THERE was a line delivered during recent proceedings at the International Criminal Court (ICC) that refuses to fade. Lawyer Joel Butuyan, speaking for victims, said Rodrigo Duterte “created clones of himself,” converting millions of peace-loving citizens into believers that violence and killings are valid solutions to societal problems.
It is easy to dismiss that as rhetoric. But rhetoric sometimes carries uncomfortable truths. In this case, the metaphor of “clones” captures something many of us witnessed: the normalization of cruelty as policy, and the transformation of ordinary people into defenders of blood. The tragedy is not only in the thousands who died. It is also in what happened to the living.
A culture was reshaped. A moral vocabulary was altered. Due process, presumption of innocence and human rights were reframed as obstacles to order. Violence was celebrated. Killings were narrated as efficiency. Impunity was marketed as strength.
I have seen this transformation among people I know personally.
I know doctors, men and women sworn to heal, bound by the injunction to do no harm. A physician does not ask whether a wounded man is innocent before stopping the bleeding. The oath does not discriminate between saint and suspect.
Yet during the height of the bloody war on drugs, some of these same doctors became apologists. They rationalized the killings as necessary surgery for a diseased society. They spoke of addicts as tumors, reducing human beings into disposable threats. Some defended policies that bypassed courts and sanctioned lethal shortcuts.
What does it mean when healers grow comfortable with death as public policy?
I know lawyers trained to revere the Constitution and insist that rights exist for the unpopular. The law is tested by how it shields the powerless from the state.
Yet many became defenders of those who disdained due process. They argued constitutional guarantees were luxuries in a crisis. They mocked concerns about police abuse as naïveté. They used legal arguments not to restrain power, but to justify it. When guardians of the law prefer expediency over legality, the rule of law becomes a slogan rather than a shield.
I know religious people who are devout, disciplined and constant in prayer. They fill churches on Sundays. They speak of compassion and redemption. Their scriptures warn against killing and command love even for enemies.
Yet some condoned the killings. They shared posts celebrating “nanlaban” narratives. They framed state violence as moral correction. An entire religious bloc consistently endorsed candidates aligned with, and defensive of, the bloody campaign. When faith communities sanctify violence, they erode the moral guardrails that restrain power.
I know professors and teachers who are custodians of critical inquiry. Our calling is to complicate easy answers and demand evidence. Universities are meant to question power, not flatter it.
Yet many in the academy abandoned that vocation. Some echoed talking points. Others cloaked support in the language of “context” and “realism,” as if nuance required surrender. The rigor we demanded from students evaporated when applied to a charismatic strongman.
I speak not from a pedestal, but from confession. I was once part of that orbit. I lent my voice to a political moment that later revealed itself as corrosive to the institutions I value. I have since left that association and apologized for my role in normalizing a brand that thrived on provocation and division. That reckoning was not easy. It required confronting the seduction of decisiveness and blunt solutions. Intelligence does not immunize one from moral error.
This is why the “clone” metaphor stings. Cloning is not about resemblance. It is about replication of instinct. A leader who frames violence as strength invites imitation. When he jokes about killing, others learn to laugh. When he shrugs at corpses, others learn to look away. Over time, the extraordinary becomes ordinary.
The shift unfolded through repetition, each speech dehumanizing suspects, each viral post mocking human rights advocates, each meme turning bloodshed into punchline. Social media amplified it. The language of war seeped into everyday conversation. Fear was packaged as patriotism, and anger was recast as civic virtue.
Soon, it was not only police officers pulling triggers. It was citizens lowering moral boundaries. Silence became complicity, and indifference became a form of participation.
The most insidious effect was the redefinition of virtue. To question killings became a weakness. To demand due process became elitism. Compassion was caricatured as complicity with crime.
In that environment, professionals like doctors, lawyers, clergy and professors faced a choice: uphold their ethics, or align with a populist wave promising order through force. Many chose the latter, persuading themselves extraordinary times require extraordinary measures.
But ethics matter most in extraordinary times. A doctor’s oath matters when the patient is despised. A lawyer’s duty matters when the accused is unpopular. A pastor’s preaching matters when vengeance is fashionable. A professor’s critical thinking matters when certainty is intoxicating.
The ICC proceedings will determine legal accountability. Judges will weigh evidence. Beyond the courtroom lies a broader reckoning. What kind of society allowed itself to be persuaded that killing could be policy? How did so many decent individuals become comfortable defending a campaign that treated due process as inconvenience?
We cannot outsource that question to The Hague.
If we reduce this moment to a single man on trial, we miss the deeper lesson. Authoritarian impulses feed on fear and impatience with slow institutions. They thrive when citizens trade principles for perceived security.
The danger is not only whether one leader is held accountable. It is whether the moral habits cultivated during those years persist. If violence remains an acceptable shortcut in our collective imagination, then the cloning continues.
Breaking that cycle requires more than verdicts. It requires professionals reclaiming their codes. Doctors must reassert that life is not negotiable. Lawyers must defend due process. Religious communities must preach the sanctity of life without qualifiers. Professors must restore intellectual courage over partisan comfort.
The line about “clones” is not just accusation. It is warning. A society that learns to applaud killing as governance does not simply empower one strongman. It multiplies him.
Antonio P. Contreras, PhD is a professor at the University of the Philippines Los Baños and vice chairman of the board of the state-run PTV Network Inc.
