Trial, Trust, and Tribulation

Finally, after completing, returning, and starting over again, it has begun. Its path to the Senate floor was anything but straightforward, pushing through only after a rollercoaster ride of legal hurdles, including a Supreme Court ruling that declared the initial House Articles of Impeachment unconstitutional, which subsequently forced the Senate to archive them.

This moment is genuinely historic: VP Duterte is the first sitting Philippine Vice President to be impeached. While the nation remembers the trials of former President Joseph "Erap" Estrada in 2000 and former Chief Justice Renato Corona in 2012—as well as the short-lived impeachments of Ombudsman Merceditas Gutierrez (2011) and COMELEC Chair Andres Bautista (2017), who both resigned before their trials began—this marks only the third actual impeachment trial in Philippine history. Let’s see if it goes the way of Corona’s conviction or Erap’s ouster.

Interestingly, there were no impeachments in the country before 2000. It seems Filipinos suddenly became "impeachment-crazy" in the new millennium. Historians often attribute the pre-2000 lull to the high voting thresholds of previous constitutions and the suppression of the legislature during Martial Law. The latter makes perfect sense. However, this recent impeachment against the Vice President was secured with over 88% of the House of Representatives (more than 22/25ths of the chamber). To put that into perspective, that is significantly higher than the threshold required under both the 1935 and 1987 Constitutions. This means that even if this political drama had played out in the 1950s, the VP would still have been impeached; the threshold, historically considered a high barrier, was easily cleared this time around.

As the trial opens, we won't be seeing a Supreme Court Chief Justice presiding over the chamber, as Hilario Davide Jr. did during the Erap trial. Under the 1987 Constitution, that honor is strictly reserved for an impeached President. Because a Vice President is on trial, Senate President Chiz Escudero takes the podium as the presiding officer, allowing Senate President Pro Tempore Sherwin Gatchalian to manage the day-to-day legislative agenda.

This sets up a fascinating irony. Wasn't Senator Escudero the very same Senate President who initially ruled that the original articles of impeachment be returned to Congress? He even led the charge last year, delivering a fierce speech to justify the Senate's 19–3 vote to officially archive the first complaint against the VP. Last year, he effectively rejected the impeachment; today, he presides over the trial that finally pushed through. One could argue that this year’s articles are distinct from last year’s, but at their core, the primary allegations remain the same. What has changed is the political landscape—the Senate’s majority and minority factions have morphed so dramatically that the chamber's profile is entirely different. It is fascinating how, after all the remanding and archiving, the trial landed right back in Escudero's lap.

For many senator-judges, predicting their ultimate vote on the VP’s conviction is remarkably easy. The partisan lines are deeply etched. A faction will passionately vote to acquit, regardless of how the proceedings unfold. Another faction will just as passionately vote to convict, completely indifferent to the defense's arguments. The senators in the middle will likely weigh their positions against their political futures, shifting alliances, and future coalitions.

One can only hope that a meaningful number of senator-judges will actually base their votes strictly on the evidence presented. But what happens if politics completely overrides facts?

If the prosecution presents an airtight case—proving the misuse of confidential funds beyond a shadow of a doubt—but a majority of senators still choose to acquit, the consequences shift entirely to the court of public opinion. History shows that when a political body ignores glaring evidence, the public reacts intensely. When senator-judges refused to open the infamous "second envelope" during the 2000 Erap trial, they technically acted within their legislative voting rights. Yet, that blatant disregard for transparency outraged the public so deeply it triggered EDSA II. Senators who choose to acquit despite heavy evidence are gambling that the Duterte base is potent enough to shield them from a political backlash. They are betting that the public's memory will fade before the next election cycle, or that the political machinery of the Duterte-led alliances will secure their survival.

Conversely, what if the prosecution’s evidence turns out to be purely circumstantial or poorly presented, yet the Senate votes to convict anyway? In Philippine politics, the narrative of victimization is incredibly powerful. Convicting the Vice President on shaky legal ground could backfire drastically on the administration and the senators who engineer it. It risks turning her into a political martyr, potentially galvanizing her base, triggering massive civil unrest, or causing a severe electoral backlash against the ruling coalition in future elections.

So, which way will it be? Will the Senate vote on the merits of the law, or will they roll the dice on the volatile moods of the Filipino electorate?

Deuteronomy 16:19: “"You shall not pervert justice. You shall not show partiality, and you shall not accept a bribe, for a bribe blinds the eyes of the wise and subverts the cause of the righteous.”