Patron Saints of Nothing initially appears to be a murder mystery: high schooler Jay Reguero is determined to find his cousin Jun’s killer, and he travels from Michigan to the Philippines to do so. Though Jay is aware that the murder could have been government-ordered, his desire assumes that a single person killed Jun and that this person can be blamed for his death. Eventually, Jay learns that everyone, himself included, had some part to play in Jun’s death, and no one person is responsible. By presenting a complicated mystery without a clear solution, the novel suggests that everyone may be responsible for those around them, but that doesn’t mean there’s an easy person to blame.
As Jay digs into Jun’s death, he realizes that in a way, everyone is responsible for it—including Jay and his family—but no one person can shoulder blame. In part, Jay’s truth-seeking stems from a place of guilt: he’s concerned that he is indirectly responsible for Jun’s murder. He stopped responding to Jun’s letters years ago, something which clearly hurt Jun. Around this time, Jun ran away from home, which effectively cut off all communication between the cousins for good and put Jun on the path that led to his death. Jay now worries that there’s something he and his parents “could have done” for Jun, even from a distance, and he feels guilty about his earlier dismissal of his cousin. Like Jay, Jun’s family dismissed hints about Jun’s unhappiness and allowed that unhappiness to continue. Jun’s father, Tito Maning, kicked Jun out of the house after finding weed in Jun’s room. Though Tito Maning later tried to get Jun help for his developing drug addiction, his initial dismissal of his son—who was miserable as a teenager—set the events in motion that would eventually lead to his death. Even worse, Tito Maning’s enforcement of the government’s anti-drug policies as a police chief helped create an unsafe environment for runaways like Jun. Meanwhile, Jun’s sister, Grace, worries that she should have seen “signs” of Jun’s addiction and helped him. This guilt isn’t productive, and Grace might never have seen how unhappy Jun was; Jay notes that family members are adept at hiding things from each other. But it’s true that Jun needed someone to listen to him and that no one—including Jay—was able to. With this, the book suggests that while the family shouldn’t be blamed for Jun’s death, they nevertheless can’t be completely absolved of that death either.
Jun’s death was also the result of systemic problems, including widespread poverty and governmental corruption in the Philippines, so no one person can be identified as “guilty.” As it turns out, Jun’s murder wasn’t government-ordered after all. His actual murderer was an unknown vigilante, who would have been paid by the government for the kill. Jay’s Tito Danilo tells him that this murderer was likely trying to “feed his family” and that someone would have killed Jun eventually, since Jun was selling drugs. In the most literal sense, this vigilante is responsible for Jun’s death, but it’s difficult to put all the blame on him, since so many factors would have led to the confrontation between him and Jun: the government’s policies, Jun’s family dynamics, Jun’s own decisions, and the vigilante’s poverty. Learning the identity of Jun’s murderer should have closed the case, but it doesn’t do that for Jay, since the murderer really wasn’t the sole party responsible. If anyone is actually “responsible” for Jun’s death, the book suggests, it’s Rodrigo Duterte, president of the Philippines; Duterte’s war on drugs has led to thousands of government-sanctioned murders. But of course, Duterte wasn’t directly involved in Jun’s death, and as Jay learns, the Filipino people endow Duterte with power—his policies are popular, and few Filipinos believe the murders should stop. There’s no way to blame a single governmental individual for Jun’s death, even if the government as a whole is responsible. This is unfortunately convenient for the government, but it also means that Jay will never find easy, straightforward answers. Even though the war on drugs led to Jun’s death, there are countless factors involved, and it’s not as simple as one man ordering a murder.
Because there’s no simple explanation for Jun’s death—at least not one that definitively places blame on one person—Jay doesn’t know, ultimately, who was “responsible.” All he can do is honor Jun’s memory and take responsibility for the things in his control. Jay decides to contribute to an article about Jun to share his story, and he chooses to open up to his own father, hoping to avoid the same family dynamics that led to Jun’s unhappiness. With this ending, the novel implies that even if there’s no one person to blame for taking the life of another, everyone should take responsibility for their role in each other’s lives.
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Responsibility, Guilt, and Blame Quotes in Patron Saints of Nothing
The article included the fact that four low-level officers were eventually charged for killing that seventeen-year-old, but their punishments were minimal and only happened after massive protests. But what about the other victims who never got a hashtag? What about Jun?
Would there be justice?
Definitely not if nobody even knows what truly happened.
So maybe that's it—maybe I can find out. If his friend is right, maybe there are witnesses; maybe there's video; maybe there's a flawed report.
I feel like I should have taken her baby and given it to an orphanage or something. I told Grace this later, but she said there was nothing could do, that I am too young to take care of a child. She also said that there are probably millions of children that need to be taken care of and even if I was old enough I could not take care of them all. Even though she is young, I know she is right. And that makes me feel like my chest is hollow.
But, it seems to me that there are so many older than us who are able to take care of those in need. If everyone did a little bit, then everybody would be okay, I think. Instead, most people do nothing. And that is the problem. Does that make sense, Kuya?
But adults lie, I guess. That's what they do.
Sure, there are a bunch of reasons they do it, and people would probably say most of them are pretty good. When you're a kid, they lie and say you did a great job in a game even if you sucked. Then you grow up a bit and your mom and dad lie to you about how strong their relationship is and how much they love each other after they have a big fight.
[…]
Sometimes I feel like growing up is slowly peeling back these layers of lies.
[…]
I imagine the moment when Tito Maning will pick me up from the airport. Standing straight, I'll greet him, look him in the eye, and then ask him point-blank how his son died. […] I will hold his gaze until he gives me an answer, and if he lies, I will demand the truth.
The next drawer, much to my surprise, is crammed full of Toblerone bars and packages of those Ferrero Rocher chocolates that are wrapped in gold foil.
[…]
The last two drawers, one on each side of the desk, are the kind that contain hanging file folders. I pull out the one on the left, and it's so light that I already know it's empty. Sure enough, there's only dust and stray folder tabs. I try the one on the right—but it won't budge.
There's a small keyhole, so I search through the other drawers for a key. I don't find one, but there are plenty of paper clips. I straighten one out and then poke the thin metal into the keyhole. I have no idea what I'm doing, of course, but it always looks so easy in the movies. Maybe if I keep poking it will hit a release?
He stops. Reaches up and pulls the sack off his head.
It's Jun. His hair's a mess, tangled with sticks and dirt, and the lower half of his jaw is missing, a gory mess in its place. His eyes meet mine. Two stars in a clear winter sky.
“What happened to you?” I ask.
The exposed muscle and sinew where his lower jaw used to be twitches as he continues moving toward me.
“I'm sorry for what they did to you. I'm sorry I lost your letters. I’m sorry I was too afraid to speak to Tito Maning again tonight. But please tell me, what happened to you?”
He doesn’t answer. He can't. Instead, he stops a step away. Then he reaches out and places his palm against my chest.
I wake.
Tita Chato puts out her cigarette. “What happened to Jun is a tragedy, whether or not he was a drug pusher.” She pauses, gathering her thoughts, then continues. “But he is dead. We cannot bring him back to life. You need to accept that. There is nothing we can do about it except mourn.”
I clench my jaw.
She's not all that different from Tito Maning. Though her words were delivered with more compassion, they were the same: I am not truly Filipino, so I don’t understand the Philippines. But isn't this deeper than that, doesn’t this transcend nationality? Isn’t there some sense of right and wrong about how human beings should be treated that applies no matter where you live, no matter what language you speak?
I'm alone in this. Somebody needs to clear Jun’s name even if nothing comes of it. We failed him in life. We should not fail him in death.
She laughs at the memory and I laugh with her. “Kuya Jun had a way of making people pay attention, of making them realize that others existed outside of themselves and getting them to care. But I don't…and I failed him. I stayed quiet whenever Tatay yelled. I left the room whenever they argued. I never asked Nanay to let him live with us again. I never even protested when they told us there would be no novenas, no vigil, no lamay, no funeral.”
[…]
I'm not sure what to say. Maybe I should tell her it's not her fault, maybe that it's all okay because he's with God now? I try to channel Jun because I think he always spoke the truth as he felt it, but I don't have that ability. I offer no reassurance, no wisdom. I only hug her tighter and start to cry with her.
Tito Danilo continues. “And later, he started selling.”
“But why?” Grace asks, desperate.
“Shabu is a hunger suppressant. You see, it is cheaper than food, so many of the poor start for this reason, and then they become addicted. As for why he started selling? Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe to make money to keep feeding his addiction.”
I close my eyes, as if doing so will rewind the story erasing everything Tito Danilo has just told us. As if it will stop the warping truth. I can't reconcile this version of Jun with the one I had come to know to love, to admire.
