Duterte's Unfaced Bravado

In the latest episode of the soap opera “As the World Turns,” we find ourselves in the courtroom of the International Criminal Court (ICC), where senior trial lawyer Julian Nicholls is making a case against former Philippine President Rodrigo Duterte.

With all the drama of a telenovela and the absurdity of a slapstick comedy, Nicholls has taken center stage to assert that Duterte never showed an ounce of remorse for the alleged “thousands” of Filipinos who met untimely ends during his infamous war on drugs.

Now, if you’ve ever watched a stand-up comedian bomb on stage, you might have an inkling of what it’s like to witness Duterte’s nonchalant attitude toward the charges against him.

Nicholls presented video clips that could only be described as a highlight reel of Duterte’s greatest hits—think “Duterte Unplugged,” where he casually brags about his actions like a kid boasting about how many cookies he stole from the jar.

“Oh, you think I’m a criminal? Ha! I’m just a really enthusiastic law enforcer!”

Imagine the courtroom: Nicholls, with the gravitas of a Shakespearean actor, plays the clips.

There’s Duterte, leaning back in his chair, a smirk plastered across his face as he casually discusses his “accomplishments.”

It’s as if he’s presenting a PowerPoint on “How to Win Friends and Influence People… by Scaring Them to Death.”

“Look at me! I’m the king of the world!” he seems to say, completely unfazed by the gravity of the situation.

Nicholls, armed with the evidence, might as well have been holding a giant foam finger that read “#1 Criminal.”

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” he might have said, “this man is not just guilty; he’s proud of it! He’s like a kid who gets caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and instead of apologizing, he doubles down and asks for milk.”

And let’s talk about the sheer audacity of it all. While most politicians would at least feign remorse—perhaps a sad puppy dog face or a heartfelt “I’m sorry for the inconvenience”—Duterte took a different route.

He’s the guy who, when caught speeding, not only refuses to apologize but also insists that the speed limit is just a suggestion.

“What? You think I should feel bad? I’m just getting started!”

As the trial unfolds, one can’t help but wonder if Duterte is secretly auditioning for a reality show titled “Survivor: Political Edition.”

“Who needs remorse when you can have charisma?” he might say, winking at the camera. “I’ll just charm my way out of this one!”

In the end, as Nicholls lays out his case, it becomes clear that this trial is less about justice and more about the absurdity of a man who seems to revel in his own infamy.

Duterte’s unfazed demeanor is a reminder that sometimes, reality is stranger than fiction.

So, as we watch this courtroom drama unfold, let’s raise a glass to the absurdity of it all.

Here’s to the politicians who think they can laugh their way out of trouble, and to the lawyers who have to deal with the fallout.

After all, in the grand comedy of politics, the show must go on—even if it’s a tragedy in disguise!