*Dr. Rodolfo John Ortiz Teope, PhD, EdD, DM
Some lessons in life never leave us.
No matter how many years pass, they quietly return at the exact moment we need them most.
One of those lessons came to me when I was a third-year high school student at Aquinas School in San Juan City. I can still remember sitting inside our Public Speaking class under our teacher, Ms. Gaddi.
Like many students, I thought public speaking was all about confidence—standing straight, speaking clearly, projecting your voice, and making sure people listened to you.
But Ms. Gaddi taught us something deeper.
She said, “Before you even begin writing your speech, ask yourself one simple question: Who is your audience?”
Naturally, most of us answered, “The people sitting in front of us.”
She smiled.
Then she gently corrected us.
“Not always.”
“Sometimes the people sitting in front of you are only your immediate audience. Your real audience may be somewhere else entirely. If you fail to identify your real audience, your speech may be beautiful—but it may never accomplish its real purpose.”
As teenagers, we appreciated the lesson because it helped us become better speakers.
I never imagined that decades later, while watching one of the country’s most closely watched constitutional proceedings, those words would suddenly echo in my mind once again.
It was a quiet Monday afternoon in Manila when the Senate session hall quietly turned into something larger than itself.
The senator-judges entered in their crimson robes, and standard formalities were followed with precision. Cameras from every major network were positioned and rolling. Outside, the city moved as usual — traffic, rain, ordinary life. But inside that chamber, and in homes across the country, something different was happening.
As Atty. Sheila Sison stood to deliver the defense’s opening statement for Vice President Sara Duterte, millions of Filipinos were not simply watching a legal proceeding. They were watching a story about power, loyalty, memory, and who gets to define justice in this country.
Napa-scroll din ako sa social media, doing what many Filipinos were doing at that exact moment — tinitingnan ang mga reactions habang binibigkas pa lang ang mga salita. Some were carefully noting every legal argument. Ang iba naman, mabilis na nag-clip ng short portions at pino-post ito na may captions tulad ng “Finally, someone said it” o “This is for the 32 million.” It was the same speech, yet it landed in completely different ways depending on kung sino ang nakikinig.
That split in reception revealed something important.
In reality, dalawang magkaibang kuwarto ang sabay na gumagalaw.
The first was the physical Senate hall — ang Constitutional Arena. Here, senator-judges sat bilang impeachment court. Sa loob ng kuwartong ito, ang Konstitusyon ang supreme. Evidence will be presented, witnesses will be cross-examined, at bawat claim ay susukatin base sa kung ano ang totoong mapatutunayan. Impeachment decision to remove the vice president requires 16 votes. The rules are strict, at constitutional ang nakataya rito.
The second room naman had no walls. It existed sa mga digital rooms sa Davao, Cebu, BARMM, Manila at iba pang solid lugar sa Visayas at Mindanao. It lived in group chats of DDS and potential advocates plus the Marcoleta supporters who recently flooded EDSA na puno ng “Inday Sara” stickers at sa mga comment sections kung saan hindi naman technicalities ang pinagdedebatehan ng mga tao — they were reacting emotionally. This was the Political Arena, at sa unang araw pa lang ng trial, it felt louder and more immediate kaysa sa mismong chamber.
Atty. Sison’s statement managed to speak to both rooms at the same time.
Sinimulan niya ito sa pamamagitan ng pagpapaalala sa lahat tungkol sa bigat ng mandato ng bise presidente:
“In this trial, the prosecution proposes that we unseat the Vice President elected to office by more than 32 million Filipino people — more than the number of votes cast for the sitting president…”
She spoke directly about the burden of proof na nasa balikat ng mga accusers, at nagbabala laban sa paggawang katatawanan sa prosesong ito. Kinuwestiyon niya kung nagkaroon na ba ang Kamara ng tinatawag niyang “mini-trial” at isang “vast fishing expedition.” Ginamit niya rin ang paalala ng Korte Suprema na ang hustisya ay hindi lang tungkol sa pananagutan kundi sa pagiging patas din:
“Justice includes accountability. Justice includes fairness. Without fairness, there is abuse. This fairness is what our democracy is all about.”
And then she reached for something deeper. Binanggit niya ang alaala at kasaysayan:
“The Filipino people have shown that they never forget. We, as a nation, never forget.”
Sa sandaling iyon, ang statement ay hindi na lang puro legal. Naging personal na ito. It told supporters na hindi binabalewala ang kanilang mga boto at ang kanilang pinili ay karapat-dapat pa ring ipaglaban. Para sa mga taong nakaramdam na sila ay inatake o binalewala sa mga pambansang usapan nitong mga nakaraang taon, may mabigat na talab ang mga salitang iyon. Sinabi nito na ang legal defense ay naging simbolo na rin ng pakikiisa o solidarity.
Ganyan talaga ang kalakaran ng mga high-stakes political trials sa panahon ng live streaming at social media. Hindi lang ito tungkol sa ebidensyang inihaharap sa loob ng chamber; usapin din ito ng kuwentong kumakalat sa labas.
Sa Constitutional Arena, ang totoong trabaho ay magsisimula pa lang. Over the coming weeks and months, kailangang sagutin ng defense ang bawat article of impeachment gamit ang mga dokumento, testigo, at legal arguments. Ang parteng iyan ay hindi pwedeng laktawan o palitan lang ng drama o naratibo. The senator-judges took an oath, at hinihingi ng Konstitusyon na magdesisyon sila batay sa kung ano ang napatunayan.
Subalit sa Political Arena, malaki na agad ang nagawa ng opening statement. It gave language sa nararamdaman ng maraming supporters. Imbes na simpleng legal case lang laban sa isang opisyal, ipinakita nito na ang mas malaking tanong ay kung pwedeng baligtarin ang boses ng milyun-milyong Pilipino gamit ang politika. Mabilis kumalat ang ganyang anggulo — sa pamamagitan ng clips, quotes, at mga usapang magpapatuloy kahit tapos na ang session sa Senado para sa araw na iyon.
Agree man ang isa sa diskarte ng defense o hindi, deliberate at effective ang naging desisyon na kausapin ang dalawang arena nang sabay. Modern political communication often requires this dual address. Kailangang marinig ng mga senador ang mga legal and constitutional arguments, habang kailangan namang marinig ng mas malawak na publiko na may halaga pa rin ang kanilang boses.
Nasa pinaka-umpisa pa lang tayo ng paglilitis. Mas marami pang sasabihin at ipakikita sa evidentiary phase. Parehong makakakuha ng pagkakataon ang magkabilang panig para ilatag ang kanilang pinakamalakas na argumento. Susubukin ng constitutional process ang tibay ng ebidensya, habang ang political conversation naman ang magpapakita kung paano tatanggapin ng tao ang kuwento.
Ang nangyari sa unang hapon na iyon ay isang paalala na sa Pilipinas ngayon, bihirang maghiwalay ang dalawang arenal na ito. Ang isa ang magdidikta ng legal outcome, habang ang isa naman ang humuhubog kung paano aalalahanin at mararamdaman ng bansa ang buong proseso.
At sa Day One, malinaw na kung sinong audience ang mas mabilis na naabot ng opening statement — at kung bakit napakahalaga ng reach na iyan habang umuusad ang mga susunod na linggo.
Magpapatuloy ang constitutional process, at nagsimula na rin ang political conversation. Pareho silang totoo, at pareho nilang maiimpluwensyahan kung ano ang susunod na mangyayari.
#DJOT
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Dear friends,
*About the author:
