T

he words '€œI stand for mercy'€ echoed through the amphitheatre of Sydney'€™s Martin Place on Jan. 29 as hundreds of people gathered for a candlelight vigil and concert to call for mercy for two Australians now facing execution in Indonesia.

It was a solemn occasion, but not without hope, as the crowd lit candles in a show of support for Myuran Sukumaran and Andrew Chan and their families. The duo were arrested in Bali in 2005 for their role in smuggling heroin through Indonesia to Australia. They have been on death row ever since.

Artist Ben Quilty, who brought together some of the finest names in Australia for the concert, has come to know and admire both Chan and Sukumaran through his regular visits to Bali'€™s Kerobokan prison, where he has been mentoring Sukumaran in painting techniques.

A tearful Quilty spoke about his recent visit to the prison and how he prayed it would not be his last. The hopes of Quilty and other supporters are, however, fading fast as it has become increasingly clear that President Joko '€œJokowi'€ Widodo, after rejecting their pleas for clemency, is refusing to bow to international pressure.

In a chilling statement Quilty said that all he wanted to do was show how these young men had transformed. They were better people doing good things.

'€œIf all I do for Myuran is humanize him one little bit and make people realize that he is a rehabilitated man, he is my friend, and he is a good human being 10 years after making a very self-indulgent mistake. Then he can go, in the middle of the night, and be shot in the chest by eight bullets with some dignity and he knows that there are people here walking with him.'€

No one doubts the seriousness of their crime. Yet their crime and their transformation and their very right to life have become tangled in a web of complex legal, political and emotive arguments. Not least, the issue has unleashed a wave of populist nationalism in Indonesia and accusations of double standards on both sides.

No country likes to be '€œbullied'€ or coerced by other nations. And with the vast majority of Indonesians supporting these executions and the President'€™s own belief that execution of drug traffickers will solve what he refers to as Indonesia'€™s '€œdrug emergency'€, Jokowi has become even more uncompromising in his pro-death penalty stance.

This is despite the fact that there is little proof that execution acts as a deterrent to drug addiction. It is also despite the fact that the men have reformed and acknowledgement of reform and rehabilitation is even enshrined in Indonesian law.

Arguments about the reform of Chan and Sukumaran seem to have fallen on deaf ears as there is a great deal of skepticism regarding a drug traffickers'€™ ability to rehabilitate. As someone who has met these young men and spoken to the prison guards, I know that their transformation is real and it is profound.

In 2010, the then head of the prison, Siswanto, even testified on their behalf. '€œIt is not a camouflage act ['€¦] my spirit asks, can'€™t they be pardoned?'€ he told the court after listing the ways they have helped others in the prison.

It is, indeed, a bitter irony that the Indonesian prison system and the opportunities they have been given in Kerobokan have contributed greatly to their rehabilitation. Yet this is only meaningful if Chan and Sukumaran are allowed to live and continue their good work behind bars.

A leading Catholic theologian in Indonesia, Franz Magnis-Suseno, wrote in Kompas recently, that Indonesia was right not to pay too much heed to foreign pressure over executions. But, taking into account issues of morality, Indonesia should abolish the death penalty for the sake of the country'€™s own dignity.

This dignity and compassion will to come too late to save the lives of those currently on death row, including Chan and Sukumaran. Should last-ditch legal efforts fail, they are likely to be part of the next batch to face the firing squad.

In a heartbreaking letter written by Sukumaran and read by actor David Wenham at Thursday'€™s vigil, Sukumaran acknowledged a fate that he has dreaded for 10 years.

'€œAnd whatever happens, I know that me and Andrew are good people now, and that even though we'€™ve been in prison with a death sentence we have been truly blessed; blessed to have beautiful family and friends, blessed to have received so much compassion. And as we face what'€™s coming, we thank everyone who has supported us. There is no words for this kindness.'€

But while there is life, there is still hope. And because of this, supporters will continue to '€œstand for mercy'€.