Malcolm Conlan, the self-declared “British voice of the Filipinos,” has once again emerged from his Barong Tagalog wardrobe to remind us—unsolicited—that he feels Filipino.

Armed with nothing but a Filipino wife, a Facebook page, and the audacity of colonial hangover, he writes open letters like it’s 1898 and he’s the viceroy of our collective sentiment. He takes selfies with Duterte and supporters as though they’re constitutional credentials.

But Malcolm, buddy, wearing a Barong doesn’t grant you a seat in the Senate of Filipino opinion. It’s fashion, not naturalization. And let’s be honest—just because you initiated dozens of online petitions doesn’t mean you speak for 110 million people. You can love the Philippines all you want (Mabuhay!), but nationalism isn’t cosplay. Concern is welcome, but claiming a mandate? That’s as British as thinking tea solves everything.

Also, friendly reminder: Duterte is not the Philippines, and neither are his fans. Sip that with your salabat.

Judges love a good rubric. Whether it’s American Idol, America’s Got Talent, or RuPaul’s Drag Race, there’s always a checklist: vocal technique, charisma, uniqueness, nerve, and talent.

But when it comes to ICC judges? Sorry, they’re not scoring on crowd cheers or how many Facebook likes your lawyer gets. You can hold rallies, sign petitions, and even fly Malcolm Conlan in on a unicorn — they don’t matter. These folks are grading war crimes, not a high school talent show. It’s not “Justice’s Got Talent,” no matter how many YouTube vlogs you make in barong tagalog.

So unless the judges start handing out scores like “Crimes Against Humanity: 9.8, but bonus points for the TikTok dance,” those pro-Duterte picnics are just glorified potlucks. In short, no, audience impact won’t sway them. The ICC doesn’t care if your president is a crowd favorite. It’s not a popularity contest—it’s literally a court.