Many remember Kian de los Santos. He was a 17-year-old student reportedly killed during a police anti-drug operation in 2017. His memorial has been established at San Roque Parish Church in Caloocan City.

The Supreme Court has affirmed the murder conviction of three police officers for the killing. A strong reminder of a terrible wrong, it tells us that those in power must never be above the law, and that justice must be served on those who abuse their authority. We all know that this is a principle we must always fight for.

But after remembering Kian, a haunting, uncomfortable question lingers in the mind: Why do we only get outraged for some?

We’re rightfully told to see the person as a drug addict. To push for help, not violence. To call out the law enforcers who cross the line. This is the kind and fair approach.

But in our rush to defend the rights of suspects, have we made a secret ranking of whose pain matters more? Have we muted the voices of people whose lives were ruined by the very addicts we’re asked to have compassion for?

Think about the five-year-old girl in Sto. Tomas City, Batangas. She was lost during a Christmas caroling. Her tiny body was found stuffed in a sack by the roadside on 19 December 2025.

She was last seen entering the home of two men. One later carried out that white sack. They confessed—high on drugs, they raped and killed her.

Think about the hardworking tricycle driver, murdered for a few hundred pesos by someone high on shabu, leaving his family heartbroken and penniless.

Think about the family whose home was burned down by a neighbor, paranoid from drug use.

Think about the overseas Filipino worker coming home to bury his wife and three children, who were murdered by a group of drug addicts.

Think about the student hit by a stray bullet in a gang war over drug turf — a young mind full of promise, erased in an instant.

Where are the marches for them? Where are the hashtags for the shopkeeper killed for drug money, or the mother who died for refusing to hand over her wallet for someone’s next fix?

We’re often pushed to pick a side: either you defend the addict or you condemn police brutality — a false and dangerous choice.

Justice isn’t a limited resource. Fighting for one victim doesn’t mean forgetting another. Every innocent life has equal value. The policeman who kills a suspect and the addict who kills a witness are both wrong. Both leave behind shattered families.

Our silence for the second group is reverberating. It suggests their deaths are just part of the problem — less important, or just unavoidable damage. This is a betrayal.

Yes, we must save drug addicts. We must offer them treatment and a way out. That shows our compassion. But who saves their victims? Who saves the neighborhoods living in fear? The answer has to be: all of us.

If we only mourn the deaths that fit a simple story, we’ve lost our moral compass. We need a country where the memory of that little girl in Batangas and all the other forgotten victims makes us shout the same thing: “tama na!” Enough unfairness. Enough picking and choosing who deserves our grief.

Let our pursuit of justice be blind to the identity of the perpetrator and fiercely devoted to the innocent victim. Only then can we claim to be truly for human rights — for all humans, without exception.