Opinion | Duterte Is Enjoying the Due Process He Denied to His Thousands of Victims

He passed away from gunshot wounds to the back of his head and chest. Local officials’ watchlist of suspected drug users and dealers identified the deceased as “De Juan, Constantino, also known as Juan,” 37, labeled as a drug “pusher.” The police reported that he was fatally shot during a drug buy-bust operation at 9:05 a.m. on Dec. 6, 2016, in Manila. They claimed to have fired at him in self-defense after he allegedly brandished a gun.

The Philippine government states that at least 6,252 individuals lost their lives in encounters with the police as part of the drug war initiated by Rodrigo Duterte, who served as president from 2016 to 2022. Human rights organizations estimate that up to 30,000 people may have been killed by law enforcement and vigilantes.

Mr. Duterte was unequivocal about his stance. He repeatedly declared, often to applause, that anyone who resisted arrest on suspicion of drug involvement would be met with lethal force. He characterized drug addicts as “sick with paranoia” and “always armed.” In his view, eliminating them was not murder but justice. He even urged the public to participate in the killings.

On March 16, I sat with Juan’s widow, Lourdes, in the choir loft of a Manila church. A few days earlier, Mr. Duterte had been apprehended and extradited to The Hague to face trial at the International Criminal Court for crimes against humanity. I inquired about Lourdes’ reaction upon hearing the news.

“I’m glad,” she shared, “but not entirely.”

It’s a straightforward yet brutally honest response. Three gunshots, and her world shattered. Her children witnessed their father’s death. Her daughter was rendered speechless for months. Her youngest would never have memories of his dad. According to Lourdes, Juan was a good person. He was a loving individual who took care of his children and even cooked them spaghetti before his life was cut short. While he used methamphetamine, he was not involved in drug dealing, as per Lourdes. She expressed a mixture of emotions – a sense of relief that justice might be served, yet lingering sorrow that her husband’s killers remain at large.

Since 2016, I have been documenting the lives lost during Mr. Duterte’s anti-drug campaign. Their bodies were discovered in various locations – floating in rivers, crammed into garbage bags on street corners, and sprawled where they fell, be it in kitchens, alleys, or near railway tracks.

Mr. Duterte appeared untouchable by the law. However, when the families of the deceased learned of his arrest, they celebrated with photos of their departed loved ones, banging on walls, embracing family members, and kneeling in prayer.

I have engaged with many of these families since then. They laugh, they cry, and they live in fear for their safety – a repercussion of the former president’s reign of terror. They express a bittersweet sentiment – a semblance of relief mixed with lingering grief. This sentiment echoes in every conversation I have nowadays.

There’s Ivy, who occasionally wraps packing tape around her head. Her husband was found dead, his head also wrapped in tape. She yearns to comprehend his final moments. Then there’s Apoy, studying criminology with the aspiration of becoming a better police officer than the one he believes executed his father. Normita’s son, who suffered from epilepsy, was also a casualty. She is distraught, having vowed to monitor Mr. Duterte’s incarceration daily if he were ever apprehended. Through tears, she questioned, “How can I even reach the Netherlands?”

I have visited numerous crime scenes, making it challenging at times to differentiate between the images: Which victim carried a pack of red Marlboros in their pocket? Which young girl was tragically struck by a bullet intended for her grandfather? However, some fatalities have left an indelible mark in my memory, as if I had witnessed them firsthand.

Juan’s demise is one such instance. His children recounted the harrowing tale to me. As three gun barrels loomed through a window, officers stormed into their home. One of them forcibly pushed Juan against a blue armchair. His 12-year-old daughter clung to him, pleading for his life, but an officer tore her away and flung her against the wall. The fatal shots rang out at close range. Juan’s death certificate cited a heart attack as the cause of death, a claim refuted by his family who maintain that he never brandished a weapon.

Mr. Duterte is now experiencing the due process that he denied countless others. He was apprised of his rights, apprehended, and escorted to an air base in Manila, where he was ushered to a VIP lounge designated for presidents, seated on a presidential chair, with food and Coca-Cola laid out on a table.

When his family protested his arrest – his partner allegedly assaulting a police officer, his daughter hurling curses and screams – they were not met with police gunfire akin to the victims of his drug war. During his virtual appearance before the court in The Hague on March 14, the 79-year-old Mr. Duterte’s lawyer contended that he was too unwell to provide in-person testimony, despite the Philippine government attesting to his good health at the time of his arrest.

In Mr. Duterte’s Philippines, due process was not an inherent right but a privilege reserved for those he deemed deserving of humanity – a category that excluded the casualties of his drug war. “Are they humans?” Mr. Duterte once callously questioned. “What defines a human being?”

The bereaved families have been grappling with that very question in the media for years. They have sat through numerous interviews, press conferences, with cameras lined up, microphones switched on, clutching faded photographs on their laps. Even after Mr. Duterte’s arrest, their expressions of grief persist, unwavering in their authenticity: Michael’s promise to make it home for dinner, Rene meticulously ironing his wife’s uniform to the point of fading, Jesse preparing scrambled eggs with a pinch of salt in the morning for his girlfriend, affectionately called Beh, short for Baby. He was a devoted father, a caring sibling, a loving husband. He had a sense of humor, did you know? He embraced me constantly, can you imagine it? He was handsome, can you tell from the picture?

Mr. Duterte still commands significant public support and political clout. His daughter, Sara, now serves as the vice president, having forged an alliance with President Ferdinand R. Marcos Jr. Their landslide victory in the 2022 elections propelled them to power. Mr. Duterte might have evaded capture if not for the acrimonious rift between the two powerful political clans. Mr. Marcos had previously declared his government’s non-cooperation with the International Criminal Court, only consenting to Mr. Duterte’s arrest after their political partnership disintegrated.

Mr. Duterte’s allies portray him as a victim, ensnared by malevolent forces domestically and handed over to foreign authorities. His son, the mayor of Davao City, Mr. Duterte’s hometown, vowed to retaliate against Mr. Marcos and challenge the accusations against his father. Supporters of Mr. Duterte have staged demonstrations, brandishing signs extolling him as a paternal figure.

Juan’s son, Cejhay, desires to preserve his father’s memory. He was just 5 years old when the police barged in. The day after his father’s body was removed, Cejhay crept up to the armchair, inserted his finger into a bloodstained orifice, and extracted one of the bullets.

Now 13, with a mop of curly dark hair, Cejhay reminisces about his father. Juan was a great dad, he affirmed. Cejhay used to vie with his sisters for the spot closest to his father while sleeping. He always emerged victorious and yearns to curl up next to his father once more.

He wishes for others to comprehend the kind of person his father was. He wants people to recognize that Rodrigo Duterte took away the best father in the world.

Patricia Evangelista is an investigative journalist formerly associated with the Philippine news platform Rappler. She authored “Some People Need Killing,” detailing the drug war initiated by ex-President Rodrigo Duterte.

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