Photograph by Hannah Reyes Morales for The New York Times The New York Times Magazine 47
‘‘President Duterte is against drugs. I am against
drugs,’’ Go thundered. ‘‘ Duterte says he is against
corruption. I am against corruption.’’
As a drizzle turned into a downpour, the
music came up again, and Go, fl anked by a pair
of Filipino movie stars, sang a love song; the
crowd roared with delight. The sentimental
performances were part of the rally’s appeal,
but something else was going on: The people
in the audience clearly believed in the brutal
message delivered by Duterte and his proxies.
Most Filipinos weren’t reading Rappler; they
were on Facebook, or getting their information
from Duterte himself (who had canceled his rally
appearance at the last minute, to the crowd’s dis-
appointment). They reminded me of the cabdriv-
er I met who told me he was grateful to Duterte
because he could now walk with his children
through the alleys of his barrio after dark and
not fear being mugged by a drug addict. ‘‘People
like Maria Ressa from the elite have no idea what
it’s like to live in the slums,’’ he told me. ‘‘They
are living behind high security, in wealthy apart-
ment buildings, cut off from the people. Really,
I don’t think they have the chance to know us.’’
Ressa was absolutely right that the propaganda
campaign was being fought online, but it was
also being waged in the public sphere out in the
streets, a place where Rappler couldn’t compete.Duterte’s political alliance won all 12 contest-
ed seats in the Senate, handing the president
complete control over the three branches of
government. When I spoke to Ressa by phone
two weeks later, she had just returned to Manila
from New York, where she gave the commence-
ment speech at Columbia Journalism School’s
graduation ceremony, and had plunged back
into the fray, building a new Rappler online
platform, speaking before representatives of 12
countries at an inquiry on ‘‘big data, privacy and
democracy’’ hosted by the Canadian House of
Commons and shuttling between appearances in
two Manila courthouses and a mediation meet-
ing with lawyers on the cyber libel case. Ressa
told me that Duterte’s electoral sweep was not
necessarily dire news. The consolidation could
mean, she said, ‘‘that we can do our work. After
all, what does he have to fear?’’
But a moment later, she despaired at the pos-
sibility that a new Constitution could ‘‘formal-
ize our democracy’s descent into tyranny and
swing the pendulum that began in 1986 back to
authoritarian rule.’’ Ressa and her attorneys have
fi led a blizzard of appeals to block the closure
order from the P.S.E.C. and keep her and the
board out of prison. But the courts are stacked
with Duterte appointees; the chances of a vic-
tory are slim.
Ressa had been talking to her lawyers about
protections that might be aff orded to her under
international law in the event she is imprisoned.
On July 23, Ressa’s criminal trial for cyber libel
began in Manila, and soon after that, she was
back in court to face the tax- evasion and ‘‘anti-
dummy’’ charges. She hired an international
legal team, including the human rights lawyer
Amal Clooney, to represent her and, throughout
the summer and fall, was spending up to four
days a week in front of judges at four diff erent
trials around Metro Manila; a verdict in the
cyber libel case was expected late this year. If
convicted on all counts, Ressa faces a cumulative
sentence of just over 63 years in prison. ‘‘We’ve
developed a gallows humor about it,’’ Ressa told
me; she had talked about the prospect of prison
with the three other founders of Rappler. ‘‘One
of them said she would bring me a fan. Another,
bedsheets. Another, food. At the beginning it’s
scary, but the more you talk about it, you rob it
of its sting. You embrace the fear.’’Ressa on her way to Rappler’s headquarters in June.‘DUTERTE’S
METHOD WITH
THE MEDIA
IS CORRUPT,
COERCE,
CO-OPT.’