Some People Need Killing: A Memoir of Murder in the Philippines

Riassunto di Some People Need Killing

1. 1

   When a President Declares "I Am the Death Squad"

   

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   A five-year-old girl named Danica Mae died from a bullet meant for her grandfather. Fourteen-year-old Christine watched police force her father to kneel before shooting him at close range-she blamed herself for letting go when they threw her against the wall. A girl called Love-Love stood between masked gunmen and her mother, begging them to kill her instead. One gunman hesitated: "Don't shoot, she's only a child." Before pulling the trigger on her mother, he declared: "We are Duterte." This is what happens when a nation's leader promises salvation through violence and tells his police force, "It's your duty to kill." Between 2016 and 2022, the Philippines transformed into a laboratory for state-sanctioned murder, where democracy didn't collapse-it voted for its own executioner.

2. 2

   The Machinery Behind the Murders

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   The pattern was chillingly predictable. Police reports used identical language across thousands of operations: suspects "sensed the presence of lawmen," drew weapons, and died in shootouts. The word "nanlaban"-"he fought back"-became both judgment and justification. On August 15, 2017, police in Bulacan province conducted sixty-seven operations in twenty-four hours. Thirty-two people died. Police reported zero injuries to their own ranks-a 100% kill rate suggesting systematic execution rather than legitimate encounters. President Duterte called the bloodshed "maganda"-beautiful. The legal cover was elegant in its simplicity: the "presumption of regularity" meant official actions were presumed proper unless proven otherwise. To kill legally, authorities needed only to connect addicts with guns-a connection Duterte reinforced in speech after speech until it became normalized. The fruit vendor Efren Morillo survived his execution only by playing dead after being shot in the chest, then throwing himself down a ravine. His survival exposed the lie-but only because he lived to tell it.

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   The Vigilantes Next Door

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   When the murder of a South Korean businessman by police officers forced Duterte to temporarily suspend the drug war in January 2017, something revealing happened: vigilante killings stopped too. The connection between "independent" murders and state operations became undeniable. Angel, a vigilante who agreed to meet in a motel, explained how it worked. Under Commander Maning's orders, the Confederate Sentinels Group recruited garbage collectors, drivers, and security guards who saw themselves as soldiers in Duterte's war. Bounties ranged from 30,000 to 100,000 pesos per kill, split among team members. "The police knew," Angel insisted. "We couldn't have operated if they didn't know." Another killer, Simon, described himself as an ordinary religious man who believed Duterte was right-that addicts should die. His group killed about twenty people in seven months, targeting drug users, thieves, even unfaithful husbands. They operated with confidence, knowing police would release them if they mentioned the right commander's name. The outsourcing of murder allowed the state to maintain deniability while bodies piled up in Manila's streets.

4. Capitolo 4

   How a Democracy Votes for Death

   Understanding how Filipinos embraced Duterte requires understanding what came before. After Ferdinand Magellan claimed the islands for Spain in 1521, centuries of colonial rule followed. When Filipinos finally fought for independence in 1898, America purchased the Philippines for $20 million and suppressed the Filipino republic with force. Then came Ferdinand Marcos, who declared martial law in 1972 to extend his rule, imprisoning 70,000 people and ordering over 3,000 extrajudicial killings. The 1986 People Power Revolution-when millions stood against Marcos's tanks on EDSA Avenue-became a foundational myth that shaped national identity. For a generation, it seemed democracy had won. But Duterte understood something crucial: many Filipinos didn't share that vision of democracy. He reimagined the Philippines as lawless badlands where addicts were armed threats and bureaucracy the enemy. At rallies, he boasted about sexual exploits, threatened drug users with death, and promised to kill every addict. He pointed to Davao's safety as proof his methods worked. Where others saw authoritarianism, his supporters saw strength. Ann Valdez didn't just support Duterte-she identified as him, calling him Father and proudly declaring herself DDS: Diehard Duterte Supporter.

   Capitolo 5

   When Video Changes Everything

   For four years, journalists documented the drug war's carnage while most Filipinos in privileged areas went about their normal lives. Death remained an abstraction-until December 2020, when an eleven-second video changed everything. Off-duty police officer Jonel Nuezca stood arguing with neighbors Sonya and Anton Gregorio over a noise complaint. After his twelve-year-old daughter shoved Sonya and declared "My father is a policeman!", Sonya responded with a mocking singsong: "I don't care-eh-eh-eh." Nuezca snapped. Four gunshots in less than five seconds left both Sonya and Anton dead on the ground. The video flooded cyberspace with millions of views, triggering hashtags like #StoptheKillingsPH. Suddenly, people who had ignored years of similar killings expressed shock. Journalists who had covered the drug war felt frustrated-not by the violence itself, but by those expressing sudden indignation after ignoring a "four-year parade of coffins." Within twenty-four hours, officials rushed to distance themselves from Nuezca. Duterte called him "an isolated case" who was "sick in the head." The government successfully recast one cop as an exception rather than representative of a culture they had created and encouraged for years.

   Capitolo 6

   The Unburied Dead and What They Ask of Us

   Rene Desierto was found on a bridge with packing tape wrapped around his head and a cardboard sign: "Drug Pusher. Do Not Imitate." His wife Ivy identified him by his feet, begging police to let her touch him. When investigators cut through the tape mask, they revealed nineteen stab wounds and evidence of garroting. Djastin "with a D" died gasping "Mama, help me" on railroad tracks at twenty-five. The Ocdin family lost three brothers to Duterte's war-Mark Andy being the last, killed on the final Sunday of Duterte's presidency. They had learned all the rituals of death: which hospital handled gunshot wounds, which councilor would lend a tent for the wake, where to buy balloons stamped "We Love You." Thirty-six years after EDSA's revolution overthrew Ferdinand Marcos, Ferdinand Marcos Jr. took his oath of office while jubilant crowds celebrated on the very avenue where citizens once marched against dictatorship. The Filipino greeting "Mabuhay"-meaning "to live"-became both wisdom and warning in a nation where extrajudicial killing became policy.

   Capitolo 7

   What Remains When Democracy Kills Its Own

   "Some people need killing" removes accountability-suggesting victims earned their deaths, erasing those who pulled triggers. But someone killed Djastin Lopez. Someone shot Danica Mae. Someone murdered Sonya and Anton Gregorio. The line from order to trigger to death can be drawn straight. Ninoy Aquino once asked: "Is the Filipino worth dying for?" He concluded yes, because Filipinos are brave and dignified. But what of those deemed criminals? What of those who voted for killers? Duterte's counter-philosophy answered: "The Filipino is worth killing for. The dead do not count." Every democracy must answer this question-not whether some deserve to die, but whether any government should decide who lives. Because once you accept that some need killing, you've accepted that someone makes that list. In the Philippines, that someone was a president who proudly declared himself the death squad.

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