The only reason there is peace and order in Davao is because of

Hear the thunderous claim of Rodrigo Duterte: “The only reason there is peace and order in Davao is because of me.” This saying, sharp as a blade, reveals the heart of a ruler who declares himself the pillar of his city’s stability. He speaks not of institutions, nor of laws, nor of councils of men, but of himself—the man, the will, the enforcer. His words are both boast and warning, for they proclaim that peace and order can be secured by the might of a single leader, and that without him, chaos would reign.

The meaning is not hidden. It is the philosophy of the strongman, the belief that stability flows not from systems but from the presence of a decisive, unflinching figure. In this way, Duterte reflects an ancient archetype: the ruler who claims to be the living wall against disorder, the human bulwark that holds back the tide of lawlessness. For him, peace is not an inheritance of tradition, nor the fruit of gentle persuasion, but a prize wrested through fear, power, and unwavering resolve.

The origin of this claim lies in the city of Davao in the southern Philippines. Once plagued by crime, insurgency, and disorder, Davao was transformed under Duterte’s decades of rule. He became known for his ruthless campaign against lawlessness, employing methods that drew both praise and condemnation. To his supporters, he was the father who protected them from violence; to his critics, he was the iron hand that crushed justice in the name of safety. Thus his words embody the paradox of power: that in ending chaos, one may sow another kind of fear.

History, too, tells of such rulers. Consider Julius Caesar, who proclaimed himself the guardian of Rome’s stability after years of civil war. His hand brought order to a fractured republic, but that order rested upon his person, not upon the Senate or the laws. When Caesar fell beneath the daggers of Brutus and his allies, Rome plunged again into chaos, for the foundations had been built not upon institutions, but upon the will of a single man. So it is with Duterte’s claim: when peace depends on one, the city stands upon precarious ground.

Yet we must not dismiss the truth in his words. For often, in times of turmoil, it is indeed the bold and decisive who impose order where weakness once reigned. Consider Lee Kuan Yew of Singapore, who, though not without criticism, forged from a struggling colony a prosperous nation. He, too, claimed credit for the peace his people enjoyed, for his discipline and vision shaped the destiny of his city-state. Such leaders remind us that sometimes the strength of one man can alter the course of a nation.

But the deeper lesson lies beyond praise or condemnation. True and lasting peace cannot rest forever upon the shoulders of one man. For what happens when that man passes, or when his strength falters? If the people themselves have not learned justice, if the institutions are not strengthened, then the peace is an illusion, fragile as glass. History warns us again and again: where order depends on one, it perishes with him. Where order is shared, taught, and rooted in the people, it endures.

Therefore, let this wisdom be passed on: respect the power of strong leaders, but do not forget that peace and order are most secure when they are not the gift of a ruler, but the culture of a people. In your own life, do not depend upon another to bring you discipline, justice, or harmony. Cultivate it within yourself, and strengthen it within your community. For if each soul becomes a guardian of peace, then no city, no nation, will ever have to lean wholly upon the claim of one man: “I alone am the reason for peace.”