Life after kidnapping

For the first time in a long while, I exchanged my evening Netflix bingeing for a book.

Not a cookbook, which is what I mostly read these days in hardbound, but serious stuff. Gripping and dismaying, it’s a true story more horrific than horror fiction.

This is the story of Hong Kong-born Tsinoy architect Ka Kuen Chua, a victim twice over of ransom kidnapping in our weak republic. A former head of the anti-crime group Movement for Restoration of Peace and Order (MRPO), Chua has come out with a first-hand account of his ordeal at the hands of kidnappers.

Published this year by the MRPO together with Kaisa Para sa Kaunlaran Inc. and Kaisa Heritage Foundation Inc., the book – “2X: Life After Kidnapping” – is a story of terror and admirable survival.

It also shows why so many victims of kidnapping ­– and many other crimes in this country, for that matter – don’t bother to pursue formal complaints against their oppressors.

Just 167 pages long, you can finish the book in one sitting. It’s a page-turner, from the prologue to the ending, with details of Chua’s life interspersed with harrowing details of his kidnapping on Sept. 10, 2008 and 18 days of torture while in captivity in a house in Novaliches, Quezon City.

Chua was kidnapped at gunpoint again on April 21, 2012. But by then he was already a known anti-crime crusader of the MRPO, with prominent contacts in government and law enforcement. He was released after just 26 hours, with profuse apologies from the kidnappers who claimed it was a case of mistaken identity.

I covered the police beat for years and interviewed numerous crime victims or their bereaved relatives. But this is the most compelling account yet that I have read of what a kidnap victim went through at the hands of his tormentors. I won’t spoil the pleasure of reading the book so I won’t write the details of Chua’s suffering.

Suffice it to say that his ordeal reminded me of Jewish philosopher Hannah Arendt’s observation about the “banality of evil.”

Chua himself now seems to have defined his life with the admonition that evil triumphs when good men do nothing. He has left his architectural enterprise in the hands of subordinates, to focus on his advocacy.

In February last year, he stepped down as MRPO head after a decade of holding the position. But he remains active in the organization, and is a member of the Justice Reform Initiative and the PNP Foundation.

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Together with Kaisa’s feisty anti-crime crusader Teresita Ang See, Chua encourages kidnap-for-ransom victims to report to the police, like his relatives did (with urging from friends and supporters), and pursue the case in court, to secure a conviction and prevent the perpetrators from victimizing more people.

This is easier said than done. As Chua pointed out, litigation can drag on for years in this country, and victims must be prepared for its costs in terms of money, time and commitment. Litigation fees can end up costing more than ransom payments.

Two sons of businessman Jepson Dichaves were kidnapped in 1993, when they were just two and four years old. By the time the kidnappers were convicted, the boys were already aged 11 and 13, Chua wrote.

“One has to have steel nerves and stomach to be able to go through the Philippine criminal court system. Victims and their families often have to endure constant harassment and threats while their cases are being tried in court,” Chua wrote.

While the case drags on, key witnesses including victims’ relatives can be harassed or forced to retract, or they may disappear simply because they no longer want to be bothered with testifying in court.

“The witness protection program usually affords them little comfort. The process is long, tedious and expensive, and usually discourages a lot of victims from pursuing a lawsuit to the very end and leaves them with distaste for the entire criminal justice system,” Chua wrote.

He was kidnapped for the second time just five days after his tormentors in the first case were convicted by Quezon City Regional Trial Court Judge Henri Jean Paul Inting.

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In the case of ransom kidnappings in this country, there’s another major problem. I thought this was just urban legend, but Chua confirmed in his book that an insurance broker who was kidnapped in 1992 decided to leave the country for good together with his family.

The victim, Chua wrote, had gone to a “high official” at Camp Crame to report his ordeal, but changed his mind when he saw one of his kidnappers at the Philippine National Police headquarters.

That the victim and his family decided to pack up and leave, Chua wrote, is “unfortunate but something we cannot begrudge them for.”

Chua’s kidnappers themselves reported to a boss they called “General.” They had demanded P70 million from Chua’s sisters, but lowered it after being persuaded that the family didn’t have that kind of money. The sisters had deposited P300,000 in Chua’s ATM account shortly before he was rescued by the Police Anti-Crime and Emergency Response under Chief Superintendent Leonardo Espina. Two of the kidnappers were killed by PACER during the rescue.

In April 2012, Judge Inting found Rayan Domla and Christopher Nanson guilty of the kidnapping and sentenced them to life in prison. Another suspect, Christopher Olaguer, is at large.

Chua worries that without working to put kidnappers behind bars, it would promote impunity and fail to end the scourge.

Already, Chua wrote, kidnappers are targeting foreigners mostly Chinese working for Philippine offshore gaming operators. The POGO victims pay ransom, and leave the country without pursuing justice, often as soon as they are freed by their captors.

Paying ransom is no guarantee of safety, and may even encourage a repeat. Chua cites the case of Jefferson Uy, who was also kidnapped twice – first in 2011, and then in 2014 when ransom was again paid. Uy was still killed by his kidnappers.

There are video clips online, showing the torture suffered by POGO victims, including young women.

“I worry a lot about these developments, that these cases will escalate because victims have made it too easy for criminals to get away with their crimes,” Chua wrote. “No justice, no end to the crime.”

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Ka Kuen Chua’s book is available at the Kaisa Heritage Center in Intramuros, Manila. You can order through the MRPO secretariat, at 8527-6085.