The “Makapili” did us in. Fr John J Carroll, SJ, respected Sociologist at the Ateneo de Manila University, used to say that. It was the beginning of the end for Philippine society, he would explain. We are all too familiar with the Makapilis, of course. Established at the start of the Japanese occupation, the Makabayang Katipunan ng mga Pilipino were organized by disillusioned patriot-turned-collaborator Benigno Ramos. Like today’s masked riding-in-tandems, the Makapilis wore bayongs on their heads as they pointed to the Kempetai or the Japanese police Filipinos who were sympathetic to, if not active members of the Filipino resistance against the Japanese, including the Hukbalahap or Hukbo ng Bayan laban sa mga Hapon. Through this treacherous act, thousands of Filipinos were imprisoned, tortured and executed. Consequently, the name of this spy network became synonymous with treason. Arguably they became the most hated group in Philippine history.
After the war, members of the Makapilis were rounded up. Some were summarily killed by the Huks or by townsfolks avenging their kins. Those that survived were turned over to the victorious American liberators who merely entrusted them to the care of the Philippine government. Post-war President Sergio Osmena immediately established a People’s Court to try cases of treason during the war. However, in 1948, the next President, Manuel Roxas declared a sweeping amnesty to all “political and economic collaborators of the Japanese occupation during World War II.” In other words, many got away, including many of the elite in Philippine society who worked with the Japanese invaders and turned a blind eye on their atrocities to preserve, protect and promote their family interests. Escaping the administration of justice, these families went on to flourish and thrive in Philippine society. Even today.
And this is where Carroll’s point on the Makapili is most crucial. He was of course speaking or writing primarily as a Sociologist and not as a priest. The implementation of the law of the land, he said, was critical in emerging democracies, especially its equal application to all its members. That’s why Lady Justice is blindfolded, for she enforces the law “without favor or fear.” To give exemptions is to erode the very foundation of the democratic experiment which is supposed to be grounded on the rule of law and not of men. As for meting out punishment to erring members of society, Carroll would cite the eminent social thinker Emile Durkheim who justified the role of punishment in societies. When society punishes, Durkheim would say, it is not out of bloodlust, rather, it is to reinforce the values that the society adheres to; it is to clarify its ethical standards, what it considers right from wrong. Specifically, he writes that punishment is a “tangible example of the collective conscience at work in a process that both expressed and regurgitated society’s values”; it is a “manifestation of a strong conscience collective and mechanical solidarity.” He would surely be turning in his grave if he hears the so-called Christian rhetoric to “forgive and forget” and “to move on.”
In sum then, the effective and equal administration of justice, including its system of reward and punishment, is foundational to any democracy. And that is why, Carroll pointed out, when the Makapilis, especially the elite collaborators, were pardoned, the whole legal order unraveled. It set a precedent and the pattern was repeated again and again. After Martial Law, for instance, successive Philippine governments failed to hold accountable the Marcoses and their cronies for plundering Philippine economy and committing human rights violations. The succeeding corrupt administrations would also get away from the full force of the law. President Joseph Estrada would be pardoned by his successor Gloria Arroyo. The latter would also escape from serious cases of electioneering (Hello, Garci!) and massive corruption (NBN-ZTE). The most corrupt of them all though is yet to be tried. Former President Rodrigo Duterte must be held accountable for his murderous war on drugs, his exploitation of the pandemic (Pharmally!), etcetera. Rather than the blind administration of justice, his reign saw what was called the weaponization of the law which is but the corruption of its implementation. It is not merely ironical that he is now being tried in an international court. In fact, it is a serious indictment, if not a condemnation, of the justice system in the Philippines.
And now, two particular cases will decide the fate of the rule of law in the country. The first, the graft cases involving billion-peso flood control projects before Philippine courts especially the Sandiganbayan. The second, the impeachment trial of the Vice-President at the Senate. Both cases involve the moneyed and the political and economic oligarchs of this country. Whatever the outcome of these cases, one thing is clear: these are not simply legal cases for the lawyers to win or lose; nor are they mere political games played by an opportunistic ruling class. Indeed, more than the political or economic fortunes and fates of those indicted, the fate of our democracy is at stake here. For as we said, its very foundation is the rule of law which essentially requires equality and accountability. Will the makapilis escape again? Or would we finally see the triumph of law and justice in this part of the globe?
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