When the Bench Speaks in Silence: Judicial Privilege, Public Trust, and the Sara Duterte Impeachment Case

By Dr. Rodolfo John Ortiz Teope

There are moments in a nation’s life when the law speaks with finality—and yet the people remain confused, divided, or even frustrated, mad, hysterical, and angry. One such moment came with the recent decision of the Supreme Court of the Philippines to strike down the impeachment complaint against Vice President Sara Duterte. The ruling, clear in legal form, stirred waves of public emotion. Many ordinary citizens—non-lawyers, citizens with no formal training in the law—asked questions that rang with sincerity: “Why wasn’t the case heard?” “Why was it dismissed so quickly?” “Does this mean high officials are untouchable?”

In the legal community, the answer was simple: the Constitution has rules. One of them is the so-called “one-year bar” rule: if an impeachment complaint has already been filed and acted upon, no new complaint can be filed against the same official within one year. The Court ruled that this condition was violated and that the process was not done properly from the beginning. There was no malice in this judgment, no cover-up—it was, in fact, a defense of the rule of law.

However, beyond the confines of the judiciary, a different reality was emerging. The voices of ordinary people, who may not be experts in jurisprudence, deeply understand the concept of fairness. Their unease is not because they reject the Constitution, but because they want to believe that no one is above it. And when they feel otherwise, even the correct legal outcome can feel deeply wrong.

This is where judicial privilege enters the story—not as the main character, but as a quiet presence in the background. Judicial privilege is the principle that judges must be free to deliberate and make decisions without pressure or fear that their private discussions will be exposed or politicized. It protects the court from being manipulated by outside forces, allowing it to remain independent and focused on justice.

And yet, like any privilege, it must be held in tension with another value: accountability. In a democracy, no official, not even a justice, stands above the people. When courts decide on cases that affect national leaders, especially controversial ones, the expectation for openness is stronger. People want to understand—not just the decision, but the reasoning, the logic, and yes, even the heart behind it.

The Sara Duterte case tested this balance. The Court stayed silent beyond its ruling. No spokesperson explained in the language of the streets what the decision meant. No one from the judiciary stepped forward to say, “Here is why we ruled the way we did. And here is why we hope you understand.”

Was the ruling correct? As far as the Constitution is concerned—yes. It upheld the rules. It did not weigh in on whether Vice President Duterte was guilty or innocent. It merely said: the process was flawed, and the process matters. It said that the law must be followed, even when it frustrates political urgency.

But was the decision well-received by the people? Not entirely. Many perceived it as an additional barrier to accountability. And that perception—regardless of legal correctness—hurts public trust. People cannot support what they do not understand. And when institutions hide behind silence, even the most principled decisions can look like injustice.

What, then, is the lesson here?

Perhaps it is this: the Supreme Court must remain independent but not invisible. Its members may not campaign like politicians, but they must not forget that their rulings touch the lives of people who deserve an explanation. Just as the police have public relations officers and the president has a communications team, maybe the judiciary, too, needs a way to explain its reasoning to the nation it serves.

This endeavor is not about pandering to public opinion. It is about democratic humility—a reminder that even the most powerful minds in black robes owe something to the people who grant them their authority.

To the court’s credit, it obeyed the law. But if law's goal is to persuade as well as command, more may be needed. Perhaps we must teach our people more about the Constitution—not in classrooms alone, but through conversations that speak in the language of laborers, tambays, barbers, farmers, drivers, maritesses, and single parents. And perhaps the Court must learn, too—not to speak less, but to speak with more empathy.

Let us be clear: judicial privilege must be preserved. Without it, judges would be paralyzed by fear and politics. But when decisions shake the public’s confidence, the Court must also reach out—not to explain away its duty, but to open its hand and say, “We see you. We hear your questions. Here is how we arrived at our answer.”

In the end, what’s at stake is more than one impeachment case. The soul of our democracy—the fragile, enduring belief that even the highest offices serve the will of the people, and that justice, despite its blindness, does not ignore the cries of ordinary citizens—is at stake.

Let us support the Supreme Court in its difficult work. Let us respect its independence. But let us also build bridges—so that law and public understanding can walk together. If we can do that, perhaps we can turn moments of division into shared learning and moments of doubt into a deeper faith in our institutions.

Because when law and trust meet halfway, democracy is alive!

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*About the author:

Dr. Rodolfo “John” Ortiz Teope is a distinguished Filipino academic, public intellectual, and advocate for civic education and public safety, whose work spans local academies and international security circles. With a career rooted in teaching, research, policy, and public engagement, he bridges theory and practice by making meaningful contributions to academic discourse, civic education, and public policy. Dr. Teope is widely respected for his critical scholarship in education, management, economics, doctrine development, and public safety; his grassroots involvement in government and non-government organizations; his influential media presence promoting democratic values and civic consciousness; and his ethical leadership grounded in Filipino nationalism and public service. As a true public intellectual, he exemplifies how research, advocacy, governance, and education can work together in pursuit of the nation’s moral and civic mission

When Law Meets Emotion: Understanding the One-Year Impeachment Ban Against VP Sara Duterte

By Dr. Rodolfo John Ortiz Teope

There is a quiet tension in the air. This is the kind of tension you feel when people seek answers, but the system responds, "Not now." Many Filipinos are still asking across social media, on TV panels, and in cafes and sari-sari stores, “Why was the impeachment case against Vice President Sara Duterte thrown out? "Why wasn’t she made to face the Senate?” These questions come from a place of deep concern, and I respect them.

In fact, I begin this reflection by saying: I fully sympathize with the millions of Filipinos who believe that Vice President Sara Duterte should have had her day in the Senate to respond to the serious accusations filed against her—allegations of misused intelligence funds, unexplained assets, even links to extrajudicial killings and open political defiance toward the President and House leadership. These are no small matters. These accusations strike deeply at the foundation of public trust.

And if you ask me, I too want these questions answered.

But here is the uncomfortable truth: Wanting something—even justice—doesn’t provide us the right to break the very rules that make justice possible.

The Constitution Is Not Optional

Our emotions may be loud, but the Constitution is louder. The 1987 Philippine Constitution clearly states in Article XI, Section 3, Paragraph 5:

“No impeachment proceedings shall be initiated against the same official more than once within a period of one year.”

That’s not a suggestion. It’s not flexible. It’s binding law. It applies to everyone—even to those we want to see tried, even to those whose guilt we suspect, and even to those we politically oppose.

So when the Supreme Court ruled last July 25, 2025, that the impeachment case against VP Sara was unconstitutional because it violated that one-year ban, the Court wasn’t protecting her as a person—it was protecting the Constitution as a principle. And that’s something we all must defend, even when it disappoints us.

It’s Okay to Feel Frustrated—But It’s Not Okay to Ignore the Law

Let’s be honest. It’s deeply frustrating. It feels like the public was robbed of the chance to hear the truth. After all, what better stage is there than the Senate, where all evidence can be laid bare?

Many people are asking, “Why not let her speak? Why not clear her name or validate our deepest fears? The answer is simple but painful: we can’t just bypass the Constitution because we’re emotionally or politically ready for a verdict.

The law says one impeachment attempt per year. That’s it. No workarounds. No shortcuts. And the fourth complaint filed by the House fell within that one-year period.

You can argue about its fairness, yes. But you can’t say it’s unconstitutional to obey the Constitution.

Sympathy Must Walk Hand in Hand with Discipline

Let me be clear: Feeling sympathy for those who seek justice is not the same as endorsing constitutional shortcuts. In fact, the truest form of public service is the ability to say, “Yes, I hear you. Yes, your concern is valid. But we must wait—not because we want to protect the powerful, but because we must protect the process.”

If you rush a legal proceeding, you provide its results a shaky foundation. And that’s the real danger: when process is ignored, truth becomes vulnerable to revision, manipulation, and rejection. Let us not forget that.

Could the Senate Have Helped?

Now let’s discuss a moment that could have changed everything: February 2025.

Many people hoped the Senate would convene as an impeachment court during that time. Some believed it would finally offer VP Sara Duterte the platform to explain herself—to present her evidence and perhaps even clear her name.

But the Senate didn’t convene.

Senate President Francis Escudero cited legal limitations. The House had transmitted the articles of impeachment, yes—but Congress was not in session. And according to procedure, only during regular or special sessions can the Senate try an impeached official. That meant waiting until the regular session in June. And by that time, the one-year ban had already been triggered, giving the Supreme Court firm grounds to halt the trial.

Frustrating? Yes. Is it also a legal matter? Absolutely.

This Was Never Just About the Truth—It Was About 2028

There's a growing consensus that this impeachment case may have been less about truth and more about 2028.

Let's acknowledge that we don't exist in isolation. VP Sara Duterte is widely considered a strong contender in the 2028 presidential elections. Her political influence, especially in Mindanao and among pro-Duterte circles, is undeniable. Taking her down now—through a conviction that would disqualify her from holding office forever—would have dramatically reshaped the battlefield.

Was this impeachment timed and fueled not just by evidence, but also by political fear?

Possibly.

And this is why the Constitution must stand. It’s the firewall that prevents political warfare from disguising itself as a judicial process. When impeachment is weaponized as an electoral strategy, democracy loses—not because truth is denied, but because justice is used for politics.

What Now? Is All Hope Lost?

There is still hope. The Constitution merely states, "Not now."

The one-year ban lifts by February 2026. If the evidence is strong, and if public clamor remains, a new impeachment complaint can be filed then—lawfully and constitutionally. If VP Sara Duterte truly has something to hide, she will have her reckoning. If not, she will have her vindication.

Until then, there are other venues for scrutiny. Investigative journalism. Congressional inquiries. Citizen vigilance. Transparency laws. The fight for accountability never ends—it just shifts form.

But let’s fight clean.

To Those Still Angry: I See You

I know some of you reading this still feel cheated. You’re frustrated. You wanted to see VP Sara grilled. You were eager to hear her testimony under oath. Maybe you’re convinced she’s guilty. Or maybe, like others, you just want things to be fair, open, and complete.

Your anger isn't wrong. But don’t let that anger push you into ignoring the very Constitution that protects us all.

What happens when we allow emotions to override rules? What happens when we say, “Let’s just go ahead anyway”? We risk creating a country where rules are optional—where today’s opponent becomes tomorrow’s victim.

We must be better than that. We must be principled even when it’s inconvenient. This is the challenging reality of genuine democracy.

In Closing: Principles Over Politics

The impeachment case against Vice President Sara Duterte was never solely about her; it served as a test of our values. Should we allow political storms to blow us off course? Or do we steadfastly adhere to the Constitution, regardless of the consequences?

Some may call this issue a legal technicality. But it’s not. It’s the bedrock of democratic accountability.

Yes, we sympathize with those who wanted to see this process through. Yes, we understand the frustration. However, the Constitution holds more weight than our emotions, and we must pay attention to it.

Ultimately, justice encompasses more than just the identity of the accused. It’s also about how we choose to seek the truth.

Let’s not compromise that.

Not now. Not ever.

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*About the author:
Dr. Rodolfo “John” Ortiz Teope is a distinguished Filipino academic, public intellectual, and advocate for civic education and public safety, whose work spans local academies and international security circles. With a career rooted in teaching, research, policy, and public engagement, he bridges theory and practice by making meaningful contributions to academic discourse, civic education, and public policy. Dr. Teope is widely respected for his critical scholarship in education, management, economics, doctrine development, and public safety; his grassroots involvement in government and non-government organizations; his influential media presence promoting democratic values and civic consciousness; and his ethical leadership grounded in Filipino nationalism and public service. As a true public intellectual, he exemplifies how research, advocacy, governance, and education can work together in pursuit of the nation’s moral and civic mission

Dismantle or Reinvent? Why ADORE, Not Abolition, Is the Smarter War on Drugs

By: Dr. Rodolfo John Ortiz Teope, PhD, EdD
Author of the ADORE Program and the 8 E’s Framework on Anti-Illegal Drug Strategy

 

I was once inside a barangay multipurpose hall in Barangay Fortune, Marikina City, speaking to a room full of former drug dependents and their families from the nearby areas of Marikina City, Antipolo City, and San Mateo, Rizal. They weren’t perfect. Many of them bore the stigma of their past, the judgment of society, and the uncertainty of tomorrow. But they were trying. They were hoping. They were choosing to rebuild their lives—not with bullets, not with fear, but with help, healing, and honest work.

That moment made me think deeply about where our nation is heading in our long-standing war on drugs.

Just recently, Senator Tito Sotto floated the idea of abolishing the Philippine Drug Enforcement Agency (PDEA) as well as the Dangerous Drugs Board (DDB) to create a new “Presidential Drug Enforcement Authority.” Although the proposal appears to be a reform on paper, it feels more like a drastic move that could cause more harm than good.

And so, I ask: Do we need to abolish PDEA? Or do we need to make it work better, smarter, and more humanely?

Reform, Not Ruin

Let me be candid—PDEA is not perfect. It has its fair share of internal lapses, inefficiencies, and corruption cases. But what government institution doesn’t?

Abolishing PDEA won’t magically solve these problems. It will, however, destabilize the current structure, erase institutional memory, and scatter the already limited manpower, logistics, and intelligence framework across another yet-to-be-established bureaucracy. The process will take years. During those years, our communities, particularly the poorest, will bear the brunt of an unrelenting drug network.

What we need isn’t demolition. What we need is strategic reinvention, people-centered reform, and an intelligent, systems-based approach.

That is precisely why I developed the ADORE Program in 2022, which was launched by then PNP Chief General Dionardo Carlos on March 14, 2022, in the direction of creating a national inter-agency task force—Anti-Illegal Drug Operations Through Reinforcement and Education—grounded on the 8 E’s Framework I authored. ADORE is more than just a program. It represents a philosophy rooted in a profound social ideology. A paradigm shift. A bridge between law enforcement and community empowerment.

The 8 E’s Framework: A Systematic Solution

The ADORE Program isn’t about slogans or slogans disguised as action. It is built on eight interlinked stages, each beginning with the letter “E”—designed to guide our anti-drug operations from reactive enforcement to proactive prevention and sustainable rehabilitation. In the 2024 State of the Nation Address of President Bongbong, the 8E's as a framework were mentioned in his speech as the focal point for addressing illegal drugs in the country.

1. Engineering – First, we need to re-engineer the way we think about the drug problem. Understand the roots. Assess the systems. Design smarter interventions.

2. Education – Awareness is the first line of defense. We must integrate drug prevention education in schools, barangays, and even in families.

3. Extraction of Information – Intelligence gathering must be systematic, grounded in trust between law enforcers and the communities they serve.

4. Enforcement of Laws – Enforcement must be firm but fair. It must uphold human rights and ensure transparency and accountability.

5. Enactment of Laws – The laws must evolve with the times. Legislation should be responsive, inclusive, and community-informed.

6. Environment – Rehabilitating not just people, but also their communities—physically, emotionally, and socially.

7. Economics – Addressing poverty is a core anti-drug strategy. We must provide jobs, livelihoods, and economic alternatives to those drawn into the drug trade out of desperation.

8. Evaluation – Everything must be monitored and measured. Data must drive policy and practice. Success must be defined not by arrests, but by changed lives.

This framework creates an ecosystem of healing, security, education, and empowerment.

Why Abolishing PDEA is a Misstep

Despite the good intentions and footnotes behind Senator Sotto's proposal to scrap PDEA, it runs the risk of worsening the problem. What happens to the trained agents? Do the intelligence databases remain intact? What happens to the community partnerships that have been established over time?

PDEA, as an institution, already possesses the operational backbone needed for an effective national anti-drug campaign. What it lacks is proper direction, reform, and system-based thinking—something that the 8 E’s Framework of ADORE offers.

If the house is leaking, do you burn it down? Or do you find the leak and fix it with stronger materials and better planning?

The Moral Soul of ADORE: Human Rights

ADORE stands firm on one non-negotiable principle: the sanctity of human life and dignity.

The drug war has claimed too many lives. Some were criminals. But many were merely suspects, some were victims of mistaken identity, and others were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

My approach through ADORE is different. I believe that rehabilitation, reintegration, and redemption are not weaknesses—they are strengths. Human rights are not obstacles to law enforcement—they are its compass.

Let us be clear: the enemy is not the addict. The enemy is the system that lets addiction thrive, the poverty that makes drug pushing a career option, and the corruption that allows drug syndicates to operate with impunity.

Eliminate the Misfits, Not the Mission

Another critical element of ADORE is my strong advocacy to remove misfits in uniform. If officers who sell protection, plant evidence, or kill for convenience infiltrate our ranks, we cannot win the war on drugs.

Reform must begin from within. PDEA, PNP, and all allied agencies must undergo moral and operational cleansing. With ADORE’s Evaluation and Engineering components, we have the tools to build a culture of integrity.

A Presidential Inter-Agency Task Force Based on ADORE

Rather than replace PDEA, I propose the creation of a Presidential Inter-Agency Task Force on Anti-Illegal Drugs, anchored on the ADORE Framework. This task force would bring together PDEA, PNP, NBI, NICA, PCG, AFP, DOH, DepEd, DILG, DSWD, TESDA, DTI, other government agencies, and local government units to work synergistically toward a common goal.

By uniting under one coherent system—the 8 E’s—we avoid redundancy and eliminate turf wars and jurisdictional conflicts and ensure that every peso spent yields measurable, lasting results.

What the People Truly Need

Filipinos don’t need a new name or agency to give them hope. What they need is honest leadership, strategic action, and visible, sustainable results. They need to see drug users rehabilitated, families reunited, and barangays transformed into safe, nurturing spaces.

They want programs that work, not press releases that fade.

Through ADORE, we give our people a way out—not just a way in to jail cells or, worse, funeral parlors.

ADORE Is More Than a Framework—It Is a Commitment

As the author of the ADORE Program and its 8 E’s Framework, I offer it not as a miracle cure, but as a tested, people-centered strategy grounded in my experience in research, public service, education, and law enforcement.

This isn’t just a proposal. It’s a lifelong commitment to national transformation. And I share this not from a desk in a corporate boardroom, but from years of working with police officers, barangay leaders, youth organizations, public schools, and victims of this long-standing social illness.

In Conclusion: Let’s Build, Not Burn

Let’s not confuse change with chaos. Let’s not tear down what can be repaired and improved. Instead of treating the war on drugs as a political game, we should approach it as the humanitarian crisis it truly is.

The answer is not in abolishing institutions but in reinventing them from within—with heart, with system, and with soul.

Let us not destroy the house of PDEA. Let us renovate it—with the blueprint of ADORE and the engineering of the 8 E’s.

Only then can we say we fought the war the right way—and won not just battles, but lives back.

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*About the author:
Dr. Rodolfo “John” Ortiz Teope is a distinguished Filipino academic, public intellectual, and advocate for civic education and public safety, whose work spans local academies and international security circles. With a career rooted in teaching, research, policy, and public engagement, he bridges theory and practice by making meaningful contributions to academic discourse, civic education, and public policy. Dr. Teope is widely respected for his critical scholarship in education, management, economics, doctrine development, and public safety; his grassroots involvement in government and non-government organizations; his influential media presence promoting democratic values and civic consciousness; and his ethical leadership grounded in Filipino nationalism and public service. As a true public intellectual, he exemplifies how research, advocacy, governance, and education can work together in pursuit of the nation’s moral and civic mission

Understanding the Difference Among Political Party Merger, Coalition, and Alliance: A Case Reflection on the Collapse of Alyansa ng Bagong Pilipinas

*Dr. Rodolfo John Ortiz Teope

Introduction

In the often chaotic rhythm of Philippine politics, many people have become familiar with shifting loyalties, recycled slogans, and sudden political alliances. What we are less familiar with, however, are the deeper structures that shape those changes. The words “merger,” “coalition,” and “alliance” are often tossed around during interviews and campaign launches, yet most Filipinos are never really told what they truly mean—or why it matters.

This lack of clarity is more than just academic. It has real consequences. The Alyansa ng Bagong Pilipinas (ABP)—a political movement that once inspired hope for genuine reform—is a perfect example. Its collapse wasn’t simply because of external opposition but because of its own internal confusion, timing, and structural flaws.

Thus, there is a need to break down the differences among mergers, coalitions, and alliances, and by reflecting on the rise and fall of ABP—what it promised, what it failed to protect, and what future movements must learn.

 

Defining the Basics: Not All Political Agreements Are the Same

Before diving into the story of ABP, it’s important to understand the basic differences between a party merger, a coalition, and an alliance. While they may sound similar, each serves a different purpose in the political world.

A party merger is the most formal and legally binding of the three. It’s when two or more parties decide to dissolve themselves and form a completely new entity. This involves shared leadership, shared ideology, and a brand-new identity. It takes time, legal paperwork, and a serious commitment to unity (Dela Cruz, 2015).

A coalition, on the other hand, is more of a practical arrangement. It usually happens when different political parties decide to work together—often for elections or legislative work—without giving up their individual identities. Coalitions can be strong or fragile, depending on how clearly the rules are defined (Torres, 2015).

An alliance is the most informal. It’s usually built on mutual interests or convenience. Unlike a coalition or a merger, alliances don’t always require documentation or shared goals beyond short-term political advantage. They’re often personality-driven and tend to dissolve as quickly as they form, if there is no commonality of interest and shared vision.

In the Philippines, these distinctions are often blurred. This was one of the key problems ABP faced.

 

ABP: A Movement Born Out of Reform and Frustration

When the 2022 elections ushered in the administration of President Ferdinand Marcos Jr. and Vice President Sara Duterte, there was a sense of both optimism and uncertainty. On one side, Marcos Jr.’s promise of a “Bagong Pilipinas” stirred a desire for modernization and reform. On the other, many were anxious about what would happen to the Duterte legacy, particularly in the areas of human rights and governance.

It was during this transitional moment that the Alyansa ng Bagong Pilipinas (ABP) was born. ABP wasn’t a traditional political party. It was a broad movement of professionals, youth leaders, civil society groups, and some former officials who felt that real systemic change was still possible—if not through traditional parties, then through a united reformist front.

Its platform included ambitious goals: eradicating corruption, promoting federalism, pushing for education reform, protecting the environment, and reviving Filipino values. These goals were attractive to people tired of political theatrics and dynastic control. But even with all its promise, ABP failed to do the one thing that mattered most: define itself clearly.

 

The Identity Crisis: What Exactly Was ABP?

From the beginning, ABP struggled with its own identity. Was it aiming to become a new political party? Was it a coalition of groups working toward reform? Or was it just a temporary alliance for the 2025 elections?

Different leaders within ABP had different answers. Some pushed for registration as a formal political party, complete with a constitution and membership rules. Others feared that this would alienate existing allies from other parties and insisted that ABP remain a loose coalition. Still others treated it as a convenient platform to boost their public profiles ahead of the next elections.

Without a unified answer, ABP became vulnerable. Local chapters sprung up without central coordination. Public figures joined without ideological vetting. Traditional politicians—many of whom had been part of the problem ABP was trying to solve—started using the alliance to clean up their public image.

What was once a hopeful movement slowly began to feel like just another political vehicle.

 

The Political Earthquake: Impeachment and Arrest

While ABP wrestled with its internal confusion, the Philippine political landscape was rocked by events that no one had fully anticipated.

In late 2024, Vice President Sara Duterte faced serious impeachment complaints. She was accused of misusing confidential funds and undermining her working relationship with President Marcos Jr. These complaints gained traction, and by early 2025, she became the first vice president in Philippine history to be impeached (Bagayas, 2025; Thornton, 2025).

Around the same time, the International Criminal Court (ICC) issued and enforced an arrest warrant for former President Rodrigo Duterte. He was flown to The Hague to face charges related to human rights violations during his administration’s controversial war on drugs (ICC, 2025; HRW, 2025).

These events shook the Duterte political camp to its core. Many of their longtime allies were suddenly looking for a new political home—and some saw ABP as that home.

This influx of displaced political actors into ABP might have seemed like a victory. In truth, it marked the beginning of the end. With no strong vetting process in place, the movement was overwhelmed by personalities who had little interest in its original ideals. Reformists either left or were pushed aside.

 

Lessons from ABP’s Collapse

So, what really caused ABP to fall apart?

First, it lacked clarity of purpose. Was it a merger, a coalition, or an alliance? Without defining itself properly, it could not set boundaries or make strategic decisions.

Second, it had no internal structure. There was no governing body to enforce discipline or to keep members accountable. This made it easy for opportunists to hijack the platform.

Third, it lacked ideological screening. Anyone could join, regardless of whether they truly believed in the movement’s mission. This diluted its message and eroded public trust.

If there’s one painful truth the ABP experience teaches us, it’s this: good intentions are not enough. In Philippine politics, if you’re not structurally prepared, you will be swallowed by the very system you’re trying to reform.

 

Comparisons and Missed Opportunities

ABP’s experience is not unique. Other movements have gone through similar cycles. The Koalisyon ng Katapatan at Karanasan sa Kinabukasan (K4) in 2004 worked as a temporary coalition that successfully backed President Arroyo. It served its purpose and dissolved afterward—no confusion there (Reyes, 2015).

The United Nationalist Alliance (UNA) under Jejomar Binay had a more ambitious vision but failed due to leadership clashes and weak party-building (Villanueva, 2015).

Had ABP learned from these examples, it might have avoided many of its mistakes.

 

Reform Movements in a Dynasty-Driven System

The sad reality is that reform movements like ABP operate in a system rigged against them. Political dynasties still dominate local and national governance. Research shows that family-based political power is not only surviving—it’s growing (Acuna et al., 2024). These dynasties are skilled at adapting, forming new alliances, and even co-opting reformist language when it suits them.

In such a system, unstructured movements are easy prey. Without legal status, without leadership training, without an ideology people can cling to, movements like ABP become stepping stones for career politicians—not engines of change.

Worse, when these movements fail, they leave behind a trail of disillusionment. People who once believed in change become more cynical, thinking that maybe reform is impossible after all.

 

Moving Forward: What Must Be Done

Despite its collapse, ABP left behind valuable lessons for those who dare to dream of political reform in the Philippines.

Movements must be clear from the start about who they are and what they want to become. They must establish internal rules and structures, no matter how inconvenient or tedious that might seem. They must screen their members, protect their identity, and never compromise on their values just for visibility.

They must also communicate with the people consistently and transparently. The moment a movement loses its moral clarity or looks like it’s just another political brand, it begins to lose the trust of those who believed in it.

And above all, they must remember: movements take time. ABP may have risen too fast—relying on the momentum of the moment instead of building the muscles of sustainability.

 

Conclusion

The story of Alyansa ng Bagong Pilipinas is both a cautionary tale and a call to action. It reminds us that while passion, slogans, and moral outrage can ignite a fire, it is structure, vision, and discipline that will keep that fire burning.

As we move toward another election cycle, many new groups will emerge. Some will be born out of hope. Others will be manufactured out of political necessity. The challenge for all of us—citizens, scholars, reformers—is to ask the hard questions: Who are they? What do they stand for? Can they last?

Because if we continue to chase reform without preparation, we will continue to see movements like ABP rise and fall—leaving us, once again, with broken dreams and unfinished revolutions.

 

References

Acuna, R., Alejandro, A., & Leung, R. (2024). The families that stay together: A network analysis of dynastic power in Philippine politics. ArXiv Preprint.

Ayson, M. E. G., & Reyes, L. G. S. (2023). The Philippines 2022–2023: A turbulent start for the new era of Marcos leadership. Asia Maior.

Bagayas, J. P. P. (2025). Duterte’s impeachment and the spectacle of Philippine politics. East Asia Forum.

Dela Cruz, M. T. (2015). The dynamics of electoral coalitions in Philippine democracy. Institute of Political and Electoral Studies.

Human Rights Watch. (2024). Philippines: Duterte arrest a step forward for justice. HRW News.

International Criminal Court. (2025). Statement of the Office of the Prosecutor on the arrest of former Philippine President Rodrigo Roa Duterte. ICC Press Release.

NCCP. (2025). Statement on the Impeachment of Vice President Sara Duterte. National Council of Churches in the Philippines.

Reyes, L. B. (2015). Power and personality in Philippine elections. Visayas Social Research Center.

Thornton, S. (2025, May 28). Historic impeachment of Vice President Sara Duterte shakes Philippine politics. Broadsheet Asia.

Torres, J. C. (2015). Temporary alliances, permanent problems: The risks of political coalitions in weak democracies. Ateneo de Davao University Press.

Villanueva, S. M. (2015). The rise and fall of opposition movements in Philippine politics. Political Development Review.

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*About the author:
Dr. Rodolfo “John” Ortiz Teope is a distinguished Filipino academic, public intellectual, and advocate for civic education and public safety, whose work spans local academies and international security circles. With a career rooted in teaching, research, policy, and public engagement, he bridges theory and practice by making meaningful contributions to academic discourse, civic education, and public policy. Dr. Teope is widely respected for his critical scholarship in education, management, economics, doctrine development, and public safety; his grassroots involvement in government and non-government organizations; his influential media presence promoting democratic values and civic consciousness; and his ethical leadership grounded in Filipino nationalism and public service. As a true public intellectual, he exemplifies how research, advocacy, governance, and education can work together in pursuit of the nation’s moral and civic mission