Crimes against humanity aren't simply offenses against individuals; they strike at the very core of what it means to be human, transcending national borders and challenging the foundations of shared communities.
The accusations leveled against former Philippine President Rodrigo Duterte before the International Criminal Court represent precisely this – crimes against humanity, not merely crimes against people. The gravity of these charges demands recognition of their far-reaching implications.
Each documented death, each instance of violence allegedly ordered, inspired, or enabled by Duterte’s policies, involved individuals targeted by his administration. Without the relentless work of a dedicated press and active civil society, these victims would have remained nameless, their stories untold.
Many within the Philippines view these deaths as crimes that can be addressed through the existing legal system, seeking retribution within national boundaries. However, this perspective overlooks a crucial dimension of the accusations.
A significant argument centers on national sovereignty, claiming the ICC’s involvement infringes upon the Philippines’ right to self-determination. This echoes historical anxieties about colonial interference, with some even suggesting a resurgence of external powers undermining Philippine independence.
Further complicating the issue is the assertion of a uniquely Filipino definition of human rights. Some point to differing legal practices in other nations, like Saudi Arabia, to argue that crime and punishment are culturally relative and should not be subject to universal standards.
This is where the concept of “culture” is dangerously invoked, used to distort and diminish the universally accepted understanding of crimes against humanity. It attempts to justify the unjustifiable through the lens of cultural exceptionalism.
The anonymity afforded to the victims of Duterte’s drug war tragically supports this distortion. Stripped of individual identity, they are collectively branded as a threatening group – drug addicts and dealers – deemed expendable and deserving of eradication.
These victims are overwhelmingly from impoverished communities, often accused of minor offenses. The vast majority were not brought to justice through legal channels, but were instead subjected to extrajudicial killings.
The manner of these killings was deliberately designed to instill terror, maximizing the horrific impact. The images were carefully crafted to evoke fear and submission, a calculated performance of brutality.
For an entire nation to be collectively terrorized into accepting extrajudicial killings requires a willful blindness to the orchestration of fear, a deliberate staging of violence. This acceptance is only possible when victims are dehumanized, reduced to a faceless collective.
For many privileged Filipinos, even those in the middle class, the poor are not fully recognized as individuals deserving of the same rights and protections. This societal disconnect creates a fertile ground for impunity.
When a president openly declares that “drug addicts are not human,” the stage is set for unchecked violence and the erosion of fundamental human dignity. Such rhetoric legitimizes brutality and removes any moral constraints.
While the immediate victims are individuals with lives tragically cut short – many of them young people with unrealized potential – the scope of crimes against humanity extends far beyond their individual deaths.
The larger picture encompasses the systematic dehumanization of the poor, their exploitation as tools for political gain, the deliberate creation of a climate of terror through graphic imagery, and the normalization of fatal hatred within Filipino society.
It includes the presentation of these gruesome executions to the world as a uniquely Filipino form of justice, and the attempt to rationalize this violence through appeals to cultural explanations. All of this constitutes a dangerous proposition to the global community.
This proposition asserts that horror-making can be a legitimate form of governance, that the victims are insignificant, even non-human, and that the state has the right to exercise lethal force outside the bounds of the law.
It suggests that governance can be reduced to a macabre spectacle, a theater of death. It embodies the deadly irony that extrajudicial killings can be justified as a means to a “good” end – in this case, the false promise of national salvation from drug-related crime.
This proposition – that the deliberate infliction of suffering and death can be considered a form of humanity – is itself a crime against humanity. It represents a profound and dangerous assault on the very principles of human dignity and universal justice.
