Franco Mabanta allegedly attempted to extort P350 million. He was given bail of P120,000. Others played tongits with a pot money of P500 and were slapped with bail of P30,000. Others sold P500 worth of shabu and were ordered to post bail of P200,000.
The alleged extortionist walked out of detention three days later, assisted by well-oiled lawyers in crisp barongs and expensive watches, determined to contest every inch of the criminal procedure. The alleged illegal gamblers are still in jail a month after arrest, unable to post bail. The alleged small-time drug peddlers remain behind bars six months, one year, two years later, still waiting, still rotting, still presumed innocent in theory but already punished in practice. Many of them eventually plead guilty, not because they are guilty, but because detention itself becomes the punishment. Plead guilty, go home. Contest the case, die slowly in jail.
Such is the grotesque comedy of our pretrial detention system. It is called a financial bail system, but let us stop pretending it is about justice. It is a poverty test masquerading as due process. The rich and powerful treat it as a parking fee. The poor experience it as a death sentence in installments. The law says all are equal before the law. But, in practice, equality begins where money begins. The rich can invoke constitutional rights with eloquence and confidence. They can shout “due process,” “equal protection,” and “political persecution” while sipping coffee in air-conditioned homes. The poor invoke the same rights from overcrowded cells that smell of sweat, rust, urine, and despair.
