“Objection your honor, your honors please”

How many times have we heard the words “Objection, Your Honor” in the past few weeks? So many times that they have almost become part of our everyday vocabulary. For once, our political language sounds almost civilized.

After years when words like “tang ina” (damn you / a vulgar curse) and “patayin ta ka” (I’ll kill you) were thrown around so casually that even children could recognize them, the impeachment proceedings of Vice President Sara Duterte have introduced a different vocabulary into our homes: “Objection, Your Honor,” “Your Honor, please,” and other expressions that sound as though we have suddenly enrolled in a crash course in courtroom etiquette.

But there is something amusing—and revealing—about the way Filipinos absorb political drama.I recently imagined a little boy passing by the dining table where his kuya was helping himself to more food. Instead of saying, “Hoy, huwag mong kunin iyan!” (Hey, don’t take that!) he might now dramatically raise his hand and declare: “Objection, Your Honor!”

And when his kuya continues reaching for the food, he could add, “Objection! Akin ’yan!” (Objection! That’s mine!) Perhaps Mang Dodong, sitting at the table, would then have to declare himself the presiding judge. We laugh because it is funny. But children often tell us more about society than we realize. They imitate what they hear from adults. They turn serious political language into play because that is how children make sense of the world around them.

And maybe, for a moment, we should be grateful. If children are going to imitate us, perhaps it is better that they imitate “Objection, Your Honor” than “Patayin ta ka.” Yet the humor also carries an uncomfortable question: Have our words changed, or have we really changed?

During the impeachment proceedings, one of the early articles concerned the alleged death threat against the sitting President. Whatever one’s political position may be, the very subject reminds us how dangerous political language can become when threats, anger, and personal hostility are normalized. And this is where the courtroom vocabulary meets a much larger problem in our society.

Just recently, my thoughts returned to the tragic case of a nine-year-old high-performing boy in Ateneo de Zamboanga who reportedly died after being shot by another young student using a firearm belonging to his father. The tragedy is heartbreaking not only because a child lost his life, but because it forces us to confront a culture in which violence can become frighteningly accessible. We worry about the words children hear. But perhaps we should worry even more about the actions they see. A child who hears “Objection, Your Honor” may learn to argue.

A child who hears “Patayin ta ka” repeatedly may eventually learn that threats are an acceptable way to express anger. And a child who sees firearms treated casually may not fully understand that a gun is not a toy, a symbol of power, or something that can simply be handled without consequence. Words matter. They shape the atmosphere in which children grow. But words alone are not enough. We can clean up our vocabulary while leaving our behavior untouched. We can replace vulgarity with polished language while continuing to insult, threaten, bully, and humiliate one another. We can sound respectful in public and remain violent in private.

That would be merely cosmetic change. The real challenge is to make respect a habit, not a performance. Perhaps this is the unexpected lesson of “Objection, Your Honor.” When I hear it used by a witness, for instance, who still insists that, as the official disbursing officer, it was within her power to release intelligence funds to 25 different places around the world—I cannot help but smile.

How exactly, Your Honor, were you able to release millions of pesos on the same day in different places across the globe? Do you believe that, Your Honor? How could that possibly happen, Your Honor please?

And then my mind mischievously whispers: “Tang ina… Your Honor, that’s amazing, Your Honor!” The old vocabulary suddenly sneaks back into the new one. It is not simply a funny phrase that children can borrow from television and politics. It represents an alternative way of disagreeing. You can object without attacking. You can challenge without threatening. You can argue without destroying the person who disagrees with you.

And perhaps someday, when a child reaches across the dinner table for his kuya’s food, he will still shout: “Objection, Your Honor!” Everyone will laugh. But behind that joke will be something worth preserving—a generation learning that when we disagree, we use words before weapons, reason before rage, and respect before violence. Now, that would be a verdict at the end of a trial that is worth celebrating!