Manila (21 March) --- It was hardly surprising to many Filipinos that Romeo Jalosjos would declare that he did not intend to apologize to the girl (by now a woman) that he violated. His critics would call it arrogance — a quality that may naturally be traced to his high post on the totem, which is inextricably linked to his family’s great wealth, which in turn is the primary force galvanizing the loyalty of his “constituency.”

Apart from the arrogance, the former congressman from the southern province of Zamboanga del Norte may be merely exhibiting the unrepentant stance of a man of power, never mind that for all his money and power, he could not prevent a conviction of statutory rape and actually did time for it (albeit truncated, and in lavish style).

The stance hints of a contempt for females in general: Up to now, more than 10 years after his conviction and after being rebuffed twice by the Supreme Court, he insists that no sexual assault of a child had taken place; he is evidently still convinced that his money had succeeded in transforming his then 11-year-old victim into a whore, and therefore, in his reckoning, ripe for his picking.

And yet Jalosjos declares that he has been transformed by his years in detention, and has learned to be humble and to curb an apparent short fuse. If only to uphold the idea that the rehabilitation, and not execution, of criminals is and should be the hallmark of a progressive justice system, let’s see him put his money where his mouth is.

Of course, it can be said that the man has been doing exactly that. That he spent quite a sum of money to put up a tennis court for the inmates’ use and sundry structures including his own quarters at the New Bilibid Prison is well known, somehow cloaking his persona with a bit of legend among the have-nots and guaranteeing their gratitude to a patron.

It is said that Jalosjos’ benevolence has improved the miserable conditions at the state penitentiary to a certain extent. Granted. But it must be pointed out that it fundamentally served to provide for his own convenience.

And that prison officials — indeed, Malacañang — could not but indulge the convict’s ministrations, and naturally resultant privileges just shows the sorry state of our affairs. (Prison officials have long admitted that the building of private quarters — called “kubol” — for moneyed prisoners somehow eases the terrific congestion in the penitentiary.)

Yet, Malacañang is taking pains to explain that the commutation of Jalosjos’ two life terms is not a special case, and that it is not a quid pro quo for Zamboanga del Norte’s delivering for its current occupant in the 2004 presidential election. The Palace appears to be guarding against a public uproar similar to that which erupted in the wake of Jalosjos’ “premature” release in December 2007. It keeps harping on a “process” that was followed, on a law that allows commutation or pardon for a prisoner with a record of “good behavior.”

But Malacañang’s protestation that President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo’s actions vis-à-vis Jalosjos’ case are “purely ministerial” rings hollow. After all, the man was, for all intents and purposes, living the life at his Katarungan Village digs even before his formal release. (That address in Muntinlupa City is actually a luxury resort, with such amenities as a top-of-the-line gym, a sushi bar and four cottages.) He was Prisoner No. N98P-0748, true, but this was obviously only for the record; he was hardly so.

Jalosjos says the President is blameless in his release. He also calls her “a friend,” casually claiming a place in an exclusive circle known to include such types as a reputed “jueteng” underground lottery lord. For the halfway attentive observer, many things easily come to mind when considering Jalosjos’ case as indicative of the existing order: patronage is one; transactional politics another.