In a nation where democracy and fundamental freedoms are respected, there is a principle that a person cannot be a judge in his own case. This doctrine stems from ancient Roman law which was eventually adopted into common law when Sir Edward Coke, an English judge in the early 17th century, told King James I that he cannot judge cases against the monarchy.
As monarchies fell and kingdoms became republics and democracies, this doctrine was eventually codified into their constitutions. In the Philippines, it is a tenet of due process that a judge should be impartial—that they do not hold personal stakes or interests in the case they are handling. It is a norm in the judiciary that magistrates recuse themselves whenever a possible conflict of interest arises.
But such is not the case in the Philippine National Police (PNP). In the PNP’s present organization, disciplinary powers are shared among layers of the police bureaucracy. The law expects the police to keep their cohorts accountable for their violations–and we all know this does not work in an organization where one's mistakes are covered up by another. Simply, this internal discipline mechanism that the PNP charter dreams of would not work in an agency where the code of silence is an unwritten rule.
This is especially true now that another cop was reported to have killed a civilian. On Monday, the Valenzuela City government told the media that one of the city’s police officers shot dead an 18-year-old person with special needs. Though the circumstances of the killing have yet to be determined, PNP Chief Guillermo Eleazar already ordered the PNP to “conduct a thorough investigation of the incident.”
Congress has long taken cognizance of this problem. In 1998, they amended the 1990 PNP charter by establishing an Internal Affairs Service (IAS) as an attached agency of the PNP tasked to investigate and audit PNP personnel and offices, and, if necessary, file criminal charges against cops in courts. As a departure from the previous model, the IAS would also be headed by a civilian inspector general. Though the IAS was already there, local police chiefs, nonetheless, retained their authority to discipline their personnel.
The 1998 law also established the People’s Law Enforcement Board (PLEB), a body made up of a representative of the city or town council, a barangay captain, and three upstanding citizens as nominated by their local legislative bodies. The PLEB adjudicates citizens’ complaints versus police officers. If found guilty, it can dismiss, suspend, demote, or forfeit the benefits of the erring cop.
At first glance, the IAS and PLEB models might actually work in holding the police accountable. Yet the devil is in the details–all the powers given to these bodies are merely advisory or recommendatory, and police bureaucrats are still given the veto power to ignore them unilaterally. The PNP chief, for instance, may reverse these dismissal recommendations altogether if he so wants.
This is even worse in the lower echelons of the PNP. Though the IAS is headed by a civilian inspector general, the provincial, regional, and division heads of the IAS are high-ranking police officials–effectively defeating the purpose that the agency assigned to check the PNP is not a member of that organization. Once more, we return to a system where a person is a judge in their own case.
Such a system also discourages witnesses to come forward, and even the government admits this. On Monday, the PNP finally allowed the Justice Department to access its Tokhang documents, as part of its drug war review. Despite this move, Justice Secretary Menandro Guevarra admitted that prosecution remains difficult because, more often than not, witnesses are simply scared to testify against police officers.
Because of this ineffective system, rarely do police officers get punished for what they do. The IAS’s data speaks for itself. From 2015 to 2017, 70 percent of all its disciplinary recommendations were ignored by the PNP administration. In the same period, of the 567 officers recommended for dismissal, only 159 were implemented–leaving over 400 erring armed cops roaming our streets. Overall, for every 10 sanctioned cops, not even three would receive a penalty for their administrative offenses.
According to PNP data, of more than 14,000 erring officers from July 2016 to June 2020, only around 4,200 were dismissed, while the rest were simply suspended, demoted, or had their paychecks withheld. This is the result of the internal cleansing program under the current administration, boasted by former PNP Chief Archie Gamboa.
Instead of instilling discipline and keeping law enforcers in check, the current internal accountability mechanisms of the PNP allow police officers to get away with their violations with impunity. Such is the case exemplified by police-turned-murderer Jonel Nuezca when it was revealed that he had had a handful of previous administrative and criminal cases already, and yet was able to remain in service. And such is the reason why many violations of police officers would only be swept under the rug.
It is a great irony, then, that the people are held to a higher standard, rather than the police who are armed–literally and legally–with the power to enforce the law. Police apologists might say that some disciplinary actions are handed down to certain officers due to personal motives, and to err on the side of caution, such punishment would be ignored. Yet, when we allow police to freely roam the streets when they have a history of violating their own rules, the police, in itself, allows its own people to be a threat to public safety.
Although past police chiefs have pledged to hold the bad cops to account, no long-term structural reforms have been enacted except for the performative, public shaming of these cops which, in effect, only really served as a PR stunt rather than a real attempt to discipline the police. Even current PNP Chief Guillermo Eleazar has engaged in this publicity stunt, beginning with livestreamed “surprise” inspections of police stations focusing, quite literally, on their housekeeping routines.
But, coupled with a president who is willing to give blanket protection to everything the police do, the current system of keeping bad cops from being held accountable even more amplifies the grim culture of law enforcement in our country. While we understand that radically rethinking how policing should truly work in our country is one thing, getting rid of these accountability loopholes, in the short term, is also a step we should be taking.
The institution’s mechanisms must be independent in conducting their probe and meting out corrective interventions to the fullest extent possible. In a 2017 opinion article for Rappler, former Bayan Muna Rep. Teddy Casiño suggested that internal accountability mechanisms should be harmonized with the Commission on Human Rights and the Ombudsman, both of which would tackle both the human rights and accountability aspects of a case.
Like the PLEB’s aim, any such organizational overhaul should create a model where members of the community could file charges versus local police officers without the risk of their local police chief overriding the PLEB’s decision. Until accountability agencies of the PNP are severed completely from their own ranks, the police can continue the spate of violence we see almost every day, with no fear of repercussion.
At least for now, the imposition of a community-centered, civilian-headed, and independent watchdog of the PNP is key to strengthening the charter of the IAS and the PLEB. Under no circumstance should we allow the police to look after themselves. To keep the system in place is not only a danger to our fundamental freedoms, but is also repugnant to a republican state. ●
