Not everyone has to be a lawyer to recognize when something smells off. I am no legal expert, but as a teacher, a columnist, and a concerned citizen who reads and listens, I believe I can take part in this public discourse. Especially now, when one of the most crucial accountability processes in our democracy—the impeachment of a sitting Vice President—is at risk of being derailed not by lack of merit but by political choreography. At stake is not only the position of Vice President Sara Duterte but the credibility of our constitutional system, the independence of our institutions, and the moral compass of those we elect to represent us.
Impeachment is serious business. It is not a hobby for bored lawmakers, nor a weapon for political rivals. As Article XI, Section 2 of the 1987 Constitution outlines, it exists to hold our highest officials accountable for serious breaches: culpable violations of the Constitution, treason, graft, corruption, and betrayal of public trust. It is a safety valve, a last-resort measure to protect the republic when traditional checks and balances fail. But the strength of any mechanism lies not just in its design but in its use. A wrench left unused on the shelf during a system failure is not just useless—it is negligence.
Legal scholars across the board have weighed in. The faculty of the University of the Philippines College of Law, in a June 5, 2025 open letter, was unequivocal. They warned that dismissing the case without a trial, under the pretext of either procedural technicalities or the end of a congressional cycle, would set a dangerous precedent. They clarified that the Senate, when it sits as an Impeachment Court, assumes a special constitutional role that is distinct from its legislative function. This means the usual rules about the non-continuing nature of Congress do not apply. The Constitution itself mandates the Senate to “forthwith proceed” with the trial. That phrase, according to constitutionalist John Molo and other signatories, is not flexible. It is binding.
Even legal veterans like former School of Law Dean Chel Diokno, who has spent decades navigating our jurisprudence, echo the concern. Diokno has pointed out that an impeachment court is a different animal. It is not bound by the rules that govern day-to-day legislation. Senators, once sworn in as impeachment judges, are not lawmakers temporarily. They become custodians of the people’s trust. They carry the weight of deciding not merely guilt or innocence, but the institutional integrity of our democracy.
This sentiment is reinforced by no less than constitutionalist and 1987 Constitutional Commission member Atty. Christian Monsod, who, in an interview on Dobol B TV, stressed that dismissing the Duterte impeachment would violate the very Charter designed to protect democratic accountability. Monsod’s firm reminder cuts through the legal debate: the Constitution is not subject to political mood swings, and adherence to its processes is not optional.
Some argue that delaying the trial or outright dismissing it protects the Vice President’s right to a speedy disposition. But as several law professors noted in their legal opinions, impeachment is a sui generis (of its own kind; unique) proceeding. It is not a criminal case nor a quasi-judicial matter. Even if one were to assume that such a right applies, the Vice President herself sought to block the proceedings by petitioning the Supreme Court. You cannot stall a process and then claim to be victimized by the delay.
Iloilo, where I live and work, is no stranger to the consequences of public officials ducking accountability. I have seen how a delayed procurement, an ignored audit report, or a quietly junked investigation can make things worse for ordinary people—farmers who do not receive promised subsidies, teachers with delayed pay, barangay health workers waiting for hazard pay that vanishes in the paperwork. That is why this issue matters. When powerful people are allowed to dodge scrutiny, the costs trickle down to those who least deserve to suffer.
The public, it turns out, agrees. A recent Social Weather Stations (SWS) survey conducted from May 2 to 6, 2025, commissioned by Stratbase, found that 88% of Filipinos believe Vice President Sara Duterte should face the impeachment charges head-on—with 68% saying she “definitely should” and 20% saying she “probably should.” Only 7% said she should avoid the issue. This was the second highest priority respondents gave her, just behind calls for her to “collaboratively work to prioritize the nation’s needs.” The message is loud and clear: accountability is not just a legal requirement, but a public demand. And that demand crosses social, economic, and political divides.
And yet, this moment is not without hope. When law students, political science professors, and civil society groups speak out—as they have, from UP, La Salle, Lyceum, and Adamson Colleges of Law to the Ateneo Human Rights Center and the Center for People Empowerment in Governance (CenPEG)—they remind us that truth does not always need a gavel or a headline to be seen. CenPEG Chair Prof. Roland Simbulan has said that the Senate’s delay threatens not just one case, but the foundation of democratic governance. Inaction, he argues, is a form of complicity.
Still, this article is not about attacking Vice President Sara Duterte personally. Like any public official, she deserves due process and the opportunity to defend herself. But let that process happen. Let it take place not in rumor mills, press briefings, or social media threads, but in the Senate floor, where evidence is presented, examined, and weighed. We are not asking for conviction. We are asking for fairness, for the trial to begin as the Constitution demands. That is what any public servant should welcome if they have nothing to hide.
This is also not about hating political families or idolizing another. The impeachment process must be depersonalized. It is not about who wins in 2028. It is about who does what now. Senate President Chiz Escudero, as presiding officer, has the chance to either uphold the Constitution or reduce it to a suggestion. Some whisper he is playing safe to preserve alliances. Others say he is angling for future endorsements. But real leadership is not about staying in power. It is about doing what is right, even if it costs you everything.
One can look at this moment as an exercise in civic courage. A kind of Ignatian examen—a pause to reflect not only on the decisions made but the intentions behind them. Are our lawmakers acting out of fear, ambition, or conscience? Are they truly protecting the institutions they swore to serve, or merely playing the long game of political survival? We, the public, are not passive spectators in this unfolding drama. Our silence can either greenlight shortcuts or signal that we will not be fooled.
In classrooms across the country, especially in public schools where many teachers struggle with little support, we teach our students to stand up, speak truth, and act with integrity. If we demand that from our youth, we must demand it even more from those who sit in the highest halls of government. Let the trial begin. Let the Senate act not as a shield but as a mirror of our democratic values.
The call is simple and just: Honor the Constitution. Let the process run its course. No shortcuts. No excuses. The real danger is not the trial itself—it is the refusal to hold one. Because when the powerful are no longer held to account, the powerless have nowhere left to turn.
Doc H fondly describes himself as a ‘student of and for life’ who, like many others, aspires to a life-giving and why-driven world that is grounded in social justice and the pursuit of happiness. His views herewith do not necessarily reflect those of the institutions he is employed or connected with.
