But the drama was only beginning. Outside the prison, opposing groups faced off. Priests and nuns who had been holding a vigil for Echegaray burst into song praising Jesus. Meanwhile, the relatives of murder victims who had gathered shouted angrily. ““What do we have a Supreme Court for?’’ asked Eduardo Chua, whose daughter was raped and killed in 1995. Dante Jimenez, chairman of the Volunteers Against Crime and Corruption, called the ruling a cause for ““national grief.’’ Afterward, the high court received bomb threats and hate mail.
The decision stoked an already emotional national debate on capital punishment. Echegaray’s execution would have been the first in the Philippines in 22 years. The death penalty was abolished under President Corazon Aquino in 1987, but restored by Fidel Ramos seven years later. The Echegaray ruling, the court said, was based on a resolution filed earlier by a group of politicians to repeal that law. The judges said they postponed Echegaray’s execution to give Congress a chance to re-examine it.
Informal surveys show that 70 percent of Filipinos still support the death penalty. Although the Roman Catholic Church officially opposes it, even some priests have come out openly in favor. Many Filipinos view execution as an antidote to rising crime. Echegaray’s behavior–he was convicted of raping his daughter five times when she was 10 years old–has proved particularly hard for the country to stomach. ““Society wants some kind of relief,’’ says former human-rights commissioner Paulyn Sicam. ““It is demanding its pound of flesh and Echegaray is its chosen scapegoat.''
Death-penalty advocates have a friend in one very high place: MalacaNang Palace. President Joseph Estrada has won a reputation for tough law enforcement, arguing that developing countries like the Philippines need capital punishment to fight crime. As vice president, he headed an anti-crime commission that scored some high-profile anti-kidnapping successes. He has repeatedly rejected appeals to grant clemency to Echegaray. When the court’s ruling came down last week, Estrada was with the victim of Echegaray’s crime, his 15-year-old daughter, known only as ““Baby.’’ At a press conference later, he sat beside Baby and gave her a white handkerchief to cover her face, protecting her privacy. ““Today is a sad day for law enforcement and the rule of law,’’ he said. ““This just encourages rapists, kidnappers and all kinds of criminals.''
For now, there is little chance that Congress will overturn the death-penalty law. Most members have vowed to uphold it, and Estrada has said he will veto any legislation that would repeal it. In all likelihood, Echegaray will face another trip to the death chamber and opponents of capital punishment will have to raise another uproar. They will need a lot of energy: behind the condemned man, an additional 800 inmates are waiting their turn on death row.
