To serve and protect”—this has long been the guiding principle of the Philippine National Police. However, over time, this principle seems to have lost its essence. The institution, entrusted with safeguarding the public, has instead been plagued with numerous allegations of human rights violations, involvement in illegal drugs, and the protection of powerful criminals. These accusations continue to tarnish the image of an organization whose primary duty is to serve the people. Since its establishment in 1991, the PNP has continuously struggled to gain the public’s full trust.
Conversations with PNP officials reveal a recurring sentiment: the need for a “total cleansing” within the ranks. But what does this really entail? It signifies a call to remove officers involved in criminal activities from the organization.
The PNP inherited most of its structure and personnel from the Philippine Constabulary (PC), an institution infamous for human rights abuses during martial law. Many officers from the PC were absorbed into the newly established PNP, and brought with them the harsh, often violent, tactics of the past. This history appears to have shaped the PNP’s institutional culture, passing down these “barbaric traits” from one generation to the next. As a result, corruption and abuse of power became deeply ingrained in the system.
Corruption seems to permeate even the earliest stages of an officer’s career. Reports from field trainees during the Public Safety Officers Basic Course suggest that it is visible in seemingly minor transactions, such as overpriced ID holders required during training. These early encounters often mark the beginning of a cycle of corruption that continues as officers rise through the ranks.
The PNP’s already tarnished reputation reached a new low during the administration of former president Rodrigo Duterte. Under his directive to “shoot to kill” as part of his war on drugs, the Philippines became a country where extrajudicial killings were normalized. The PNP, tasked with maintaining law and order, became one of the main enforcers of this violent campaign. The result? Over 7,000 deaths, accompanied by widespread accusations of human rights abuses. Karapatan vice chair Reylan Vergara even went so far as to describe the PNP as an “organized syndicate” due to its involvement in criminal activities, particularly within the drug trade.
The drug war produced a “cobra effect”—a phenomenon where measures meant to solve a problem end up exacerbating it. The perverse incentives in place, such as rewards and promotions for eliminating alleged drug users, led to widespread abuses: trumped-up charges, planted evidence, and even a spate of killings as officers sought personal gain. The notorious case of the kidnapping and murder of Korean businessman Jee Ick-joo, in which PNP officers were implicated, is just one of many examples where the police, instead of protecting the public, exploited their position of power.
In the field, corruption continues unchecked, from the lower ranks to the highest posts. As Vergara said, not only do police officers protect drug lords, but they also act on the instruction of corrupt politicians. The “brotherhood” culture within the PNP, particularly among graduates of the Philippine National Police Academy and the Philippine Military Academy, perpetuates a discriminatory and politically charged environment. This internal culture influences promotions, assignments, and decisions that impact public safety.
A PNP official I once spoke with during a flight shared how this “brotherhood” manipulates the system. He admitted that good officers often leave the force, unable to tolerate the pervasive corruption, while neutral officers remain, and the corrupt ones rise to power and amass wealth. Despite attempts at reform—through seminars, salary increases, and social media campaigns—the core issues remain unresolved.
It is clear that corruption has been ingrained in the institution since its inception, with no significant signs of reform. The question now is: Can the public still trust the men and women in uniform, or are they simply forced to rely on them in the absence of better alternatives?
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Sensei M. Adorador is with the faculty of the College of Education at the Carlos Hilado Memorial State University in Negros Occidental. He is a member of the Congress of Teachers and Educators for Nationalism.