When the Philippine Senate voted to urge the International Criminal Court (ICC) to grant former President Rodrigo Duterte house arrest “on humanitarian grounds,” the resolution was framed as an act of compassion. At first glance, such a position might seem humane. Yet viewed against the standards of justice and accountability, it raises questions that go beyond partisanship.
At stake is not simply where one man should spend his pre-trial detention. The Senate’s resolution, symbolic though it may be, risks sending the message that accountability is negotiable and that mercy is a privilege extended only to the powerful.
International and Philippine law both rest on the principle that no person is above the law. Crimes against humanity, the charges Duterte faces at the ICC, are among the gravest in the international order. To dilute the weight of these allegations with an appeal for comfort undermines the credibility of justice institutions.
Some senators may well have acted in good faith, convinced that humanitarian considerations should apply even to the accused of the gravest crimes. Yet the troubling reality is that such concern is rarely extended to those without political influence. More than 3,000 senior citizens above the age of 65 languish in overcrowded jails across the country, many frail and ill, but without access to Senate resolutions or public appeals for their welfare.
The case of Elmer Cordero illustrates this imbalance. In 2020, the 72-year-old jeepney driver, suffering from a hernia, was jailed after joining a small protest asking to be allowed back on the road during the lockdown. Instead of mercy, he was denied release because of an old estafa case linked to unpaid rent, even though another case had already been dismissed. His struggle was one of survival, yet his frail body was met with blunt insistence that “charges must be faced regardless of age.”
Contrast this with today’s debate. A former president accused of thousands of extrajudicial killings is shielded by senators invoking his advanced years. Yet just last May 2025, Duterte was elected mayor of Davao City. According to his supporters, he is fit to govern and to oversee a city of millions. If he is fit to govern, how can he suddenly be too frail to face trial? The poor grandfather was denied compassion; the powerful leader is surrounded by it. This double standard corrodes public trust in the equal application of justice.
History offers reminders. Nazi war criminals, even well into their nineties, continued to be pursued and tried. As Nazi hunter Efraim Zuroff has said, “The passage of time in no way diminishes the guilt of the killers. Old age should not afford protection to people who committed such heinous crimes.” To insist that accountability applies even to the elderly is not vindictiveness. It is a safeguard for society, ensuring that crimes against humanity are never trivialized by the passage of years.
There is room in law for humanitarian considerations. The ICC itself allows interim release under strict conditions if health warrants it, provided that the integrity of proceedings is not compromised. Such decisions are made by judges weighing medical evidence, not by political bodies seeking to shield allies. If Duterte’s health truly demands special accommodations, this is for the court to determine through due process. What is troubling is the spectacle of the Senate pre-empting that process, invoking compassion for one man while remaining silent on the plight of thousands of others.
Selective mercy is not mercy at all. True compassion is encompassing. It does not favor the powerful over the powerless. It does not bend toward political convenience. And it does not erase accountability.
If legislators are sincere in their concern for humanitarian treatment, they should begin with those who have no voice at all. Justice cannot be partisan. Accountability cannot be optional. Mercy, to be real, must flow downward to the smallest coffins and the weakest prisoners, not upward only to those who once held the highest office. Unless the Senate acts with consistency, history will record this gesture not as mercy but as privilege. And privilege dressed as mercy is a wound to justice itself.