Rodrigo Duterte and the ICC: How a Prison Became a Tourist Attraction

Only in the Philippines can a former president turn a supposed detention center into a tourist spot. The International Criminal Court (ICC) may have envisioned a high-profile prosecution, but what they didn’t anticipate was their facility becoming an extension of the Filipino diaspora—complete with selfies, pasalubong requests, and an impromptu meet-and-greet session.

It’s almost poetic. The ICC, an institution designed to intimidate, now finds itself hosting Filipinos eager to catch a glimpse of a leader they still revere. Even the guards, trained to handle hardened criminals, are now dealing with a different challenge: politely declining endless photo requests. Has The Hague ever seen anything like this? A man so vilified by Western institutions yet so celebrated by his own people that even his detention becomes a pilgrimage site?

This isn’t about Duterte alone; it’s about the cultural disconnect between foreign legal institutions and the will of the people. To the ICC, he’s a defendant. To the thousands who rallied in The Hague and beyond, he’s a symbol—of resistance, of leadership, of a nation’s defiance against foreign interference. If the goal was to weaken his image, the strategy has backfired spectacularly. Instead of cowering in shame, Duterte has inadvertently created an international curiosity: a prison that attracts supporters instead of condemners.

And so the irony persists. The West can build its courts, draft its warrants, and issue its summons. But they cannot dictate how people perceive their leaders. If Duterte ever walks into that prison, he won’t be walking alone. The world will be watching, and the cameras won’t belong to prosecutors—they’ll belong to the Filipino people, capturing history in the making.