Fight or Flight: Now You See Me… Now I’m Scooting to Changi

“The only punch Baste landed was on his boarding pass.”

By Louis ‘Barok‘ C. Biraogo — July 26, 2025

IN THE theater of Philippine politics—where strongman swagger meets TikTok choreography—few acts are more revealing than a well-timed disappearing act. And so it is that we must pause and marvel at the curious case of acting Davao Mayor Baste Duterte, who challenged the country’s top cop to a charity boxing match, only to vanish into the well-air-conditioned arms of Singapore just two days before the bell rang.

To be clear, this was no ordinary disappearance. This was a Scoot Airlines special. Yes, Scoot—because when the going gets tough, the Dutertes get economy-class escapism.

“In a family known for death squads, Baste’s greatest hit remains… the airport departure lounge.”

I. The Art of the Cowardly Exit

Let’s start with logistics. Baste’s Singapore jaunt was billed as a “training retreat,” presumably to sharpen his uppercut or maybe just his excuses. But unless his boxing coach is the Merlion and his punching bag is the duty-free aisle at Changi Terminal 3, this “retreat” reads more like strategic cowardice by way of Jetstar.

It’s poetic really. Baste Duterte, the man who once declared he’d knock out the PNP chief “like a man,” now looks more like he’s shadowboxing himself in an Orchard Road boutique. If Sun Tzu wrote a sequel to The Art of War for fledgling mayors, it would read: “If you fear defeat, disguise it as a layover.”

And then came the plot twist—our national gumshoes at the NBI leaked the story. Because apparently, the Bureau of Investigation moonlights as the Bureau of Instigating Drama.

“When even the National Bureau of Investigation files reports like a TMZ update, democracy becomes performance art.”

Let’s give them credit: they’ve solved the mystery of where Baste is. Now all that remains is to determine why—a question best answered by the Department of Psychological Gymnastics.

II. Charity or Charade?

Of course, this was all “for charity.” The boxing match was supposed to raise funds for flood victims—because nothing says disaster relief like a mayor trading jabs with the police chief while both pretend not to notice their reputations drowning.

But when Baste added a last-minute condition—demanding President Marcos order nationwide drug tests (hair follicle variety, no less)—the stunt morphed into something else entirely. A clever ploy? A performative protest? Or just a follicular farce?

“Nothing warms flood victims’ hearts like watching a mayor flee abroad while demanding drug tests for everyone but himself. Truly, the Duterte family’s motto: ‘Give unto others… the bill.’”

Perhaps Baste misunderstood “giving to charity”—he thought it meant donating his attendance.

And yet, one must admit, it’s an innovation in the genre of political dodgeball. Why face the consequences of your own challenge when you can outsource them to airline logistics?

“This isn’t just cowardice—it’s a masterclass in how to fail upward. If spinelessness were an Olympic sport, the Dutertes would need a bigger trophy room.”

III. Netizens as Greek Chorus

Thank God for Filipino netizens, who’ve become the nation’s conscience and court jesters rolled into one. Their response to Baste’s Scoot-powered scurry has been nothing short of Shakespearean—if Shakespeare wrote in hashtags.

“From Davao to Changi faster than EDSA traffic,” one wag noted. Others dubbed the fight the “Thrilla in NAIA-villa,” except, as another chimed in, “only the luggage showed up.”

There’s a meme of Baste photoshopped onto the Santo Niño, boxing gloves raised, under the caption: “Ora pro nobis… and run.” Divine satire for a family whose political messianism has always been more blasphemy than blessing.

And then there’s Folliclegate—the demand for a drug test as audacious as it is hair-raising.

“A hair test? Bold for a man whose political legacy is bald-faced lies.”

If Duterte’s follicular integrity is in doubt, so too is his courage, his sincerity, and, increasingly, his flight manifest.

IV. Satirical Implications

This is, after all, a man whose father once said Singapore was a “garrison pretending to be a country.” That garrison is now apparently Baste’s safe space. Because if you can’t win a fight at home, why not train in a city-state where jaywalking can land you in jail?

“Singapore, where caning is legal and Dutertes are… temporarily domiciled. Coincidence?”

The merchandising rights alone are mouthwatering: “Coming soon: Baste’s Boxing Bags—now with pre-printed boarding passes for when the going gets tough.”

And perhaps we’ll see a follow-up in next year’s Southeast Asian Games: Event #412 – Political Flight Simulator. Category: Local Mayor. Difficulty: Transparency.

Meanwhile, law students across the archipelago are now debating a new bar exam question: “May a sitting mayor evade a fistfight by invoking extraterritorial follicular sovereignty?”

V. Moral Footnotes From 36,000 Feet

Let’s be honest. The entire spectacle—the dare, the drug test demand, the Scoot flight—reveals a deeper rot. In the Philippines, political dynasty isn’t just inheritance; it’s performance. The Dutertes have long understood that power isn’t just wielded—it’s broadcast. What’s a bloody drug war without a vlog? What’s a boxing match without an escape plan?

And the saddest part? This worked. For 48 hours, nobody talked about the ICC, about disappearing billions, or about a city drowning in floodwater. They talked about Baste. Not as a leader, but as a punchline.