My Mother’s Snatcher

Whenever my mother visits Cebu, I always make it a point, if possible, to purge my schedule of any work so I could seize these few opportunities of being able to spend time with her.

A few days ago, my mother did come to Cebu.  She came with my aunt who was to undergo a chemotherapy treatment.  Before the scheduled treatment, my wife and I accompanied them to downtown Cebu in order to shop for wedding rings.  We decided this would be our wedding gift to my brother. Wary of the hazards the place is known for, I always stayed close to the three ladies the entire time we sauntered the sidewalks of Colon St.

The only time I left their company was when I went ahead in order to get to our car that was parked at a space just behind the University of Cebu. Little did I know that it was at this fleeting instance, where I was not around – a ‘snatcher’ decided to pick my mother out from among the thousands who plied the streets of Colon that very day – as his unsuspecting prey.       

I saw my wife running toward the car with an indefinable look on her face. I then learned that my mother’s necklace had just been “snatched”. I immediately went back and saw my mother – with shock and trepidation written all over her face. She definitely felt it was not the typical episode one would experience back in the subdued streets of Baybay, Leyte – our hometown.

It was at this point that I really felt rage, so raw and intense, coming in such palpable waves through my body – I trembled at the horrid thought that something worse could have happened. A security guard made a chase for the snatcher. The police were already called in, and I told them that I am a lawyer and the victim is my mother. My mother decided that we had better go since we were already encircled by a number of curious onlookers. But I didn’t want to go, as part of me waited – waited for the chance that the criminal might be caught – and that I could release that rage. My fists were already clenched and ready to pummel unto the face of this callous character.

Several minutes later, we saw people coming toward us in droves, and the traffic momentarily stopped. At the heart of the crowd, I immediately noticed this man, half naked, and bloodied down to his feet. He was pushed around, his hands in handcuffs, by people who took turns hitting and punching his face and body. Though the analogy was inappropriate, I couldn’t help comparing him to Christ on his way to Pontius Pilate.

Then I saw his face – bloodied, eyes puffed-up, and cheeks already swollen to a pulp. Tears streaked down his face as he pleaded and knelt for mercy. Somehow, upon seeing him up close, rage was replaced with seething curiosity. I thought to myself, this guy must have realized that he had just committed the worst mistake of his life. He was more like asking for my mercy than my mother’s. I felt some amusement thinking he probably wanted to punch himself for choosing a victim, out of the thousands he could chose from, whose son happened to be lawyer.

Even at the police station, and later at the fiscal’s office, the poor fellow was relentless in asking for forgiveness. I knew most victims would probably just let him go, especially when the stolen items are recovered and returned to them. It was not worth the hassle. Personally, I did not want my mother to go through that kind of hassle, especially at her age. Nevertheless, she did not mind filing the complaint, as she very well understood my position that a proper action should be done.

I would leave it to her later if she would pursue the case. As to the snatcher – I realized he was already punished enough. Also I am in no position to consider the circumstances, whether compelling or not, that drove him into committing such an act. I knew many who are similarly situated, committed such petty crimes, even after serving prison sentence would again be free to go back to their usual crimes. I do not know if prison term is a deterrent. But I do believe in rehabilitative rather punitive justice.

Anyway, we did file the complaint. I wanted him to realize that he messed with the wrong person – and perhaps, realize that mistakes are things one can take lessons from.