By Jaroslaw Szczepankiewicz, former Ambassador of Poland to the Philippines
For seven years living in the Philippines, I have observed the dilemmas of Filipino society under President Rodrigo Roa Duterte. It was a time of strategic choices for the Philippines: which path of economic development to take? Who is its strategic partner—China or the United States?
In July 2016, just after Duterte took office, the Social Weather Stations (SWS) pollster recorded an extremely strong 91% trust rating, one of the highest ever for a Filipino president. This reflected a wave of optimism about positive change in a Philippines plagued by poor governance—corruption, poverty, and a dysfunctional justice system.
Opinion polls, whether conducted by SWS or Pulse Asia, have consistently shown broad and sustained support for Rodrigo Duterte throughout his presidency, from 2016 to 2022, and the echoes of that popularity are still felt today.
Filipinos loved Duterte, the man of action. Duterte, nicknamed “The Punisher,” seemed to bring order to a country that had long been plagued by the meth epidemic, particularly in poor communities where “shabu” was devastating life.
Duterte presented himself to the public as a fearless, swaggering, and simple man from Davao who would take on the elite and fix the mess. Behind him was the myth of the mayor of Davao, who had transformed a city infested with crime into one of the safer places in the country.
People saw tangible changes—fewer drug dealers, cleaner streets—even if it was accompanied by suspicions of the use of “death squads”. (Editor’s note: The recently concluded House QuadCom hearings concluded that the former president was “at the center of a grand criminal enterprise” after witnesses tagged Duterte as the “lord of all drug lords”. The congressional investigation said he used his war on drugs to eliminate competing drug syndicates, with his Customs officials smuggling in billions of pesos worth of shabu in magnetic lifters.)
His war on drugs in Davao became a huge fuel for his presidency. He became president because he seemed the best man to solve the Philippines’ chronic problems: crime, drugs, and corruption. Duterte promised to eradicate these problems quickly, and his uncompromising anti-drug campaign—with allegations of thousands killed in extrajudicial crackdowns—resonated with people desperate for safety.
For many, this was not a human rights violation; it was justice for untouchable drug lords. To the working class and rural people, he was one of them—not another politician from “Imperial Manila.” He enjoyed the greatest support among poorer sections of society—often with approval ratings of over 80 percent—while urban elites in Metro Manila were less enthusiastic.
His gruff manner was evidence of authenticity, and that won hearts, especially among those fed up with the old Filipino political dynasties. He cursed, spoke bluntly, and ridiculed Manila’s elites, foreign leaders, even the Church. In the chaotic world of Philippine politics and government, he appealed to the need for strong leadership. That was Duterte’s magic: raw, chaotic, and uncompromising.
Pivot to China
When Rodrigo Duterte took office in 2016, he made a controversial foreign policy shift, abandoning the Philippines’ historic alliance with the United States in favour of closer ties with China. This was driven by a desire to gain economic benefits, such as infrastructure investment, in exchange for a submissive position on defending the Philippines’ rights in the South China Sea.
Initially, Rodrigo Duterte’s pragmatic foreign policy toward China won wide approval among the Filipino public; his approval ratings rose sharply—79 percent in late 2016 after a trip to Beijing, where he secured $24 billion in promises related to his “Build, Build, Build” infrastructure plan and China’s “Belt and Road Initiative.”
Chinese foreign direct investment has increased from $36 million in 2016 to more than $200 million by 2020. Trade and loans have also increased. His base—farmers and working class— bought the promise of job creation and road construction.
Only once, in mid-2018, did his net approval rating dip to +45%, according to the SWS survey, amid an inflation crisis and economic slowdown, but it quickly rebounded. In 2020, in the midst of the COVID-19 pandemic, Duterte’s approval rating was 91%, according to Pulse Asia. Filipinos praised him for his ability to take control of the crisis, despite the negative economic effects of his lockdown policy.
Despite Duterte’s “friendship” with China, bilateral ties have slowly spiralled into crisis as Beijing has failed to reciprocate concessions over disputed waters in the South China Sea. Incidents involving Chinese ships, such as the 2019 encirclement of Thitu Island (also known as Pag-Asa Island in the Spratlys) and the 2021 mooring at Whitsun Reef (a.k.a. Julian Felipe Reef, also in the Spratlys), have shown that Beijing will not give up its claims.
Duterte’s response has been muted, saying he will avoid a war over “fish and rocks.” Duterte has also avoided invoking the 2016 Hague ruling that rejected China’s claims, opting instead for a “gentlemen’s agreement” to maintain the status quo — such as limiting repairs to the BRP Sierra Madre at Second Thomas Shoal — that has been interpreted as a concession to Beijing.
His talk of avoiding war with China over “fish and rocks” resonated with a public uninterested in geopolitical disputes—why die for a shoal when we need roads more? People saw Duterte as an advocate for economic development, especially in poorer regions hungry for infrastructure. Jobs and stability appealed more strongly to many than the abstract notion of “sovereignty.” He also played on a deeply Filipino sore spot—their fatigue with colonial and postcolonial dependence on the U.S.
His pivot to China and Russia stoked national pride, even as it did considerable damage to international image of the Philippines. Filipinos revelled in his curses on Obama, his cocky declaration that “I’ll go to the Spratlys on a jet ski.” He was their tatay (father), their protector who would keep the peace, even if that meant submitting to China’s will.
Fading public trust
Duterte, despite paralyzing the alliance with the US—with the suspension of the Visiting Forces Agreement in 2020—did not completely burn bridges with the US, which later proved beneficial to the Philippines.
Public trust in China plummeted in 2019, as Chinese boats rammed Filipino fishermen near Recto Bank and Beijing continued to militarize the South China Sea. Fishermen in Zambales accused Duterte of abandoning them; Internet users derided his “gentlemen’s agreement” with Xi as spineless. They saw his soft stance on China—such as not enforcing his victory in The Hague in 2016—as a sell-out.
By 2022, Duterte’s pro-China policies had faded. Unfinished Chinese projects—such as the $4.6 billion Kaliwa Dam, delayed by red tape and protests—had left people grumbling. Critics called him “China’s lap dog.”
Many of his promised projects were put on hold or never materialized, and he received little in return for his conciliatory stance toward Beijing. By the end of his term in 2022, his love for China had definitely hit rock bottom.
That prompted a quiet political shift toward the United States, restoring defense ties with the U.S. and joint exercises in 2021.
Filipinos had changed, too. Filipinos loved Duterte more as a man who did not hesitate to shoot a drug lord, but not so much as someone who stood idly by while the Chinese navy carried out provocations.
While many Filipinos saw the flaws in his pro-China policies, 81% of voters still supported him after he left office in 2022 (Pulse). Why? Duterte’s magic was not his political successes, but his personal ones.
The cult of personality has overshadowed his volatile foreign and economic policies and has resonated with Filipino society. This is Duterte’s paradox: popularity despite political defeat.
