We were glued to our screens, watching days of televised confirmation hearings against former President Rodrigo Duterte at the International Criminal Court (ICC). While public discourse remains fixated on the legal nitty-gritty of the proceedings, a more unsettling truth is being overlooked: the mere fact that a former Philippine president is being tried by an international tribunal is, in itself, a failure of our state institutions.
While we debate the arguments of the prosecution and defense and analyze which one presented a better position, we ignore the most damning question: Why could our own courts not hear these cases?
We know the Supreme Court ruled in Pangilinan v. Cayetano (2021) that the ICC retains jurisdiction over alleged crimes committed while the Philippines was a state party to the Rome Statute. However, that ruling addressed jurisdiction and sovereignty and not the underlying lack of domestic action. The search for an answer continues: Why could our courts not hold Duterte accountable? Is this a question of jurisdiction, or a crisis of institutional capacity?
The argument that a former Philippine president is “untouchable” by local law is historically inaccurate. Our judicial system has, in the past, shown the teeth necessary to hold the highest officials accountable. Joseph Estrada was tried and convicted of plunder by the Sandiganbayan, while Gloria Macapagal Arroyo faced significant legal battles and detention under local jurisdiction. These cases proved that our state institutions are capable of processing the legal transgressions of our former leaders.
If our courts could try former presidents for plunder and corruption, why does our justice system suddenly stall when the charges involve systemic human rights concerns? Is it a lack of capacity or lack of faith that our courts can resist political pressure?
The ICC’s involvement is not just a legal maneuver. It is a symptom of a deeper malaise. It is an indictment of the Philippine judicial system, as well as of our state institutions. The fact that the victims felt they must seek redress in a foreign court is stark proof that our state institutions are viewed as either too weak or too compromised to act.
This institutional paralysis feeds our “culture of impunity.” Ask an ordinary Filipino about the justice system, and they will likely echo the cynical sentiment of a popular local rock song: “Ang hustisya ay para lang sa mayaman” (Justice is only for the rich).
The desperation for justice in the Philippines has often taken unconventional routes. In the late 1990s, the Moro Islamic Liberation Front executed convicted criminals after trials in Sharia courts because the state’s reach was seen as inadequate. Today, that desperation has shifted to the airwaves. Millions of Filipinos now flock to “Tulfo-style” programs to air their grievances and seek immediate, performative justice.
When downtrodden Filipinos prefer the swift, televised “justice” of a media personality or the intervention of a foreign court over their own Department of Justice and hundreds of trial courts, the system has already failed.
The ICC proceedings should be a wake-up call, not a cause for defensive nationalism. We should not be offended by international jurisdiction. Instead, we should be offended that our own systems made it necessary.
True sovereignty isn’t just the right to be left alone. It is the responsibility to provide justice for one’s own people. This moment demands more than just a legal defense — it calls for radical judicial reform. We must strengthen our institutions so that the next time a leader is accused of a crime, the world doesn’t have to step in. We should be able to handle it ourselves.