Noel Lazaro and Mary Louisse Inguillo
When former President Rodrigo Duterte touched down at the Ninoy Aquino International Airport, he was greeted not only by his supporters, but also by a stark reminder of the global legal system that loomed over him. The warnings had been there all along. Now it dawned on him like a modern-day Ides of March. Despite the former president's brash public declarations and his promise to confront any charges with an unflinching, even cavalier, bravado, the reality of an impending arrest by the International Criminal Court (ICC) caught him and— more shockingly—his legal team entirely off guard.
A Mocking Dismissal of Reality
In the run-up to his return, Duterte had dismissed the idea of any legal repercussions as little more than a nuisance. Despite reports from Rappler leaking that an ICC arrest warrant was imminent, Duterte and his team seemed unfazed. His trip to Hong Kong, which could have been seen as a symbol of diplomatic defiance or a campaign rally for his followers, passed without a sense of urgency for his group.
But what unfolded upon his arrival was nothing short of a legal fiasco. By mid-morning, his arrest hit them like a freight train. How could they have not seen it coming? Given the high-powered legal minds that once surrounded Duterte at the peak of his influence, it seemed unthinkable that they hadn’t braced for the worst—or the inevitable.
The Missed Opportunity for Habeas Corpus
True, they quickly argued that authorities had not presented a warrant from either the ICC or local courts, thus violating Duterte’s constitutional rights. Despite the Philippines withdrawing from the ICC, the Marcos administration allowed Interpol to take him into custody, effectively bypassing judicial oversight. Along with other claims, these actions created a reasonable foundation for triggering at least a judicial review—an opportunity that could have stalled his transfer and maintained the jurisdiction of Philippine courts.
Yet, despite public protests from his advisors, they missed the critical window to file for a writ of habeas corpus. By noon and beyond, no such petition was filed, despite ample time to act.
Habeas corpus, the Latin term meaning "you have the body," has long been regarded as a cornerstone of personal freedom. English jurist William Blackstone called it the “bulwark of civil liberties,” and Alexander Hamilton celebrated it in The Federalist Papers as one of “the greater securities to republicanism.” Enshrined in our Constitution, the “privilege” of the writ may not be suspended unless there is rebellion, invasion, or public safety concern; and, even then, the right to bail remains.
Under the Rules of Court, the writ applies in all cases where an individual is unlawfully deprived of liberty or withheld from rightful custody. A petition for its issuance can be filed by any interested person with the Supreme Court, the Court of Appeals, and the Sandiganbayan. It can also be filed with the Regional Trial Court (RTC), “or a judge thereof, on any day and at any time.”
Following Militante v. Deapera (2014), Duterte had the option, but neglected, to promptly challenge his arrest in the RTC of Pasay City, where Villamor Air Base is located, or in other RTCs within the National Capital Region. Because these courts are presided over by a single judge, the process is quicker and simpler. Jurisprudence, such as Villavicencio v. Lukban (1919), permits habeas corpus petitions without strict formalities. In Fletcher v. Director of the Bureau of Corrections (2009), the Supreme Court accepted even a letter, adding that when the state restricts someone's freedom, courts must act with diligence in granting the writ. Courts tend to issue habeas corpus writs liberally, as shown in Salibo v. Warden of Quezon City (2015), where the petition seemed weak at first, or Ganaway v. Quilen (1922), where the pleadings are “on their face devoid of merit.” How much more should a case with fairly arguable grounds be taken seriously?
Once the petition is filed, the court may “forthwith” issue a "preliminary citation," requiring the respondents to justify the detention, or a "peremptory writ," compelling them to produce the detainee and explain the detention. After the "return" is filed and a summary hearing takes place, the court grants or denies the petition. If granted, the "privilege" of the writ orders the detainee’s release.
Amid the chaos—a senator delivering pizzas, a vice president barred from seeing her father, and a policewoman nursing a busted forehead—Duterte’s team failed to solve the Maharlika Hall puzzle. They had heard of the arrest warrant in Hong Kong. As Vice President Sara Duterte revealed in a recent interview, the former president had assumed he would be brought to court upon his return. Instead, things unfolded differently, leaving them blindsided, without a solid backup plan.
It wasn’t until late in the afternoon that they filed a petition for a writ of certiorari, a remedy that typically requires proof of “grave abuse of discretion” and a “clear legal right.” However, the Supreme Court did not find it urgent, and later ruled against a restraining order.
Meanwhile, images of the former strongman made the rounds, showing him on oxygen support. He was slumped and asleep—just as any writ to free him had been.
As night fell over the tarmac, the only light came from scattered, flickering bulbs that reflected off the multi-million-peso chartered plane, poised to whisk Duterte away. Outside the airbase, his former chief counsel announced plans to file a habeas corpus petition for Duterte’s youngest daughter. But by then, RP-C5219 was already a lion at the gate, ready to pounce. Soon after, President Marcos Jr., his face drawn and eyes heavy with exhaustion, addressed a nation in disbelief: Duterte had been flown to The Hague at 11:03 p.m.
The Irony of Legal Recourse
When the sun rose, Duterte’s three children would seek the privilege of the writ of habeas corpus. Eight years ago, he suspended it in Mindanao to quell the Maute invasion in Marawi; now, his flesh and blood invoke it against the man who has inherited his power. The young Marcos is no stranger to the trampling of the writ, as he had witnessed it under his father’s regime.
Whether the writ is mooted by Duterte's relocation to Scheveningen or requires resolution due to its potential for recurrence is up to the court. With as many justices as there are viewpoints, the outcome is anyone's guess.
For now, the key takeaway is this: Duterte’s departure for The Hague was not simply the outcome of an ICC arrest warrant or the power of the president he openly mocked, but the culmination of a series of miscalculations—a swollen pride, a lack of urgency, and a near-total disregard for the legal avenues that could have protected him. In the critical moments when swift action was needed, his legal team failed to mount a timely defense, leaving their once-mighty figurehead a prisoner of his own choices, his rights compromised not only by others but also by those closest to him.
Noel B. Lazaro and Louisse S. Inguillo specialize in corporate law and litigation. They teach courses on special proceedings and criminal procedure at various law schools.
