We thirst for truth and accountability. This is a rare opportunity for justice.
In The Hague, a courtroom will soon hold what years of grief and silence could not: a formal reckoning with power. On September 23, 2025, the International Criminal Court convenes a confirmation hearing to weigh whether crimes against humanity charges against former Philippine President Rodrigo Duterte carry enough legal weight to proceed to trial. The hearing is not yet justice — it is the threshold before justice — but for thousands of families who lost loved ones in a drug war that consumed an entire presidency, it is the first time the world's highest court has been asked to say, plainly, that their suffering demands an answer.
- Thousands of killings during Duterte's six-year drug war remain unaccounted for, and families of the dead have waited nearly four years for any court to formally hear their case.
- Duterte's defense team has signaled it will not present its own evidence, instead challenging the ICC's jurisdiction and calling the entire proceeding politically motivated — a strategy victims' groups read as a blueprint for obstruction.
- The court has already ruled it holds authority over crimes committed while the Philippines was a member state, rejecting Duterte's 2018 withdrawal from the Rome Statute as a shield against prosecution.
- Victims and their lawyers are mobilizing inside and outside the courtroom — through formal legal participation and public livestreams — determined to prevent delays from quietly killing the case.
- If charges are confirmed, a full trial lasting years will follow; if not, the case collapses entirely — making September 23rd a knife's edge moment for accountability across the entire region.
In September, a courtroom in The Hague will hold space for a reckoning nearly four years in the making. On the 23rd, the International Criminal Court convenes a confirmation hearing to determine whether charges of crimes against humanity against former Philippine President Rodrigo Duterte will proceed to trial. The hearing is not the trial itself — it is the threshold, the moment judges decide whether the prosecution's case has enough weight to move forward.
Duterte's drug war left thousands dead across his entire six-year presidency. The exact number remains contested, but the scale is not. Families lost fathers, mothers, sons, daughters. Some bodies were never found. Now, victims and their lawyers say they are ready to confront the man they hold responsible.
Prosecutors will present evidence and call two witnesses. Duterte's defense team has already signaled it will not present its own case, choosing instead to argue that the ICC lacks jurisdiction and that the proceedings are politics dressed as justice. Victims' groups interpret hints of unnamed 'obstacles' as a warning: expect obstruction, expect delay, expect an attempt to exhaust the other side until the case quietly dies.
Duterte, arrested earlier this year and transferred to ICC detention, has denied responsibility for extrajudicial killings. His lawyers echo the Philippine government's long-standing challenge to the court's authority — a challenge the ICC has already rejected, ruling it retains jurisdiction over crimes committed between 2011 and 2019, the years the Philippines remained a member of the Rome Statute.
Victims will not all travel to The Hague, but many will participate formally through legal representation. Counsel Neri Colmenares spoke for them plainly: 'We thirst for truth and accountability. This is a rare opportunity for justice, not just for a few, but for the many.' Networks like Duterte Panagutin have vowed to monitor proceedings in person and online, resisting any attempt to delay or derail the process.
Back in the Philippines, the case has divided the country — Duterte's supporters insisting he saved the nation from drugs, his critics calling the drug war one of the darkest chapters in recent history. For the families of the dead, the hearing is neither abstract nor political. It is a chance to stand before the world and say: these people mattered. On September 23rd, that conversation begins.
In September, a courtroom in The Hague will hold space for a reckoning that has been building for nearly four years. On the 23rd, the International Criminal Court will convene a confirmation hearing to determine whether the charges against former Philippine President Rodrigo Duterte—crimes against humanity—will proceed to trial. The hearing itself is not the trial. It is the threshold: a moment when judges decide whether the prosecution's case has enough weight to move forward, or whether it collapses before it truly begins.
Duterte's drug war, which consumed his entire six-year presidency, left thousands dead. The exact number remains contested, but the scale is undeniable. Families lost fathers, mothers, sons, daughters. Some bodies were never found. Others were found in ways that left no doubt about the violence that had been done. For nearly four years, the ICC has been investigating. Now, victims and their lawyers say they are ready to confront the man who ordered it all—or at least, the man they hold responsible for it.
The hearing will unfold in a specific way. Prosecutors will present evidence. They will call two witnesses. Duterte's defense team has already signaled that it will not present a case of its own. Instead, his lawyers will argue that the whole proceeding is legally flawed, that the ICC has no jurisdiction, that this is politics dressed up as justice. They have hinted at "obstacles" that might disrupt the process. Victims' groups interpret this as a warning: expect delays, expect obstruction, expect an attempt to wear down the other side until the case simply dies.
Duterte himself is in ICC custody. He was arrested earlier this year and transferred to the detention center. He has denied responsibility for extrajudicial killings. His legal team will argue that the case is politically motivated, a charge that echoes the Philippine government's own challenges to the court's authority. In 2018, Duterte withdrew the Philippines from the Rome Statute, the treaty that established the ICC. But the court ruled that it retained jurisdiction over crimes committed while the Philippines was still a member—between 2011 and 2019, the years that encompassed his entire presidency.
The victims will not all travel to The Hague. Under ICC rules, they can formally participate in proceedings by submitting applications. Those admitted as "victims of the case" will represent the interests of thousands of others. They will be represented by a team of lawyers, including Kristina Conti of the National Union of Peoples' Lawyers. Neri Colmenares, counsel for the victims under the network Rise Up for Life and for Rights, has said plainly what is at stake: "We thirst for truth and accountability. This is a rare opportunity for justice, not just for a few, but for the many."
The hearing is expected to last several days. If the Pre-Trial Chamber confirms the charges, a full trial will follow—potentially lasting years. If the charges are not confirmed, the case collapses. This is the knife's edge. Victims' groups have vowed to keep watch, both in the courtroom and through online livestreams, mobilizing public support for their cause. The Duterte Panagutin Network and others have made clear that they will resist any attempt to delay or derail the process.
Back in the Philippines, the case has split the country. Duterte's supporters maintain he saved the nation from the grip of drugs and criminality. Critics see his drug war as one of the darkest chapters in recent history. For the families of the dead, the hearing is not abstract. It is a chance to stand before the world and say: these people mattered. Their deaths were not collateral damage. They deserve dignity. They deserve truth. They deserve accountability. On September 23rd, that conversation begins.
Notable Quotes
The victims are prepared to confront Duterte and the painful memories of killings and abuses under his rule.— Neri Colmenares, counsel for victims under Rise Up for Life and for Rights
The September 23 hearing is not just about Duterte. It is about whether the thousands of lives lost in the drug war will finally be given dignity through truth and accountability.— Kristina Conti, National Union of Peoples' Lawyers
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why does it matter whether Duterte's defense team presents a case or not?
It signals something about their strategy. If they're confident in their legal arguments, they'd want to make them. By staying silent, they're betting everything on convincing judges that the prosecution's case is fundamentally flawed—that the ICC shouldn't be hearing this at all.
And if the judges disagree?
Then the case moves to trial. Years of testimony, evidence, cross-examination. The victims get their day, but it's a long road.
What happens if the charges aren't confirmed?
The case ends. All of it. The victims have been waiting nearly four years for this moment. If it collapses at the confirmation stage, there's no second chance at the ICC.
Why did Duterte withdraw from the ICC in the first place?
He saw it coming. Once the investigation started, he knew where it was heading. Leaving the treaty was a way to try to shield himself. But the court ruled it had jurisdiction anyway—crimes committed while the Philippines was still a member state are still the court's business.
Do the victims have to be there in person?
No. They can participate through legal representatives. But many want to be present, even if they're watching from afar. This is personal. It's not just about law. It's about being heard.
What's the real fear among victims' groups right now?
Delay. Obstruction. That Duterte's team will find ways to slow things down until momentum dies, until people stop paying attention, until the case becomes just another legal proceeding that fades from public memory.