By Cardinal Pablo Virgilio David
It was not easy listening to the International Criminal Court (ICC) hearings these past few days.
The prosecutors laid out their case with clarity — carefully documented, tightly argued, impossible to dismiss. What emerged was not merely a pattern of violence, but the chilling revelation that the killing of suspected criminals — especially the poor, those accused of involvement in drugs — had been elevated into state policy.
And what was most damning?
Not speculation. Not hearsay.
But the accused’s own words. The Tagalog saying is correct, “Nahuhuli ang isda sa bibig.”
By his own mouth, he incriminated himself. Again and again. What happened on the streets merely proved that he meant what he said. He was not joking. He even declared, more than once, that he was ready to take responsibility. In fact he made it part of his campaign promise — that what he had done as a local chief executive, he would implement nationwide if he was elected.
His defense tried to argue political motivation behind the arrest. But the judges were not distracted. The real question was clear:
Was he, or was he not responsible for the thousands who died?
Even the attempt to dismiss his words as jokes, sarcasm, or hyperbole collapsed under the weight of the evidence. The videos of the accused’s public speeches spoke for themselves:
“Do nationally what I did locally and I will reward you.”
“If they resist arrest, kill them.”
“If you don’t, I will kill them myself.”
“Plant evidence if necessary.”
“If you go to prison, I will pardon you.”
“Don’t worry about human rights, human rights, I will protect you.”
No need to repeat the expletives. The message was clear.
But perhaps the most painful part was not the words of the accused; it was the applause of his audience, the kind of people who voted him into power.
The laughter.
The approval.
The cheering crowds.
The lawyer for the victims was right: something happened to us as a people. Many who were once peace-loving Filipinos were slowly shaped into clones of their idol. They became mirrors of the very violence they were witnessing. Brutality became entertainment. Threats became punchlines. And they echoed the chilling threats of their cult leader by trolling for him in the social media.
And then it struck me.
As I watched, I realized why it was so difficult.
Because while the accused chose to remain in his cell and waived his right to face the court, he was actually not alone on trial.
With him stood an entire nation.
Not only those who applauded.
Not only those who approved.
But also those who kept quiet.
Those who looked away.
Those who knew — but chose silence.
Whether out of fear, or indifference.
Archbishop Soc Villegas spoke with painful honesty when people began to applaud him in his homily:
“Palakpak kayo nang palakpak! We squandered EDSA! We have failed. Shouldn’t we bow our heads in shame instead?”
Yes. This is not a moment for applause. It is a moment for an examination of conscience.
I hesitate to imagine how this trial will end.
But one thing is certain:
We cannot say we did not know.
The world is presently watching.
And with the accused, we — yes, all of us — stand on trial.