LAST Friday, the International Criminal Court concluded the confirmation of charges hearing in the case against Rodrigo Duterte. Now, we wait. Sixty days. Sixty long days for a decision that will not only shape a legal outcome but also stir the emotional landscape of a nation deeply divided.
When I listened to Atty. Nicholas Kaufman’s closing statement, I felt something crack open inside me:
“And we hope that when you conclude your deliberations, your honors, and you will dismiss these grievously misplaced and politically motivated charges, we ask you to send Rodrigo Duterte back to his family, and we will ask you to give back to the Filipino people their Tatay Digong.”
I had to pause the video.
Not because I am blind to the gravity of the accusations. Not because I dismiss the rule of law. But because of the weight of memory. Because of the spaces in my heart that speak.
For many of his supporters, he is not just a former president. He is Tatay Digong — the father-figure leader who spoke in rough edges but carried what they believed was fierce love for the country. The language was raw. The tone was unfiltered. The policies were controversial. But for millions, he represented decisive action in a country long tired of paralysis.
And now, to see him in a courtroom far from home, elderly, silent, under international scrutiny, evokes a different image than the one burned into the memory of his supporters. The strongman persona is replaced by something more fragile: a man waiting for judgment.
I am not writing this to argue jurisprudence. Lawyers will do that. Judges will deliberate. International law will take its course. The International Criminal Court exists precisely for moments like this, to determine whether charges meet the threshold for confirmation, whether evidence sustains allegations, and whether a trial should proceed.
But beyond legal thresholds are emotional ones.
For supporters, this moment feels like a loss. It feels like humiliation on the world stage. It feels like a father being questioned before strangers. That is the language they use — and language matters. I know, because I have written poems before about him. I have written about the iron in his voice, the weary tenderness hidden in harsh rhetoric, the paradox of strength and vulnerability.
When Atty. Kaufman said, “Give back to the Filipino people their Tatay Digong,” It was not merely a legal plea. It was a symbolic appeal. It acknowledged that beyond the docket numbers and procedural motions lies a constituency that feels personally wounded.
Yet this is also a moment for reflection.
Leadership invites loyalty. It also invites accountability. A democracy — even a flawed one — must be mature enough to hold both truths at the same time. We can feel pain while respecting the process. We can grieve while acknowledging that institutions exist to examine allegations, not to persecute blindly nor to absolve sentimentally.
The waiting will be difficult. Sixty days can stretch into an eternity when emotions are involved. Every headline will reopen wounds. Every commentary will polarize timelines. Every social media thread will divide families and friendships.
But perhaps this is also a space that speaks to who we are becoming as a nation.
Are we capable of allowing due process to unfold without tearing each other apart? Can we hold empathy for supporters without dismissing the voices of victims? Can we sit with discomfort instead of weaponizing it?
I do not pretend neutrality of emotion. I feel the ache that many supporters feel. I feel the heaviness of uncertainty. I feel the memory of poems once written in conviction. And I feel the trembling hope embedded in that courtroom plea, that history will be kinder, that deliberations will be fair, that whatever decision comes will not fracture us beyond repair.
In the end, the decision will arrive.
Either the charges will move forward to trial, or they will not. Either way, the Philippines will continue. What remains to be seen is whether we emerge smaller in bitterness or larger in maturity.
For now, we wait.
And in the quiet of waiting, the spaces speak.
Kethelle I. Sajonia is a college instructor at the University of Southeastern Philippines, Mintal Campus. She is currently in the final phase of her Doctor of Communication degree at the University of the Philippines. Her research interests include inclusivity, education, communication, and social development. She actively engages in scholarly research and community-based initiatives that advocate for inclusive and transformative communication practices.
