What I term “Dutertismo” goes beyond the populist, authoritarian approach typically associated with former president Rodrigo Duterte.

More specifically, it refers to a form of presidential rule that seeks sweeping exceptions from the standard application of the law, under the premise that extraordinary measures are needed to address urgent threats to the nation.

In essence, it is the wielding of exceptional powers without the constitutional checks that would normally accompany a formal declaration of a state of emergency.

Duterte wove his presidential campaign around the idea that the rampant spread of illegal drugs was devastating Filipino lives and that the country needed a resolute leader unafraid to use drastic measures to halt this scourge.

“I am your last card,” he would tell his audiences, casting himself as the final hope in a grim struggle against a powerful enemy.

This message resonated with a wide swath of the population who felt unsafe in their own homes and on the streets, having lost faith in the police’s ability to protect them.

Coming from behind better-funded, well-known rivals, Duterte won the 2016 presidential election.

He viewed this remarkable victory as a mandate to replicate nationwide the “killing” model he had used in Davao City to root out crime and drugs.

What Duterte was cryptically referring to in the awkward phrase “a level of governance that is consistent to our mandate” was, in fact, a carte blanche – an open pass to bypass legal constraints that he believed were justified by his unexpected presidential victory.

Yet, he (or maybe his editor) tried to soften this message with a comforting assurance: “As a lawyer and a former prosecutor, I know the limits of the power and authority of the president. I know what is legal and what is not.”

He followed this with a guarded remark: “You mind your work, and I will mind mine,” implying, “I’ll do my job as I see fit; it’s up to you to stop me if you can.”

The veiled rhetoric that characterised Duterte’s early pronouncements surfaced again at the recent Senate hearing, only this time eclipsed by his bold, repeated assertion that he was taking “full legal responsibility” for the drug war he had set in motion.

In response to questions about whether he had directly ordered police to kill drug suspects, he confirmed unequivocally that indeed he had, adding that he even told the police to goad suspects into fighting back (nanlaban) so they (the police) could easily invoke self-defence.

This was not the stance of a former president bracing for a legal showdown.

This was the posture of a battle-hardened general rallying his remaining forces in one last stand for political survival.

Duterte understood that he was in a political arena, not a courtroom. What he therefore needed to project was defiance and self-assuredness, not deference or contrition.

He wasn’t speaking to his accusers; he was addressing his troops.

To my mind, his Senate appearance was a brazen taunt aimed at the nation’s lawmakers and those responsible for upholding justice.

In language dripping with expletives and insolence, he was in effect daring them: “Go ahead – charge me or throw me in jail if you wish. But do not expect me to offer apologies or excuses for doing what I believed was necessary.”

By appearing before the Senate to defend his drug war policy and the brutal campaigns that led to thousands of deaths, Duterte hijacked a platform he desperately needed.

This was his opportunity to rekindle the aura of fearlessness and invincibility that had so endeared him to his followers during his presidency.

He was fully aware that, apart from the unyielding Sen. Risa Hontiveros – the lone opposition figure who was willing to confront him with tough and sensible questions – other members of that chamber were either too reluctant or too cowed to challenge him.

The fact that next year is an election year was surely not lost on the former president. We can assume this was factored into his calculation.

It cannot be denied that Duterte still commands a sizeable following that he could mobilise to aid his allies or hurt his enemies. But there isn’t much else the aging patriarch can realistically do to support his embattled successor.

He is no longer president, and the 2028 presidential election is still over three years away.

So, what prompted Duterte to appear before the Senate and engage in what may, at first glance, look like a self-sabotaging performance?

My brief answer: He is fighting a crucial political battle that his daughter, Vice President Sara Duterte, is losing.

The vice presidency remains her last stronghold, yet she risks losing even this if Congress, with the Palace’s backing, decides to pursue impeachment.