Everything — at least as far as the poor are concerned. Let me tell you why. When our sacristan’s father went missing during the floods, his son waded for three days through filthy, contaminated water looking for him. They had already gone to the police station on the first day but were told he was not there. He was. Only he had not yet been formally charged. He had first been apprehended for allegedly shoplifting a P35-bottle of baby cologne — an offense the store itself chose not to pursue. A civilian was allowed to beat him up and handcuff him in the presence of the arresting officers. He was not even allowed to inform his wife that he was being arrested. Then, after three days in detention, he and another detainee — whom he had met only inside the cell — were suddenly charged with illegal gambling (PD 1602) for allegedly playing cara y cruz. They were told the “easiest way out” was to plead guilty and pay a small amount as fine. The alternative? Plead not guilty, hire a lawyer, and face trial while detained in the city jail — unless he could produce P30,000 for bail, an amount most poor families simply cannot afford.
On the third day, when his son finally found him inside the detention cell, the young man was already feverish — unaware that he had contracted leptospirosis from the floodwaters he had walked through while searching. He died the following day at home. When the father heard the news of his son’s death, he was devastated. And yet, even in that grief, he was being pressured to admit to a crime he did not commit. When I asked him why he would rather plead guilty and pay a fine just to get out, his answer pierced me: “May choice po ba kaming mahihirap?” For the poor, justice is not about truth; it is about survival.
I have seen this pattern before, especially during the years when our jails in Caloocan, Malabon, and Navotas overflowed with drug-related cases, most of them non-bailable. Many pleaded guilty — not because they had committed any drug-related offense but because it was the quickest way out. In our community-based drug rehabilitation program, we encountered “plea bargainers” who tested negative for drug use but had admitted guilt simply to avoid prolonged detention. The system subtly teaches the poor to confess first and ask questions later.
So what’s wrong with our justice system? It punishes poverty more harshly than crime. It delays hearings, pressures admissions, and makes freedom dependent on one’s ability to pay. The law promises equal protection, but in practice, justice in our country remains unaffordable to those who need it most. Until truth becomes accessible without a price tag, we cannot honestly say we have a functioning justice system at all.