*Dr. Rodolfo John Ortiz Teope, PhD, EdD, DM
On February 23, 2026, inside the solemn halls of the International Criminal Court, Nicholas Kaufman rose to defend former President Rodrigo Duterte. It was a legal proceeding, structured and procedural. Yet for us Filipinos, it felt heavier than law. It felt personal.
Kaufman spoke of political motivation. He questioned jurisdiction. He defended the anti-drug campaign as the product of a democratic mandate. He appealed to the image of Tatay Digong, not merely as an accused individual, but as a father figure to millions. His words were measured, yet they carried the weight of a nation divided between loyalty and loss.
To analyze this moment fairly, we must hold steady hearts.
It is true that Duterte was elected with overwhelming support. Many Filipinos believed that strong leadership was necessary to confront criminality. Communities plagued by drugs and violence felt heard for the first time. For them, his presidency symbolized order restored and authority reclaimed. This sentiment cannot be dismissed lightly. It represents lived experience and genuine gratitude.
Yet it is also true that serious allegations emerged during the campaign against illegal drugs. Families mourned. Questions were raised. Human rights concerns became part of national and international discourse. These voices cannot be dismissed either. They represent grief and unresolved pain.
Between these realities stands the law.
Kaufman argues that the ICC lacks jurisdiction because the Philippines withdrew from the Rome Statute. This is a legitimate legal argument that the judges must examine carefully. At the same time, established treaty principles suggest that jurisdiction may remain for acts committed while membership was active. The Court will interpret the law. It must do so independently of political pressure and emotional tides.
He also described the charges as politically motivated and linked them to shifting alliances under President Ferdinand Marcos Jr.. Political context undeniably shapes public perception. In the Philippines, history and power are intertwined. But perception alone does not determine guilt or innocence. Evidence does. Procedure does. Judicial reasoning does.
As I reflect on this unfolding chapter, I cannot ignore another dimension. I see a narrative that may now be utilized in the 2028 Presidential Election. The image of a father standing before an international court, the suggestion of persecution, and the appeal to loyalty and sovereignty, these are powerful currents. For supporters of Vice President Sara Duterte, this moment may strengthen a sense of solidarity and continuity. For her political opponents, it may feel like a sudden explosion in the electoral landscape. A narrative, once formed, can travel faster than facts and linger longer than verdicts.
But here lies our greatest responsibility as citizens.
If we allow ourselves to consume this ICC case purely through emotion, we risk altering not just an election but our civic character. If we romanticize without reflection, we may surrender critical thinking to personality. If we condemn without patience, we may surrender justice to anger. When emotion replaces discernment, our national behavior changes. We argue more fiercely, we listen less carefully, and we vote more impulsively.
We must be vigilant.
Let us not be carried away by narratives designed to benefit political families who dominate the national stage. Courtrooms should not become campaign stages. Legal proceedings should not be reduced to dynastic ammunition. The Philippines is not about the Marcoses. The Philippines is not about the Dutertes.
The Philippines is about us Filipinos.
It is about the fisherman who wakes before dawn. It is about the mother who prays for her child’s safety. It is about the student who dreams of a country stronger than its past. It is about whether we choose institutions over personalities, evidence over rumor, and maturity over fanaticism.
When Kaufman defended Tatay Digong before the world, he performed his duty as counsel. The prosecution will perform theirs. The judges will decide based on law. But the deeper verdict will be written in our hearts. Will we allow this moment to divide us further, or will we rise above personality politics and demand both strength and accountability within the rule of law?
If we choose wisdom, then regardless of the outcome, the republic will stand taller. If we choose blind loyalty or blind hatred, the fracture within us will deepen.
In the end, this is not only the trial of a former president. It is the quiet trial of our national conscience. And I pray that when history looks back at this moment, it will say that the Filipino people chose clarity over chaos, unity over dynasty, and country over clan.
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