A STOLEN public peso can mean medicine a patient never receives, a classroom that never gets built, or a flood control project that fails when the rains come. We may forgive the person responsible. But forgiveness should not erase the consequences.
This is a distinction Filipinos must learn to make: forgiveness is not impunity.
Christianity asks much of us when it calls us to forgive. In the Gospel of Matthew, Peter asks Jesus how often he should forgive someone who sins against him. “Up to seven times?” Jesus replies: “Not seven times, but seventy-seven times.”
Forgiveness demands strength. It means overcoming anger, resentment and the desire for revenge. The prayer traditionally attributed to St. Francis of Assisi captures this spirit: “Where there is injury, pardon.”
In our personal lives, that teaching can heal wounds. Grudges carried for decades divide families. Friendships end because neither person will take the first step toward reconciliation. Forgiveness gives us a way forward.
But forgiving someone does not require society to abandon justice. We can let go of hatred while insisting that wrongdoing be investigated and, when proven, punished.
That distinction matters, especially in cases of graft and corruption. The victims are ordinary Filipinos whose taxes fund public services and whose lives suffer when those funds are stolen or misused.
The Constitution states the standard plainly: “Public office is a public trust.” Officials owe the people responsibility, integrity and justice. Holding them accountable is a constitutional duty, not an act of revenge.
Yet our willingness to forgive too often becomes a willingness to forget.
Scandals disappear from the headlines. Outrage subsides. Cases drag on. Political alliances shift. People associated with serious controversies rebuild their reputations and return to positions of influence, sometimes without having answered the allegations against them.
We should not mistake this collective amnesia for reconciliation.
Forgiveness does not require us to pretend that nothing happened. A society that can enforce its laws and exercise mercy when warranted demonstrates strength. One that repeatedly fails to investigate and prosecute wrongdoing reveals institutional weakness.
That weakness breeds impunity. When wealth, connections or political influence appear to offer protection, the law loses its power to deter. Why fear consequences if cases languish until public attention moves elsewhere?
This is why strong institutions matter. The Commission on Audit must identify irregularities. The Ombudsman must investigate without fear or favor. Prosecutors must build sound cases, and courts must resolve them fairly within a reasonable time. Congress must exercise meaningful oversight, while civil servants must resist improper pressure.
Due process is essential. An accusation is not a conviction. Political rivalry cannot replace evidence, and prosecution must never become persecution.
But due process cannot become an endless process. Court congestion, cumbersome procedures, inadequate resources and weak investigations demand reform. Delays hurt both the public seeking accountability and accused persons awaiting a fair resolution. Justice must be independent, credible and reasonably swift.
Citizens also have a responsibility. In a democracy, the ballot gives us a peaceful means of imposing political consequences.
Before voting, we must examine candidates’ records, demand explanations and weigh whether they deserve our trust. Forgiving a public official does not oblige us to return that person to office. Compassion does not automatically restore the right to lead.
If serious wrongdoing carries no legal or electoral consequences, what lesson are we teaching the next generation of officials?
We can believe in second chances while requiring those found responsible to face the consequences of their actions. We can forgive a person while condemning the act and remembering the harm it caused.
The Gospel asks us to forgive seventy-seven times. It does not ask us to abandon justice seventy-seven times.
Our hearts can be merciful while our institutions remain firm. Forgiveness frees us from hatred. Accountability protects the public from further harm.
Let us forgive. But let us remember what happened — and insist that those entrusted with public money answer for it.
Benel Dela Paz Lagua is an independent director in progressive banks and in NGOs.
