by Dominique Santiago
My mother would warn me against writing this. A bad premonition, she’d say. Normally I’d agree with her, but circumstances are tough, and I wouldn’t want to leave the world without at least a goodbye. A bit of disclaimer before I start though. I am just a regular college student bending her neck over backwards to finally get her diploma. I’m not a drug pusher nor a thief of any kind. The closest to stealing I’ve even been is forgetting to quote my favorite authors on Facebook posts.
But none of that seems to matter, hence this letter.
First, I’d like to have the grim picture of my death printed across the national dailies. This is exactly what the Inquirer did on July 24, when it devoted part of its front page to a picture of a woman cradling her partner who was killed by unknown vigilantes. The picture bore a striking resemblance to Michalangelo’s Pieta, where the Virgin Mary carried the lifeless Christ in her arms, her face struck with agony and longing. I have no partner to carry me, but I’m sure my mom and dad would drive themselves mad when they see my bloody corpse. Capture that.
Then use this picture to remind everyone you know of the extent of this lawless war on drugs. Paint me as the hardworking college student gunned down by men only because she was walking down the street past ten o’clock. Tell the world about my family, how I have five younger siblings depending on the salary I would have gotten had I finished my degree. Use my memory to awaken the people who refuse to see that this is insane, that they are blinded by the prospect that change has indeed come. I’d be smiling down from heaven knowing that you did.
Should my name get lost in the list of killed ‘criminals,’ highlight that a single death alone should already be a wake-up call. Tell them enough is enough. That change is nothing if it comes at the risk of losing due process. Remind them of how we so fervently called on the Indonesian president to spare the life of Mary Jane Veloso. Thousands of Filipinos fought for her freedom back then. As of this writing, a total of 207 suspected drug dealers and pushers have been killed. What if half that number were all like Mrs. Veloso? Or if they weren’t, who’s to say they wouldn’t change had they been given proper jobs and their basic rights?
Lastly, which is probably most important, there will be absolutely no crying from my friends or family who carelessly said that the declared war on drugs would never hurt them. This would probably be the best and worst time to say “Look at me now.” Don’t be hypocrites. Grant me this final decency.
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