QUEZON CITY (MindaNews / 25 June 2026) — Fifteen years old.

That’s the age of my son, Pablo.

He was born in Davao City — ground zero of the Davao Death Squad, later rebranded and sanitized as the “Diehard Duterte Supporters.” It is the city where the Duterte dynasty has long reigned.

When Pablo was growing up, Rodrigo Duterte hosted a weekly television program where he routinely cursed, threatened people, and glorified violence. In one episode, when asked whether he was the death squad, he replied: “True. That is true.”

Pablo’s generation was around five years old when Duterte was thrust into the national spotlight.

On national television, children watched a presidential aspirant casually say “putang ina,” joke about rape, promise to kill drug addicts, and speak of bodies floating in Manila Bay — all while thousands of supporters laughed, clapped, and cheered.

Duterte won with 16.6 million votes.

From ages five to eleven, under his presidency, Pablo’s generation witnessed a state-sponsored drug war that claimed thousands of lives, including at least 122 children between the ages of 1 and 17.

I remember the day Kian delos Santos was killed. When I came home from work, Pablo hugged me and said, “Nanay, you’re alive.” Then he told me about Kian and curled himself into a fetal position, pointed a finger at his temple and said bang-bang to imitate how the boy must have been killed.

When Carl Arnaiz was killed, Pablo said the boy had an exam the next day and only wanted to go home and study.

When Raymart Siapo was killed, Pablo said he had a club foot and could not run, Nanay.

For all these killings, his generation saw only a handful of police officers — 11 or 12 — held accountable.

None of them was the man who publicly promised the killings and presided over the policy that enabled them.

They also witnessed Duterte’s supporters fiercely oppose every attempt to investigate him.

When Duterte was finally brought to the Hague to face the ICC in March 2025, their generation saw supporters overseas hold parties in front of cardboard standees, kiss and hug him, and treat him like an object of devotion.

Just last month, on May 14, 2026, their generation watched supporters cheer the escape of Duterte’s co-accused, Senator Ronald dela Rosa, from Senate protective custody to evade ICC arrest. CCTV footage showed that he was aided by Senator Robinhood Padilla — a movie star, former convict, and one of Duterte’s most vocal defenders.

Then, two days ago, two students aged 14 and 15 opened fire in their school, killing three classmates and wounding at least 20 others.

I do not know why the two students did it.

I am not claiming that the drug war caused this tragedy. But I cannot ignore the social, political, and cultural environment in which their generation came of age.

For years, mass school shootings were something we watched from afar, usually on American television. We never imagined it could happen here.

And yet, here we are.

Suddenly, everyone is looking for someone to blame.

Immediately, many point to one law: the Juvenile Justice and Welfare Act.

More specifically, they point to one man: Senator Kiko Pangilinan.

Never mind that the law was authored, sponsored, debated, and passed through the work of many legislators across the political spectrum, including politicians who later became allies and die hard supporters of Duterte.

Never mind that the law was backed by child rights organizations, informed by the Philippines’ obligations under the Convention on the Rights of the Child, and supported by evidence and recommendations from child development and pediatric experts.

Never mind that the law did not pull the trigger.

Never mind that these children belong to a generation raised amid a culture that normalized violence, celebrated impunity, and repeatedly taught them that powerful people can kill without consequence.

Before we blame a law designed to protect children, perhaps we should ask a harder question:

What happens to a generation that grew up watching violence applauded, impunity rewarded, accountability mocked, and death turned into political entertainment?

And what was our role in it?

What did we teach our children when we applauded killings, laughed at threats, defended impunity, and worshipped strongmen accused of crimes against humanity of murder, while dismissing the suffering of their victims and their families?

What responsibility do we bear for the world we created, tolerated and enabled?

If these children learned that violence is a legitimate way to solve problems, where did they learn it and what role did the adults around them and the society they grew up in play in teaching it?

And if we refuse to ask those questions, then we are not really searching for the causes of this tragedy.

We are only searching for someone else to blame.

And so, conveniently, we point the finger at Senator Kiko Pangilinan, sparing ourselves the harder task of confronting our own accountability.

(MindaViews is the opinion section of MindaNews. Eizel Paz Hilario is a Mindanawon anthropologist working on a range of human rights issues. She is the mother of a 15-year-old son and an occasional contributor to Mindanews.)