The reckoning of Rodrigo Duterte—justice or diversion?

As the Senate Blue Ribbon Committee resumed its high-profile hearings into massive infrastructure-related corruption, another political earthquake rippled through the nation—this time from The Hague. On July 4, the International Criminal Court (ICC) formally charged former President Rodrigo Duterte with three counts of crimes against humanity, related to his bloody and controversial war on drugs. The implications are enormous—not only for Duterte and his inner circle but for the nation’s fragile democracy, rule of law and collective conscience.

The heavily redacted charge sheet details Duterte’s alleged involvement in at least 76 murders. The first charge focuses on 19 killings in Davao City between 2013 and 2016, when Duterte was mayor. The second addresses the murder of 14 so-called “High Value Targets” from 2016 to 2017, during the early phase of his presidency. The third and most sweeping count pertains to 43 murders during so-called “clearance” operations against low-level drug users and street-level pushers across the country from 2016 to 2018.

But ICC prosecutors are clear: these 76 murders are only representative. They emphasize a broader, systemic “attack” against the civilian population, one that allegedly resulted in thousands of extrajudicial killings carried out consistently and methodically. This is not merely about the numbers—it is about state-sanctioned violence cloaked in the language of law and order.

For Duterte, now 80 and detained in The Hague, the international reckoning has begun. But for the Philippines, the story is far more complex. The timing of these revelations—just as local investigations into corruption under the current administration are heating up—raises inevitable questions about political distractions, power realignments and selective justice.

Notably, Duterte’s political base, the so-called DDS (Diehard Duterte Supporters), and his daughter, Vice President Sara Duterte, were conspicuously absent from the massive Sept. 21 protests that rocked the capital. Those rallies, ignited by public fury over anomalies in government infrastructure projects, failed to attract the Dutertes’ vocal and visible following. This absence suggests a strategic distancing—either to avoid further scrutiny or to quietly undermine efforts that might drag their political legacy through the mud.

Indeed, there are already signs that silent forces within the executive and legislative branches are working to suppress scrutiny of past corruption under Duterte. A broader narrative is taking shape: that revisiting the past is divisive, that the ICC’s actions are foreign interference, and that the country must “move forward.” But such rhetoric is hollow if it means moving forward without accountability.

What’s more, the ICC proceedings—while monumental—may not deliver the catharsis many Filipinos seek. The geographical and emotional distance between The Hague and the Philippines, particularly between Luzon and Mindanao, blunts the trial’s immediate political impact. Unlike the 1986 EDSA revolutions, this reckoning unfolds in sterile courtrooms, not on the streets. Polarization is inevitable, but confrontation? Less likely.

Still, the symbolism is powerful. A former Philippine president standing trial for crimes against humanity sends a clear message: impunity is not forever. The Duterte era, marked by impassioned populism and brutal policies, may finally face international judgment, even as local institutions struggle to do the same.

And yet, justice must not be wielded as a political weapon. If the ICC trial becomes merely a tool to distract from present-day corruption or to settle old political scores, its credibility—and ours—will suffer.

The Filipino people deserve the truth—about the drug war, about stolen public funds, and about those who enabled both. The coming months will test the nation’s moral compass. Will we choose justice over tribalism? Memory over myth? Truth over convenience?

The hour of reckoning is here. Whether it becomes a turning point—or just another missed opportunity—depends on us.