When former Philippine President Rodrigo Duterte was arrested in Manila on March 11, 2025, and whisked away to The Hague that same night, it marked a historic moment on the world stage. At 80 years old, Duterte became the first Asian former head of state to face charges before the International Criminal Court (ICC), accused of crimes against humanity for his notorious "war on drugs" campaign. Now, just months later, the case has taken a dramatic turn, as his legal team insists he is no longer mentally fit to stand trial—a claim that has thrown the ICC proceedings into uncertainty and stirred fierce debate among victims, advocates, and legal experts alike.
According to documents made public by the ICC and widely reported by South China Morning Post and Agence France-Presse, Duterte’s lawyers submitted a formal defense request on August 18, 2025, arguing that he suffers from “significant cognitive deficiencies affecting his executive functioning, orientation, and capacity for complex reasoning.” These impairments, they say, have left him unable to understand the accusations against him or participate meaningfully in his own defense. “Mr Duterte’s condition will not improve and, for this reason, the Pre-Trial Chamber must adjourn all legal proceedings in his case indefinitely,” wrote defense lawyer Nicholas Kaufman in a legal filing published on the ICC website on September 11.
Duterte’s legal team contends that his arrest—and continued detention in the ICC’s Scheveningen Prison in the Netherlands—is not only unlawful but amounts to kidnapping. Since his arrest, they have maintained that his declining health renders him unfit for trial. The ICC, for its part, had scheduled a pivotal hearing for September 23, 2025, at which Duterte was to appear and hear the charges against him. But earlier this week, ICC judges made the decision to postpone those proceedings, choosing instead to first address the defense’s urgent request to rule on Duterte’s fitness for trial.
The implications of this delay are both legal and deeply emotional for many. Duterte stands accused of 43 murders as crimes against humanity, stemming from a campaign that, according to the ICC prosecutor’s arrest application, constituted “a widespread and systematic attack directed against the civilian population” in the Philippines. Rights groups and prosecutors allege that “potentially tens of thousands of killings were perpetrated,” most of them targeting poor men—often without any proof they were involved in drugs. The campaign, which Duterte championed throughout his presidency, has been widely condemned by international observers for its brutality and disregard for due process.
At his initial hearing, Duterte appeared by video link from detention. Observers described him as dazed and frail, barely speaking—a stark contrast to the fiery persona he projected during his years in office. His defense argues that these are not simply the effects of age or stress, but the visible signs of a deteriorating cognitive condition. “He is not fit to stand trial as a result of cognitive impairment in multiple domains,” Kaufman wrote. The condition, according to the defense, affects not only Duterte’s memory but also his ability to perform daily tasks and engage in complex reasoning—skills that are essential for any defendant facing such grave charges.
Unsurprisingly, the ICC’s decision to postpone the September 23 hearing has provoked outrage among the families of victims and their advocates. Kristina Conti, a lawyer representing victims of Duterte’s anti-drug campaign, did not mince words in her reaction. “We expected that Duterte would do this, but the fact that he was able to convince the pre-trial chamber to postpone that indefinitely is scary,” she told AFP. For many, the delay feels like yet another setback in their long struggle for justice—a struggle that has already spanned years and, for some, cost loved ones their lives.
The legal wrangling over Duterte’s fitness for trial is not just a technical matter; it strikes at the heart of fundamental questions about accountability, justice, and the treatment of aging or ailing defendants. International law recognizes the right of every accused person to a fair trial, which includes the ability to understand the proceedings and participate in their own defense. At the same time, there is a deep moral imperative to ensure that those accused of the gravest crimes—such as crimes against humanity—are held to account, regardless of their age or health.
Duterte’s case is particularly fraught given the scale of the allegations against him. During his presidency, which began in 2016, Duterte’s anti-drug campaign was marked by nightly police raids, vigilante killings, and a climate of fear. Human rights organizations, including Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch, have documented thousands of deaths, many of which they describe as extrajudicial executions. The ICC prosecutor’s office alleges that these acts were not isolated incidents but part of a deliberate state policy, targeting mostly poor and marginalized communities.
Yet, while the international community has largely condemned the campaign, Duterte remains a polarizing figure in the Philippines. Some continue to see him as a tough-on-crime leader who delivered on his promises to crack down on drugs and crime, while others view him as a violator of human rights who trampled on the rule of law. His arrest and prosecution at The Hague have only deepened these divisions, with supporters decrying what they see as foreign interference and critics demanding swift justice.
The current impasse at the ICC raises difficult questions about what comes next. If the court ultimately finds Duterte unfit to stand trial, it could mean an indefinite suspension of proceedings—a prospect that frustrates victims’ advocates and raises concerns about impunity. On the other hand, pressing forward with a trial against a defendant who cannot comprehend the charges or mount a defense would violate basic principles of justice.
For now, the world watches as the ICC weighs expert assessments of Duterte’s health and considers the legal arguments on both sides. The outcome will not only determine the fate of one of Southeast Asia’s most controversial leaders but also set a precedent for how international justice systems handle cases involving elderly or cognitively impaired defendants accused of the gravest crimes.
As the proceedings remain in limbo, the pain and anger of victims’ families persist, matched only by the uncertainty of what justice—if any—will ultimately look like for the thousands who lost their lives in the Philippines’ war on drugs. The next chapter in this high-stakes legal saga is yet to be written, but for many, the wait for closure continues.