Listen, the
court will read the judgment."
Shortly after, a court staff
stood up, briefly read his case in English, and without elaborating,
concluded, "The court finds you not guilty." In few words the faith of
a young man, who spent over four years in jail for charges of robbery,
was decided. He regained his liberty. But this young man showed no
reaction, there was no smile on his face.
He only smiled and was
visibly elated only after he heard the court staff told him in
Filipino:
"Oh, naintindihan mo ba ang
sentensiya? Wala ka daw kasalanan. Malaya ka na (Oh, did you
understand the decision? You are not guilty. You are free now)."
In my adult life, from my
days as student activist until I became a professional journalist, I
have observed court trials, but what I witnessed that day was deeply
profound. It says a lot about our own society. It gives rise to
questions on what protection an individual has from State's exercise
of power, and its obligations to respect and protect our liberty.
It was clear that the young
man could not speak the language of the court: English. The question
asked by his lawyer: "What is your name?" who should have known him
presuming he had served his clients for many years, demonstrates that
he barely knew him. His client was just one of the many accused he was
appearing for in court that day.
What I witnessed was not a
scene in a movie adaptation of Les Misérables, a French novel set in
1862. It was present day Manila, the heart of the Philippines.
The young man lost four
years of his life in prison. What he had endured was no different to
millions of Filipinos who are in police stations, jails and
reformatory centers scatted all over the country. These detainees are
waiting either for conclusion of trial or completion of their prison
terms. While the young man was found 'not guilty,' others accused in
another case who appeared in court were convicted.
After this young man was
acquitted, as I stood by the bench inside the court, my curious eyes
kept on looking at him. I don't know him. I smiled and nodded at him
from a distance across the court room to show to him how happy I was
for him. As he smiled back at me I could see the joy on his face. Why
and how happy he was made me understand in a more profound way what is
it to be free: priceless.
But our freedom, our
liberty, and our priceless possessions, have no adequate protection
from the excesses, abuse and neglect, of the government in its
exercise of power. What the young man experienced is what millions of
the Filipinos – men, women and children – have suffered. Those who
suffer are not only those in jails inside the country; there are even
Filipino migrant workers in Hong Kong whose loved ones are in prisons
back home.
In our Philippine society,
we condemn and fear the detainees, and not the system of justice that
incarcerated them. We condemn individuals, not our State who has
enormous power over us to deprive us of our liberty. We tend to assume
that justice serves its course and it is being doing the right way. We
fear not only prisoners, but also the prisons. Our courts are no
longer a place where the poor can seek remedy and relief, but only for
the rich. In our courts it is the poor, not the rich, whose liberties
are deprived.
We demanded too much about
codifying our rights in our laws – they must be written, but we don't
pay attention in understanding what our justice institutions have now
become, and how they ought to function. Our rights in the Constitution
and laws: to be presumed innocent, to have to have speedy trial, free
from torture, etc. remains on paper. They either no longer protect our
fundamental freedoms or they are fast degenerating.
Stories of policemen
torturing suspects to extract confessions, planting evidence in
illegal searches and raids; and the prosecutor's evidence taken by
illegal means by police are used in court trials, are all too common.
It is now the way of life. We live in a social condition as described
in Les Misérables in our present day.
When I appeared in court
trial, my initial plan was to observe and comment on the trial of an
activist, who is detained and prosecuted on evidence obtained by
torture. However, what gives me profound understanding as to how the
system of justice in our country operates, was how these nameless and
ordinary Filipinos have to struggle to regain their liberty.
In fact, I thought the
situation of the activist whose trial I had come to observe, was
better off than the other detainees I had seen in court. He has legal
counsel, many foreign observers were present. The court had to read
quick judgments, so it could proceed to the trial of the activist.
Other accused were quickly disposed off to make room for foreign
observers in court.
In conclusion, while we
value our freedom we have yet to understand whether or not our system
of justice is founded on, operating and functioning with the idea of
protecting our liberty at its core.