Justice under the klieg lights

Note: In all attempts to update this blog at least once a week, I am offering as a “sacrificial lamb” this piece on death penalty I entered into the Xpress Urself Literary competition by the Mamamayang Tutol sa Bitay (MTB), wherein the winners get to see their works published! The results are already out. And thankfully, this piece was among the selected essays which will be compiled in the anthology.

Not everyone is fond of the klieg lights. The klieg lights, it seems, don’t favor a lot of people, too, especially when these people are considered deviants in a society like ours, where norms are sacred and violators of which are considered immoral, unethical, and evil. When our system declares an individual guilty of deliberately defying these norms and sentences him to death, the offender is unwittingly thrust into the public spotlight, instantly becoming an icon of crime. And humans, as we are, we instantly carve their profiles in our consciousness, dangerously stereotyping them as the people who don’t deserve to enjoy the same privileges as the rest of the law-abiding citizens do.

Backtracking to Philippine history, nothing much is different. In fact, our earliest ancestors sought justice through what historians call “trial by ordeal”, where the accused are subjected to different trials to prove their innocence or guilt. For example, one method requires the accused offenders to be given lighted candles. The accused whose light runs out first is the guilty one. Another method orders the accused to dive into a river or lake with lances. The first one who surfaces is the guilty one. Strange but true. And the unconventional methods didn’t seem to bother our ancestors for their belief is rooted in the ideology that God sides with the innocent.

Justitia, the goddess of justice, stands as a tall and proud emblem of the justice system. On her left hand, she holds the scales signifying balance and fairness while on her right, she holds a sword, symbolizing the assurance that justice will always be the victor. To represent the impartiality of judgment, she wears a blindfold. This view of the justice system is so idealistic but under a dichotomous society of the rich and the powerful versus the poor and the oppressed, this is too good to be true.

It’s more than an illusion to think that justice stands by the good side of everything, for the stark reality is blatantly screaming at us that it stands by the side of whoever has the greater power over it. And when it does, it tramples upon the rights of the poor and the minorities in the society and makes them easy targets of injustice – precisely why death penalty should not be meted out as a punishment for any crime, not matter how grave it is. For the price of an innocent life is greater than the false satisfaction of retribution. What happened to their claim that everyone has the right to life? Has this basic right become a privilege, too, exclusive for the rich but elusive to the poor?

There is little reason to rejoice over the fact that our justice system is a far cry from our ancestors’ unconventional methods. Even with an improved method of trial, justice remains as blind, as deaf and as flawed as ever.

There are so many arguments against death penalty but let us get right into the core of it. Rather than clamor for the imposition of this inhuman punishment, why not lobby for the correction of the flawed justice system – the system that is slow, discriminatory, and corrupt?

They always say that we should teach these people a lesson. But Anon puts it best when he counters, "Does it make sense for the state to hire murderers to kill defenseless victims on death row, in order to prove that hiring murderers to kill defenseless victims is morally wrong?" No, it doesn’t make any sense at all. Nor is the state safer when it punishes a person through killing for it hasn’t been proven that death penalty effectively curbs the crime rates.

For once, let us be what we are – humans, with a heart and with a soul that feeds compassion for others. Humans who will give the others a chance to live life free from the guilt of their sins. For once, let us be the children of God -- forgiving, loving, and unselfish.

Helen

The sign on the road reads Verie Hills Subdivision. Indeed, the affluence of neatly lined houses affirms that it is the “millionaire’s lane”. But farther into the lane, one discovers a small, simple home; its wealth dwells not on the structure but on the goodness that the owner’s heart overflows with.
A monthly honorarium of P 1,000 can barely suffice for a college student but this same amount has been supporting 42-year-old Helen Niaga. A Child Development Worker (CDW) of the Department of Social Welfare and Development’s Early Childhood Development (ECD) program, Helen arms herself every morning with a bulky bag that contains a banig (mat), books, and toys for her students, and treks a hilly slope to get to her community, Sitio Campisot, Liloan. A living proof that the lack of college education does not deter anybody from serving fellow Filipinos, Helen is the epitome of faith and real public service.
Meanwhile, students aged three to five anxiously wait for their mentor every morning. With eyes fixed from afar, Lovely, four, began reciting her ABC’s softly enough for her seatmate to hear. When her classmates shouted, “Naa na si Tita Helen! (Tita Helen is here!)” she stopped and craned her neck to see her teacher clearly. Sure enough, Helen was making her way towards her with all smiles. All at the same time, the kids run to her and grab her hand.
To signal the residents of her arrival, she strikes a hollow arm-length steel pipe as if it were a bell. Soon, other children, carrying their bags and school materials appear. Today, their “classroom” is an unfinished house. The next day, it could be under the shade of a tree or in a public building. With no permanent room to hold their classes, the weather is an influential determinant. But the children are oblivious to this. As she leads them to their classroom, she whispers, “Niadtong usang adlaw, naay nihilak nga bata kay di na gusto mouli. (The other day, one of the kids cried because he did not want to go home.)”
As a CDW, it is her responsibility to prepare her students mentally, physically, and socially for the next level, conforming to the basic premise of the ECD program that an early development is crucial to the success of the children’s future. Like other teachers, she follows a plan that will cater to the development of her students’ potentials.
One wonders why after three years of her continued service to the children of Sitio Campisot, she does not seem worn out. Aside from her community service, she sells vegetables, teaches catechism in different schools, and does volunteer work for the parish. She admits, though, that she does get tired. But her happiness and fulfilment compensates for everything she works hard for.
“Diha koy estudyante nga naa na sa grade one. Pag-abot niya ngadto, kamao na siya mu-count. Unya gipangutana siya kung diin siya nakat-on og ihap. Ingon siya ‘kang Tita Helen!’ (I had a student who is now in grade one. She already knew how to count. She was asked where she learned how to count. She said she learned it from me.)”
Nothing makes her happier than to see her students learn from her class. One day, she tests the children’s skills in distinguishing shapes. She picks up a square toy and asks her student to tell her the shape.
“Unsa ni Love? (What is this, Love?)”
“Circle,” Love shyly answers.
“Unsa man ni Mary Rose? (What is this, Mary Rose?)” she asks another.
“Square,” Mary Rose answers.
She picks up other shapes and places them in the palm of her hand.
“Asa man ang square, Love? (Where is the square, Love?)”
When the child picks out the square toy, she smiles at her proudly.
At the end of a long, tiresome day, she can only say, “Dili jud mabayran sa sapi ang kalipay.” (Money really can’t buy happiness.)

By Maria Carla Bren Vianney L. Yap
Published: October 5, 2004; Sun Star Cebu; Community Force Section; Editor: Pura L. Kintanar

The Problem with Vianney

The Spanish era paved the way for the baptism of Filipinos with the names of saints. If your name is Maria (Mary), Jose (Joseph), Pablo (Paul), or Juan (John), it’s a testimony that colonial influence still exists.
Naming their children can be an arduous task for parents.
While some parents are contented by giving their names or their spouse’s names or even the names of their favourite local and Hollywood celebrities, athletes, and presidents, quite a number a strong with conviction that their children’s names should have significant meanings in their lives.
Victoria, for example, was the name given to a friend after her mother victoriously delivered her despite the hardships and dangers of labor. Her name simply means victory over death.
Speaking of names, I have a long one.
It is both a combination of my parents’ names, Carlos and Breña, and the name of a saint, the Curé of Ars, Jean Baptiste Marie Vianney, whose feast day falls on August, the month of my birth.
In all the years of my existence in this world, I could not yet fathom if having the name of that saint is an advantage or not. My identity either stands out in the people’s memory for the uniqueness of my name or it becomes easily buried in oblivion for the “weirdness” of it.
At times, I have even been the laughingstock in conferences every time the emcee mispronounces my name and reads it as Va-ya-ni. Naughty classmates of mine would then jokingly call me Bayani, likening me to comedian Bayani Agbayani.
People have varied reactions when I introduce myself to them, too. Some people smile sheepishly and say, “Nice name…Um,…, where did you get it?” Others openly strike and say, “Your name’s so weird.”
If others know about Saint John Vianney, they are quick to point out that it’s a guy’s name. Still, there are a few, who appreciate it. “Hey! I like your name. It’s unique.”
Three years ago, in a national summer camp, I had to spell it out so they can understand.
“Hi. I am Vianney and I’m from…”
“What!?!” my subcampmates asked in unison.
“I am Vianney… V-I-A-N-N-E-Y”
In the end, I had to cut it shorter to Vian for their convenience.
Despite all those setbacks, I only have one consolation. Priests and catechists never have any difficulty at all in remembering my name.
I could not understand why most people I meet don’t know who I was named after.
Saint John Marie Vianney is the patron saint of diocesan priests so I could see no reason why he is unpopular. But then, I thought, as the bearer of his name, the challenge is up to me to let the people know about him.
I may not be the original Vianney. I may never beat Saint John Vianney’s simplicity, humility, and kindness, but in my own little ways, I can let the people understand how he was like in his days. It won’t be easy. But this is my calling: to live up to his name and his good examples.

By Maria Carla Bren Vianney L. Yap
Published: August 29, 2004; Sun Star Cebu, Light Section; Editor: Lorenzo P. Niñal