*Dr. Rodolfo John Ortiz Teope, PhD, EdD, DM
Recently, while scrolling through Facebook, I came across a video clip of a Senate hearing. In that clip, a male senator who is a lawyer was confidently discussing our historical territorial claims, yet in his narrative he appeared to brush aside certain well-documented historical facts. Moments later, a veteran lady senator—widely regarded as an expert and scholar in national security—responded with structured citations, historical references, and doctrinal clarity. As I watched the exchange unfold on my screen, I felt a mix of disbelief and reflection. It was not merely a clash of personalities. It was a clash of discipline.
That moment revealed something deeper about the state of our public legal discourse.
There is a great difference between a comedian who talks like a lawyer, speaks like a lawyer, and carries the wisdom of a lawyer, and a lawyer—a self-proclaimed legal expert—who makes people laugh and acts like a comedian by stating facts that are amusing but are not found in history and are sometimes off tangent in law, according to respected legal scholars. The distinction may sound ironic, but it is deeply consequential.
Let us give proper weight to the dedicated comedian-legislator who has earned his stripes not merely on stage but in the halls of Congress. Years of legislative experience expose a person to the real mechanics of lawmaking: drafting bills clause by clause, defending amendments under scrutiny, navigating committee hearings, reconciling constitutional limits with political realities, and understanding how a misplaced word in a statute can create unintended consequences for millions. That immersion builds interpretive depth. It sharpens instinct. It forces humility before the text of the Constitution. Add to this a commitment to self-development—serious reading of jurisprudence, consultation with legal scholars, study of parliamentary procedure—and what emerges is not a mere entertainer dabbling in law, but a lawmaker seasoned by institutional exposure. When such a figure speaks with wit, it is style layered upon substance. When he interprets the law, he does so not as a spectator but as one who has wrestled with its making.
In contrast, when a lawyer abandons scholarly restraint and performs legal commentary with theatrical exaggeration, the risk becomes evident. The title “lawyer” carries inherent authority. The public assumes competence. When that authority is used to narrate history loosely, stretch doctrines creatively, or assert sweeping claims unsupported by jurisprudence, the laughter that follows is not harmless. It shapes perception. It influences belief. It molds civic understanding of sovereignty, accountability, and institutional limits.
In this era of social media dominance, paid trolls, and relentless cyberbullying, public discourse is no longer a simple exchange of ideas. It is often a battlefield of narratives. Supporters, whether their chosen figure is correct or not, instantly elevate him as a legal genius. Meanwhile, those they oppose—especially the comedian who dares to speak seriously—are bombarded with insults and derision. Substance becomes secondary to loyalty. Noise overwhelms nuance. Yet I remain convinced that Filipinos are more discerning than the loudest comment sections suggest. Our people know the difference between a sincere, quiet, and humble senator who genuinely desires to serve and a noisy senator who thrives on spectacle, positioning himself for the next election or seeking the attention of a presidential frontrunner.
Law is not entertainment. It is the architecture of sovereignty. In matters of territorial claims and national security, inaccuracies are not trivial. They shape diplomatic posture. They influence public sentiment. They affect how future generations understand our rights and responsibilities as a nation. When historical facts are brushed aside for rhetorical effect, the consequences extend beyond momentary applause.
The exchange I witnessed between the male senator-lawyer and the veteran national security scholar reminded me that expertise is not measured by volume but by verifiability. It reminded me that discipline outweighs drama. It reminded me that humility before history is more powerful than confidence before cameras.
And so, if asked where I would place my trust, I would place it on the dedicated comedian-legislator who has proven through years of legislative immersion, self-study, and disciplined service that wit can coexist with wisdom. In the halls of the Senate, I would wager my confidence—not lightly, but with conviction—that such a man may, in practice and prudence, prove more grounded, more prepared, and more institutionally seasoned than the real lawyer or self-proclaimed legal expert who mistakes applause for authority. I would bet on that judgment with the utmost treasures of my life, because what is at stake is not personality but the integrity of our Republic.
*About the author:
