At the 8th Quad Committee hearing, the heartbreaking testimonies 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 Royina Garma, who stood emotionless as grieving families shared their unimaginable sorrow. Her hollow display of sympathy is 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. With around 6,000 fatalities and nearly 350,000 arrests under the past regime, the statistics are staggering.
When confronted about the killings, Bato dela Rosa 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. 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, Duterte is 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.
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.
