What the Hell Happened to Harry Roque?

From human rights advocate to fugitive — how did Harry Roque’s journey take such a sharp turn? Was it weakness, ambition, or planned opportunism gone wrong?

I was casually researching the list of lawyers accredited by the International Criminal Court (ICC) when I saw a familiar name — Harry Roque.

For a second, I froze.

I had forgotten all about this. But the moment I saw his name, it all came rushing back — Roque’s excitement when the Philippines joined the ICC, his bold statements warning despots, murderers, and torturers that their time would come. Back then, he spoke like a man who believed justice was unstoppable — like he had found his life’s purpose in fighting for it.

But now?

Now he’s a fugitive. Facing legal troubles linked to POGO operations. Declared in contempt. Reportedly hiding out in Abu Dhabi.

What the hell happened to Harry Roque?

I don’t know him personally. I’ve never met him, never shared a conversation over coffee. And honestly, being a nobody, I doubt he’d ever grant me the time even if I asked. So everything I’m about to write — his motivations, his reasons, his regrets — is purely assumption. An attempt to connect the dots based on what’s been reported and what I’ve observed from a distance.

This isn’t about pointing fingers. It’s about trying to make sense of it all. Because if someone like Roque — once sharp, principled, and fearless — could end up like this, then I can’t help but wonder...

Was it weakness? Ambition? Or was the system simply too powerful to resist?

I don’t know. But I can’t stop thinking about it.

Tracing the Timeline: From Advocate to Fugitive

Harry Roque wasn’t just another lawyer. He was a fighter — the kind who didn’t just defend the law; he stood between victims and the powerful figures who abused it.

I remember hearing about his victories in cases that mattered — not just on paper, but in the lives of real people.

He represented the families of journalists slain in the Ampatuan Massacre, pushing for accountability in one of the most brutal attacks on press freedom in Philippine history. He fought for the Malaya Lolas, elderly women who had endured unspeakable abuse during the Japanese occupation. When Jennifer Laude was murdered by a U.S. Marine, Roque stood by her family. He also took on the case of Gerry Ortega, an environmentalist whose death exposed corruption in Palawan.

Roque’s legal work wasn’t just impressive — it was brave. He challenged powerful figures and institutions, often putting himself in the line of fire.

But the Roque I remembered most was the one who secured the first-ever Writ of Amparo for a journalist, reinforcing protections for press freedom in the country. Back then, it felt like he was untouchable — a man whose principles couldn’t be swayed.

That’s why I was surprised — no, shocked — when I heard he had accepted the role of Duterte’s presidential spokesperson in 2017.

I remember shaking my head, wondering what he was thinking.

Duterte’s war on drugs had drawn international outrage for its violence and disregard for human rights. For someone like Roque — a man who once warned murderers and torturers to beware of justice — to join Duterte’s team felt like betrayal.

Duterte claimed Roque was perfect for the job because of his “slightly naughty speaking style.” Maybe that was true, but it didn’t explain why Roque, a man who once stood against authoritarian abuse, now stood beside a man accused of perpetuating it.

Roque justified his decision by saying that serving as spokesperson gave him a chance to influence Duterte from the inside. I wanted to believe that — that maybe Roque thought he could steer things in a better direction.

But over time, it didn’t seem like influence. It seemed like alignment.

In 2018, Roque resigned as spokesperson after feeling sidelined when Duterte’s hospitalization was kept from him. At the time, I wondered if this was Roque’s breaking point — the moment he realized he’d gone too far.

But months later, he was back. This time, as Duterte’s spokesperson for the Inter-Agency Task Force (IATF) during the pandemic. His statements became bolder, his defenses of Duterte’s administration more aggressive.

Then came the POGO controversy.

In 2023, Roque became linked to Lucky South 99, a Philippine Offshore Gaming Operator in Pampanga. He had reportedly assisted Whirlwind Corporation, a firm tied to the gaming operator. Lucky South 99 was eventually shut down for illegal operations — but Roque’s involvement didn’t end there.

Documents found during a POGO raid uncovered something unexpected: an official appointment letter naming Alberto Rodulfo “AR” De La Serna as Roque’s Executive Assistant III in 2021 — a position funded by taxpayers with a monthly salary of around ₱54,000.

The discovery might have been brushed off as bureaucratic noise — until another document surfaced. An affidavit of support revealed that Roque had funded De La Serna’s travel to Poland, Ukraine, and Italy under the claim that De La Serna was an “invited resource person” at a Peace Process event. Roque defended the arrangement by saying he “needed a travel companion” because of his health issues.

But De La Serna wasn’t just some quiet assistant. He was a male beauty pageant contestant, a former Misters of Filipinas winner who had also competed in Mister Supranational. He had the kind of background that grabbed headlines — and it did.

Suddenly, Roque’s controversies weren’t just about legal battles — they had turned into a full-blown media circus.

I remember scrolling through social media and seeing posts that barely mentioned the POGO scandal. Instead, the focus was on De La Serna — memes, jokes, and crude comments that turned the whole thing into tabloid fodder.

People weren’t just asking what Roque had done. They were gossiping about who he was with.

In August 2024, Roque was cited in contempt by Congress for allegedly lying during the POGO investigation. A month later, he was cited again for failing to submit financial records. This time, he was detained until he agreed to comply.

Then he vanished.

By October 2024, the Presidential Anti-Organized Crime Commission filed a qualified human trafficking case against Roque, tying him to illegal operations linked to Lucky South 99. Rumors swirled that he had fled the country.

By December 2024, it wasn’t a rumor anymore. Roque had reportedly resurfaced in Abu Dhabi, far from the hearings and subpoenas waiting for him back home.

Vice President Sara Duterte later confirmed what everyone suspected — that Roque had left the country despite previously claiming he wouldn’t abandon his children.

And here’s where things take an ironic turn.

The very man Roque once fiercely defended — Rodrigo Duterte — is now in the hands of the International Criminal Court (ICC), facing charges related to the bloody war on drugs.

I couldn’t help but pause when I read the news. Roque had once celebrated the Philippines joining the ICC. Now, here we are — Duterte facing international trial, and Roque nowhere to be found.

I don’t know what Roque must be thinking as he watches this unfold from abroad — if he’s relieved that he’s far away, or if he wonders how things could’ve turned out differently.

Looking back, it feels less like a fall from grace and more like a metamorphosis — one that unfolded slowly, in layers.

Was Roque’s shift inevitable? Did he compromise a little at first, convincing himself that he could stay true to his principles while still playing the political game? Or was this version of Roque — the one tangled in scandal, controversy, and flight — there all along, waiting for the right moment to emerge?

I don’t know.

But what I do know is that the man who once stood for justice — the man who warned despots and tyrants that their time would come — is now the one running.

The Psychology of Roque’s Transformation: Why Did He Change?

Maybe Roque’s transformation wasn’t a sudden leap — maybe it was a series of small steps, each one easier to justify than the last.

Defending Duterte’s policies couldn’t have been easy for someone who once fought for victims of injustice. But when people can’t fix their actions, they often adjust their beliefs to make those actions easier to live with.

Psychologists call this cognitive dissonance — that nagging discomfort when what you believe doesn’t match what you’re doing. The tension eats away at you. And to quiet that voice, people sometimes convince themselves that their actions — even the questionable ones — are somehow justified.

Maybe that’s how Roque managed it at first. He might have believed he could stay true to his advocacy while still doing his job.

There’s a saying that the mark of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposing ideas in mind at the same time and still function. Maybe that’s what Roque tried to do — stay firm in his beliefs while defending a man whose actions often seemed to contradict them.

But you can’t live in that tension forever.

At some point, something has to give — and in Roque’s case, it seems like his advocacy slowly gave way to something else. Maybe it was loyalty. Maybe ambition. Or maybe — after defending Duterte’s words, policies, and decisions over and over — it no longer felt like compromise. It just felt normal.

That’s the danger of Social Identity Theory — the idea that when you spend enough time in a group, you start to adopt its values as your own. Maybe Roque’s role as Duterte’s spokesperson wasn’t just a job — maybe it became part of how he saw himself. When you’re surrounded by people who keep repeating the same justifications, those justifications start to feel like truth.

I wonder if Roque’s frustration played a part as well. Fighting for human rights isn’t easy — it’s slow, exhausting, and full of setbacks. Maybe after years of pushing for justice, Roque felt like he wasn’t getting anywhere.

At some point, maybe he just got flustered — tired of the constant struggle, the politics, the endless noise — and thought, "Fuck it."

“If this is what it takes to get things done, then fine.”

That’s the kind of thinking that leads to moral relativism — when people start to excuse questionable decisions as “necessary evils.” Maybe Roque believed Duterte’s methods — even if they felt wrong — were still the fastest way to fix a broken system.

But compromise is tricky. It’s easy to justify one bad decision — and once you do, the next one feels easier.

Psychologists call this the slippery slope of complicity — when people stick to bad decisions because turning back feels like admitting they’ve been wrong the whole time.

Maybe Roque’s first defenses of Duterte’s policies felt small — just words to calm the media or smooth things over. But each excuse made the next one easier. And before long, he wasn’t just defending Duterte — he was defending himself.

Maybe Roque believed he could still do good — until one day, he couldn’t.

Of course, I don’t know any of this for sure. These are just my thoughts — my attempt to piece together what might have happened.

And honestly, if you really want to understand someone — to know what made them turn left instead of right — the best way isn’t to analyze them from a distance.

The best way is to sit them down, have a cup of coffee, and just listen.

Was Roque Weak or Just Human?

It’s tempting to look at his transformation and say he simply gave up — that when things got hard, he abandoned his principles. But I don’t think it’s that simple.

Politics is messy. Especially in the Philippines, where weak party loyalty and power-driven alliances push people to adapt just to survive. The system rewards those who bend, and punishes those who stand too firm.

Maybe Roque believed he could hold his ground as a human rights advocate while still doing his job as Duterte’s spokesperson. Some might call that weakness, but maybe it was just Roque trying to manage both sides.

I can imagine him thinking, “If I stay close enough to power, I can still make a difference.”

That’s where planned opportunism comes in — the idea that you can stay ahead by seizing the right moments, adjusting when things shift, and always finding a way to land on your feet. Maybe that’s what Roque was doing — choosing his battles, bending when needed, and convincing himself he could stay in control.

But the thing about planned opportunism is that it only works if you don’t lose your grip.

And from where I’m sitting, whatever Roque is now feels like planned opportunism gone wrong.

Maybe he believed he was being strategic — staying relevant, protecting his influence, and still holding on to some sense of principle. But somewhere along the way, things must have spiraled. The choices that once felt like calculated moves probably started feeling desperate — until suddenly, Roque wasn’t making careful decisions anymore. He was scrambling.

And now? He’s no longer the sharp-tongued lawyer fighting for victims of injustice. He’s a fugitive, tangled in the very kind of mess he once stood against.

Maybe Roque was weak. Or maybe he was just tired. Or maybe — like most of us — he believed he could balance principle and power, only to find himself slipping, one step at a time.

Either way, he's still running — and from what, exactly, is a question worth asking.

The Answer: Weakness or Something Else?

So, was Roque weak? Or was something else at play?

It's tempting to say yes — that Roque simply lacked the backbone to stand firm when it mattered most. But I’m not sure that’s the whole story.

His fall wasn’t the result of one bad decision. It was a series of choices — each one building on the last — that led him further and further from the principles he once stood for.

Maybe weakness played a part — but not the kind that comes from being spineless. More like the kind that comes from believing you can keep compromising without losing yourself.

Some people think they can “beat the system” — that they’re clever enough to bend without breaking. Maybe Roque believed he could play Duterte’s game, stay close to power, and still hold on to his values.

But there’s a danger in believing you’re the exception.

Roque was no fool. He’s sharp, strategic, and well-educated — but sometimes intelligence can be its own trap. Maybe he believed he was always one step ahead — that he could control the game instead of being controlled by it.

But if there’s one thing power doesn’t tolerate, it’s arrogance.

And now? Roque isn’t the respected lawyer who once warned despots, murderers, and torturers about the International Criminal Court (ICC). He’s a man on the run — while the president he once defended is the one facing that very court.

There’s something poetic about that.

Weakness? Maybe. Or maybe Roque believed he was playing a game he could control — only to realize too late that the game was playing him.

Funny how the loudest voices can sometimes talk themselves into silence.

What the Hell Happened to Harry Roque?

Tracing the Timeline: From Advocate to Fugitive

The Psychology of Roque’s Transformation: Why Did He Change?

Was Roque Weak or Just Human?

The Answer: Weakness or Something Else?

Sources:

Reflections