Impeachment and the Senator’s Authority: Why Constitutional Judgment Is Not Exclusive to Lawyers

*Dr. Rodolfo John Ortiz Teope, PhD, EdD, DM

I remember reading a news story about a solemn moment inside a military academy, where silence carried a different weight—one not of fear, but of consequence. A cadet stood before the Board of Discipline, accused of cheating during examinations. His uniform was still pressed, his posture still firm, but his eyes betrayed the gravity of what was unfolding. Around him sat officers and academy officials, not all of them lawyers, yet all entrusted with the honor, discipline, and moral foundation of the institution. They listened carefully, reviewed the evidence, and weighed not only the act itself but what it meant for the values the academy stood for. The question before them was not simply whether a rule had been broken, but whether the cadet had violated the very code of integrity that defined the profession of arms. And when the decision came—to dismiss the cadet—it was not seen as a failure of legal procedure, but as a fulfillment of duty. No one asked if the Board members had passed the bar. What mattered was their judgment, their experience, and their unwavering commitment to uphold the institution’s honor. In that moment, authority did not come from licensure, but from responsibility. And in many ways, when the Senate convenes as an impeachment court, the entire nation stands in that same chamber, where the question is no longer about a cadet, but about the integrity of those entrusted with power.

The 1987 Philippine Constitution, in its quiet wisdom, vests in the Senate the sole power to try and decide impeachment cases. It does so without demanding that those who will sit in judgment be lawyers. That silence is not an oversight. It is a constitutional statement. It reflects an understanding by the framers that there are moments in governance when the question is not merely what the law says, but what justice requires. When the Constitution speaks of the Supreme Court of the Philippines, it requires legal mastery, experience, and professional discipline. But when it entrusts impeachment to the Senate, it shifts the ground. It recognizes that accountability in a republic cannot be confined to legal technicalities alone, but must be entrusted to those who carry the mandate of the people (Bernas, 2009).

There will always be the legal purist who insists that only those who have passed the bar possess the authority to interpret the Constitution, especially when the charge involves something as serious as a culpable violation of the Constitution. That view, while rooted in respect for legal training, sees only one dimension of a much larger reality. In the setting of impeachment, constitutional interpretation is never purely legal. It does not exist in a vacuum of statutes and jurisprudence. It lives in the intersection of law and life, where rules meet consequences, where text meets context, and where decisions affect the very soul of the nation. The determination of a culpable violation is not a simple exercise of reading provisions. It requires a judgment of intent, of willfulness, of the gravity of an act and its impact on constitutional order. It requires not just knowledge, but discernment. Not just logic, but wisdom (De Leon, 2010).

To say that lawyers alone can interpret the Constitution is to ignore a deeper truth. Even within courts, interpretation is not singular. Justices disagree. They dissent. They evolve doctrines over time. If those trained in law cannot produce a single, uncontested meaning, then it follows that constitutional interpretation is not owned by any profession. It is a shared responsibility, exercised by those entrusted with authority. In impeachment, Senators are not mere observers of legal argument. They are active interpreters. They listen to the law, but they also listen to the silence between its words. They examine not only compliance, but intent. They measure not only acts, but consequences. They ask whether a violation was deliberate, whether it struck at the core of constitutional governance, whether it eroded the trust that binds the people to their leaders. These are not questions that can be answered by technical expertise alone. They require the kind of judgment that is forged in experience, in governance, in the long and often difficult work of public service (Cruz, 2014).

There is a quiet truth that often goes unspoken, that no amount of bar licensure can substitute for the lived experience of those who have spent decades confronting the realities of national accountability. Senators sit through hearings that expose the depths of corruption. They listen to testimonies that reveal the human cost of failed leadership. They navigate the tension between power and responsibility in ways that no classroom can fully teach. Consider Senate PresidentVicente Sotto III, whose service in the Senate since 1992 has allowed him to witness and participate in the unfolding narrative of governance in the Philippines. He has sat as a Senator-judge in impeachment proceedings. He has presided over hearings where legality, ethics, and public trust collide. Through decades of service, he has weighed evidence, examined conduct, and confronted the complexities of accountability. His experience reflects a depth of constitutional engagement that cannot be measured by a bar certificate alone. It is in these accumulated years, in the long arc of public duty, that judgment matures, that understanding deepens, that the Constitution becomes not just a document, but a lived commitment. His example affirms a simple but powerful truth, that no license can replace the wisdom earned through sustained service to the nation.

It is within this understanding that the doctrine of Integritocracy finds its most compelling application. As articulated in Integritocracy: Ethics Above Ideology in Political Power System (Teope, 2026), governance must be anchored not merely on ideology or technical qualifications, but on integrity as the highest organizing principle of political power. In this framework, ethics is not an accessory to governance. It is its foundation. Leadership is measured not by titles, but by the ability to act consistently in the public interest, to uphold truth even under pressure, and to exercise power with moral discipline. In the context of impeachment, this doctrine reminds us that the ultimate question is not simply whether a law has been violated, but whether integrity has been preserved or betrayed.

Seen through this lens, the impeachment court becomes more than a forum of legal adjudication. It becomes a moral arena. The Senate does not merely interpret constitutional provisions. It evaluates whether those entrusted with power have remained faithful to the ethical standards that justify their authority. The task of determining a culpable violation, or any impeachable offense, therefore transcends legalism. It demands a synthesis of law, ethics, wisdom, and lived experience. It affirms that the authority to judge belongs not to a professional class, but to those who can uphold integrity as the highest standard of governance.

And what of the presiding officer, the one tasked to guide the proceedings, to maintain order amid complexity and contention. Must that person be a lawyer to ensure clarity and direction. The Constitution does not say so, and perhaps it does not need to. The role of the presiding officer is not to decide guilt alone, but to ensure that the process remains orderly, fair, and dignified. It is a role that demands leadership more than licensure, clarity more than citation, steadiness more than specialization. A non-lawyer presiding officer, grounded in experience and guided by integrity, can lead the impeachment court with competence and purpose. Supported by institutional rules, legal counsels, and procedural frameworks, the presiding officer becomes a steward of process, ensuring that justice is not only pursued, but properly conducted.

Even beyond our shores, in the United States Senate, the same principle holds. Senators, many of whom are not lawyers, have stood in judgment of presidents and high officials, deciding questions that have shaped history. Their authority has never been questioned on the basis of profession, because it is understood that the legitimacy of impeachment flows not from specialization, but from representation. Not from the bar, but from the ballot (Gerhardt, 2018).

In contemporary discussions involving Sara Duterte, where allegations have been framed under culpable violation of the Constitution, graft and corruption, and betrayal of public trust, the question of who is qualified to decide becomes more than theoretical. It becomes a question that touches the very core of democratic governance. These grounds are not mere legal categories. They are reflections of the standards we expect from those who lead us. To evaluate them is to engage not only with law, but with the meaning of public trust itself.

And so the answer becomes clear, not as a technical conclusion, but as a deeper realization. Yes, non-lawyer Senators have the authority to decide on these matters, because the Constitution has entrusted them with that responsibility. Yes, a non-lawyer presiding officer can manage the impeachment court effectively, because leadership, clarity, and integrity are not confined to any profession. And yes, in moments like impeachment, what the nation needs is not merely the precision of legal expertise, but the depth of human judgment, the courage to decide, and the integrity to stand by that decision.

In the end, impeachment is not just about law. It is about trust. It is about whether power has been used faithfully or abused. It is about whether the Republic still believes in the principles it has written into its Constitution. And in that defining moment, what matters most is not the title before one’s name, but the truth within one’s judgment.

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References

Bernas, J. G. (2009). The 1987 Constitution of the Republic of the Philippines: A commentary. Rex Book Store.

Cruz, I. D. (2014). Philippine political law. Central Book Supply.

De Leon, H. S. (2010). Textbook on the Philippine Constitution. Rex Book Store.

Gerhardt, M. J. (2018). Impeachment: What everyone needs to know. Oxford University Press.

Teope, R. J. O. (2026). Integritocracy: Ethics above ideology in political power system. Universidad de Episcopalia. https://episcopalia-edu.online/f/integritocracy-ethics-above-ideology-in-political-power-system

1987 Philippine Constitution. (1987). Republic of the Philippines.

_________________

*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.

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The Day General Dionardo Carlos Danced to Hawak Mo ang Beat: When Retirement Becomes Freedom

*Dr. Rodolfo John Ortiz Teope, PhD, EdD, DM

I remember the exact moment it happened, quiet and almost insignificant at first, like many moments that later reveal their deeper meaning. I was scrolling through my phone in between the constant rhythm of responsibilities when I came across a video of General Dionardo Carlos dancing to the now familiar tune of Hawak Mo ang Beat. There he was, moving freely, smiling without restraint, carried by the rhythm in a way that felt light, almost childlike, and for a brief second, everything else around me seemed to pause. What I saw was not a former chief of the Philippine National Police, not a man who once commanded thousands, not a figure defined by rank or authority, but simply a man enjoying a moment that belonged entirely to him.

That moment struck me more deeply than I expected, because I did not just see the man he is today; I remembered the man I once knew in a very different setting. General Dionardo Carlos was once my student, part of the very best and elite batch of the Officer Senior Executive Course, the distinguished Mabuhay Class. I had the privilege of serving as the lone faculty designate of their class during their training at the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI), Hawaii, way back in 2003, a time when they were being shaped by discipline, doctrine, and the demanding standards of leadership. That class was not ordinary, and neither was he, as they distinguished themselves beyond expectations and earned numerous accolades during that international exposure, proving that Filipino leadership could stand with pride and excellence on the global stage. Seeing him now, far removed from that environment of structure and command, made the image before me even more powerful.

What made that simple dance even more meaningful was the story behind it, a story not loudly spoken but quietly lived. After his retirement in May 2022, General Dionardo Carlos was offered numerous government positions, opportunities that many would have immediately embraced as a continuation of influence, relevance, and authority. Yet he declined them all. He chose not to return to the cycle that had defined most of his life. He chose not to exchange his hard-earned freedom for another title. Instead, he chose something far more profound; he chose to live the life that had long been set aside during his years of service, the life that, in many ways, had been deprived of freedom as a civilian to enjoy an ordinary life by the very nature of duty.

We often misunderstand retirement as the end of usefulness, as the closing of purpose, as a quiet fading into irrelevance, but what I witnessed in that moment challenged that belief completely. Retirement is not an ending; it is a return. It is a return to the self that was slowly set aside in the name of service, ambition, and responsibility. For years, even decades, we wake up not because we want to but because we are needed, we move not because we choose to but because we are expected to, and in that constant giving, we unknowingly leave parts of ourselves behind.

Then one day, it all changes. The uniform is folded, the office is left behind, the calls become fewer, and what remains is a question that no rank or experience can answer: Who are we when everything we have been known for is no longer attached to our name? Many attempt to answer that question by seeking another position, another role, another way to remain in motion, perhaps out of habit, perhaps out of fear of stillness, because stillness can feel unfamiliar to those who have lived a life of constant demand. Yet his decision offers a different answer, one that requires a deeper kind of courage, the courage to embrace life without the need to prove anything.

In that video, I saw that courage expressed not through words but through simple, unfiltered, and genuine joy. I saw a man walking without the weight of authority, returning to familiar spaces not as a figure of power but as an ordinary citizen, finding happiness in the simplest of things: cooking a meal, traveling, laughing, riding a 400cc motorcycle, and even daring to try again the experience of skydiving, not to impress, but simply because life now allowed him to do so. There was no arrogance, no sense of entitlement, only a quiet contentment that spoke more loudly than any title he once held.

This is perhaps the true meaning of retirement: not the absence of purpose, but the presence of freedom. It is not about doing nothing but about finally having the choice to do what truly matters. It is about reclaiming the time that was once given away, rediscovering the joy that was once postponed, and allowing oneself to live without the constant pressure of expectation. In a world that measures worth by productivity and achievement, we often forget that there is value in simply living, in simply being.

As I reflected on that moment, I realized that perhaps the greatest reward of years of service is not recognition, not legacy, not even the titles we carry, but the opportunity to finally rest without guilt and to live without obligation. It is the quiet dignity of choosing peace over power, of choosing life over position, and for some, like General Dionardo Carlos, it is also the strength to protect that freedom by declining opportunities that would take it away once more.

That simple dance, set to the tune of Hawak Mo ang Beat, carried a message far deeper than the music itself. It was a reminder that life is not meant to be all duty, that beyond the responsibilities and sacrifices, there exists a version of ourselves waiting patiently to be lived. And in that fleeting moment on my screen, I understood something that perhaps many of us overlook, that one day, when everything we have worked for is finally behind us, what will matter most is not what we achieved, but whether we allowed ourselves the chance to truly live.

Retirement, in its truest sense, is not stepping away from life; it is stepping into it, and when that moment comes, I hope we do not rush to fill it with another burden but instead allow ourselves the grace to embrace it fully, to experience it honestly, and perhaps, in our own quiet way, to find the courage to dance when the music finally belongs to us.

#DJOT

________________

*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.

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The Illusion of the Savior: A Nation Waiting, A People Awakening

*Dr. Rodolfo John Ortiz Teope, PhD, EdD, DM

I remember one humid afternoon during a campaign season way back in 2022, standing alongside my daughter Juliana Rizalhea at the edge of a crowded national park, watching a politician step out of a van as if he were a long-awaited savior, the music swelling, people clapping, and mothers lifting their children just to catch a glimpse of him, and for a moment, even as someone who has spent years studying governance, power, and the anatomy of public deception, I felt that familiar tug in the chest, that quiet and dangerous hope that maybe this time would be different.

But as I looked closer, beyond the rehearsed smiles and carefully choreographed gestures, I saw not a hero but a performance, not salvation but repetition, and it brought me back to a question that has haunted me for decades. How many times must we fall in love with the same illusion before we finally learn that no single person, no matter how polished his or her words or how dramatic his or her promises, can rescue a nation trapped in a system designed to consume even the cleanest of intentions. I write this not as a cynic, but as someone who has believed, hoped, voted, and watched leaders rise and fall while the same wounds in our country remained open, bleeding quietly beneath layers of slogans and campaigns.

The truth we often refuse to confront is painfully simple. Our problem has never been the absence of good men but the presence of a system so deeply entrenched in patronage, compromise, and survival that even the most sincere leader finds himself negotiating with forces that do not yield to purity. We have been conditioned, election after election, to search for a face, a name, a personality to carry the burden of our expectations, as if governance were a stage play and we were merely waiting for the right actor to deliver the final line that would set everything right. But nations are not saved by performances, and progress is not delivered by applause.

I have seen politicians cry on stage and embrace the poor under the harsh glare of cameras. I have seen them eat with their hands to simulate humility, ride tricycles to project simplicity, and sleep on woven mats to manufacture relatability. Yet behind these images often lies a reality that does not match the narrative, a reality of unexplained wealth, of networks carefully constructed to protect interests, of decisions made not for the public good but for the preservation of power. And still, we forgive, we forget, we hope again, because hope is the most powerful currency in politics.

What breaks my heart is not that we are deceived, but that we allow ourselves to be deceived in the same way, over and over, as if the passage of time alone could purify a broken system, as if a change in leadership automatically means a change in structure. In truth, the machinery remains largely the same, waiting to absorb whoever steps into it. I have come to realize that placing all our hopes on one leader is like pouring a glass of clean water into a barrel of sewage and expecting the entire contents to become pure. What actually happens is the opposite. The clean is overwhelmed by the unclean, the ideal is diluted by the real, and the promise of change is slowly negotiated into something unrecognizable.

At some point, we must confront a deeper and more uncomfortable realization that the problem is not only the people we elect, but the very framework that allows the same names, the same families, and the same interests to recycle themselves in power. There is a growing need to seriously examine and even change the Constitution and the form of government itself, because when a system is structured in a way that enables political dynasties to entrench their influence, shields corruption through complexity and loopholes, and concentrates opportunity in the hands of a few, it inevitably widens the gap between the rich and the poor. A structure that rewards longevity in power without sufficient accountability becomes fertile ground for abuse, and unless that structure is reformed with clarity, courage, and genuine public participation, we will continue to see the same cycle where wealth consolidates at the top while ordinary citizens struggle below, no matter who sits in office.

And yet, despite all this, I do not write in despair, because there is still a path forward, though it is far less romantic than the myth of a savior and far more demanding of us as a people. It requires that we shift our gaze from personalities to systems, from promises to processes, from blind trust to relentless verification. It requires that we demand transparency not as a favor but as a right, that we insist on digital trails for public funds, that we scrutinize projects in our own communities, and that we ask uncomfortable questions without fear.

Most of all, it requires that we remember that those we elect are not our idols but our employees, accountable not just during elections but every single day they hold office. Because in the end, the greatest illusion we must dismantle is not only the image of the politician, but the version of ourselves that believes our duty ends at the ballot box. Democracy does not end when we vote. It begins there.

And if we are brave enough to accept this, if we are willing to trade the comfort of hope for the discipline of vigilance, then perhaps one day we will no longer stand in crowds waiting for a hero to arrive but stand together as a people who have finally learned to govern those who claim to govern us.

#DJOT

________________

*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.

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