The principle of double jeopardy has been one of the procedural defenses held by those who are accused in the realm of criminal law. In its most basic sense, it is the legal standard that prohibits a defendant from being tried twice for the same charges following an acquittal or conviction before a competent court.
According to Article III, Section 21 of the Philippine constitution, “[N]o person shall be twice put in jeopardy of punishment for the same offense.” Technically, if an accused has been acquitted for a crime he really committed, and a new piece of evidence that proves his guilt surfaces only after a final decision has been made, the principle of double jeopardy serves as a medium for escaping the castigation that is supposed to be served by the accused.
However, the Supreme Court defended this provision by saying in one of its case citations that “[W]ithout the safeguard this article establishes in favor of the accused, his fortune, safety, and peace of mind would be entirely at the mercy of the complaining witness, who might repeat his accusation as often as dismissed by the Court and whenever he might see fit, subject to no other limitation
of restriction than his own will and pleasure.”
As I was weighing the arguments about the fairness of this legal provision, I was torn between the questions on where the law stands more outright—is it in the principle of giving a just and fair trial for both the accused and the complainant? Or is it in giving a decision of finality and certainty, regardless if it is right or hastily made, within the particular prescriptive period given by the court?
I understand the reason behind implementing the principle of double jeopardy and allocating a certain prescriptive period for every case tried in court, but if we are going to assess and follow the real essence of justice, the Supreme Court must not totally close its doors on certain cases that require its longer and closer scrutiny.
I believe that the country’s judicial branch must stand loyal to its primary objective that is to provide justice to those who need it. It must not be bound by a particular period of time when deciding upon a case simply because being bound by it might affect the result. Worse, it might even lead to a wrong conclusion if the motivation behind a case’s finality is just to meet the prescriptive period and not really to provide justice to those who need it.
There are certain instances wherein the law would insist on finality regardless if the decision it gives is fair, correct, and certain. The constitution may certainly be the prime rule of the land, but sometimes, it takes something outside legal measures to deliver what is fair and outright.
Despite this seeming need to twist the law at times, I am left with no choice but to concede to the fact that the law may really be harsh at times, but people could not do anything to act against it.
Echoing what Lord Wilberforce said, “there are cases where the certainty of justice prevails over the possibility of truth...these are cases where the law insists on finality.” F
According to Article III, Section 21 of the Philippine constitution, “[N]o person shall be twice put in jeopardy of punishment for the same offense.” Technically, if an accused has been acquitted for a crime he really committed, and a new piece of evidence that proves his guilt surfaces only after a final decision has been made, the principle of double jeopardy serves as a medium for escaping the castigation that is supposed to be served by the accused.
However, the Supreme Court defended this provision by saying in one of its case citations that “[W]ithout the safeguard this article establishes in favor of the accused, his fortune, safety, and peace of mind would be entirely at the mercy of the complaining witness, who might repeat his accusation as often as dismissed by the Court and whenever he might see fit, subject to no other limitation
of restriction than his own will and pleasure.”
As I was weighing the arguments about the fairness of this legal provision, I was torn between the questions on where the law stands more outright—is it in the principle of giving a just and fair trial for both the accused and the complainant? Or is it in giving a decision of finality and certainty, regardless if it is right or hastily made, within the particular prescriptive period given by the court?
I understand the reason behind implementing the principle of double jeopardy and allocating a certain prescriptive period for every case tried in court, but if we are going to assess and follow the real essence of justice, the Supreme Court must not totally close its doors on certain cases that require its longer and closer scrutiny.
I believe that the country’s judicial branch must stand loyal to its primary objective that is to provide justice to those who need it. It must not be bound by a particular period of time when deciding upon a case simply because being bound by it might affect the result. Worse, it might even lead to a wrong conclusion if the motivation behind a case’s finality is just to meet the prescriptive period and not really to provide justice to those who need it.
There are certain instances wherein the law would insist on finality regardless if the decision it gives is fair, correct, and certain. The constitution may certainly be the prime rule of the land, but sometimes, it takes something outside legal measures to deliver what is fair and outright.
Despite this seeming need to twist the law at times, I am left with no choice but to concede to the fact that the law may really be harsh at times, but people could not do anything to act against it.
Echoing what Lord Wilberforce said, “there are cases where the certainty of justice prevails over the possibility of truth...these are cases where the law insists on finality.” F
YR 47 Issue 1 2011
Perspectives
Catharsis JENNIFER M.ORILLAZA
JUSTITIA, the Roman goddess of justice, has always been depicted in sculptures as a blindfolded lady carrying a scale on her one hand, and a sword on the other. This manifestation is best explained by the allegorical personification that likens justice to a blind entity—one that maintains impartiality despite seeming prejudices and biases.
Every time I see the figure of Lady Justice in various places, I could not help but be amazed over the perfect manifestation made in her personification. But alongside this feeling of awe, a tinge of doubt emanates within me, asking myself if this personification stands accurate for the kind of justice being served to the exploited members of the Philippine society
Every time I see the figure of Lady Justice in various places, I could not help but be amazed over the perfect manifestation made in her personification. But alongside this feeling of awe, a tinge of doubt emanates within me, asking myself if this personification stands accurate for the kind of justice being served to the exploited members of the Philippine society
Dura lex, sed lex
Year 47 | Issue 3 | 2011
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