In trying to make sense of Joseph Estrada’s rise to the presidency and his fall from power, I eventually settled on a simple axiom: You don’t kick a man when he’s down. In tackling the story of Estrada and Luis Chavit Singson’s friendship gone sour, and the reasons why the electorate that watched Estrada fall poured into the streets when he was arrested, that axiom remained true and relevant to my mind.
Unable to unite, the EDSA 1 forces were helpless to prevent Estrada’s becoming president, in what was a pretty massive repudiation of the EDSA 1 political leadership. But then Estrada proceeded to galvanize opposition to himself by proposing Marcos’ burial in the Libingan ng mga Bayani, then his attempts to bully media, and finally, his breaking one of the most iron-clad rules not only of our own, but Malay society in general: No one really minds what you do, so long as you do it discreetly and you don’t flaunt your misbehavior. He kicked his enemies when they were down; he then kicked one of his own cronies when he was down; so he fell. But those who let him fall, rose up in his defense when, down and out, the victors of EDSA Dos proceeded to kick Estrada when he was down and out (this accounts, too, for the grudging respect President Gloria Macapagal Arroyo gets from some circles today: When she seemed down and out, she somehow clung on to power).
UP Professor Prospero de Vera said on ANC on the day of the conviction, something that struck me. The Filipino concept of justice, he said, is one of restitution and not retribution. What would have addressed the interests of justice, he said, as far as the public’s actual values are concerned, would have been for Estrada, upon conviction for plunder, to return his ill-gotten wealth. That’s it.
In which case it can be argued that imprisonment for many Filipinos is nothing more or less than a demonstration of raw power, but not justice. Everyone, I think, encounters sooner or later, cases involving poverty-stricken families more interested in a cash settlement in cases where one of their loved ones is maimed or killed in an accident. A trial, much less imprisonment, is less relevant both to their ever-pressing needs and sense of justice, than financial restitution. Part of this has to be the expectation, drummed in by centuries of experience, that a trial and even jail for the culprit involves a system that takes more out of the aggrieved family than is worth it: Again, because of the family’s pressing needs.
Ironically, the wealthy, too, have a horror of the legal system not just because when caught doing wrong, they want to evade punishment (no one, regardless of class origins, ever readily submits to the justice system when they’re the accused), but also due to their knowing as well, that in the cases where the accused is actually innocent, if it becomes a case involving media attention, they won’t get justice, either.
So how’s this for a rule of thumb that crosses class divisions? The only real winners in the justice system are the lawyers. That’s the consensus that exists in our society.
It was also significant, I thought, that even as Estrada faced conviction in court, political leaders were practically falling over themselves to be seen with him, or at least to let everyone (including, most of all, Estrada himself) know they sympathized with the man. In contrast, President Arroyo had hunkered down in the Palace with her Cabinet, and no one was making a beeline to see and be seen at Fortress Malacanang. This is a pretty galling indication of just who, exactly, the political class thinks will be more relevant come 2010. With relevance comes influence.
In conversations I had during that time, I remember saying I opposed his being thrown in jail upon the filing of charges. My reasons were simple. I felt that he deserved consideration both as a former president, and because he’d relinquished power without bloodshed. Of course a lot of counter-arguments were made, the rule of law, etc., etc., but I felt that it would be perceived as kicking a man when he’s down, and that a newly-installed government whose legitimacy rested on a pretty unsatisfactory Supreme Court decision, was in a poor position to insist on an inflexible application of legal procedure. It was reckless and imprudent to ferociously apply the law when your legality hasn’t had time to be fully settled.
Had Estrada been left in the comfort of his North Greenhills home, placed, perhaps, under house arrest, then carted to and from the venue of his trial, you wouldn’t have had EDSA Tres. Constitutional lawyer Joaquin Bertnas once pointed out that Estrada’s status as a prisoner was “sui generis”, a unique case, and thus couldn’t properly be compared to that of an ordinary felon. His legal argument was made long after the Estrada arrest, if I recall correctly.
In light of what Prof. de Vera said, which I think is very true, and in view of the South Korean experience, it might also be more productive to revisit the law penalizing plunder, and refocus it on enabling the authorities to recover ill-gotten wealth from officials. That satisfies the requirements of justice; it avoids turning erring officials into martyrs; and it addresses a reality we all know: money is power.
Conviction, in and of itself, carries great symbolic weight; beyond confiscation of ill-gotten wealth or property, any further punishment for an elected official is gratuitous.
