The general was not Bato
Roberto Duran was one of Boxing's heaviest punchers in his time. Scribes then described him as stone fisted when he ruled as lightweight and junior welterweight champion of the world. Manos de piedra, if I recall, was how he came to be known. Indeed, for boxing fans like me, he was "Hands of Stone".
At the start of the administration of President Rodrigo Roa Duterte, the president brought to the Philippine National Police a man of stone - Gen Ronald "Bato" de la Rosa. He was introduced to be a stern disciplinarian who could straighten the few (?) perceived rogues in uniform. His reputation solidified when news coverages of his challenging his wayward men to fistfights were shown, every now and then. And so, in my most conservative evaluation, policemen began more to fear than respect him.
More importantly Bato was given the marching order to pursue vigorously and unrelentingly the presidential war on drugs. I like to think that Bato took the order in all possible perspectives, humane or otherwise, when lives began to lose value. People were shot to death by policemen invariably claiming self-defense and Bato, mimicking the president's focus, just dismissed them either as inevitable casualty figures or collateral damage. Deaths piled up and never had I seen Bato, in all of his press briefings, disturbed a bit. He would even be unable to hide the smirk in his face while pronouncing adherence to due process. The general was bato.
Then Bato appeared before a Senate Committee few days ago. That was not his first. In his previous appearances, he affirmed, in somewhat cold-bloodied expression, his resolute obeisance to the presidency in ridding this country of the drug menace. There were instances that he sounded like his tough commander in chief. And so, it was not difficult for me to imagine that he would reprise his previous appearances. But, to the surprise of many, not excluding me, Bato cried! He was seen drying the tears from his acrid face. The general was, this time, not Bato.
The proverbial stone in the general's heart wilted under the incessant questioning of Senator Risa Hontiveros. Was he disarmed by the welter of the lady lawmaker's continued assault on the so-called policy of extra judicial killing? Was it too much for the Bato to be confronted with incontrovertible data that minors seemed to be butchered by his men, the very people tasked with the constitutional duty to protect and defend them? Why was his face contorted when he swore that no "killing policy" is espoused by the police? Bluntly, why did Bato cry?
If we were to consider the reputation that is being built around Gen Bato, we could only surprise, perhaps mischievously, that he shed crocodile tears. Crying in public did not match the pattern of his being a tough leader. Playing for sympathy than reason is, historically speaking, a common trick among demagogues. While I hasten to say that Bato is not one, the antic he showed was undoubted demagoguery. Crocodile tears and the reputation of Bato are anathema to each other.
Bato cried not because he was hurt by the accusatory language of the senator. He is too tough to be affected by any assignment of human right violation. He cried because it dawned on him that innocent minors of impoverished families were murdered and the prime suspects were men in uniform. But if and when he does not throw his protective mantle over his men when the prosecution commences, perhaps Bato can still be the general.
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