JENNIFER VELASCO
If you are a leader, particularly of a country, it is upon your shoulders to decide which lives matter more.
Even long before President Duterte took office, the Philippine National Police (PNP) have already cleared the way for their Commander-in-Chief. Since January, drug-related killings have become “household news” that I can’t consider it newsworthy anymore. To a distant viewer whose last encounter with a blood-shot drug user dates back to her elementary years, the death toll is nothing but a number. I could not care less.
But just when I thought news could not get any more thrilling, the number of drug-related deaths surged to over a hundred, prompting a 65,000-strong surrender. As I read post after post about this phenomenon, my only thought was, what counts as death-warranted drugs to these people? If I smoke marijuana (which I have never EVER tried, promise!), should I fear for my life?
The reality is, these drug dealers and junkies are at the bottom of the pyramid, both of the trade and the economy. According to the Dangerous Drugs Board (DDB), the mean age of drug offenders is 20-29 years old, and though their employment status is marked employed, the educational attainment is only at a high school level.
What would a high school level education get you in this day and age?
Let’s put a face—or a name, at least—to the case I’m making. Let’s name a 26-year old employed drug user with a high school level education Toto. Since he wasn’t able to continue schooling due to financial constraints, the top 10 decent jobs that would accept him with open arms are: maid, construction/road workers, manufacturing operators, MMDA CCTV watchers, promodizers, blogger/online writer, online freelancers, customer service representatives, call center agents, and political campaigners. Let’s subtract the possibility of a computer-related job to the equation. Add two children. A wife. A mother. A father. A brother. A sister. A grandmother.
Toto, a drug user, but by all means, an average Filipino trying to make ends meet with a blue-collar job.
Toto’s case could not be farther from the truth.
A drug user, but a family man. A family man, but a drug user.
Which reality filter would you choose to see him with?
This makes me ask myself why I had not seen these numbers as family men with children to feed. Or, if I am not allowed to think of them as such because of the lives they must have ruined, with that state, were they even given a fair chance at life? Had they not been victims of poverty, would they resort to temporary escapes at all?
This reminds me of a little debate I involved myself in about death penalty. I have not had a change of heart since; I am not discarding the idea of retribution by death. If this world makes a turn for dystopia, I would revel in the sight of a criminal inhaling his last breath as much as the next person.
But this is not dystopia. And even if the world is at war with itself right now, I would not think of it as close.
His son is a few months short into this world, don’t shoot him yet.
His daughter is waiting for him at a school bench while her playmates have all gone, don’t shoot him yet.
His brother could not understand anything because his mind is not on his books but on the unpaid tuition, don’t shoot him yet.
His sister is a single mother, don’t shoot him yet.
His grandmother is still waiting for her favorite grandson to find her glasses for her, don’t shoot him yet.
His mother goes to church every afternoon and every Sunday to pray that her beloved son would turn his back on his sinful ways, don’t shoot him yet.
His father is still waiting for his prodigal son to come home, don’t shoot him yet.
Until he gets a proper education, a safe home, a supportive community that fuels rather than exhausts his weak will to change, DON’T SHOOT HIM YET.