*Dr. Rodolfo John Ortiz Teope, PhD, EdD
Last August 6, 2025, while waiting for my 15-year-old daughter Juliana to arrive from school, I was sitting in my abstract-inspired home office room,
staring at my 85-inch television with super surround sound systems, feeling
that I was in the Senate Gallery, eyes fixed on the deliberations of Senators Sotto, Marcoleta, and Lacson, the Cayetano siblings, and others while taking notes in a steno notebook over the impeachment of Vice President Sara Duterte. It wasn’t
the spectacle that drew me in—it was the weight of the moment. As a Filipino
citizen who cares deeply about the country’s future, I couldn’t look away. I’m
not a lawyer. I don’t pretend to be. I don’t memorize legal doctrines or speak
in Latin phrases. But I know what truth feels like. I know when something
doesn’t sit right. From the very beginning, this situation has not felt right to me.
I’ve written before that I respect the authority of the
Supreme Court. I accept that they are the final interpreter of the
Constitution. Their decisions are binding and final. But still, as a citizen, I
can’t help but ask: could they not have explained more clearly why they ruled
the way they did? Could they not have invited the public into the reasoning,
into the process, into the heart of justice?
Imagine if the Supreme Court had called for oral arguments
before handing down their decision. Imagine if they invited not just lawyers but also the framers of the 1987 Constitution, retired justices, respected
academics, and even the public to witness the rationale behind the ruling. We
would n't be confused, with half the nation protesting and
the other half in disbelief. The Filipino people deserve explanations, not just
declarations. Decisions without dialogue can sow division—and that’s precisely
what’s happening now.
At the heart of the decision is the Supreme Court’s ruling
that the House of Representatives violated its own internal rules when it
transmitted the Articles of Impeachment against VP Sara. As a technicality,
maybe that’s true. But since when did internal legislative rules become subject
to judicial review? The Constitution does not grant the Court authority to
meddle in the parliamentary practices of Congress. Those rules are for the
House and Senate to interpret and apply. They’re not the “law of the land”—they’re
tools to organize proceedings, not to override them.
This brings us to the constitutional wisdom behind the
one-year ban on successive impeachment cases. That clause wasn’t meant as a
technical hurdle—it was a moral safeguard. Its purpose is to prevent the
harassment of public officials through repeated, frivolous, or politically
motivated complaints. Once an official has been acquitted, the people deserve
closure—for at least a year. It was never meant to be a loophole to escape accountability but a firewall to protect democracy from weaponized partisanship.
But here’s the thing: this whole controversy is no longer
just about Sara Duterte. It never really was. The deeper we look, the more
clearly we see that the real story is the 2028 presidential election. Sara
Duterte, love her or hate her, is a leading contender. And removing her from
the race would open the door wide for others—particularly those with control
over today’s political machinery.
This leads us to the House of Representatives, specifically Speaker Martin Romualdez. Reports and exposés—especially from the
campaign manager of Alyansa ng Bagong Pilipinas, Congressman Toby Tiangco—reveal a disturbing pattern in his TV interview:
many of the congressmen who signed the Articles of Impeachment were lured by political favors. Some were allegedly promised
infrastructure projects. Others were offered financial incentives. What kind of
governance is that?
It’s not just unethical—it’s a betrayal. When members of
Congress, who are supposed to be the voice of the people, trade their
signatures for personal gain, the entire process becomes a mockery. It no
longer seeks justice; it seeks convenience. And the target is not just one
official—it’s a threat to anyone who stands in the way of political ambition.
The Senate’s decision to archive the Articles of Impeachment
was not a victory. It was a funeral—for truth, for due process, for hope. The
people didn’t win. In fact, they were never invited into the ring. The real
battle wasn’t between Duterte and Congress—it was between political survival
and public service. And in that battle, the people were collateral damage.
Let’s not pretend that the Supreme Court is just a neutral
observer. By stepping in, by striking down the impeachment on a procedural
basis, they became part of the narrative—willingly or not. Their ruling may
have been based on legal principles, but it will be remembered in history as a
political turning point. When the highest court is used—not for justice—but for
justifying the unjust, then we are no longer living under the rule of law, but
under the rule of interpretation.
The House, in response, filed a Motion for Reconsideration,
arguing that the Supreme Court had no jurisdiction over their internal rules.
And in principle, they’re right. But this isn’t about who’s legally correct.
This is about what is morally and constitutionally right. Impeachment is not
just a legal process—it is a political one. And politics, at its best, should
serve the public good, not private agendas.
We, the Filipino people, deserve better. We deserve
institutions that we can trust. We deserve lawmakers who read what they sign.
We deserve a judiciary that opens its chambers to the people. We deserve
elections that are not shaped by elimination but by competition. Because when
a possible presidential candidate is removed—not by vote, but by vendetta—the
democratic process is no longer democratic.
Let us be clear: this is not about personalities. This is
not about defending Sara Duterte or attacking Speaker Romualdez. This is about
principles. This is about ensuring that no one—no matter how powerful—can
hijack the democratic process to clear the path for their ambition.
If this is how we play politics, if this is how we use our
courts and our Congress, then we are not preparing for 2028—we are preparing
for disaster. We are planting seeds of distrust and division. And the real
victim won’t be Sara Duterte or any politician. It will be the Filipino people.
So what do we do now? We watch. We listen. We remember. And
most importantly, we demand better. We demand transparency. We demand
integrity. We demand that those who represent us do so with honor—not with
empty signatures or backroom deals.
Because if we let this pass as normal, we are not just
spectators to the fall of democracy—we are its accomplices.
Let history be the judge. But let truth be our compass.
