THE HAGUE HEATS UP! A Dramatic Defense of Rodrigo Duterte Unfolds Before the International Criminal Court as Nicholas Kaufman Argues Evidence Over Emotion and Questions the Narrative Surrounding the Anti-Drug Campaign
The courtroom in The Hague was expected to be solemn, procedural, almost clinical. Instead, it crackled with intensity.
When British-Israeli lawyer Nicholas Kaufman rose to defend former Philippine president Rodrigo Duterte before the International Criminal Court, he did not offer a muted technical argument. He delivered a sweeping counterattack—one that fused legal reasoning, political defiance, and an unapologetic defense of a man he described as “the people’s president.”
For Duterte’s supporters, it was a moment of vindication. For his critics, it was rhetoric layered over grave accusations. But for observers across the globe, it was a defining spectacle: a legal showdown that felt as much like a political reckoning as a judicial process.
And at the heart of it all was one burning demand echoed by supporters back home: “Send him home.”
The Charges That Shook a Nation
The ICC case centers on allegations that Duterte’s anti-drug campaign—particularly during his time as mayor of Davao City and later as president—amounted to crimes against humanity. Prosecutors argue that the so-called “Davao Death Squad” and the broader war on drugs resulted in systematic extrajudicial killings.
The prosecution’s narrative paints a picture of inflammatory speeches, violent encouragement, and a pattern of lethal outcomes. They cite select public statements in which Duterte spoke of killing criminals or eliminating drug traffickers.
But Kaufman’s response was blunt.
“This is a court of law,” he declared, “not a stage for political demagoguery.”
His central thesis was simple: evidence, not emotion.
A War of Speeches
One of the prosecution’s pillars rests on roughly 20 speeches allegedly demonstrating Duterte’s intent to incite violence. Kaufman dismantled this claim point by point.
He argued that the speeches had been cherry-picked—isolated fragments stripped from broader contexts. According to the defense, for every inflammatory remark cited by prosecutors, there were multiple other statements in which Duterte emphasized lawful self-defense, police discipline, and adherence to the rule of law.
Kaufman presented what he described as a tally: 35 additional speeches contradicting the prosecution’s murder theory, and 10 within the prosecution’s own 20 that allegedly contained exonerating language.
“Forty-five speeches versus ten,” he argued. “Three hundred fifty percent more supporting lawful self-defense.”
It was not merely a statistical rebuttal. It was a strategic one. The defense’s message: rhetoric alone does not equal criminal intent.
Under international criminal law, prosecutors must prove not just that inflammatory language existed—but that the accused foresaw and intended lethal consequences. Kaufman insisted that such proof was absent.
“Hyperbole is not homicide,” he implied.
The Man Behind the Myth
Beyond legal arguments, Kaufman sought to humanize Duterte.
He painted a portrait of a leader raised in modest circumstances, a former prosecutor who built his political reputation on law and order in Davao City. He described a mayor repeatedly reelected over decades—a transformation narrative from insurgency and criminality to urban stability.
Supporters often cite Davao’s safety record as evidence of effective governance. Critics argue that such “order” came at too high a price. In court, these narratives collided.
Kaufman emphasized Duterte’s personal frugality, claiming he shunned presidential luxuries and preferred simple living quarters over Malacañang’s grandeur. The message was unmistakable: this was not a tyrant intoxicated by power, but a provincial leader propelled by popular demand.
In 2016, millions of Filipinos voted for Duterte precisely because of his uncompromising stance on crime. That electoral mandate remains a powerful undercurrent in the defense’s rhetoric.
“He was elected not despite his commitment to law and order,” Kaufman argued, “but because of it.”
Media, Narrative, and the Global Stage
Another striking element of Kaufman’s speech was his attack on media and NGOs. He suggested that sensational headlines and dramatic imagery shaped an international narrative long before charges were formalized.
He accused civil society groups of promoting emotionally charged reports—complete with evocative titles and striking photographs—designed to sway public opinion. According to the defense, these narratives became “unchallengeable truths,” influencing perceptions worldwide.
In an era of globalized information flows, such claims are not easily dismissed. The Duterte years were intensely covered by international media outlets. Human rights organizations issued scathing reports. Photographs of crime scenes circulated widely.
But does publicity equal proof?
That question now sits at the heart of the trial.
Political Undercurrents
Perhaps the most explosive element of the defense’s opening was its insinuation of political maneuvering within the Philippines itself.
Kaufman referenced a purported transcript of a covertly recorded phone call involving unnamed individuals allegedly boasting of facilitating witness transfers to the ICC while protecting political deniability at home. The implication was dramatic: Duterte’s prosecution was not purely legal—it was politically orchestrated.
Though unverified and contested, such allegations feed into a broader domestic rivalry between Duterte’s camp and current President Bongbong Marcos.
Duterte supporters argue that earlier statements from the Marcos administration suggested non-cooperation with the ICC, raising questions about how the former president ultimately appeared in The Hague. The defense framed Duterte’s transfer as unconstitutional and politically motivated.
These claims add layers of complexity to an already volatile situation. The ICC insists it operates independently. Philippine political factions insist otherwise.
The result? A legal case entangled with national power struggles.
The Drug War Debate
Central to the case is the broader debate over Duterte’s war on drugs.
The Philippines has long battled narcotics trafficking. Methamphetamine—locally known as shabu—became pervasive in impoverished communities. Duterte’s campaign promised decisive action.
Prosecutors say that action crossed into unlawful violence.
The defense counters that the campaign included social welfare measures—tax reforms, universal health care initiatives, and poverty alleviation programs—hardly the policies of a leader waging war on the poor.
Kaufman argued that high death rates in drug-afflicted communities are not unique to the Philippines. He suggested that narcotics-related violence persists globally, often concentrated in deprived areas.
This framing shifts the narrative from intentional targeting to systemic tragedy.
Yet the ICC’s task is not to evaluate drug policy effectiveness. It is to determine criminal liability.
Burden of Proof
In criminal law, the burden lies with the prosecution. Kaufman repeatedly emphasized this principle.
“It is not enough to say deaths occurred after strong words,” he argued. “You must prove intent.”
He challenged prosecutors to present witnesses who could testify that Duterte directly ordered killings tied to specific incidents. According to the defense, no cooperating witness has claimed to hear such explicit instructions.
If true, that absence may weigh heavily.
But the prosecution is expected to argue that patterns, structures, and foreseeability suffice under crimes-against-humanity statutes.
The coming hearings will test which interpretation prevails.
A Divided Nation Watches
Back in the Philippines, emotions run high.
To critics, the ICC proceedings represent long-awaited accountability. To loyalists, they are an affront to sovereignty and democracy.
Crowds gather. Social media erupts. Hashtags trend.
The phrase “Bring Tatay Home” circulates among Duterte supporters who see him not as a defendant but as a father figure wronged by politics.
Meanwhile, families of alleged victims view the trial as a solemn step toward justice.
Between these two camps lies a deeply divided national psyche.
What Comes Next?
Confirmation hearings are only the beginning. Judges must determine whether sufficient grounds exist to proceed to full trial.
If charges are dismissed, Duterte’s supporters will declare vindication.
If confirmed, the case could stretch on for years, further shaping his legacy—and perhaps Philippine politics.
Regardless of outcome, the proceedings underscore a historic moment: the first time a former Philippine president faces international criminal scrutiny.
Legacy on Trial
Ultimately, this is not only about one man.
It is about the boundaries of executive power. About the intersection of domestic mandates and international law. About whether fiery rhetoric in the name of public safety can transform into legal culpability.
Rodrigo Duterte’s presidency was polarizing from the start. To some, he restored order and confronted entrenched elites. To others, he normalized violence and eroded human rights protections.
Now, those competing narratives meet in a courtroom thousands of miles from Manila.
And as Nicholas Kaufman concluded his defense, he delivered a line that reverberated beyond legal arguments:
“Send Rodrigo back to his family. Give back to the Filipino people their Tatay.”
Whether judges will heed that call remains uncertain.
But one thing is undeniable: the trial of Rodrigo Duterte is no longer just a legal proceeding. It is a referendum on memory, power, and the meaning of justice in a nation still grappling with the costs of its choices.
History, once again, is being written—not in campaign rallies or fiery speeches—but under oath.
