[Inside the Newsroom] Hello, Bato, goodbye

Let me take you back to a scene from almost 10 years ago. 

It was a crisp December morning in 2016 when Ronald “Bato” dela Rosa, then the four-star chief of the Philippine National Police (PNP), announced that the entire country was now under “Terror Alert Level 3.” This followed a supposed attempt by two suspects to plant an improvised explosive device near the United States embassy in Manila. 

Since he and his aides’ explanations were scant about what the alert level meant, reporters followed him from Camp Crame to a nearby mall in Mandaluyong City for answers. 

The event that took place before our eyes prompted more questions — not just about the alert level or the drug war that backdropped it, but if what we were seeing was real life. 

Because in front of us and a sizable crowd gathered at the atrium of the mall was Dela Rosa as Santa Claus. 

He was dressed in a bright red suit, complete with a fake white beard and spectacles. The gift-giving activity that day was for young children of “surrendered” drug personalities. Many of them had lost a parent because of the drug war, Dela Rosa himself told reporters.  

He said then: “So gusto ng pulis na bumawi, bumawi man rin sa mga bata (The police want to make it up to these kids). These children are innocent of whatever their parents did in the past. Ang kasalanan ni Pedro, hindi kasalanan ni Jose (Pedro’s sins are not Jose’s sins).”

The story I wrote that day, titled “‘Santa Bato’ gives gifts to kids of Tokhang surrendered” did no justice to the absurdity of the event. It definitely offered no justice or even a semblance of dignity for those killed in Duterte and Dela Rosa’s bloody drug war. 

My name is Bea Cupin, and these days I cover foreign affairs, the West Philippine Sea, and national politics for Rappler. A decade ago, I covered the early years of Rodrigo Duterte’s drug war from the point of view of Ronald dela Rosa, a lowkey one-star general who was swept into power and fame when the Davao City mayor picked him as his top cop. 

It’s why I wasn’t even surprised when Dela Rosa’s recent return to the Senate after six months of hiding from a then-secret (or confidential) warrant from the International Criminal Court unfolded as bombastically as it did.

None of the things that happened between May 11 and the early hours of May 14 were a surprise: the mad dash from the basement to the plenary hall (trip included), nominating his mistah as head of Senate security, the random breaking out into song as he called on Philippine Military Academy alumni to rally behind him, and the chaos that preceded his quiet escape from the same building and institution where he sought protective custody. 

This was all classic Ronald dela Rosa — loud, unapologetic, irreverent, and with the audacity to match. 

Dela Rosa’s rise to power was quick. 

Sometimes, I wonder if he’s made sense of it, or if he’s even bothered to. Every step of this rise, there was Rodrigo Duterte who, in Dela Rosa’s own words from 2016, was the “greatest leader on Earth.” 

The old man was arrested in March 2025 and quickly whisked away to the Netherlands, where he now awaits trial over alleged crimes against humanity in the drug war which Dela Rosa planned and implemented. It’s why Dela Rosa is also wanted by the ICC. 

Underneath Dela Rosa’s bravado is a man who is keenly aware of how he is perceived. Now that he’s returned to hiding and the government has confirmed that the search for him is on, I wonder if he’s taken the time to come to terms with his trying to outrun accountability. Or if he thinks, as he probably has in the past, that what comes around goes around and that, sooner or later, power and good fortune will be his again. 

Often, I realize that my coverage from 2016 to 2017 was not hard enough on Dela Rosa — or that it was not explicit enough — to press onto him and the public the severity of Duterte’s drug war and the damage it was wreaking not only on poor communities but on the PNP, an institution long mired by corruption and discord. 

There’s a viral joke that goes, “Kaya pala takot si Bato sa warrant of arrest kasi papel pala ’yun (Bato is afraid of the arrest warrant because it’s paper).” 

(For the benefit of non-Filipino speakers, it’s a play on Dela Rosa’s nickname — literally, “rock” — and the Rock, Paper, Scissors game.) 

There is truth that underlies the humor. 

For years under the Duterte presidency and maybe even in the years before that, Dela Rosa and much of the PNP acted with impunity. Verbal orders preceded written memorandums and orders. Sometimes, the latter mattered little — after all, Duterte’s orders during his presidency turned into the law of the land. 

During and even years after the drug war, access to the PNP’s own drug war records was scant or non-existent. 

For years, documents were either an afterthought or a shield from accountability in a bloody drug war that claimed at least 6,252 people, based on the Duterte government’s count. Human rights groups estimate that number to push closer to 30,000, to include alleged vigilante-style killings with ties to the drug war.

In Dela Rosa’s mind, of course, he runs away not from accountability but from foreign interference — never mind that, in 2025, he called on United States President Donald Trump to sanction Filipinos who helped in turning Duterte over to the ICC. 

While in hiding for six months, Dela Rosa said he was able to reconnect with nature. Now that he’s in hiding again, one can only hope that reconnecting with nature also means understanding that this is, or could be, a reckoning for him. 

That is, of course, assuming he isn’t on the run and tripping over himself again. – Rappler.com

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