MANILA — Chaos erupted inside the Philippine Senate on Wednesday night as gunfire rang out and a powerful senator accused of crimes against humanity slipped away — a dramatic scene that victims’ families say perfectly mirrors the brutal injustice they have endured for years.
While Senator Ronald dela Rosa, 64, the former national police chief and chief architect of Rodrigo Duterte’s bloody drug war, took refuge in the Senate chamber before escaping, grieving mothers stood outside demanding his arrest. For them, the contrast could not be starker.
Llore Pasco, 71, whose two sons were gunned down in anti-drug operations exactly nine years ago on May 12, 2017, watched the unfolding drama with bitter familiarity.
“That’s how it is,” she said. “If you are rich and powerful, even if you are at fault, you are still protected. It’s not equal.”
The dramatic events unfolded hours after the International Criminal Court unsealed an arrest warrant against dela Rosa for crimes against humanity — the same charges facing his former boss, former President Rodrigo Duterte, who was arrested last year and is now awaiting trial in The Hague.
Dela Rosa had earlier appealed on social media for supporters to mobilize, claiming police were coming for him. Senate leaders placed him under protection, but late Wednesday, tension exploded into gunfire inside the historic building, sending staff and senators scrambling for cover. By Thursday, Senate President Alan Peter Cayetano confirmed that dela Rosa had already left the premises.
Outside the Senate, families of drug war victims had gathered to demand accountability. Pasco and others like Dahlia Cuartero, whose son was killed in 2019, say the senator’s evasion only deepens their pain.
For these mothers, the drug war was never abstract. Police records show more than 6,000 people were killed in official anti-drug operations during Duterte’s presidency. Human rights groups insist the real toll is far higher, with almost no convictions in Philippine courts.
“Our children were simply killed,” Pasco said. “They see our children as a scourge on society because they used drugs, when in fact addiction is something that should be treated.”
Cuartero was equally blunt: “Justice in this country is really only for the rich. For us poor people, we have nothing to rely on.”
Both Duterte and dela Rosa have repeatedly defended the campaign, insisting police only acted in self-defense and denying any authorization of unlawful killings.
Yet for the families, the message from this week’s events is painfully clear: powerful men get due process, dramatic escapes, and political shelter — while thousands of poor Filipinos received bullets.
“Surrender and face the crimes you’re accused of if you really have no guilt,” Pasco challenged the senator. “There is a process, that’s what you call due process. But for us, what process did our families receive?”
As the Philippines once again confronts the ghosts of its brutal drug war, these mothers — “thirsty for justice” — refuse to stay silent. Their fight now stretches from the streets of Manila to the courtrooms of The Hague, demanding the same accountability the powerful so easily claim for themselves.
