The Toll Booth Called Justice

It’s called a Drug Dependency Evaluation. Sounds technical, bureaucratic, harmless even. It’s supposed to tell us how deep a person is into drug use—mild, moderate, or severe—so we know how to help them. Rehab, counseling, monitoring. All the buzzwords of a justice system pretending to care.

But the way we do it? It’s not help. It’s extortion.

The DDE is required for Persons Deprived of Liberty (PDLs) convicted and plea bargained under RA 9165 before they can be released. Not optional. Mandatory. The problem is, it’s also for a fee. Somewhere between ₱750 to ₱1,500 depending on who’s charging and where. That’s pocket change for some. But for many PDLs—men and women who sold sachets to survive, who were arrested in buy-busts they didn’t even understand—it’s a death sentence in disguise.

Here’s the absurd part: Many of them have already served their maximum penalty. Their jail time is over. They should be home. They should be free. The Supreme Court, in all its legal elegance, even said so. The Office of the Court Administrator issued a circular: PDLs who’ve served their time must be released. No need for a court order. No need for fanfare.

But in practice? They are told: for plea bargainers: No DDE, no freedom.

So they wait. They beg. They scrape money together. They pawn what little they have, call distant relatives, plead with jail paralegals. Just to pay for an “evaluation” that, more often than not, is a ten-minute interview. No drug test. No bloodwork. No actual science. Just a doctor with a pen, a form, and a rate card. Ninety-eight percent of the time, the result is “mild.” And somehow, we are made to believe this process means something.

What it means, really, is that someone is making money off misery.

It’s not just a broken system. It’s a business model.

But here’s where it gets even more tragic—if that’s still possible. The DDE is conducted at the very end of the process. Sometimes two years after the arrest. By then, whatever addiction existed is gone, replaced by the trauma of jail life, or maybe by a desperate resolve to start over. So what, exactly, are we evaluating?

If the system had any sense, any decency, the DDE should be done at the beginning—upon arrest. That’s when the data matters. That’s when you determine if someone needs rehab, not retribution. Those found mildly or moderately dependent should be diverted, not detained. Those severely dependent? They need treatment, not torture.

The jails are full. Beyond full. In most jails, congestion rates reach 258 percent. And we act surprised. We talk of overcrowding as though it were a natural disaster. It’s not. It’s policy. A DDE that delays releases. A system that monetizes freedom. A bureaucracy so slow, even mercy is out of breath.

And yet—there is light.

There are judges who defy the sluggish tide. Judges who don’t wait for memos or media attention. Judges who read the circulars, interpret the law humanely, and order releases without fanfare. I’ve seen them. They exist. Some even pay out of pocket. Some sign release orders late into the night. Quiet heroes in black robes.

There are jail paralegals, probation officers, legal aides—people who fight battles no one sees. They print motions on borrowed ink, argue before tired judges, and hold the hands of families who’ve lost faith in everything but prayer.

There is hope.

But it must be amplified. It must be systematized. It cannot rely on the whims of kind-hearted judges or brave paralegals alone.

The DDE must be free. It must be done at the beginning, not at the end. And those who’ve already served their time must

be released—DDE or not.

This is not just a policy recommendation. It is a moral imperative.

Because if justice is something you have to pay for, then it is not justice. It’s a commodity. And if release comes only after extortion, then we’ve confused rehabilitation with racketeering.

We say the war on drugs is over. Then let the peace begin. And peace starts with freeing those who no longer need to be behind bars.

Free them. Not someday. Now.