When Ronald “Bato” dela Rosa speaks of his loyalty and affinity to the “greatest leader on Earth,” Rodrigo Duterte, it almost always comes by way of superlatives. 

Days before the 2016 presidential elections, then-chief superintendent Dela Rosa promised he could “crush” those who planned to “cheat… and manipulate” the May 9, 2016 polls. For that, he was relieved from his post — only to return as the police force’s top cop in July 2016 when Duterte started his presidential term. 

In August 2016, as the drug war death toll steadily rose and criticism grew, he told reporters that he was an “official with balls” and swore that police operations, now the subject of a crimes against humanity charge before the International Criminal Court (ICC), would withstand scrutiny. 

“If it will cost me my life, I am willing to face it,” said Dela Rosa back then. 

Years later, in 2021, when the ICC went ahead and authorized the start of a probe into the case filed against Duterte over the drug war, Dela Rosa said he would “rather be tried, convicted and even hanged before a Filipino court.” 

Then in March 2025, when Duterte was arrested and almost immediately flown to the Hague, where he now awaits trial, Dela Rosa said he did not “want [his] family to suffer from cops looking for a heartbeat.” 

“I am ready to join the old man hoping that they would allow me to take care of him,” he said, referring to the former Philippine president and Davao City mayor. He has since apparently changed his mind, claiming that rules in the ICC mean fellow detainees may not even see each other.

More than a year later, and after six months of being absent from the upper chamber, Senator Ronald Marapon dela Rosa appeared before plenary on May 11, huffing and puffing, and showing what he claimed were injuries caused by something he once promised he would not do: run away from officials trying to serve a warrant from the ICC.

He then hunkered down inside the Senate building, where he was promised protection by an upper chamber dominated by his allies, courtesy of “tradition” against arrests while in session. 

In the wee hours of the morning on May 14, just hours after a gunfight between the National Bureau of Investigation (NBI) and Senate security forces led by his academy classmate, Dela Rosa was whisked out of the Senate building, allegedly in the vehicle of close ally and friend Senator Robin Padilla. 

His exact whereabouts, up to this day, are not known to the public.   

Dela Rosa‘s rise to power

Dela Rosa and Duterte first met in 1986. 

“Bato,” as he is more popularly known, was a fresh graduate of the Philippine Military Academy (PMA) and a new member of the now-defunct Philippine Constabulary. Duterte had just been appointed vice mayor of Davao City in the aftermath of a revolution that toppled a dictator. 

Thirty-six years later in 2022, the son and namesake of the dictator president, captured the presidency — thanks in part to a coalition with Duterte’s daughter, now-Vice President Sara Duterte. 

Dela Rosa’s support for Marcos and Duterte, both children of infamous strongmen, was unquestionable. The former police chief acted as the younger Duterte’s campaign surrogate and even appeared onstage with Marcos several times.

This was not surprising at all.

After all, Dela Rosa’s political career thus far was either influenced or downright decided for him by Rodrigo Duterte himself. After retiring from the police force in 2018 and a short stint as Director General of the Bureau of Corrections, Dela Rosa had initially planned to run for governor in his home province of Davao del Sur, upon the instructions of who else, but Rodrigo Duterte. 

Dela Rosa openly said his plans in the 2019 polls were ultimately up to Duterte. In the end, he ran for senator and ranked 5th in the polls — one of only two in the top six who didn’t come from a political dynasty. Bong Go, Duterte’s long-time aide, ranked third. 

Victory for the Marcos-Duterte 2022 tandem was clear from day one. 

The alliance of the country’s most powerful and most infamous political kingpins also signaled that neither Duterte nor his drug war lieutenants would need to face the ICC any time soon — until they had to.

But that’s getting ahead of the story. 

Bato, face of the drug war

Dela Rosa can almost pinpoint the moment he went from just another one-star official in Camp Crame to the selfie magnet he became and continues to be. By mid-May 2016, six weeks before Duterte took his oath of office, both strangers and friends would stop the then-one-star general to get a selfie or say hello. 

Inside a rather tiny and nondescript office at the Philippine National Police (PNP) headquarters in Camp Crame, Dela Rosa mused over his newfound fame, which he took quickly to. 

Dela Rosa was never one to shy away from the camera or any form of attention, even when it was to his detriment and even when he was saying all the wrong things. 

In August 2016, during a visit to a police camp in Bacolod City, Dela Rosa urged a crowd of drug users and pushers — all of whom had surrendered to cops — to burn down the homes of drug lords and “show them your anger.” 

The next morning, Dela Rosa and his delegation — security personnel, top officials from Camp Crame, and Manila-based media who were embedded with him in this trip — hopped on a commission vessel to Iloilo, the second leg in his Western Visayas swing (Bacolod is now under the Negros Island Region). 

Midway through the trip, I felt a firm tap on my shoulder. It was Director General Ronald dela Rosa, crouching down close to me. 

“I’m being bashed online… because of your story,” he said matter-of-factly. He was referring to a story from the day before, unimaginatively titled, “Dela Rosa on drug lords: Burn their houses, show your anger.” 

I paused, and considered what to say next. “But that’s what you said, sir, right?”

“Yes,” said Dela Rosa, unflinching. 

He didn’t let the dead air linger for too long before asking if he should apologize for what he said in the heat of the moment. I told him maybe he should, but that it was all up to him. 

In an ambush interview later that day, he apologized for encouraging arson. 

The incident in Bacolod is cited in the public, lesser redacted version of the Prosecution’s Pre-Confirmation brief submitted to the ICC: “Similarly, in a speech to self-confessed drug addicts a month after his appointment as PNP Chief, DELA ROSA told the crowd to kill drug lords and burn their houses for having made them addicted to shabu (methamphetamine).” 

This would be how it was covering Dela Rosa as PNP chief and chief implementer of the drug war: heavy sprinklings of unseriousness even when you’re asking about matters of national security or the bloody drug war. 

Dela Rosa was front, center, and sometimes the literal face of the police force and the drug war it carried. Officially, the nickname “Bato” derives from a barangay in Davao del Sur where he hails from. 

It could also be because he is, and has already been, built like a rock. It’s also the image Dela Rosa had seemingly created — tough-talking, unfiltered, and steady, all while also being the most unserious person in the room. 

At the Senate plenary hall on May 11, a reporter asked why he had showed up after months of hiding. “Kung hindi ako pumapasok hinahanap ‘nyo ako, ngayong pumapasok ako tatanungin ‘nyo ako bakit ako pumapasok?” an incensed Dela Rosa shot back. 

(If I don’t come to work, you look for me. Now that I’m reporting for work, you ask me why I’m here?) 

It was the same during his stint as PNP chief. In the many chance interviews and press conferences he’d accommodate, reporters would press, often more than once, just to get a straight answer. These were his tools of choice, when asked difficult questions — crack a joke, raise his voice, or sing a line from a song. 

A call to cavaliers 

In true Dela Rosa fashion, his short-lived three-day return to the mainstream ended with a day of extremes — a surprise, emotional rendition of the Philippine Military Academy (PMA) hymn in the morning and a dramatic shootout inside the Senate in the evening.

The first is comical on the surface but is something that alerted many members of the uniformed service and the former police chief’s alma mater. 

“After ako nagserbisyo nang tapat dito sa ating bansa for how many years, buong puso ko ay dinedicate ko sa serbisyo… Pagkatapos nito, ito ang mangyayari sa akin? Very discouraging, but still I will not surrender,” Dela Rosa said in an interview on GMA’s Unang Hirit in the morning of May 13. 

(After I served this country with loyalty for how many years, after I dedicated my heart to service… after all that, this is what happens?) 

He then went on to appeal to his fellow cavaliers or alumni of the PMA, soldiers, police, or personnel from the armed service for “support.”  

“Ako’y umaapela sa inyo na sana suportahan ‘nyo ako. I would like to dedicate to you a very famous line sa Philippine Military Academy (PMA) hymn, may isang linya diyan na ‘yung puso natin ay talagang nandiyan, ang lahat ng ating courage, integrity, and loyalty, and it goes this way,” said Dela Rosa, before breaking into song. 

(I’m appealing for your support. I would like to dedicate to you a very famous line in the Philippine Military Academy hymn, there’s a line that resonates in our hearts because it speaks of our courage, integrity, and loyalty.) 

His choice lines from the hymn were: “When bells for us are rung. And our last taps is sung. Let generations see. Our country free. Oh lead to righteous way. Those solid ranks of gray. Thy virtues to display. Academy oh hail to thee.”

The camera zoomed out slowly from a singing Dela Rosa, almost like it was a scene straight out of a sitcom. 

But among some PMA alumni, it was anything but a laughing matter.

There were pockets of worry in some circles — after all, Dela Rosa had invoked defense of sovereignty, nationalism, and the country’s history of fighting foreign invaders in the same breath. 

PMA Alumni Association (PMAAI) chair Ricardo David almost immediately released a statement calling for members “to remain united, calm, circumspect, and non-partisan amid the ongoing public discussions involving fellow Cavalier Senator Ronald dela Rosa.” 

There were worries among alumni, including those still in active service, that Dela Rosa’s little song number was a dog whistle for pockets of the PMA, the military, and the police whose loyalty to the former president and, by extension, to Dela Rosa, could override their actual call to duty and service. 

Loyalty and fraternity matter a lot, especially in the PMA world.

The joke or the truism, depending on who you talk to, is that bonds can transcend blood or family. After all, these are ties made during the tough years of the academy and the even tougher years being in the Armed Forces of the Philippines or PNP, whether it’s time spent in the frontlines or years spent navigating the politics of the service. 

It’s loyalty that also pays dividends. When he was picked as PNP chief, Dela Rosa brought along with him mistahs from PMA 1986, as well as officers and personnel old and new from Davao.  

It worked both ways — while PMA ‘86 was quick to rise up the PNP ranks (in some cases, overtaking officers from the PMA classes of 82, 83, 84, and 85), it also meant that Dela Rosa was quickly able to surround himself with officers and aides he was sure would have his back. Many of them were key personalities in the drug war.

Two of those named as co-perpetrators in the ICC case against Duterte are his mistahs: former top cops Oscar Albayalde and the late Camilo Cascolan. 

The influence extends years after retirement. The Senate’s acting sergeant-at-arms is Mao Aplasca, a retired general who entered the academy the same year as Dela Rosa but graduated a year later. 

It was Dela Rosa who nominated Aplasca the first time he held the Senate security post in July 2025 and again in May 2026, upon his return. 

While speaking to Unang Hirit, Dela Rosa subtly flexed his popularity in the uniformed service. He said there was no need to wear disguises in the months he was hiding. “‘Pag ako’y dumadaan sa checkpoint ng pulis or sundalo, ‘pag open ko sa window ng aking bintana, magsasaludo man ang pulis or sundalo. Sabihan ka pa: ‘Ingat ka sir, nasa likuran mo kami,’” he said. 

(When I pass through police or military checkpoints, they salute when I open my window. Sometimes they tell me: “Keep safe sir, we have your back.”) 

There is, perhaps, little reason to doubt Dela Rosa’s popularity among the uniformed service or the public in general. In 2025, he outdid his 2019 showing by placing third in a senatorial race that was backdropped by Rodrigo Duterte’s dramatic arrest in March. 

Crossing bridges

Since his return from months of hiding, Dela Rosa has tried to shift from irreverence to a veneer of circumspect. \Whether it’s because he’s come to terms with now being the underdog or because it’s a new strategy towards victory, is a question that’s gone unanswered, especially now that he’s in hiding again.

In interviews, Dela Rosa or his lawyers have said a myriad of things — that the ICC’s warrant should or cannot be enforced, and that they’d exhaust all legal measures because the senator is more than willing to face cases, if only it’s set in a Philippine court.

Yet Dela Rosa is also vague over whether he’d surrender if a local court issues a warrant against him. “I’ll cross the bridge when we get three…ang masasabi ko (what I can say is), I’ll exhaust all legal remedies available,” he told GMA.

Throughout his stint as top cop and to this very day, Dela Rosa is dogged in defending the necessity of the drug war, the way it was implemented, and his role in it.

“That’s their point. My point, naman [is], ikaw ba, do you think may napatay akong tao sa EJK [extra-judicial killings]? Do you think meron akong inutusan na patayin mo ‘yan [Do you think I killed anyone through EJK? Do you think I ordered someone killed]? Dela Rosa shot back, when asked about the ICC’s basis for issuing a warrant against him.

He went on to insist that cops only killed when their own lives were in danger, that abuses were not tolerated, and that investigations were carried out.

Only a handful of cases where cops were found to have killed in the name of the drug war have reached Philippine courts. Rarer still are convictions.

The former Duterte government lists at least 6,252 people who died in police anti-illegal drug operations as of May 31, 2022. Human rights groups estimate that number to push closer to 30,000, to include alleged vigilante-style killings with ties to the drug war.

After all the running, interviews, and the singing of the PMA hymn, Dela Rosa’s belief seems to still be this: that the drug war was good, that he acted in good faith, and that his loyalty had always been to the country, and, of course, according to his own Facebook post from 2016, the “greatest leader on Earth, Mayor [Rodrigo Roa Duterte].” – Rappler.com