MANILA — For years, the official posture of the Philippine government toward the International Criminal Court was one of stony, impenetrable defiance. Under the presidency of Rodrigo Duterte, the nation did not merely withdraw from the Rome Statute; it cast the Hague-based tribunal as a neocolonial intruder, an affront to the very concept of the sovereign state.
But in the muted, meticulously calibrated corridors of Malacañang Palace, the air has shifted. The bravado of the previous administration is being replaced by a sophisticated legal realism—a "strategic pivot" that seeks to honor international obligations without technically reversing the country’s 2019 exit from the court.
The administration of President Ferdinand Marcos Jr. has signaled that it is prepared to cooperate with Interpol should the International Criminal Court (I.C.C.) issue arrest warrants for high-ranking officials linked to the bloody "war on drugs" that defined the Duterte era. It is a development that legal observers describe as a masterstroke of diplomatic navigation: a way to facilitate international justice through the back door of global policing while keeping the front door of sovereignty firmly bolted.
The catalyst for this shift arrived in the form of a clarification from Executive Secretary Lucas Bersamin. The message was as dry as it was consequential: while the Philippines no longer recognizes the I.C.C.’s jurisdiction, it remains a robust and active member of Interpol. Should a "Red Notice" be issued for Philippine nationals—including former President Duterte or his associates—the government would view it not as a demand from a court it rejects, but as a request from a policing body it respects.
“The government will feel obliged to consider it a request to be honored,” Mr. Bersamin stated, signaling that domestic law enforcement, including the Philippine National Police, would be bound by the established protocols of international cooperation.
For Mr. Marcos, the son of the country’s former strongman, the move represents a delicate balancing act. Since taking office, he has sought to rehabilitate the Philippines’ image on the world stage, presenting himself as a predictable, institutionalist leader in contrast to the populist volatility of his predecessor. By framing the cooperation as a duty to Interpol, Mr. Marcos avoids a direct confrontation with the I.C.C. while simultaneously distancing his administration from the alleged excesses of the drug war, which human rights groups estimate claimed thousands of lives.
Addressing the matter with the practiced detachment that has become his hallmark, Mr. Marcos emphasized that the state must live up to its international commitments. He noted that while his administration does not "directly assist" the I.C.C., it cannot ignore the "spirit of comity" that underpins the global policing network—a network from which Manila frequently benefits in its pursuit of transnational criminals.
Yet, beneath the veneer of legalism lies a potent political subtext. The relationship between the Marcos and Duterte families, once a formidable alliance of convenience that swept the 2022 elections, has curdled into a cold war. The Palace’s readiness to entertain Interpol warrants is seen by many in Manila as a signal to the Duterte camp that the shield of executive protection is no longer absolute.
The stakes are increasingly personal for the Philippine political elite. Presidential Communications Undersecretary Claire Castro recently confirmed that the government’s preparedness to act extends to all named "co-perpetrators," a category that reportedly includes sitting members of the Philippine Senate. The prospect of a sitting legislator being handed over to international authorities via a domestic police escort would have been unthinkable two years ago; today, it is a discussed contingency.
Critics of the administration argue that this is a distinction without a difference—a semantic game designed to satisfy international donors and the Biden administration while avoiding the domestic fallout of a full return to the I.C.C. However, legal experts suggest the nuance is vital. By using Interpol as the intermediary, the Philippine government maintains its formal stance that the I.C.C. lost its mandate in the country the moment the withdrawal became effective.
"It is an act of a sovereign state recognizing international law on its own terms," the Department of Justice recently reiterated. The department has indicated it will follow the Palace’s guidance, ensuring that any execution of warrants adheres strictly to domestic legal procedures to preserve the appearance of due process.
The "Gray Lady" of Philippine politics—the long-standing tradition of dynastic power and judicial deference—is now grappling with a new reality. For the families of those killed in the dark of night during the anti-drug sweeps, the technicalities of "Red Notices" and "comity" matter far less than the prospect of accountability. Whether this shift results in actual handovers to The Hague remains to be seen, but the rhetorical wall of the Philippine state has, for the first time, developed a visible crack.
As the international investigation continues to grind forward, Manila finds itself in a state of watchful waiting. The administration has signaled its hand, moving the pieces across a complex diplomatic chessboard. In doing so, it has reminded the world—and its domestic rivals—that in the Philippines, the law is often a mirror of the prevailing political wind. And at this moment, the wind is blowing away from the era of impunity.©KuryenteNews