Some readers have been asking why I have been silent on the arrest of Rodrigo Duterte, now detained in The Hague. My simple answer: I have already said what needed to be said—many times, over many years.
During his presidency, I did not hold back. In this very same column, I wrote about the “red flags” I had spotted—his foul language, his public boasting, his misogyny, his irreverence. I commented on his narcissism, his arrogance, his disrespect for authority, his mockery of God and His Church, his habit of uttering shocking statements about serious issues and then saying he’s “only joking” when called out.
Because of his vulgarity and profound lack of statesmanship—cussing world leaders at press conferences—I even called him a “Pambansang Kahihiyan”, a national embarrassment no Filipino should be proud of. I decried his dangerous flirting with CCP/China as if the Philippines were his own backyard to use like gambling chips. I doubted his patriotism, and wasn’t amused when he “joked” that the Philippines would be better off becoming a province of China.
His promise to rid the country of the drug problem in six months I dismissed as pure braggadocio, reflecting a profound ignorance of national governance that blinded him to the tragedy he was unleashing. I said it was an impossible promise that would humble him in the end, but he was unrelenting. “I will kill you” seemed to be his mantra, uttered to prove his sincerity in “making the country safe for the Filipinos” by waging his so-called war on drugs. I pointed out the red flags until I got tired, and I said, “Like a fish he will be caught by his own mouth.”
Now the “strongman” is at The Hague, facing charges of crimes against humanity. It’s been a year since his arrest. We all know what that means. But if some are waiting for me to say, “I told you so,” they will be disappointed.
If there is anything left to be said, it is this: the fall of any man, no matter how powerful, is never a thing to celebrate lightly. It is, at its core, a deeply human tragedy. The image of a former president detained far from home is not a trophy for critics, nor a spectacle for public consumption. Rather, it’s a sobering indictment—not only of one man, but of a political culture that tolerated, even applauded, what should have been questioned from the very beginning.
For those who cheer him as victim, this moment invites reflection. For those who oppose him as predator, it calls for restraint. And for all of us, Duterte’s arrest is a reminder that leadership, stripped of humility and accountability, carries within it the seeds of its own undoing.
Let the courts do their work. Let the evidence speak. And let us, as a people, examine not only the man now detained, but the conditions that allowed his rise, his rhetoric, and his methods to flourish.
At The Hague, clamor still surrounds Duterte. I choose not to add to the din. Instead, I pray. I pray that he may be granted good health, and the time to face not only the charges before a human court, but the deeper reckoning within his own conscience. I pray that he may come to see, as he stands naked before God, the full measure of his actions. Most of all I pray that he may yet find the grace to repent and turn back to God. In the end, that may be the least, and perhaps the most, I can do. For beyond politics, beyond justice systems and public opinion, there remains the quiet, unyielding truth that no life is beyond redemption—and no story is finished until it is placed in the hands of God. And that’s the truth.
