It started with a fist bump and a promise. When Rodrigo Duterte took the stage in 2016, he wasn't just another politician talking about policy; he was a man promising a purge. He told the public that the war on drugs in the philippines would be bloody. He wasn't lying.
If you walked through the streets of Tondo or Quezon City in late 2016, the vibe was heavy. It was tense. You’d see yellow police tape fluttering in the humid breeze almost every night. Most people outside the country only saw the headlines, but the reality on the ground was a messy, heartbreaking, and deeply polarizing shift in how a whole nation viewed justice. Some saw it as a necessary evil to "clean up" the streets. Others saw it as a state-sanctioned slaughter of the poor.
Honestly, it’s rarely as simple as the news makes it out to be.
The Oplan Double Barrel Reality
The government called it "Project Double Barrel." It sounds like something out of an action movie, right? But the mechanics were much more bureaucratic and, frankly, terrifying for those on the "list."
The first part was Oplan Tokhang. The word "Tokhang" is a mashup of the Cebuano words toktok (knock) and hangyo (plead). In theory, police would knock on your door and ask you to stop using or selling drugs. In practice? It often led to people "surrendering" in mass ceremonies, their names forever etched into a local registry that didn't always offer a way out.
Then there was the second barrel: high-value targets. This is where things got really dark.
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By the numbers (and why they're messy)
Official government figures from the "Real Numbers PH" campaign cited around 6,252 deaths in anti-drug operations by the time Duterte’s term ended in 2022. That’s a huge number. But human rights groups like Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch argue the real count is much higher—possibly over 20,000 to 30,000 if you include "deaths under investigation" or vigilante killings.
Why the gap? Because a lot of people were found dead with cardboard signs saying "I am a pusher" next to them. The police often claimed these weren't their doing. They called them "vigilante killings" or "internal purges" within gangs. But the timing was always a bit too convenient.
The phrase nanlaban became a grim national meme. It means "fought back." According to police reports, almost every suspect killed had pulled a gun first. Critics, however, pointed to cases like Kian delos Santos. Kian was a 17-year-old student. CCTV footage showed him being dragged into an alley by police—not fighting back, but pleading for his life. That case changed the narrative. It was the moment a lot of supporters started to go, "Wait, is this actually working?"
Why did people support it?
You might wonder why a population would cheer for this. It’s a fair question. To understand the war on drugs in the philippines, you have to understand the frustration that was boiling over in 2016.
Before the crackdown, shabu (methamphetamine) was everywhere. It was cheap. It was destroying families in the provinces and the cities. People felt the traditional justice system was broken—that rich drug lords could buy their way out of jail while the "little guys" terrorized neighborhoods. Duterte offered a shortcut. He offered a "kill the problem" solution that felt like progress to people who were tired of feeling unsafe.
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Even now, you'll find plenty of Filipinos who will tell you their neighborhood felt safer during those years. They'll tell you the "tambays" (loiterers) disappeared and the streets got quiet. But that quiet came at a massive cost to the rule of law.
The Marcos Pivot: Is it over?
When Ferdinand "Bongbong" Marcos Jr. took over in 2022, everyone expected a continuation. He was Duterte's daughter’s running mate, after all. But the tone has shifted. Sorta.
Marcos has called the drug problem a "mental health issue" and says the focus is now on rehabilitation. He’s trying to play nice with the international community. But if you look at the data from the University of the Philippines’ "Dahas" project, people are still dying. The killings haven't stopped; they’ve just become less "loud."
The International Criminal Court (ICC) is still breathing down the neck of the previous administration. They want to investigate crimes against humanity. The Philippine government’s response? They left the ICC. They say the court has no jurisdiction. It’s a massive legal standoff that’s basically a game of high-stakes political chicken.
The human cost nobody talks about
Beyond the body bags, there's a secondary crisis: the orphans. Thousands of children lost their primary breadwinners. In many cases, these families were already living below the poverty line. When a father is killed in a "buy-bust" operation, the family doesn't just lose a person; they lose their rent money, their food, and their safety net.
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Local churches and NGOs like Rise Up for Life and for Rights have been trying to fill the gap. They provide legal aid and psychological support. But the trauma is generational. You have a whole cohort of kids who grew up watching the police—the people who are supposed to protect them—take their parents away in the middle of the night.
That’s not something you fix with a new policy or a change in leadership.
What actually works?
If we're being honest, the "war" approach hasn't actually eliminated drugs. It just drove the prices up and shifted the supply chains. Experts like those at the Drug Policy Reform Group argue that the only way forward is a harm-reduction model.
- Community-based rehab: Instead of throwing everyone in overcrowded jails (which are basically drug finishing schools), people need local support.
- Decriminalization of the user: Focus the heat on the big importers, not the guy using shabu to stay awake for a 20-hour shift driving a jeepney.
- Economic Opportunity: Most low-level pushers do it because there are no other jobs. If you don't fix the poverty, the drug trade will always have a line of willing recruits.
The war on drugs in the philippines is a cautionary tale about what happens when a country decides that the end justifies the means. It’s a story of a nation trying to find a shortcut to order and realizing that the "short way" is often paved with blood and complicated by a lack of accountability.
Moving forward: Actionable steps for the informed
If you're following this issue, don't just look at the headlines. The situation is shifting from a frontal assault to a legal and diplomatic battle.
- Monitor the ICC proceedings. The tension between the Hague and Manila will define the Philippines' foreign policy for the next decade. If warrants are ever issued, it will be a turning point for Philippine sovereignty and international law.
- Support local transparency initiatives. Projects like Dahas (by the UP Third World Studies Center) provide the most granular, evidence-based tracking of drug-related violence. Data is the only way to cut through the propaganda from both sides.
- Look at the "Bloodless" claims critically. While the current administration claims a shift toward rehab, verify the local reports in provinces outside of Manila. Often, the violence persists in the shadows where the media isn't looking.
- Engage with drug policy reform. Understand that drug addiction is a health crisis, not just a criminal one. Supporting organizations that promote harm reduction helps shift the global narrative away from punitive wars that rarely achieve their stated goals.
The "war" might have changed its face, but the underlying issues—poverty, corruption, and a desperate desire for security—remain exactly where they were in 2016. Understanding this complexity is the only way to see the full picture of the Philippine landscape today.