Echoes From
BY JOHNNY DAYANG

Regardless of which side you take, the Supreme Court's 7-4 reversal of the lower courts' decision on the 1991 Vizconde massacre is something that will fit the minds of Filipinos all throughout this Yuletide season.

For those who believe in the innocence of Hubert Webb and his companions, the SC acquittal sounds incredible, coming as it did after 15 long years of witnessing these men lose the bloom of their youth in a state penitentiary.

Those who stand by the earlier decisions of the trial and appellate courts - that Webb et.al. are guilty - are by now seething in anger, their blood-curdidling cries of anguish, dismay, and protest shattering the silence of 15 years.

In the steadily rising decibel of unrestrained emotion between those who side with the Webbs and those who champion Lauro Vizconde, it would do well for media to be reminded of their critical role in this rapidly developing social drama.

Media's social responsibilities dictate that it remain objective and sober, refraining from passing subjective judgment on the case. No incendiary statements please, my friends. The tragedy that befell Lauro Vizconde cannot be assuaged by more taunts, more swipes at the perceived culprits, whether these "culprits" really did the heinous crime or not.

We all grieve for the father and husband who lost his children and wife to animals posing as men. We grieve for the pitiful bits and pieces of fact and circumstance that translated to insufficient evidence, consequently failing to resolve this heinous crime once and for all.

We grieve for the 15 years that passed needlessly, senselessly - without justice, without closure, without peace for the aggrieved and for the perceived culprits. Most importantly, we grieve for the untimely, unceremonious demise of the truth with regards to the Vizconde massacre.

It is always easy to be self-righteous; to condemn that which is popularly abhorred. History is replete with men and women who felt they were the only arbiters of right and wrong.

And when the stage is set for deliverance, when the decibel of frightening contention is most deafening, we fail to remember that in that small stage, a man who was once a father and a husband, is still looking asking the question, "Who killed my family"