“My president is old!”

This statement, among other sob stories, echoes outside the International Criminal Court (ICC) after the decision to deny the interim release of former president Rodrigo Roa Duterte. Preceding the ruling, what you see are countless posts from hopeful supporters praying beside his cardboard standee and glass candles carefully lined up to spell his initials. All tears and exaggerated displays of devotion. Talk about drama!

Indeed, their president is old – but so were victims who received no mercy. He is frail – but so were those denied even a chance at due process. His supporters love to frame his mere presence at the ICC as some kind of human rights violation – when it isn’t even close. He is not a victim, and this is not oppression; this is the justice system finally at play.

It has been nine months since Duterte was surrendered by the government to the ICC after being arrested by authorities for crimes against humanity — murder and attempted murder. His legal team — ever persistent — filed an appeal for a conditional release, which all five members of the Appeals Chamber unanimously rejected this Friday, November 28, 2025. They dismissed Duterte’s bid for an interim release, ruling that he should remain in detention at The Hague in the Netherlands to ensure his appearance at the looming trial.

Once the facts are laid bare, one thing becomes unmistakably clear: denying his interim release is essential to protecting the process his victims were never afforded.

This decision wasn’t made to appease anyone; rather, it was made to ensure legal safeguard throughout the trial. Granting Duterte an interim release would risk flight tendencies. The former president might take it as an opportunity to intimidate witnesses or, worse, commit new crimes while free. Contrary to what his supporters convey to the public, Duterte isn’t being treated harshly. In fact, this is how the international court treats any other person suspected of atrocious crimes. The Hague is where human rights violators like him belong — not in the Philippines, not in local courts where his power could easily distort the proceedings. And no amount of emotional argument from his family and supporters can erase that.

Justice does not bend for comfort, and accountability cannot be suspended for convenience. Yet for his supporters, accountability is framed as cruelty — as if those he harmed were ever granted mercy.

‘If you deny him interim release, where is human rights?’ is perhaps the most ill-conceived statement you’ll hear from his supporters. This claim single-handedly redefines ‘human rights’ to conveniently fit their narrative. Because who are we kidding? Duterte is comfortable. He doesn’t have to sit in a cramped cell nor live under the constant stress and uncertainty that ordinary inmates endured. How he’s being tried now — despite what he’s done — is due process, and is a manifestation of human rights. While the victims of his drug war were scattered along the highways, faces beyond recognition as their bodies were wrapped in plastic, he now sits comfortably in the custody of the international court.

His victims never got the luxury to tell their stories in court, to seek legal help, or to demand justice — yet he now enjoys all the safeguards they were denied. So what more is there to demand? Yes, he is old and weak — what a pity. These factors never saved his victims from being mercilessly killed, so why should it save him from being detained?

This selective empathy isn’t born from compassion — it’s sustained by blind loyalty, a kind of public devotion that has long blurred the line between accountability and idolatry.

From prayer rallies in both the Philippines and the Hague, to naming a street ‘Duterte Street’ in the Netherlands complete with rules for entry, you would think that his supporters are devoted to a saint based on how they behave since his arrest. They’re throwing birthday parties for his life-size cardboard cutouts, even taking them out for a coffee. Hashtags like ‘Bring Him Home’ flooding the internet now have physical prototypes in the form of tarpaulins adorning his supporters’ houses.

As much as we love to poke fun at the antics, these extreme displays are more than just comedy — they reveal something far more disturbing.

These measures reflect just how far someone will go in defense of a politician. They turn murderers into martyrs, the victim of the story — conveniently overlooking his crimes. They display performative acts of patriotism, thinking defending Duterte is synonymous with defending the nation — as if a country collapses simply because one man faces the consequences of his actions. Their behavior reveals the extreme dangers of political loyalty: moral judgement becomes selective, empathy is misdirected, and reality itself is reshaped to preserve devotion.

Amid all this moral confusion and misplaced sympathy, the denial of his release stands as a reminder that accountability must prevail.

The drama that greeted the denial of his release may make for spectacle, but it only highlights how our moral compass has decayed. Despite this, one thing is certain: justice is moving. And no matter how much his team tries to appeal for yet another interim release, the international court will always be committed to serving justice.

As much as his supporters cry to ‘Bring Him Home’ all he has to do is stay…in the Hague, where he belongs.

The Frontman