Regional Meddling or Accountability? The Conundrum of Justice After The Hague’s Arrest of Rodrigo Duterte

Rodrigo Duterte’s conviction at The Hague has become a crucial test between the “will of the people” based on ASEAN’s regional “quiet” diplomacy, and international justice. Photo credit: Rody Duterte/Facebook

Long before Rodrigo Duterte became known as ‘The Punisher’ during his presidency in the Philippines, he was, according to political activist Nathan Gilbert Quimpo, connected to a broad movement opposing the dictatorship of Ferdinand Marcos, who later ruled the Philippines under martial law between 1972 and 1981. As someone who took part in the movement himself, Quimpo recalls Duterte as a government lawyer who secretly helped people, especially those who were victims of human rights violations.”

Decades later, that same Duterte faces accusations of crimes against humanity in the International Criminal Court (ICC). In March 2025, he became the first Asian leader to be indicted by The Hague. The ICC authorised an arrest warrant alleging murders committed as part of his infamous “war on drugs” between 2011 and 2019, lasting for the duration of his presidency. A long-time political activist now in exile, Quimpo teaches political science in Japan alongside a course on corruption for Ateneo de Manila University in the Philippines. In his class, Duterte is a case study in corruption, impunity and a proof of the lack of accountability in the Philippines. Quimpo has spent years tracing how leaders such as Duterte emerged in the country. He describes a system where powerful figures who present themselves as protectors of the people are bending institutions to their will. Under that narrative, courts, due process and human rights protections became obstacles, not safeguards. Now, with the ICC stepping in, that narrative is being put to the test. 

For Duterte’s supporters, the arrest is proof not of justice but of foreign interference. They insist that a leader elected by millions of Filipinos should answer only to Filipino institutions, not to judges in Europe. For families of victims and human rights activists, the opposite is true. After years of stalled investigations and political deal-making at home, The Hague looks less like meddling and more like the only remaining path to accountability. Over the coming months, the fight over whether The Hague can really reach Duterte will turn on two powerful ideas: Sovereignty, and “the will of the people.” 

This article looks at how those arguments are being used to shield Duterte from international justice. 

Building ‘The Punisher’: Populism and the War on Drugs

Before settling down into Malacañang Palace, Duterte had already spent more than two decades building his reputation as a provincial lawyer-turned-mayor. In order to win the 2016 election, he led a “phenomenal campaign”, promising to wipe out crime and illegal drugs in six months. He campaigned as the outsider who would finally do what the Manila establishment never had the courage to do. 

After his victory, Duterte began his infamous “war on drugs”, during which at least 7,980 civilians were killed – the vast majority of whom were from poor and marginalised communities –  by the police and armed proxies for allegedly using or selling drugs. By constantly framing ruthless action as a necessary sacrifice for the Filipino people, Duterte cast violence as a kind of public service. 

“I would kill all of you who make the lives of Filipinos miserable,” he was quoted in the local media as saying, in 2015. His emotionally-charged speeches endowed him with a sense of popular legitimacy to govern harshly and to claim a mandate for extraordinary – even extra-legal – measures. Political analyst Bonn Juego wrote in Asia Maior journal about how this is precisely what makes Duterte an authoritarian populist. Duterte leans on his genuine popularity and the “consent” of the majority to hollow out liberal norms and build a repressive, police-centered regime that comes down hardest on the poor while leaving the country’s economic elites largely untouched. 

Sovereignty, ASEAN and Withdrawal from the ICC

In 2018, after activists and human rights organisations such as Amnesty International raised the alarm about the deadly “war on the poor,” the ICC opened a preliminary examination into the extrajudicial killings. In reaction, and shortly before the end of his term, Duterte decided to withdraw the Philippines from the Rome Statute, the treaty that created the ICC. He claimed that the ICC was being used as a “political tool” against the Philippines while also denouncing what he called “baseless, unprecedented and outrageous attacks” from the UN. 

It was not difficult for him to present this move as justified in the eyes of the Filipinos, since framing it as a defense of Philippine sovereignty and resistance to foreign interference resonated with long-standing regional sensitivities in Southeast Asia. According to Jürgen Haacke, the Associate Professor in international relations at the London School of Economics and Political Science, this rhetoric fits neatly within a broader regional context of the ASEAN’s diplomatic and security culture, which has long been built around the core norms of sovereign equality and strict non-interference in member states’ internal affairs. The so-called “ASEAN way” has historically treated even serious human rights abuses and internal security campaigns as “domestic matters,” using “quiet diplomacy” as a tool instead of sanctions. The organisation was wary of external legal or political pressure on governments, especially from non-ASEAN actors. 

However, even though the Philippines withdrew from the Rome Statute, this does not erase the Court’s jurisdiction over alleged crimes committed while the country was still a State Party. The ICC can still investigate and prosecute acts linked to the “war on drugs” that took place before the withdrawal became effective. 

Family Feuds, Street Politics and a Divided Public

Whether or not one agrees on the arrest’s technical legalities, the tensions came to a head when Vice President Sara, Duterte’s daughter, publicly lashed out at President Marcos Jr for allowing her father’s arrest after an Interpol request. Marcos Jr defended his decision by insisting that “we did not do this because […] it came from ICC. We did this because Interpol asked us to do it,” adding that “if we don’t do that […] , they will no longer help us with other cases involving Filipino fugitives abroad.” He framed compliance as a matter of state responsibility, not ideological choice. 

This clash between the two families, once allies, has not remained confined to elite politics; it has intensified in the streets, where Duterte continues to receive fervent support. In 2025, according to the Pahayag 2025 Third Quarter Survey, only 47 percent of the Filipinos agreed that the charges amount to crimes against humanity, meaning a narrow majority remains unconvinced that he should be in The Hague at all.

‘Will of the People’ vs International Justice

It finally brings us to the core dilemma of this article when an elected leader is somewhat popular at home but accused of grave crimes abroad. Whose will should prevail? That of “the people” as expressed in votes and street protests? Or that of an international justice system claiming to speak for universal human rights? 

The answer to that question is anything but straightforward. This is especially true if one starts from a Western perspective where individual rights and international norms are assumed to be the core principles. Seen from Manila rather than The Hague, however, the picture looks different: Duterte’s camp can plausibly claim a strong democratic mandate, invoke sovereignty and ASEAN’s norm of non-interference, and draw on a long history of foreign powers telling Filipinos what justice should look like. Indeed, Robert Cryer, a professor of international and criminal law at University of Birmingham, helps make sense of the relation between state sovereignty and international justice. International courts are often perceived, especially in the Global South, as unevenly applied, with double standards whereby the “powerful” are rarely prosecuted whilst smaller states are. 

Several states and commentators have pointed out that, in practice, the ICC has so far focused almost exclusively on leaders from the Global South, particularly in Africa. Duterte’s allies use this record to argue that he is being targeted not because of what he has done, but because the Philippines is a relatively weak, postcolonial state. In this narrative, resisting the ICC becomes less about shielding one man from accountability and more about defending national dignity and the will of the Filipino people against a Global North-biased international system.

Why the ICC Still Matters

“Attacking the ICC takes the attention away from where it should be focused: on states themselves,” reads an editorial in a magazine run by the United Nations Association, headquartered in London, United Kingdom. 

In other words, even if the Court is imperfect and its record uneven, dismantling its authority does nothing to help the victims of state violence and everything to shield those who command it. From this perspective, the Duterte camp’s emphasis on sovereignty, postcolonial grievance and the “will of the people” risks turning into a convenient alibi for impunity. This also points to a deeper issue with relying only on “the will of the people.” When a very popular leader targets a stigmatised group, majority support can be used to justify serious abuses against that minority. This is what political theorists call the “tyranny of the majority.” The idea is that democracy itself can be used to persecute those who are seen as outsiders, in this case, alleged drug users and dealers. 

What matters instead is whether a state has used its power to systematically violate basic rights, and whether its own institutions are willing and able to respond. In that light, a conviction of Duterte would set a precedent that even electorally popular, authoritarian-populist governments cannot kill in the thousands and then hide behind democracy, sovereignty or regional norms of non-interference. Such a decision would also matter far beyond the Philippines. It could encourage the ICC to take a firmer line in other ongoing investigations in Myanmar, in Ukraine or even more sensitive cases, involving powerful leaders, such as the arrest warrant issued in November 2024 for Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu. At a moment when the ICC itself is under sanctions and accused of bias by the US President Donald Trump, proving that it can act credibly and effectively becomes all the more important. 

The late theologian Martin Niemöller’s postwar confession endures because it captures how repression spreads: “First they came for the communists… And I did not speak out.” The warning is not only about silence, it’s about sequence. Once a state learns it can target one stigmatised group with impunity, the circle of “acceptable” victims can widen, step by step. That is why the ICC still matters, because when domestic institutions fail, someone must still be able to interrupt that sequence – not by replacing politics with vengeance, but by replacing impunity with law. As Quimpo, repurposing Niemöller’s famous words, wishfully concludes it: “Then they came for Duterte. And they brought him to The Hague.”

Written by Agathe Beny

Edited by Pallavi Pundir