Every Sunday morning, you’ll find Guillermo in the front row of the local church. Bible in hand, head bowed, voice raised in hymn. A model of religious devotion. A figure of discipline. A man who never misses Mass.
And yet—just a few days earlier, he might have been defending the bloodstained legacy of Rodrigo Duterte, the former president of the Philippines best known for his brutal drug war, human rights violations, and open disdain for due process.
Guillermo is one of thousands across the country who embody a disturbing paradox: the devout Duterte supporter. They preach mercy, grace, and forgiveness on Sunday. But when it comes to the poor, the addicts, or anyone who doesn’t fit their rigid ideal of a “good citizen,” they cheer for executions, celebrate impunity, and scoff at human rights.
Faith or Fascism?
What does it mean to be Christian and pro-Duterte? For Guillermo, the answer is likely rationalization. “He cleaned up the streets,” he’ll say. “He had to be tough.” And maybe to Guillermo, the sight of bodies in the gutter is just a necessary price for order—so long as it isn’t his body.
But the deeper truth is more troubling. Guillermo doesn’t sit in the front pew out of moral clarity. He sits there for status, for spectacle, for show. His faith is not in God’s justice—it’s in authoritarian power.
Selective Morality
Ask Guillermo about extrajudicial killings, and he’ll wave it off: “They were criminals anyway.” Ask him about the widows and orphans left behind, and he’ll shrug: “They had it coming.”
But here’s the rub: Jesus ate with sinners. Duterte had them shot.
So how does Guillermo reconcile this? He doesn’t. He compartmentalizes. He sings louder. He bows deeper. He wears piety like a mask, while his politics spit on everything the gospel teaches.
A Mirror to the Nation
Guillermo isn’t just one man. He is a symbol of a much larger sickness in the national soul. A country that preaches love, but practices violence. That hangs crucifixes in its living rooms, while voting for men who mock the dead.
It’s time to ask ourselves: do we want our front pews to reflect our faith—or our fear? Our values—or our violence?
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If you know a Guillermo, maybe it’s time to ask him what Jesus would think of his Sunday seat.
