The heartbreaking testimonies at the Quad Committee of families who lost loved ones to extrajudicial killings (EJKs) shattered any illusion that this was anything but a war on the most vulnerable among us. These were not mere statistics; they were stories of mothers, fathers, sons, and daughters gunned down in cold blood. Jason Atienza, shot 16 times. A young child, defenseless, ruthlessly shot in the back. A jeepney driver executed while simply trying to turn away. Rodrigo Baylon’s 9-year-old son, killed in a police operation. These brutal killings unfolded in broad daylight, a disturbing message that the lives of the poor held no value in this so-called war.
The true horror crystallized in the chilling presence of former police chief Garma, who stood emotionless as grieving families shared their unimaginable sorrow. The audacity of this woman—who not only issued the kill orders but also had the nerve to attend the wakes of the very victims slain under her command—was nothing short of grotesque. Her hollow displays of sympathy were a cruel mockery against those whose lives were torn apart by the very authorities sworn to protect them.
The brutality of this campaign extended far beyond the act of violence. Who could forget the sickening scene in 2016 during a Tokhang operation in Payatas Village, where five men lost their lives, only for the police officers to casually eat the victims’ food afterward, as if it were just an ordinary day? For families, the horror did not end when the gunfire ceased; it lingered in the form of heartless indifference and callousness that felt like a fresh wound every single day.
We cannot overlook the tragic fate of Kian delos Santos, the 17-year-old boy whose last plea was, “Maawa na po kayo, may test po ako bukas.” With him, a flickering future went dark, and so did the hope for justice for countless others like him. How could we, as a nation, stand idle while such atrocities unfolded? How can we possibly entertain the thought of re-electing those who are complicit in these horrors?
This wasn’t a war on drugs; it was a war on the impoverished. The government wasn’t a protector but a predator, hunting down marginalized lives. With around 6,000 fatalities and nearly 350,000 arrests under Duterte’s regime, the statistics are staggering. Yet for Duterte, it was a chilling mantra: “the more, the merrier,” he infamously quipped. What kind of leader makes such callous remarks about his own people?
Duterte didn’t act alone. He had enablers, sycophants, and a network of thugs in uniform, backed by top officials like Bong Go and Bato dela Rosa—the velvet gloves of Duterte’s iron fist. When confronted about the killings, Bato dismissed them as “collateral damage,” glibly saying, “shit happens.” Is that all these lives amounted to in his eyes? Just collateral damage, discarded and forgotten?
The families of these victims cannot turn to the government for justice—how could they, when the very government is the one handing out kill orders as if they were relief goods? Instead, they seek refuge in their churches and community groups, desperately grasping for a glimmer of hope in a system that has consistently failed them.
And now, as if this wasn’t outrageous enough, Duterte is shamelessly preparing to run for public office again. What does that say about us as a nation if we permit him to reclaim power? If we support this comeback, we’re not merely forgiving his past offenses; we’re endorsing them. We send a message to the world that in the Philippines, justice is for sale, and the victims are nothing but memories—forgotten.
Let’s call this for what it truly is: murder. These aren’t “EJKs” or “encounters,” nor should they ever be brushed aside as “collateral damage.” These were state-sanctioned murders carried out at the behest of a president we chose to elect. We cannot allow this cycle of violence and impunity to perpetuate. The families of the slain deserve more than our thoughts and prayers—they rightfully demand justice. Re-electing the man responsible for their anguish to any public office is the absolute last thing we should do.