“The international community—yes, the US too—must press Manila with sanctions on complicit officials while funding local NGOs”
MARY Ann Domingo’s voice trembles as she recalls the night in 2016 when police stormed her Caloocan home.
Her husband, Luis, 45, and son, Gabriel, 19, were dragged out, accused of drug ties with no proof.
Hours later, their bullet-riddled bodies were found. “They took my world,” she says, clutching a faded photo.
Her story echoes thousands from the Philippines’ “war on drugs,” a brutal campaign under then President Rodrigo Duterte that turned streets into killing fields. Now, with Duterte facing International Criminal Court charges, her loss demands justice.
The “one time, big time” (OTBT) police operations—like the 2017 Caloocan raid that killed 17-year-old Kian delos Santos—are central to the ICC case.
These sweeps, mostly in Bulacan and Caloocan from 2017 to 2018, were touted as strikes against drug lords.
Instead, they left over 12,000 dead—possibly 30,000, per Human Rights Watch—mostly poor men gunned down without trial.
In Aug. 2017, Bulacan police killed 32 in 24 hours, a massacre Duterte called “maganda ‘yun” (“that’s good”). The numbers stun, but it’s the human toll—families like Mary Ann’s—that cuts deepest.
The ICC alleges Duterte was an “indirect co-perpetrator” in 43 killings, including eight from OTBT raids, tying them to crimes against humanity.
Prosecutor Karim Khan links these to the Davao Death Squad, which Duterte allegedly ran as mayor, and the nationwide drug war he unleashed as president.
The legal stakes are high: though the Philippines left the ICC in 2019, the court claims jurisdiction over crimes before then. Duterte’s arrest on March 11, 2025, is historic, but his allies call it foreign meddling, and his team may fight the court’s authority—a battle that could stall progress.
Politically, it’s a mess.
Duterte’s 2016 drug war won him fierce loyalty—approval once hit 77 percent, per Social Weather Stations—among Filipinos fed up with crime.
His brash threats—“I’d kill you,” he told pushers—struck a chord.
But critics say it silenced dissent and consolidated power.
The Marcos government’s tepid ICC cooperation, shifting after a rift with Duterte’s daughter, Vice President Sara, suggests politics over principle.
Globally, the US—once Duterte’s ally—stays quiet, raising doubts about its human rights stance.
This isn’t just a Philippine tragedy; it’s a warning about authoritarian drug policies.
Mexico’s cartel wars and Thailand’s 2003 crackdown, which killed over 2,800, show the pattern: violence posing as law, with the poor hit hardest.
Duterte’s approach, via Ronald “Bato” Dela Rosa’s Oplan Tokhang, made police executioners, often with vigilante aid—Rappler counts over 500 such deaths in Bulacan from 2016 to 2017. The moral line is clear: drugs are a scourge, but mass slaughter isn’t justice—it’s tyranny.
Still, there’s complexity. Duterte’s backers say he fought a real crisis—meth ravaged communities—and police claim 6,200 deaths were shootouts, not murders.
Mary Ann insists her family weren’t drug lords, just breadwinners snared in a net.
The truth blends both: a policy with some aim to curb crime, twisted by impunity. Former ICC judge Raul Pangalangan says Duterte’s “indirect” role doesn’t lessen guilt—the mastermind designs the horror.
The human cost staggers.
Children of victims face trauma and poverty, per Human Rights Watch, with no government aid.
NGOs like Program Paghilom help, but it’s not enough. Economically, the war’s inefficiency glares—billions spent on raids could’ve funded rehab or jobs, tackling poverty’s link to drugs.
Portugal’s treatment-focused model, cutting addiction, contrasts sharply.
What’s next?
The ICC offers hope, but accountability’s rare—only four local convictions, including Kian’s killers, prove it.
Duterte’s trial could spark reform, if paired with action.
The Philippine government should rejoin the ICC, signaling a break from impunity, and start a truth commission to document the war’s toll, aiding victims.
The international community—yes, the US too—must press Manila with sanctions on complicit officials while funding local NGOs.
Civil society, from Rappler to grassroots advocates, should amplify survivors, pushing for humane drug policies.
I’ve seen power crush the powerless under order’s guise too often.
In Manila, OTBT ops weren’t accidents—they were the plan.
Duterte, now 79, told a Senate probe last year, “I did what I had to.”
But he stole futures. Justice won’t revive Luis or Gabriel, but it can honor them—and affirm that human rights aren’t optional, even in tough fights.
Let’s begin there, for Mary Ann, for Kian, for a nation craving better.