A Call for Equal Application

“Tata Acebo “ passed away a beaten but forgiven man.

Not beaten in the way we think of fists or boots or blunt instruments. But beaten by time, by indifference, by a system that turns slowly—if at all—and forgets to distinguish between the guilty and the not-yet-judged.

He was poor, family-less, homeless. Unemployed. Sickly. Sixty-two years old. He entered jail at forty-six. He was released at sixty-two. Sixteen years inside. For most of that time, he was not convicted of anything. For sixteen long years, he was presumed innocent. But punished just the same.

I met him only last year, during one of my visits to the jail. The case caught my eye. I asked the warden about it. The warden is very concerned —it had been there forever. A forgotten man with a forgotten case. The judge had changed four times. No one seemed to remember whose case it was. Until we remembered him.

I asked—no, egged—the warden to let the new judge know. The young idealistic warden acted promptly. And to the judge’s credit, he listened. He looked at the case and, in an act of simple courage, released the man on his own recognizance. ROR. A seldom used remedy. There was no bail to post. No influential lawyer to argue. Just a warden’s word that the man had been a model inmate—peaceful, disciplined, helpful. He led cleaning efforts. Maintained order. He helped run the jail better than most guards. His GCTA and TASTM would’ve earned him six years’ credit. Had there been a verdict, he would’ve served twenty years already. Had the case moved faster, he might have gone free six years earlier.

He got out. He found a job at the fish market. He bought and sold fish. Sometimes, he brought back kilos to his former jailmates. But he was tired. He looked beaten. He was homeless. Outside, his beard grew unkempt. In jail, he was clean-shaven, orderly. Outside, he drifted.

His family seldom visited him in jail. They did not welcome him back, initially. They remembered his sins—if not in law, then in life. He was not forgiven. He lived alone. Yet, two months before he died, he made peace with his family. He died surrounded by their embrace.

He was remorseful. He did not ask for pity. He accepted the judgment of his family. He tried to stand up. He tried to live, even if life had long moved past him.

Of his nine cases, eight were dismissed. The new judge acted quickly. Last year, he was finally convicted of just one, and sentenced to 15 years. He had already served 16. One year too long. Had he been convicted earlier—say, on the ninth year—his GCTA would’ve set him free.

That’s the tragedy. He was legally guilty. The court said so. And he deserved to be punished—no argument there. But what he did not deserve was the excess. The arbitrary. The invisible weight of delay. That is not justice. That is punishment without due process. That is informal sentence. That is cruel.

The Supreme Court has recently spoken of the Rule of Just Law. Not just the rule of law, but the rule of just law. Law that sees, law that moves, law that balances. Law that understands that the powerless have the same rights to due process as the powerful. That procedural justice must apply from the first step to the last. From the president to the prisoner.

We have judges who understand this. Some of them fast-track the cases of the forgotten. We have prosecutors who move quickly and with fairness, who review cases with care. We have public defenders—PAO lawyers—who work long hours for little pay, to give voice to those who have no one. In some pockets of this broken system, the wheels move—not perfectly, but purposefully.

But it is not enough. There are still hundreds—thousands—like him, languishing in pre-trial detention. Awaiting decisions that never come. Presumed innocent but punished like the guilty. They rot not for the gravity of their crimes, but for the gravity of our neglect.

We can release them. Even temporarily. Under supervision. With care. If they are to be convicted, then let them be convicted—rightly, justly, and without delay. But if they are not yet judged, they do not deserve to be buried alive.

He passed away a beaten but forgiven man. And let no one say he didn’t have a story. Let no one say he was forgotten.

And let no one say that the poor do not deserve justice. They deserve it most of all.

Ps: before he died, and already released, he gave permission to use his pictures. I and the warden also got permission from his relatives to show his face “so people can read his story”.