Monday, December 04, 2006

end of the line (?)

End of the line (

The verdict is out. Lance Corporal Daniel Smith is convicted guilty and is sentenced to spend 40 years in jail. His alleged cohorts, on the other hand, with lack of evidence and strong argument to impound them, were acquitted and were immediately flown to Okinawa leaving Smith still looking clueless and dumbfounded in the probing eyes of the cameras. His mind must’ve gone blank as he was dragged to the police car up to the Makati City jail like a dog on a leash, while the ruckus around him continued.

As the verdict was announced, ‘Nicole’ shrieked in joy and embraced his mother. She sobbed and praised God for the decision. Her lawyer was even more jubilant and went shouting “Long live the Filipino women!” While on the way to church, she expressed her gratitude to the people who supported her and her cause. Rallyists stood their ground outside the court and waited for the verdict despite the rain.

So ended yesterday a landmark case in the Philippine judicial system and perhaps a win that can ignite more the struggle for women empowerment. The case may even prompt the government to probe into other related cases. News reports stated that Nicole’s case was the only case who triumphed among 3,000 others involving women sexually abused by foreign expatriates.

This may not be the end of the line though. RP-US foreign relations may well be under hand. Where Smith will be jailed is yet to be decided, considering that the young soldier’s stay is under the clause of the Visiting Forces Agreement.

For Nicole, this might not yet be the end of the fight though. Justice, she felt, was half-baked. She felt that the missing driver who was there during the rape is still crucial to the conviction of the others particularly Carpienter whom she referred to as ‘the leader’.

*****

I went to the same school with Nicole, though I was never really quite sure if we graduated the same year. I even saw her more than a couple of times especially that she was under a department where I was a student assistant. Her brother though became a classmate of mine in Economics as I was mixed with a Management class when I was second year. I remember her going to the room one time to see her brother albeit I couldn’t remember how her voice sounded that time. I only know her by face and wasn’t really able to talk to her.

It was only after I saw her brother in the news that I ascertained it was her. I didn’t even know that they’re from Zamboanga until I learned it from the news. I can even remember that before I graduated, rumors were going around the university that the rape victim came from the same school. It turned out to be true. It must’ve been more painful for her friends, classmates and teachers who really knew her.

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Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family, Choose a f—king big television. Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed-interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose a three piece suit on hire purchased in a range of f—king fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the f—k you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing f—king junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, f—ked-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself. Choose a future. Choose life . . . But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life. I chose somethin’ else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you’ve got heroin?

Renton, Trainspotting