Years after dozens of cockfighting enthusiasts vanished, the sabungeros case remains one of the most unsettling reminders of how justice can stall—even when evidence, witnesses, and public attention are present.

The disappearances began quietly in 2021, spanning multiple provinces and following a chillingly similar pattern. Families recounted how the men left their homes—or were last seen in public places—only to never return. Later-emerging video footage suggested abduction, reinforcing fears that the victims were forcibly taken and deliberately erased.

Within a single nine-month stretch, from April 2021 to January 2022, 34 sabungeros were reported missing. In one town alone, three men—Edgar Malaca, Alexander Quijano, and Atong Sacdalan—disappeared just a day after another reported incident. Like the others, they had told their families they were headed to Lipa for cockfighting events, underscoring the organized nature of the vanishings.

The case gained renewed momentum when whistleblower Julie “Dondon” Patidongan, also known as “Totoy,” came forward, naming alleged masterminds—including businessman Atong Ang and actress Gretchen Barretto. His testimony led to criminal complaints, the indictment of several police officers, and the designation of his brothers as state witnesses.

The Department of Justice has since confirmed that cases of kidnapping with homicide and kidnapping with serious illegal detention have been filed against Ang. Yet despite these legal milestones, no convictions have been secured, and the central question—what happened to the missing men—remains unanswered.

For the families, time has only deepened the pain. Each year without resolution compounds the sense that powerful interests can outlast public outrage. The sabungeros case, once shocking for its brutality, now unsettles for another reason: it has become a test of whether the justice system can move beyond allegations and toward accountability.

As 2025 draws to a close, the case stands not merely as a mystery, but as a measure of the state’s willingness—or inability—to confront crimes that implicate influence, money, and silence.