By Herman M. Lagon
The long arm of justice has finally caught up with former President Rodrigo Duterte. On March 11, 2025, Duterte was arrested upon his arrival from Hong Kong and was subsequently placed on a flight to The Hague to face the International Criminal Court (ICC). His arrest follows years of calls for accountability over the thousands of extrajudicial killings under his bloody war on drugs, a campaign that left at least 6,252 people dead in police operations alone by May 2022, with human rights groups estimating the true number to be as high as 30,000. While his supporters decry the move as persecution, for many families of victims, this is a long-awaited step toward justice.
We have long been caught in a paradox: although our Constitution guarantees justice, those most in need are often left without access. From the horrific memory of the Maguindanao massacre to the continuous extrajudicial killings connected to the so-called war on drugs, the terrain of the nation is covered with impunity. This ingrained problem lets those in positions of power evade responsibility, establishing a risky precedent whereby silence is bought, responsibility is rare, and fear is turned into currency.
For many of us, especially those who dare to question authority, impunity is not a political concept but a lived reality. Think back on the narrative of Laguna’s young activist, John Garcia. After devoting his life to promoting human rights, he became a target. He fears being followed, harassed, or perhaps worse—disappearing without a trace. Stories like his are not isolated; they reflect a frightening trend whereby speaking out invites reprisals, usually from those who are supposed to defend. They also echo throughout the country.
Data show the seriousness of this crisis. The Commission on Human Rights (CHR) claims that since 2016, over 427 recorded cases of murders aimed at human rights defenders exist. When one considers the Third World Studies Center of the UP Diliman, which recorded 234 drug-related deaths in less than a year following the termination of the Duterte government, the numbers get even more striking. These numbers show a systematic betrayal of justice as much as a failure of law enforcement.
This culture’s roots run deep. Still a symbol of how ingrained impunity is in the system, the infamous Maguindanao massacre claimed the lives of 58 persons—including 32 journalists. Several suspects remain free despite a ten-year trial; many of the convictions were among members of the political elite. The massacre made clear not only the frailty of Philippine democracy but also how power protects the privileged from bearing consequences.
Under former President Duterte, the issue got worse. His government’s rhetoric not only supported violence but also presented human rights defenders as enemies of the state. The United Nations has classified the Philippines under Duterte’s rule as one of the most dangerous places for journalists and activists. Many found themselves in legal limbo, arrested without due process, or worse—permanently silenced. Red-tagging, or labeling activists as communists without evidence, became a widespread and dangerous tool for repression.
Duterte’s arrest by Philippine authorities and his forced transport to The Hague signal a major shift. For years, critics feared that he would never be held accountable for the thousands of deaths under his war on drugs. But with the ICC’s involvement, international mechanisms have taken over where local justice failed. Human rights groups, including Amnesty International and the CHR, view this as a critical step toward global accountability, even as Duterte’s allies attempt to block legal proceedings.
The government of President Ferdinand Marcos Jr. inherited this alarming legacy, and even with reform pledges, advancement is still elusive. Extrajudicial killings under his supervision, according to an Amnesty International investigation, reflect a government either unable or unwilling to reduce systematic violence. The inquiry into the drug war deaths by the ICC emphasizes, even more, how worldwide institutions acknowledge the seriousness of the problem even if local systems remain unchanged.
This culture of impunity results not only from state neglect but also from society’s abdication. The cycle deepens when the public grows numb to injustice—that is when deaths are only numbers on news headlines. While dishonest and corrupt politicians exploit the indifference, fear has quieted communities. Juggling daily challenges of survival and livelihood, the typical Filipino feels helpless to demand responsibility from those in power.
Notwithstanding these difficult facts, there are still flashes of resistance. Often in great personal danger, the CHR and many non-governmental organizations keep recording violations and advocating responsibility. Community-led initiatives like those by fishermen around Tañon Strait fighting poverty and environmental damage are potent reminders that local action can gradually upset the machinery of impunity.
One cannot overstate the role education plays in destroying this culture. Schools must encourage critical thinking, justice, responsibility, and empathy. Including courses on civic responsibility in curricula will enable the following generation to challenge power systems and advocate for changes. Although this movement begins at the local level, significant progress depends on systematic support.
Laws alone, though, will not be enough. For example, the Human Rights Defenders Protection Act still sits in legislative deadlock. Should this law be passed, it would provide protection for activists, ensuring that those who uphold justice are not criminalized for their activity. However, without real political will, it risks being just another token gesture in a nation where legal protections sometimes go unpacked.
Breaking the cycle of impunity calls for a collective awakening rather than only reactive responses. We must question the narrative that seeking justice is useless and that power is untouchable. Making leaders, including those who plundered, laundered, abused, embezzled, and misused public money, answerable should be a civic obligation rather than a revolt. Our country can only expect to rebuild confidence in its institutions by tearing down the systems allowing impunity to flourish.
The struggle against impunity is about restoring dignity to people silenced by fear, not just punishing offenders. It is about ensuring that long-delayed justice is not denied and that the voices of the weak are heard. Though the road forward is complex, the stakes—freedom, human rights, democracy, good governance—are far too significant to tolerate anything less.
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Doc H fondly describes himself as a “student of and for life” who, like many others, aspires to a life-giving and why-driven world grounded in social justice and the pursuit of happiness. His views do not necessarily reflect those of the institutions he is employed or connected with.
