When “Due Process” Becomes Privilege: The myth of justice in a nation that protects the powerful

Written by Lynelle Soon

Senator Ronald “Bato” Dela Rosa’s Senate fugitive escape—in all of its absurdity and cartoonish chasing—is just another instance showing that the “due process” of law is merely a privilege given to the powerful.

The senator, who is subject to an arrest warrant from the International Criminal Court (ICC) due to his role as police chief during the drug war under the Duterte administration, was reported to leave the Senate premises on May 14. Dela Rosa was spending his third day inside the Senate building to seek protective custody, when he urged the public to block his arrest via Facebook livestream. This was shortly followed by an exchange of gunfire between Senate Sergeant-at-Arms Mao Aplasca and agents of the National Bureau of Investigation (NBI).

Notably, the standoff and disappearance came in the wake of two Duterte-related developments: Vice President Sara Duterte’s impeachment at the House of Representatives, and Senator Alan Cayetano’s election as Senate President. While the circumstances of Dela Rosa’s fleeing remain unclear, the events leading up to his evasion of justice reveal that the Senate—as law-making body, impeachment court, and supposed bastion of democracy—cannot be trusted with upholding justice.

On May 11, 2026, Dela Rosa unexpectedly reappeared at a Senate session after being absent for months since November 2025, taking part in the vote for Senate President that resulted in the ousting of Tito Sotto and the election of Alan Cayetano—a known ally of former president Rodrigo Duterte. Thirteen (13) senators, including Dela Rosa, supported his candidacy. Three days later, after Dela Rosa was nowhere to be found, Cayetano himself has denied that the senator “escaped” authorities, asserting that there was no obstruction of justice because no arrest warrant had been presented against him.

Despite these claims that the ICC as an international body has no jurisdiction over local officials, the arrest warrant is valid for two major reasons.

First, the ICC warrant is a formal and existing legal document. The international tribunal found reasonable grounds to believe that Dela Rosa may bear criminal responsibility for crimes against humanity, particularly given his role as a principal architect and chief enforcer of the drug war under the Duterte presidency. Dela Rosa used his position as Davao City Police Office (DCPO) chief to establish “a network of perpetrators” they could “trust and control” to carry out systematic killings, some perpetrators of which were allegedly from the Davao Death Squad (DDS). This style of police operations were known as “Tokhang,” which was later expanded into nationwide anti-drug operations upon Duterte’s assumption to the presidency.

Secondly, the Philippine government is obligated to enforce the warrant against Dela Rosa. Under Article 127 of the Rome Statute, the ICC retains jurisdiction over the case because the alleged crimes associated with the drug war occurred while the Philippines was still a member of the Court. Additionally, Section 17 of Republic Act No. 9851, or the Philippine Act on Crimes Against International Humanitarian Law, Genocide, and Other Crimes Against Humanity, provides that authorities may surrender or extradite individuals suspected or accused of such crimes to the appropriate international court or to another state in accordance with applicable extradition laws and treaties.

Cowardice appears to be yet another common attribute shared by Dela Rosa and the Dutertes, alongside staunch loyalty and the refusal to yield.

In a Facebook post dated March 12 last year, the senator proudly declared:

“If all legal remedies are exhausted and still justice is to no avail, then I don’t want my family to suffer from cops looking for a heartbeat. I am ready to join the old man hoping that they would allow me to take care of him.”

Dela Rosa also stated last year his readiness to submit himself to the ICC’s jurisdiction upon the presentation of a warrant. But upon the issuance of the arrest warrant this May, Dela Rosa suddenly retracted in fear:

“Sana ‘wag niya akong ipadala sa The Hague. Kahit saang [korte] dito sa Pilipinas. Pareho tayong Pilipino, Mr. President. Kung mayroon akong pananagutan, pananagutan ko rito sa ating local court, ‘wag doon sa banyaga.”

The senator’s absconsion is insulting to the thousands of people killed under the drug war without being afforded any legal remedies. Many of these victims were minors and young children such as 17-year-old Kian de los Santos, 4-year-old Althea Barbon, and 3-year-old Myka Ulpina who died by a bullet to the neck—to which Bato Dela Rosa responded, “Shit happens.”

Besides his intentional dehumanization and lack of regard for civilian lives—calling victims inevitable “collateral damage,” Dela Rosa has persistently defended the anti-drug campaign. Extrajudicial killings abound, in a 2016 interview with TIME Magazine, the then-police chief argued that police operated within legal bounds, which he described as mere “constraints” that authorities “can deal with.” Dela Rosa also dismissed critics of the drug war as “ingrates” (inggrato) claiming that they, too, had benefited from the “peace and order” that the drug war supposedly brought.

More troubling is that public officials closely tied to abuses of power often remain protected, politically and legally. The lagging impeachment against Vice President Sara Duterte raises the question of whether the country’s top officials are willing—or capable of—breaking from institutional design.

For instance, Duterte's first impeachment case failed primarily because the Supreme Court declared it unconstitutional in July 2025, stipulating that it violated the one-year ban on filing impeachment complaints. Prior to this, however, the Senate voted in June to return the articles to the House, citing the need for the lower chamber to clarify if the fourth complaint complied with the constitutionally mandated one-year rule. Following the Supreme Court ruling, in August that same year, the Senate voted (19 for, 4 against, 1 abstention) to dismiss the articles of impeachment, opting to transfer them instead to their archives. These procedural limitations effectively delayed the administration of justice.

Beyond the spectacle of Dela Rosa’s meltdown and the Senate’s poor performance as a purported institution of integrity and accountability, the vice president—a likely presidential candidate for the 2028 elections—has nonetheless increased in popularity.

On a Pulse Asia presidential preference survey, Sara Duterte led with 46 percentage points, tied with Senator Raffy Tulfo. Former vice president and current Naga City Mayor Leni Robredo followed closely behind. Duterte scored overwhelming majorities against Tulfo in both Visayas and Mindanao. She was also more popular among social classes D and E—who represent the lower-income segments of the population. The lower middle-income bracket includes families earning between ₱27,746 and ₱55,492 per month, placing many in financially precarious conditions—especially amid oil supply shocks and rising costs of living. Classes D and E are therefore crucial constituencies for politicians, as they comprise the vast majority of Filipinos. Importantly, their economic vulnerability makes them more susceptible to becoming recipients of immediate, short-term forms of electoral relief and campaigning, often taking the form of “ayuda” or cash dole-outs distributed by political figures. While such measures may address urgent needs, they can also reinforce cycles of dependence in which structural issues remain unresolved beyond election periods.

The Philippine masses nonetheless are “shrewd and [even] critical” of politics, viewing the election period as a strategic “game.” They may tread cautiously and play along with politicians to exploit campaigns for short-term material interests—without necessarily surrendering their long-term political loyalty or judgment. Contrary to the “bobotante” (stupid voter) narrative, which alienates and dismisses voters from participating in political discourse, ordinary Filipinos evaluate whether a politician’s actions (gawa) are accompanied by a sincere inner being (loob), or are merely empty promises (pangako) intended to court them for votes. By differentiating genuine help (tulong) from deceitful politics (pulitika), the masses assert a moral order that demands politicians treat them with humanity rather than mere “clients” to be bought. This demonstrates that the masses have a high level of intellectual and moral agency in navigating patron-client relations.

Because the masses recognize that formal institutions have often failed them, bringing corrupt government officials to justice is necessary to restore trust in democratic processes and affirm that accountability is not reserved only for the rich and powerful.

Duterte’s impeachment at the House is indeed a much-welcome development, after two painstaking years of failing to bring the vice president to trial. But upon the transmission of these articles to the Senate, which is now led by a family ally, the prospects for bringing Duterte to justice have become increasingly dim. Given the current configuration of political alliances and institutional dynamics, there is a growing sense of disillusionment that the process may be shaped less by the merits of the case and more by the entrenched loyalties of the senators. Even worse, the case may be delayed, once again.

Given the dismal events surrounding the Senate, national government, and presidential prospects—occurring in the backdrop of the oil and energy crisis and the rising costs of living—the Philippines seems to have little hope in sufficiently catering to the basic needs of its people, much less eradicating corruption from public service.

“Due process,” though meant to protect the rights of an individual and the inviolability of life, has evidently become a privilege accessible only to those with political influence and allies. To the Filipino masses, the image of “justice” is the loaded barrel of a gun. To the powerful, justice is a comfortable seat at the table, in a room protected by an impenetrable ironclad system. Impartiality and rightfulness have effectively become figments of imagination in this political circus of a country.

For when legal protections are selectively afforded and consequences remain elusive for the powerful, justice ceases to function as a public guarantee and instead survives only as a myth—endlessly invoked in rhetoric, but absent in practice.