Ballots Over Bullets

By Herman M. Lagon

We face a critical choice in a country where jeepneys roll through streets of joys and struggles. The midterm elections are not just about choosing leaders—they are about remembering those silenced by Duterte’s deadly drug war. These were not just numbers; they were children, parents, and friends taken by a system that blurred justice and violence.

Kian delos Santos, 17, just wanted to pass his next test. Instead, police dragged him into an alley, ignoring his plea—“Please don’t, I have a test tomorrow.” The officers claimed self-defense, but security footage told the real story: an execution dressed up as law enforcement.

Myca Ulpina, only three years old, was caught in a police raid targeting her father. Authorities claimed she was used as a shield, but no excuse can justify a child’s death. A senator’s cold dismissal of her killing—“Shit happens”—sums up the cruelty behind the policy.

As the country marks the anniversary of the EDSA People Power Revolution, a movement that once symbolized peace and democracy, Duterte’s legacy casts a shadow. His daughter, Sara Duterte, now faces impeachment. Her trial is not just a legal proceeding but a test of whether power can finally be held accountable in a nation that has long tolerated impunity.

The war on drugs left over 12,000 people dead, most of them from the poorest communities. Aldrin Pineda, 13, was shot while playing outside. The officer claimed he “tripped”, a hollow excuse that dismissed his young life and his family’s grief.

In Tondo, a secret detention cell hidden behind a police station bookshelf revealed the darker side of the war: suspects were tortured, extorted, and abandoned while responsible officers were quietly promoted.

Joshua Laxamana and Julius Sebastian were two teens who left for a trip to Baguio but never returned. Joshua was allegedly killed in a shootout—though his mother swore he could not even ride a motorcycle—while Julius simply vanished, leaving his family with nothing but questions.

The Caloocan Massacre of 2016 proved how indiscriminate the violence had become. Seven people, including minors and a pregnant woman, were gunned down. Their deaths were brushed aside as collateral damage in a war that did not care about innocence.

Francis Manosca, just five years old, was killed alongside his father by masked men. His mother, eight months pregnant, was left to grieve in silence—a victim of a war that promised security but delivered fear.

The killings of Jerico Garcia, Harold Bulan, and Jomari Sinerez were even more gruesome. Found with their throats slit, they served as warnings to others. Harold’s deafness meant he could not even hear his killers coming.

Then there was Raymart Siapo, 19, born with a club foot, falsely accused of selling marijuana. His killers mocked him—“Run!”—knowing he could not. They shot him anyway.

The deaths of Carl Angelo Arnaiz and Reynaldo “Kulot” De Guzman showed how easy it was for the innocent to be framed. Carl, battling depression, was accused of robbery. Days later, Reynaldo’s body was found in a river, bearing 30 stab wounds—a brutal end to a story of fabricated guilt.

Now, the same politicians who enabled this violence are back on the campaign trail, selling the same promises while victims’ families continue to mourn. The impeachment trial of Sara Duterte could signal a shift toward justice—but true change lies with voters refusing to forget.

EDSA was not just about ousting a dictator but about standing for those who could not defend themselves. As the elections approach, each vote asks: Shall we stay silent or demand justice for those denied a chance?

Voting is not just a right—it is a way to remember. For Kian, Myca, Francis, Raymart, and all the others who never got to vote, this election could be the reckoning their families deserve. This time, the real test is not for politicians—it is for us.

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Doc H fondly describes himself as a “student of and for life” who, like many others, aspires to a life-giving and why-driven world grounded in social justice and the pursuit of happiness. His views do not necessarily reflect those of the institutions he is employed or connected with.