𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗚𝗹𝗼𝗯𝗮𝗹 𝗕𝗲𝗮𝘁 𝗯𝘆 𝗚𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗹𝗱 𝗟𝗮𝗰𝘂𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗮

The arrest of former Philippine President Rodrigo Duterte on March 11, 2025, at Manila’s international airport, has sent shockwaves through the nation. Once dubbed “The Punisher” for his unrelenting war on drugs, Duterte now finds himself en route to The Hague, facing charges of crimes against humanity at the International Criminal Court (ICC). For a country still grappling with his polarizing legacy, this moment feels both historic and uncertain. We’re witnessing a collision of justice, sovereignty, and political reckoning.

As a political observer, not a lawyer, I’ll steer clear of legal intricacies and instead focus on what this means for Filipinos, drawing from the chatter in legacy media, posts on social media, and the opinions of those who actually understand the law.

The arrest, executed via an Interpol warrant at the ICC’s behest, stems from Duterte’s brutal anti-drug campaign, which left thousands dead. Official police counts report over 6,000 deaths, though human rights groups estimate the toll could be as high as 30,000. The ICC alleges these killings amount to “murder as a crime against humanity,” committed between 2011 and 2019, a period spanning his time as Davao mayor and president.

The reaction here in Central Luzon, as across the Philippines, is a mixed bag.
In marketplaces and coffee shops, you’ll hear jubilation from some, families of drug war victims who see this as a long-overdue step toward accountability. “Justice is finally catching up,” said Josalee S. Deinla of the National Union of Peoples’ Lawyers, representing victims’ families, in a statement to The Guardian. Yet, there’s also outrage from Duterte’s loyalists, who view this as an assault on national sovereignty. Posts on social media echo this divide: one X user, @mariahuyar_, called it “a historic push for accountability” but questioned “international overreach,” while @marortollargued, “No jurisdiction. He can only be arrested in an ICC member country.”

Legally, the debate hinges on the Philippines’ 2019 withdrawal from the Rome Statute, the ICC’s founding treaty. Duterte’s camp, including former spokesman Salvador Panelo, insists the court has no authority since we’re no longer a member. Panelo told The Washington Post the arrest was “unlawful,” a sentiment Duterte himself voiced in a video posted by his daughter Veronica: “What is the law and what is the crime that I committed?” On the flip side, ICC spokespeople and legal experts argue the court retains jurisdiction over crimes committed while the Philippines was still a signatory, up to March 16, 2019. Lawyer Maria Kristina Conti, who represents victims’ families, told Al Jazeera, “It’s crucial for Filipinos to witness the resolution… so that it will not happen again.”

For the non-lawyer like me, this back-and-forth can be dizzying. What’s clear is that Duterte’s arrest is not just about law. It’s politics, too. His falling-out with President Ferdinand Marcos Jr., once an ally through the Marcos-Duterte “Uniteam” electoral tandem, seems to have greased the wheels for this move.

Marcos, who once resisted ICC cooperation, now says the arrest “followed all necessary legal procedures.” Some speculate this is less about justice and more about settling scores between dynasties, a subplot that’s all too familiar in Philippine politics.

So, what happens next at the ICC? I’m no prophet, but here’s a balanced guess: Duterte’s trial will likely drag on, given the complexity of proving crimes against humanity and his team’s inevitable jurisdictional challenges.

The ICC’s track record, slow and often stymied by non-cooperative states, suggests a conviction isn’t guaranteed. Yet, the symbolism of a former Asian leader facing trial could embolden global accountability efforts, as Amnesty International’s Agnes Callamard told The Washington Post: “It shows suspected perpetrators… can face justice.” Still, don’t bet on a swift resolution; this could stretch years, leaving Duterte’s fate, and his legacy, hanging in the balance.

For Central Luzon, the Philippines and beyond, this saga forces us to confront hard questions: Was Duterte a savior who cleaned up streets, as his supporters claim, or a tyrant who bloodied them?

The ICC may offer a legal answer, but the moral one remains ours to wrestle with.
As an observer and pundit, I see both sides: the cry for justice and the pride in sovereignty, and I suspect most Filipinos do, too.

Whatever the outcome in The Hague, one thing is certain: Duterte’s arrest has cracked open a wound that won’t heal anytime soon.