‘Abadilla 5’: a quest for justice

LONDON—“God Sees the Truth, But Waits.” I was about 10 when I chanced upon this short story by Leo Tolstoy published in 1872. The plot is compelling: A man is wrongly convicted of murder and spends 26 years in prison.

An Inquirer editor would say those words to me decades later as we talked about the case of five men who were convicted of murder and imprisoned at the national penitentiary. They were called the “Abadilla 5”—ordinary men accused in 1996 of killing retired colonel Rolando Abadilla, tortured so they would confess to the crime, and sentenced to death by a trial court three years later.

The court’s verdict was based on the testimony of one eyewitness and the confessions extracted from the men when they were tortured. The communist hit squad Alex Boncayao Brigade (ABB) had previously claimed responsibility for the killing, and reiterated this when the court convicted the five men. Activist priest Robert Reyes also petitioned the court to allow him to testify about a gold wristwatch turned over to him by an ABB leader. He said he was told that the watch was taken by the ABB from Abadilla during the ambush; it would prove that it was the hit squad, not the Abadilla 5, who was responsible for the killing. But the court rejected Reyes’ petition.

In 2002, Jose Ma. “Joey” Nolasco, now the Inquirer executive editor, formed a team to work on a special report on the Abadilla 5. I was tasked to write about Lenido Lumanog.

At times during my interview with Len at the National Kidney and Transplant Institute (he had to be admitted to hospital because of his failing kidneys), I found myself teary-eyed. It was embarrassing; journalists are supposed to be detached from the subjects they write about. But who would not be affected? Here was a man who was not only wrongly convicted; he also had a kidney ailment and was badly in need of funds for medical treatment (and, later, a transplant).

Len brimmed with optimism when I told him that the Inquirer was writing a series of stories about the Abadilla 5. Finally, he said, they had a chance of getting justice.

When the report came out (the Inquirer timed the publication to coincide with International Human Rights Day on Dec. 10, 2002), Len was very grateful. He was able to get financial assistance for his treatment, and, more important, he and his companions were able to share their story with the rest of the country (and, subsequently, Asia as well). Surely freedom was near.

Everything seemed to be going well. But then, in 2010, the Supreme Court affirmed the lower court’s decision. I had by then left the Inquirer, but one time I went to visit and had a chat with Joey. Why did this happen? I asked him. I thought it was pretty clear the Abadilla 5 were innocent: The facts were all there.

“Stel, God sees the truth, but waits,” Joey said.

But what was God waiting for? I thought. What was everyone waiting for?

Years passed and I lost contact with Len and his wife. Yet despite my new job, I could not forget Len and the others—Cesar Fortuna, Joel de Jesus, Rameses de Jesus and Augusto Santos. Every Christmas I would check the web and search for their names among those that then President Benigno Aquino III had pardoned. The Board of Pardons and Parole had recommended the commutation of their sentences, after all. But the waiting was in vain.

When Rodrigo Duterte was elected president, I thought to myself: I could write a letter to him, plead the case of the Abadilla 5, and state why they must be freed. They are innocent of the crime. Maybe Mr. Duterte would listen.

And then, on Tuesday, Juliet Javellana, a cowriter of the special report and now chief of the Inquirer central desk, informed me that Len had passed away after a long battle with his kidney ailment.

Len died knowing he was innocent; he believed that he would be proven so, and that the system would work for him and his companions.

In Tolstoy’s short story, the protagonist was eventually found innocent. But when the order for his release came, he was already dead.

Stella O. Gonzales is an editor at the Financial Times in London.