More than Duterte on trial

The ICC hearings against former President Rodrigo Duterte are not just legal proceedings. They feel personal. They reopen wounds many families never had the chance to close.

In The Hague, prosecutors speak of a “common plan.” Victims’ lawyers recount how fathers never came home, how sons were buried in haste, how mothers still wait for answers. The defense paints a different picture: a leader who spoke harshly but acted within the law, a president who believed fear could restore order.

But back home, the memories are not abstract.

The drug war was not carried out in secret. It played out on television screens and in neighborhood streets. Names flashed across headlines. Crime scenes became familiar backdrops. We heard the warnings. We saw the images.

Some cried out. Some kept quiet. Some clapped.

That is what makes this moment heavier than any courtroom exchange.

If the charges are confirmed, it will mark a historic reckoning. If they are not, Duterte may return stronger in the eyes of his loyal base.

Either way, the hearings force difficult questions.

What did we accept? What did we justify? What did we ignore?

The judges in The Hague will decide on the evidence. But long after the ruling, we will still have to answer to ourselves.

— Jason Mago

Selective sympathy

“Old, tired, and frail.” That was how Rodrigo Duterte described himself in detention. His supporters flood social media with prayers and crying emojis. They mourn him as if he were already gone.

He is still alive.

DT photojournalists captured images of families of alleged drug war victims. I saw a mother gripping a framed photo of her son, crying and praying hard while watching the ICC livestream. Her son is not detained. He is buried.

The comment sections? Laughing emojis. “Acting.” Mockery.

The man they cry for breathes. The sons they laugh at do not.

Let’s assume, for argument’s sake, that some of those killed committed crimes. Let’s say they really were addicts. They are still dead. They left behind families who wake up every day to that absence.

A mother will still cry for her son. A child will still miss his father.

Sympathy can be selective. Who cares about someone they don’t know, right? But when indifference turns into mockery, that is ignorance. Or worse, the work of trolls whose only job is to sow discontent wherever they go.

Compassion is not partisan. Cruelty should not be either.

— Carl Magadia

Big cage

The Philippines on Wednesday marked the 40th year since the EDSA People Power Revolution.

Forty years since Filipinos fought and sacrificed for democracy after 14 years of a bloody, brutal and inhuman dictatorship under Ferdinand Marcos Sr. Today, his namesake sits as President.

Forty years later, we are told we are free. But what does that freedom look like?

We now have a President implicated as the mastermind of a money delivery scheme tied to flood control projects. A President whose relatives and political allies are repeatedly linked to corruption issues — and who, of course, protects them. A President who refused to declare the EDSA People Power anniversary a special non-working holiday.

Forty years have passed since Filipinos reclaimed their democracy. Yet millions remain trapped in poverty. Corruption persists. Political dynasties continue to dominate, benefiting no one but themselves. Education remains inadequate. Food prices keep rising. Politicians remain greedy for money and power. Community insurgencies never seem to end.

Who suffers? It is the ordinary Filipino.

Are we really free? Or is the cage simply bigger?

— Vivienne Angeles