COLONIAL MOUTHPIECE
By Teddy Adarna
There he stands, draped in his lawyer’s robe, halo polished by Twitter validation, crucified on the cross of his own eloquence. Regal Shocker, patron saint of self worship, has spoken again: “When Submission Becomes Strategy.”
how poetic.
How civilized.
How utterly colonized.
You can smell the imported virtue from here, the intoxicating aroma of Western approval, that sweet perfume every local intellectual spritzes before kneeling to the white gods of The Hague.
She preaches law like a missionary, as if the ICC were the Second Coming of Christ, and the Rome Statute the New Testament of the Enlightened Elite. But behind the Latin, the jurisprudence, the trembling moral posture lies one simple, shameful truth:
The ICC is not a court of justice. It is a colosseum of hypocrisy.
The White Man’s Gavel
Let’s call it what it is , the ICC is the Holy Tribunal of Western Vengeance.
A courtroom for colored nations, a museum of selective outrage.
It did not see lies pile bodies in Baghdad.
It did not see drones baptize children in Yemen.
It did not see phosphorus rain turn Gaza into a mass grave.
But the moment a brown man dares to bare his teeth — ah, suddenly the Court awakens! Suddenly “humanity” demands justice???
The ICC is not blind, dear Regal Shocker. It sees color very well.
It just doesn’t see white.
And you? the obedient colonial priestess, polish its halo with your legal sermons, baptizing subjugation in the name of “objectivity.”
You call it strategy. We call it servitude.
You dress your obedience in silk and syntax, call it discernment, call it intellect, but it is cowardice wearing couture.
You mistake surrender for sophistication, betrayal for bravery.
You have not outgrown colonization, you’ve romanticized it.
This is not submission as strategy, this is Stockholm Syndrome in stiletto heels.
You tell Filipinos to bow wisely.
No.
We have bowed enough.
We bowed when the Spaniards brought the cross.
We bowed when the Americans brought the flag.
We bowed when the Japanese brought the bayonet.
And now, you tell us to bow again, this time to a court that drapes imperialism.
Your wisdom is weakness pretending to be philosophy.
Regal Shocker, let’s not pretend. Beneath that baritone of “objectivity” beats the soft pink heart of a Kakampink crusader, one who confuses moral masturbation for justice.
You say, “My mind cannot be bought.”
True.
Because it was already colonized.
You are not neutral. You are the Empire’s echo in a Filipino accent.
You are the mouthpiece of Western morality disguised as legal insight.
You are what colonizers dream of: a local who will defend their chains as ornaments of reason.
You call it law. I call it theater.
The ICC is Broadway for broken nations, a spectacle of scripted virtue where the brown man plays the villain and the white man directs the tragedy.
And you, you are their star actress, their obedient dog.
performing objectivity for applause, monologuing about “rule of law” while your own nation bleeds from the blade of Western manipulation.
You stand there, radiant in righteousness,
while the audience claps! London, Washington, Brussels,
and whisper, “Good girl. She still knows who her masters are.”
The Verdict
Regal Shocker, the philosopher of surrender,
the prophetess of obedience,
the lawyer who mistook submission for strategy.
You say, “When you bow wisely, you stand taller.”
No.
When you bow to empire, you shrink your nation’s spine.
The ICC is not justice, it is geopolitics with a gavel.
And your eloquence is not courage, it is collaboration polished in English. A treachery
History will not remember your “objectivity.”
It will remember your posture, bent, graceful, obedient and grotesque.
as the nation you claim to serve gasps for air beneath another imported morality.
The Final Flame
And so, I say this, from the bloodline of Lapu-Lapu, from the veins that once rose against empire with nothing but steel and spirit: you are no true Cebuano.
You are the orphan of your own ancestry, a son pretending to be a daughter of convenience, not of courage.
You wear the skin of a Filipino but speak with the soul of a foreign court.
You have traded the fire of Mactan for the candles of compliance, the roar of rebellion for the applause of your colonizers. PWEH!!!!
Lapu-Lapu bled so you could stand.
You bowed so they could clap.
And that, Regal Shocker, is not strategy.
That is treason, written in English, wrapped in eloquence,
and delivered with the smile of the conquered.
In short, Traydor na bayot 😁
@highlight
