Duterte remains detained, but ‘when will trial start?’ drug war victims ask

There were hardly any strong emotions at the Paghilom center on Friday, November 28, where victims of the war on drugs gathered to watch the International Criminal Court (ICC) deny former Philippine president Rodrigo Duterte his appeal for an interim release.

“Why are they not happy?” one commenter on Instagram asked, seeing the video of the victims under the wing of the drug war refuge center run by Father Flavie Villanueva. It took a while for the meaning of the decision to set in.

Aside from it being in English, the language of the decision was very technical, hard even for journalists following the case to immediately understand. The victims, some of them elderly, just followed the cue of the staff, who are not lawyers, when they clapped.

The victims expected a denial, for one. They were briefed beforehand that lawyers were confident Duterte was not going to get the temporary freedom he requested for. There was little doubt in the room.

What persisted was the question that no one is able to answer precisely: when will the trial start? “The Prosecution continues to prepare for Mr. Duterte’s hearing on the confirmation of charges, once scheduled,” said the Office of the Prosecution after the hearing.

The dominant emotion for some was anger. They were angry that Duterte had managed to postpone the confirmation of charges hearing last September, because his lawyer claimed the strongman is cognitively impaired. The women reacted animatedly to the fact that the ICC was still deciding on whether Duterte is unfit, or fit, for trial.

Three elderly women, neighbors in an urban poor community that was once a hot spot of drug-related killings in Manila, said that while they were relieved at the decision, they were still very angry at what life had become for them.

“Masama pa rin ang loob ko dahil ‘yun lang ang nakakatulong sa akin. Hindi ako magbabalat ng bawang kung buhay ‘yun,” said Gina, whose real name we’re not disclosing upon request. (I am still angry because he was the only who could help me. I will not be peeling garlic if he were still alive.)

Harassment of victims has intensified since Duterte’s arrest in March, making other victims retreat back to anonymity.

Finding community

Gina was talking about her son, 32 years old in 2018 when he was killed by policemen in a bust operation. She believes that a gun was planted on her son, the family’s breadwinner. Now she peels garlic for a living, sometimes sleeping in a nearby park because she said their house had become too small for a large family, and that she could no longer physically climb the stairs.

“That’s not to say na hindi rin nagkaroon ng moment of celebration kahit saglit ‘yung iba, na mas inda ay gut issues. At dahil nga sa iba-iba nilang katayuan, iba-iba rin ang ‘immediate’ needs. Ganun din ang konsepto nila ng hustisya,” said a victim, who has since become an advocate, helping families seek justice.

(That’t not to say that there was not a moment of celebration. Even if it’s just for a moment for those whose concerns are gut issues. They have different statures in life, so they also have different immediate needs. That’s the same for their concept of justice.)

Gina’s neighbor Lea — not her real name — also does not have a home. Lea believes her two sons — 36 and 27 years old in 2019 when they went missing — are dead. She relies on reconstructed stories from witnesses who told her that the two boys went off with a stranger who promised a P750 (US$12) a day work demolishing houses.

Lea smiles at the start of the story as she recalls the two boys eager to get the gig because in a few days, their mother would be celebrating her birthday. “Sabi nila sige ‘Nay pag naka-ano kami, maghahanda tayo,” Lea recalled. (They told me, “Mom if we find work we’ll prepare food for your birthday.”)

She was told her sons’ convoy had been cut off by a van. There were guns, there were sachets of shabu, an eyewitness told her. The Paghilom Center tried to find reports, or anything that would help build a case. She showed scars on her arm, which she said, she acquired from her searches.

“Mga aksidente ko ‘yang mga ‘yan, halos nabangga ako ng motor, nakarating ako kung saan-saan. ‘Yun ang masaklap na nangyayari, para sa mga apo ko, anim na taon na silang nawawala,” Lea said, before her voice broke. (Those were from accidents, I almost got hit by a motorcycle, I searched everywhere. That’s what hurts the most, even for my grandchildren, they have been missing for six years.)

Lea’s case is among the thousand cases in the drug war which were deemed unsolvable in the local court system, because there are no documents and no willing witnesses.

Now she lives at someone else’s home, helping do the laundry and other chores despite her frail body.

The third neighbor, Minda — not her real name — lost her 23-year-old son in 2019. He was killed by masked assailants, emblematic of the vigilante killings that spiked starting 2017, when police killings began to be intensely scrutinized.

Minda, who sells corn on the streets for a living, said she watches the news all the time. “Naririnig ko ang mga sinasabi ni Duterte, ni Bato, ni Sara, mga pananalitang pangit, nadidinig talaga namin. Walang mamamatay na tao kung hindi sila nagsasalita ng ganun,” Minda said.

(I heard what Duterte would say, or [Senator Ronald “Bato” dela Rosa], or [Vice President Sara Duterte.] They would say ugly things, and we really heard those. No one would be killed if they did not speak that way.)

Minda did not pursue the case locally for her son because she is “too scared.” Minda empathizes with others who also did not pursue local cases. She remembers them by “batch,” or the set of people who came running to Paghilom for help at the peak of the killings. She and Lea are “Batch 8.” Between filing a local case, and surviving everyday life, Minda chose the latter.

The three of them almost did not reach the Church center that day because they were short of a peso for their jeepney fare. A fellow passenger, a mother commuting with her child, chipped in, she said.

The three looked forward to the packed dinner given by the Church community. They smiled at the discussions of a Christmas party, of the prizes they can take home, and joining the raffle.

Lea said she thinks God has led her to the center, where she has found community.

Duterte’s network of supporters

On the other side, Duterte’s community showed up big online and offline. Online, they have swarmed the ICC’s comment section calling the Court a “kangaroo” or “crocodile” court. “Just ten minutes into posting, 3,000 comments already with these rotating keywords,” said freelance journalist Regine Cabato, who has analyzed the disinformation network supportive of Duterte.

Cabato said that there were already 9,000 comments after 30 minutes of ICC posting the updates, and 13,000 comments after 45 minutes, many of them bearing the same keywords. “It’s very likely at least partially a troll or bot operation or aided by automation. It’s too many a minute to be organic, especially when compared to other posts breaking the same news,” Cabato said.

The appeals chamber found that it was correct to deny the interim release request partly because of Duterte’s “network of supporters.” The five judges unanimously agreed that it was proper to deny the request based partly on a document where Duterte’s “close associates” told individuals “to remain loyal to him.” These bits of evidence, the appeals chamber said, prove that Duterte himself posed one of the risk factors, which is that he has the capacity — and would be helped by this network potentially — to run away from the case if released.

Duterte’s grandson, Davao City 2nd District Representative Omar Duterte, said at The Hague: “It’s borderline inhumane — keeping an 80-year-old here away from his family, away from the land he called home.”

Unlike the Philippine legal system, the ICC does not consider humanitarian grounds when deciding a request for interim release. Instead, they can look at humanitarian grounds only to see whether it removes a risk factor.

In the case of Duterte, his lawyer Nicholas Kaufman argued that a cognitively impaired 80-year-old cannot pose risks — namely, running away from the case, recommitting the same crimes he’s accused of, and jeopardizing the investigation. The appeals chamber said Duterte’s legal team failed to “sufficiently set out” how Duterte’s health can mitigate the risks.

“Hindi api si Duterte, kasinungalingan ‘yun. Hindi siya nadulas, maayos ang kanyang tirahan, may komunikasyon,” said Father Villanueva, who won a Ramon Magsaysay citation for his work in the center. (Duterte is not a victim, that’s a lie. He did not slip, he has good living conditions, he has communication.)

The Ateneo Human Rights Center, which assists drug war victims, pointed out that although the appeals chamber decision is already final, the lower-level pre-trial chamber can review the case every 120 days. If circumstances change, they can very well change their decision.

Meanwhile, what Lea is waiting for is to maybe find another one who could provide a home, “kahit mag-alaga lang ako ng hayop” (even if I tend to animals). Gina tears up every time she describes her work peeling garlic, pondering whether Duterte getting supposedly ill can be considered justice for her.

The victim-advocate said: “Ang nananaig kapag tinanong mo ano ang gusto nilang klaseng hustisya, ang sagot kadalasan ay mapanagot ASAP ‘yung mga gumawa lalo na ‘yung mga nasa taas.” (If you ask them what kind of justice they want, the frequent answer is to hold accountable the perpetrators as soon as possible, especially those in higher offices.)

Indeed, Minda wants to see more cops in prison. “Dapat ‘yung mga pulis na pumatay, kasama ‘yun sa mga makasuhan. Hindi lang si Digong,” she said. (The policemen who killed should also be charged. Not just Duterte.) – Rappler.com