*Dr. Rodolfo John Ortiz Teope, PhD, EdD
I have been observing how this government maneuvers its way
around the delicate issue of former President Rodrigo Duterte and the cases
filed against him in the International Criminal Court. To me, it is clear: they
will never allow Digong to die in The Hague. They will even go to extraordinary
lengths to prolong his life. Why? Because they know the political consequences
of such a death.
If Digong were to pass away in a foreign cell, under the
custody of international judges, it would not just be a legal tragedy—it would
be a political earthquake. His death in The Hague would transform him from a
controversial leader into a symbol of national humiliation, a Filipino
president who died away from his own land, judged by foreigners. The Filipino
psyche, bound deeply by notions of loyalty and honor, would not take this
sitting down.
And in that moment, all the political attacks and smear
campaigns against Vice President Sara Duterte would suddenly look trivial, even
irrelevant. The people’s sympathy would swell toward her, not simply because
she is his daughter, but because she would represent continuity, defiance, and
pride. The death of Digong in such a place would immortalize his name in the
minds of his loyalists and, more importantly, cast Sara as the rightful heir to
the struggle.
We have seen this pattern before in our history. When Ninoy
Aquino was assassinated in 1983, it ignited a firestorm of anger and sympathy
that propelled his widow, Cory Aquino, to the presidency in 1986. Years later,
when Cory passed away in 2009, the political landscape was instantly reshaped.
At that time, Mar Roxas was the sure standard-bearer for the Liberal Party in
2010, but the nation’s outpouring of grief for Cory catapulted her son, Noynoy
Aquino, into the presidency instead. In the span of days, sympathy shifted the
weight of history and changed the country’s political destiny.
Even Joseph “Erap” Estrada offers a telling example. Ousted
in 2001 through People Power II and later convicted of plunder, he might have
been written off as politically finished. Yet, public sympathy for his downfall
kept him alive in the hearts of many Filipinos. By 2010, less than a decade
after his ouster, he nearly pulled off a stunning comeback, finishing a strong
second in the presidential race. His resilience proved that once the masses
feel an injustice—real or perceived—no legal judgment can fully erase a
leader’s influence.
What is even more striking is how that sympathy extended
beyond Estrada himself. His wife, Loi Ejercito Estrada, was swept into the
Senate in 2001, just months after his removal from Malacañang. Later on, his
sons, Jinggoy Estrada and JV Ejercito, also captured seats in the Senate. This
shows that sympathy, once ignited, can nourish an entire political clan,
carrying the family name forward even when its patriarch has fallen.
And then came Ferdinand “Bongbong” Marcos Jr. After decades
of exile, humiliation, and relentless criticism of his family’s legacy, he
turned the tide of public opinion. The narrative of being wronged, of being
unfairly vilified, resonated with millions. In 2022, that long-cultivated
sympathy and sense of redemption culminated in his election as President of the
Republic of the Philippines—a landslide victory that would have seemed
unthinkable in the years immediately after the 1986 People Power Revolution.
These examples all point to one undeniable truth: in
Philippine politics, sympathy can transform grief into victory, and humiliation
into redemption. Ninoy’s death gave Cory the presidency. Cory’s death gave
Noynoy the presidency. Erap’s downfall gave rise to his wife and sons in the
Senate. Marcos’ fall eventually brought Bongbong back to Malacañang. By the
same pattern, if Digong were to meet his end in The Hague, Sara Duterte’s path
to Malacañang in 2028 would not just be possible—it would be inevitable.
That is why, no matter what this administration does—whether
it is calculated investigations, political isolation, or attempts to clip her
wings—the political tide would turn. The sympathy vote alone would carry Sara
straight to Malacañang in 2028. It would not just be a strong chance; it would
be a sure victory.
History has shown us, time and again, that Filipinos rally
around leaders who are perceived to have been wronged or humiliated. Sympathy
in Philippine politics is like wildfire—it begins with a spark, spreads beyond
one person, and consumes the nation’s heart. Once it catches flame, no amount
of effort can contain it. Should Digong’s story end in The Hague, Sara’s story
in 2028 begins not as a possibility, but as destiny.
___________________ *About the author:
Dr. Rodolfo “John” Ortiz Teope is a distinguished Filipino academic, public intellectual, and advocate for civic education and public safety, whose work spans local academies and international security circles. With a career rooted in teaching, research, policy, and public engagement, he bridges theory and practice by making meaningful contributions to academic discourse, civic education, and public policy. Dr. Teope is widely respected for his critical scholarship in education, management, economics, doctrine development, and public safety; his grassroots involvement in government and non-government organizations; his influential media presence promoting democratic values and civic consciousness; and his ethical leadership grounded in Filipino nationalism and public service. As a true public intellectual, he exemplifies how research, advocacy, governance, and education can work together in pursuit of the nation’s moral and civic mission.
