Roque Bottom: When Your Defense Becomes the Prosecution’s Star Witness

Betrayal, but make it doctrinal.

By Louis ‘Barok‘ C. Biraogo — August 2, 2025

🗞️ Mock Headline:

“Duterte to Roque: ‘STFU’—A Masterclass in Diplomatic Etiquette”

Act I: A Coen Brothers Courtroom, Starring a Fugitive and a Foot Soldier

Imagine King Lear rewritten by George Orwell on ayahuasca, handed to the Coen Brothers, and filmed inside a Dutch courtroom with Harry Roque as the fugitive lead—still rehearsing his lines like he’s auditioning for a reboot of The Practice.

At center stage: Rodrigo Duterte, the former Philippine president now behind ICC bars, flailing for legal salvation. Enter Roque, his ex-spokesman turned courtroom vigilante, filing a lawsuit against the Dutch government—yes, the host nation of the very court prosecuting Duterte.

You can’t make this up. It’s not legal strategy. It’s a caffeinated fever dream. A kind of legal self-immolation so misguided it might qualify as performance art.

Act II: “Your Honor, We’ve Got a Fugitive Playing Perry Mason”

Harry Roque, who once taught international law and now seems to be violating it for sport, insists he’s just a “loyal foot soldier” trying to help his boss. Never mind that he’s also a wanted man in the Philippines.

Duterte’s real lawyer, Nicholas Kaufman, isn’t amused. His rebuttal—essentially “get this man out of my courtroom”—was delivered with the dead-eyed panic of a public defender realizing his client brought his own lawyer from a TikTok ad.

“He’s a fugitive from justice,” Kaufman all but screamed.
“He’s meddling. He’s dangerous. And he might ruin our chance of interim release.”

Roque’s mere presence—like a roach on the ICC’s clean white tablecloth—taints the whole defense. He’s not helping; he’s sabotaging, possibly unintentionally. Possibly not.

And if symbolism means anything: Roque’s fugitive status is more than a legal inconvenience. It’s a metaphor for Duterte’s defense strategy—on the run, full of holes, and utterly incapable of consistency.

Act III: “The ICC Can’t Judge Me,” Says the Man Who Played God for Six Years

Duterte, not to be outdone in absurdity, is still clinging to his favorite bedtime story:

“The ICC has no jurisdiction!”

Right. And Jeffrey Dahmer thought health inspectors had no authority over his fridge.

This is the same man who encouraged police to shoot drug suspects on sight, compared himself to Hitler, and once bragged about throwing someone out of a helicopter. But when The Hague comes calling, he suddenly morphs into a constitutional purist.

His argument that the Philippines withdrew from the ICC in 2019 is like claiming you can’t be fined for speeding because you stopped paying your license fees halfway through the chase. The ICC isn’t buying it—and neither should we.

And the best part? While Duterte insists the Philippine justice system can handle it, Roque refuses to return home to face his own charges. The hypocrisy here is thick enough to fossilize.

Act IV: Freudian Backstabbing and the Ghost of 2028

So why is Duterte turning on Roque now?

Is it a legal maneuver to preserve narrative control?
A panic move to prevent Roque from flipping?
A favor to his daughter Sara, who’s prepping for a 2028 presidential run and needs to sanitize the family brand?

Maybe it’s all of the above. Maybe Duterte looked at Roque’s “Dutch defense” and realized it made him look like he was starring in Weekend at Bernie’s 3: The Hague Edition.

Roque’s lawsuit might have poisoned relations with the Dutch government, which Duterte’s team needs to secure interim release. Meanwhile, Roque, possibly angling for a future immunity deal or Netflix series, insists he’s acting with the family’s blessing.

Whatever the motive, one thing’s clear: This is The Godfather, but the consigliere has gone rogue, and Michael Corleone is tweeting from detention.

Act V: ICC Prosecutors Break Out the Popcorn

From the prosecution’s perspective, Roque is a walking gift basket:

Every media interview is a self-own.
Every quote is a potential Exhibit A.
Every lawsuit is proof that Duterte’s defense is in disarray.

It’s not every day the prosecution gets two defendants for the price of one—Duterte in custody and Roque offering free commentary, analysis, and perhaps, eventually, testimony.

The political fallout back home is just as rich. The Marcos-Duterte alliance? Hanging by a thread. Sara Duterte? Eyeing 2028 while subtly distancing herself from her father’s clown car.

Meanwhile, the ICC finally has a high-profile case that’s less about tedious jurisdictional debates and more about headline-ready drama. For a court struggling to prove it can hold big men accountable, this is its Tiger King moment.

Finale: Recommendations (With a Side of Sarcasm)

➤ To Roque:

Go big. Sue the Vatican. File a mandamus against the UN. Challenge the Pope to trial by combat in Geneva. History remembers the bold—or at least the meme-able.

➤ To Duterte:

Hire a better PR team. “Genocidal Autocrat Chic” isn’t trending in Brussels. And maybe, just maybe, apologize. It might be too late for acquittal—but not for dignity.

➤ To the ICC:

Stock up on popcorn and subpoenas. If this trial doesn’t make international justice compelling again, nothing will. Just try to keep a straight face during cross-examination.

Barokian Gut Punch to End the Act

Somewhere in Manila, a widow of the drug war watches this circus—the lawsuits, the insults, the legal farce—and wonders: Is justice really this ridiculous?

She buried her son without a trial. The men who ordered his death are now fighting over who gets the best lawyer in The Hague.

Justice shouldn’t be a clown show. But here we are.