The International Criminal Court (ICC) has found itself thrust into the global spotlight once again, as two major cases—one in Sudan’s Darfur region and the other involving former Philippine President Rodrigo Duterte—highlight the institution’s ongoing struggle to deliver justice amid complex political and humanitarian crises. Both situations, though separated by continents and contexts, underscore the ICC’s role as a last resort for accountability in the face of grave crimes, even as the court grapples with its own internal challenges and external pressures.
On October 26, 2025, the paramilitary Rapid Support Forces (RSF) seized control of al-Fashir, the last Sudanese army stronghold in Darfur, after 18 months of siege, bombardment, and starvation. According to AFP, the RSF’s victory came at a staggering human cost. Reports emerging from al-Fashir describe mass killings, rapes, executions, sexual violence, looting, attacks on aid workers, and abductions. The United Nations estimates that more than 65,000 people have fled the city, including around 5,000 to the nearby town of Tawila, while tens of thousands remain trapped. Before the final assault, al-Fashir was home to approximately 260,000 residents.
The ICC prosecutor’s office, in a statement released on November 3, 2025, voiced "profound alarm and deepest concern" about the situation. The statement, as cited by AFP, warned that "these atrocities are part of a broader pattern of violence that has afflicted the entire Darfur region since April 2023." The office went on to say, "Such acts, if substantiated, may constitute war crimes and crimes against humanity under the Rome Statute," the founding text of the ICC.
The RSF’s origins are rooted in the Janjaweed, a predominantly Arab militia accused of genocide in Darfur two decades ago. The specter of history repeating itself looms large, especially in light of the recent ICC conviction of Janjaweed chief Ali Muhammad Ali Abd-Al-Rahman, also known as Ali Kushayb. In October, the court found him guilty of war crimes and crimes against humanity—including rape, murder, and torture—committed between August 2003 and April 2004. The ICC prosecutor’s office referenced this verdict, stating it should serve as a warning "that there will be accountability for such atrocious crimes."
Since the RSF’s takeover of al-Fashir, communications have been largely cut off, complicating efforts to document abuses and deliver aid. The ICC has appealed for anyone with evidence of crimes to submit information through its secure link, reaffirming its ongoing jurisdiction over alleged crimes in Darfur. As AFP reports, the ICC emphasized its commitment to pursuing justice, despite the daunting conditions on the ground.
Yet even as the ICC seeks to hold perpetrators accountable in Sudan, the court is dealing with turbulence within its own ranks. Chief Prosecutor Karim Khan, a British lawyer, is currently on leave following allegations of sexual misconduct, which he denies. In his absence, deputy prosecutors are managing the caseload—including the Darfur investigations and another high-profile case involving former Philippines president Rodrigo Duterte.
Duterte’s case, meanwhile, has become a flashpoint for debates about the ICC’s reach and resilience in the face of powerful defendants. On October 31, 2025, ICC prosecutors filed a 23-page document urging judges to deny Duterte’s appeal for temporary release from detention. According to the filing, cited by Al Arabiya, releasing Duterte would pose "serious risks to the integrity of ICC proceedings," including the possibility of flight, obstruction of witnesses, or further crimes.
Duterte, who faces crimes against humanity charges related to thousands of killings during his anti-drug campaign and his tenure as Davao City mayor, has been detained at the ICC facility in The Hague since March 2025. He surrendered after an arrest warrant was issued. The Pre-Trial Chamber I had already rejected his interim release bid on October 23, ruling that he remains a flight risk and could obstruct justice if freed.
Prosecutors argue that Duterte’s political influence—bolstered by his network of allies and his daughter, Vice President Sara Duterte—could enable him to undermine justice if released. They pointed to Sara Duterte’s previous remarks about "breaking Mr. Duterte out of the ICC Detention Centre" as evidence of continuing defiance toward the court. The prosecution dismissed claims from Duterte’s legal team that his health and cognitive condition justified release, asserting that medical reports failed to negate the risks of obstruction or evasion.
According to the prosecutors’ filing, even conditions like electronic monitoring or travel restrictions would not sufficiently prevent interference. They further contended that Duterte’s history of defying the ICC, combined with his family’s enduring political power in the Philippines, increases the danger of witness intimidation and misinformation campaigns. Prosecutors have requested the Appeals Chamber to uphold the detention decision "in the interest of justice and witness protection."
The ICC’s dual focus—on the mass atrocities in Sudan and the legal battle over Duterte’s detention—reflects the court’s unique position as both a beacon of hope for victims and a lightning rod for criticism. Its mandate to prosecute war crimes, crimes against humanity, and genocide often puts it at odds with powerful interests, both internationally and domestically within the countries it investigates.
In the case of Darfur, the ICC’s involvement is a direct response to a long history of impunity. The RSF’s links to the Janjaweed militia, and the echoes of past genocidal violence, make the current crisis in al-Fashir particularly alarming for international observers. The court’s recent conviction of Ali Kushayb is seen as a milestone, but the scale of ongoing violence in Darfur underscores the limits of legal deterrence in the absence of robust international action and cooperation.
Meanwhile, the Duterte case highlights the challenges the ICC faces when powerful defendants have strong domestic support and political networks. The prosecution’s insistence that Duterte’s detention is necessary to prevent interference with justice speaks to broader concerns about the court’s ability to enforce its decisions—especially when defendants are former heads of state or enjoy protection from influential allies.
Complicating matters further is the ICC’s own internal turmoil. With Chief Prosecutor Karim Khan on leave amid misconduct allegations, questions have arisen about the court’s leadership and stability. Nevertheless, the deputy prosecutors have stepped in to manage not only the Sudan and Philippines dockets, but also other high-profile investigations, including recent arrest warrants issued for Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu over alleged war crimes and crimes against humanity committed during Israel’s campaign in Gaza.
The ICC’s work, then, is defined by a constant balancing act: pursuing justice for victims of the world’s gravest crimes, maintaining its credibility in the face of political pushback, and managing its own internal affairs. As the crises in Sudan and the Philippines unfold, the court’s actions—and the world’s response to them—will shape the future of international justice for years to come.
For those still trapped in al-Fashir or seeking closure for the victims of extrajudicial killings in the Philippines, the stakes could not be higher. The ICC’s pursuit of accountability, despite daunting obstacles, remains a crucial—if imperfect—bulwark against impunity in a turbulent world.
