I saw him talk about murder in front of young Boy and Girl Scouts, and get a round of laughter from everyone.

I remember how he was allowed to say he was protecting the rights of children, in the same breath as giving his blessing for a drug raid that killed children.

I remember how he was able to address the United Nations General Assembly after years of threatening to slap and kill its rapporteurs.

I remember his spokesperson excusing his rape threats and rape jokes as “heightened bravado.” And if Duterte behaved sexist and objectifying of women, his female appointees asked other women to “have a forgiving heart.” 

I remember the misogynistic congressional hearings then-senator Leila de Lima had to endure at the hands of Duterte’s House allies, before she was detained for seven years.

His allies turned a blind eye or made excuses whenever Duterte chipped at the integrity of our democratic institutions — his threats and curses against the Commission on Audit and Commission on Human Rights, the Vice President, the Supreme Court, the media.

The brute force of his power
On a personal level, I experienced being at the end of the brute force of his power.

Rendered voiceless in a press conference where he ranted about a Rappler story on a military project (he silenced the microphone so my responses would not be heard). Told several times I was “not a Filipino” for being so critical in my reporting about his administration.

Many Filipinos took his words as gospel truth and, no matter what I did, could not convince them otherwise.

What made it terrifying was not the violent language he used but the knowledge that he had the entire power of the state to back him up. That power was given to him by Filipinos who voted him into the presidency.

Like many targets, including former Vice-President Leni Robredo, Rappler CEO Maria Ressa, and former senator Leila de Lima, I found myself the target of a formidable troll army that operated 24/7 from different parts of the world.

He wielded a terrible power. Opposition was a shout in the dark. Most people could only watch in horror as Duterte did the unthinkable every day and was applauded for it. The excuse of his allies was his popularity, his approval ratings.

For others, the reason was fear.

Duterte playing the ‘victim’
Today, Duterte finds himself playing a role he never expected to play: a victim.

A president so secretive of his health and hospital visits now puts his personal physician front and center and allows himself to appear weak and ailing. Government doctors declared him healthy during a check-up right after he landed from Hong Kong.

Beside him, in the room where he waited, is lawyer Salvador Medialdea, arguing and appealing to the prosecutor general. Only years ago, Medialdea was executive secretary, his words and signature able to mobilise entire government bodies to do Duterte’s bidding.

The man on Duterte’s left is identified by today’s news articles as his lawyer. But not long ago, Martin Delgra was the powerful chief of the Land Transportation Office.

These two men bewailed the various deprivations Duterte has supposedly had to suffer. But when they held power, they did not lift a finger against the blatant violations of rule of law perpetrated against teenage boys, fathers, mothers, daughters, tricycle drivers, vendors, opposition leaders, journalists, and more.

The reversal of fate is the most stunning aspect of this arrest.

The choices a nation makes

I, too, was in Hong Kong at the same time as Duterte, though I did not know it at the time. I was there for a layover of my flight from a work trip.

I took a Cathay Pacific flight back to Manila, eager to return to my family, knowing there was a lot of work at the newsroom waiting for me.

Duterte, too, would take a Cathay Pacific flight to the same airport terminal I landed in. But he would be returning as the subject of an ICC arrest warrant, the first former Asian head of state to be summoned to answer for crimes against humanity.

But the true horror of Duterte’s violations is not that he committed them but that most Filipinos allowed them to happen. Even now, Duterte is rallying his support base around the idea that he waged his drug war for the preservation of the country.

It took a process in an international court to arrest Duterte. Investigations in the House and Senate came late in the day and only after the crumbling of a political alliance that for quite some time protected Duterte.

As we await Duterte’s ICC trial, Filipinos have to come to terms with the Duterte presidency enabled by our choices and what choices have to be made to ensure those offences never happen again.

A leader, no matter how charismatic, must never be allowed to exploit our differences, tap into our fears and insecurities as a nation, benefit from forgiving natures in order to dismantle our democratic processes, and commit the mass murder of our citizens.

It’s a trial of our consciences that must also begin now.

Pia Ranada is Rappler’s community lead, in charge of linking the news website’s journalism with communities for impact. Previously, she was an investigative and senior reporter for Rappler. She is best known for her coverage of the Rodrigo Duterte administration when she was Rappler’s Malacañang reporter.

Article by AsiaPacificReport.nz

ANALYSIS: By Marites Dañguilan Vitug in Manila

A year ago, the White House barred some members of the press from attending an informal briefing, a rarity in a country that was regarded as the beacon of democracy.

Excluding reporters from The New York Times, CNN, Politico, BuzzFeed, and the Los Angeles Times – all accredited by the White House – was then part of President Donald Trump’s intensifying war against the news media.

Today, President Rodrigo Duterte is taking a leaf from Trump’s undemocratic playbook by banning journalists from Rappler, Pia Rañada and Maria Ressa, from the Malacañang presidential palace.

Rañada is an accredited reporter and has been covering Duterte since he assumed office, while Ressa is Rappler CEO and executive editor. However, the ban is not just for a single event, as what happened in the White House, but for an extended period.

The New York Times, in its editorial then, pointed out that nothing of this sort happened during various crises that gripped US presidents, including Watergate, the Iran-contra scandal, and the Monica Lewinsky affair.

Neither did this happen under Duterte’s predecessors. This is the first time in the post-Marcos era that a ban from the entire Malacañang compound has been slapped on journalists.

Corazon Aquino, Fidel Ramos, Gloria Macapagal Arroyo, Joseph Estrada, and Benigno Aquino III had their run-ins with the media but they never banned news organisations from the entire compound.

Critical reporting
At no time during the “Hello, Garci” scandal, Mamasapano fiasco, Baby Arenas affair, and Estrada impeachment were reporters barred from Malacañang for critical reporting.

There were times when these presidents were upset by certain news reports. Some held off granting interviews or flatly refused these requests. One president, we were told, gave a gag order to members of the Cabinet only when it came to a particular news outlet.

Sure, there was tension between the president, his aides and journalists, an unavoidable occurrence in a democracy where the media dutifully pursue their role as watchdogs. But the interaction was civil and a certain respect for institutions remained.

What makes Duterte different and dangerous is the context in which the ban is happening. He has weakened the country’s democracy by undermining institutions including the judiciary, Office of the Ombudsman, the Commission on Human Rights, and the media.

His war on drugs has led to thousands of killings, creating a climate of fear. He has threatened his opponents and showed utter vindictiveness, the most disturbing reminder of which is Senator Leila de Lima’s year-long detention.

Duterte’s contempt for the media has resulted in the decision of the Securities and Exchange Commission to shut Rappler. He has been going against the Inquirer and ABS-CBN whose owners, he has always said, are oligarchs who take advantage of their position to violate laws.

Inquirer is negotiating its sale to a new owner, Ramon Ang, a wealthy businessman close to Duterte; and ABS-CBN is on the edge as Duterte has vowed to block the renewal of its franchise which expires within his term.

Personalistic style, yes men
Two things have surfaced, yet again, during this recent presidential tantrum: Duterte’s personalistic style of leadership and the inability – bordering on paralysis – of his aides to persuade their boss to stand tall and remind him of his earlier statement that he is not the enemy of the press.

“I am not your enemy,” he said in a speech at the Malacañang Press Corps Christmas party he hosted last year. “Your quest for truth, that’s your business, not mine. At the end of the day, it’s not my property.”

It is easy to imagine the Executive Secretary Salvador Medialdea, his Senior Deputy Menardo Guevarra, and the Spokesperson Harry Roque, shaking in their suits, dredging their minds for reasons to justify a decision that goes against this recent pronouncement.

Fear has taken the better of them.

It turns out that this declaration about having an adversarial relationship with the media is simply a shell. Duterte’s latest action of banning Ranada from Malacañang, denying her access to sources of information, in effect curtailing her freedom to do her duty as a journalist, reflects his true attitude.

Everything is personal. As Roque put it, “Nabuwisit siya (He was annoyed).”

Roque likened the President to a homeowner who, in a fit, threw out a “rude” guest, referring to Ranada. This means that Duterte personalises his relationship with the press.

That he considers them “guests” shows that he thinks the reporters owe their presence in Malacañang to him. He has given them the privilege to enter his office.

Taxpayers’ money
First, Malacañang is not the private home of Duterte. It is where he temporarily holds office while he is president of the Philippines. Taxpayers’ money sustain the operations of his office, including his billions of pesos in intelligence and confidential funds, and his salary.

Second, Ranada is not a guest, far from it. She is a journalist assigned by her news organisation to cover the President.

The president is an elected official who is accountable to the public. The press reports on him, his statements, actions, behavior, comings and goings – as long as they have to do with public interest. He is fair game.

Duterte has apparently mistaken the friendliness and politeness of reporters for loyalty. He has given Rañada and other reporters access, bantered with them, exchanged laughs, showed them acts of kindness.

In return, he expects them to be grateful and report nothing unsettling about him and people close to him.

What is disturbing is that it is not only the President who thinks this way. At least one reporter expressed a similar view.

This truly reflects the sad state of journalism in the Philippines. It shows the swath of reality that independent journalism has not yet taken root in our society. I’ve said this before: in my heart is a core of profound sadness that in our country, we seem not to understand the meaning of independence and the role of journalists.

There is such a thing as heeding the call of our profession: to shed light on dark corners. This, we cannot stray from.

Marites Dañguilan Vitug is one of the Philippines’ most experienced journalists. For close to a decade, Vitug—a Nieman fellow—edited Newsbreak magazine, a trailblazer in Philippine investigative journalism. Her recent book, Shadow of Doubt: Probing the Supreme Court, which exposed critical weaknesses in the country’s highest court, has become a bestseller.

Article by AsiaPacificReport.nz