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Tears flowed down the cheeks of Dora, a middle-aged woman hailing from Marawi City, while hundreds of Duterte supporters sang in unison for their “Tatay Digong.”
“It is sad because Tatay Digong is old, yet the Marcoses had him jailed,” Dora said, using a nickname for former president Rodrigo “Digong” Duterte, which means “Daddy Digong” in English.
It was Saturday, March 15, and I was covering the prayer rally of around 2,000 Duterte supporters at Liwasang Bonifacio, Manila, condemning the arrest of Duterte over an International Criminal Court (ICC) case. The protesters called on the Marcos government to “bring him home.”
Dora was one of the faces I could never forget. I saw a few others who — in their own spots at Liwasang Bonifacio, even away from the cameras — wiped their tears and raised their hands in prayer.
Duterte critics online mocked people like Dora, whom they described as either fanatical individuals or paid hacks.
We cannot discount the fact many of the protesters were paid or pressured to join the protest on Saturday. Hakot crowds, after all, are part and parcel of mass gatherings in this ayuda (dole-out) country. But, from where I stood last night, I sensed genuine anger and genuine sadness. How can one fake tears of indignation?
Tears, as I learned from the Jesuits, often point to deeper realities.
What do the tears of Duterte supporters have to tell the rest of the world, especially those bewildered that Duterte — who is now facing an ICC complaint — is treated like a hero or even a saint?
From where I stood during the prayer rally for Rodrigo Duterte, I saw not only protesters but children defending their father.
The fatherhood of Tatay Digong is deeper than having a head of the family. It also reflects our image of God the Father — our yearning for a divine protector and, especially in Duterte’s case, a divine punisher.
In my November 3, 2024 column, I wrote about how Duterte exploits the Filipino view of God as the Punisher, “the supreme being who punishes wrongdoers more than he embraces sinners.”
Duterte, according to Japanese scholar Wataru Kusaka, espouses a “social bandit-like morality.”
Social bandit-like morality “is characterized by the coexistence of compassion and violence under a patriarchal boss who maintains justice outside of the law,” Kusaka wrote in his 2017 journal article, “Bandit Grabbed the State: Duterte’s Moral Politics.”
Duterte, in this context, “insisted that executing bad criminals in order to save the nation was justifiable from a moral standpoint, which was superior to the rule of law.”
I can hear people saying the murder of criminals is not Christian teaching. I agree.
Jesus counsels us, “When someone strikes you on your right cheek, turn the other one to him as well” (Matthew 5:39). He also tells us to “love your enemies” (Matthew 5: 44). It’s the opposite of the Old Testament command of “an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth,” which, according to biblical scholars, was a way to keep vengeance in moderation.
But “an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth” — the law of the talion or lex talionis — remains deeply embedded in our collective psyche.
We expect our gods, and even our political leaders, to dispense the same brand of justice.
We see this in the belief in Bathala, the highest ranking god of the precolonial Tagalogs, which continues to pervade much of our religious imagery. Bathala is known as a “just and merciful” deity who is “the sustainer, keeper, nourisher, and protector of mankind,” according to the late University of the Philippines anthropologist Felipe Landa Jocano.
“While Bathala was said to be compassionate and forever understanding to contrite hearts seeking forgiveness, he was equally exacting in his punishments to sinners. He did not hesitate to send thunder and lightning to strike the transgressors of his laws,” Jocano wrote in his 1968 “Notes on Philippine Divinities.”
Duterte himself portrays himself as a kind of Bathala. Yes, he subscribes to “an eye for an eye,” and it is no coincidence that his law school fraternity is called Lex Talionis.
“Preventing another Rodrigo Duterte,” therefore, “is a challenge not only to politicians, but also to people who shape our image of God,” I wrote in November 2024.
What kind of God the Father do religious leaders preach? Do churches focus more on punishment rather than redemption? How do they deal with those who transgress church laws? Do they focus more on excluding them rather than bringing them back to the fold?
How do religious groups nurture their members? What kind of aid do they give to those in distress? If a teenage girl is killed by a drug addict, or if a drug suspect is slain by vigilantes, how do churches help their families? Do they provide the justice and compassion that these families need?
Or do church leaders shrug their shoulders and turn a blind eye, forcing their flock to run to the likes of Duterte who promise “tapang at malasakit” (courage and compassion)?
Following the suggestion of Kiko Aquino Dee after Duterte’s arrest, can churches serve as refuge, a safe space, for Duterte supporters and critics alike? Can all of us, in fact, learn to listen to people who do not share our beliefs and political leanings?
Religious groups play a crucial role in shaping our political leadership because, whether we like it or not, religion remains deeply intertwined with politics in the Philippines.
In a Pew Research Center survey that was released in January, around 89% of Filipinos believed that being a Christian is somewhat or very important to “being truly Filipino.”
It was the highest percentage among the 25 countries surveyed for this item on Christianity, followed by Kenya at 78%, South Africa at 76%, and Peru at 71%. (The lowest was Sweden at 7% followed by France at 14% and Spain, which brought Christianity to the Philippines five centuries ago, at 13%.)
This Pew Research Center survey also showed that for 88% of Filipinos, it “is important to have a leader who stands up for people with their religious beliefs.”
It makes me think: when religious leaders say Duterte is unchristian for his brand of justice, do their members share the same sentiments? Or do Filipinos, perhaps, view Christian teachings in a different way — and thus find in Duterte a saint rather than a sinner?
The Duterte prayer rally, dominated by Pastor Apollo Quiboloy’s Kingdom of Jesus Christ, should serve as a wake-up call for Filipino religious leaders.
If religious groups fail to get their act together, and simply mock the children of Tatay Digong, they shouldn’t be surprised if the six-year regime of extrajudicial killings will return with a vengeance, in the same way that the United States is now suffering Trump 2.0.
We are a nation that needs a father (or mother) — hopefully not a killer.
Can our churches show us the face of Our Father in heaven, not the Tatay in The Hague? – Rappler.com
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