The Philippines’ Senate Plots Democracy’s Quiet Assassination

By Louis ‘Barok‘ C. Biraogo — June 8, 2025

THE last time the Philippine Senate convened as an impeachment court, it convicted a corrupt chief justice in 2012, proving no one was above the law. Today, as senators scheme to dismiss Vice President Sara Duterte’s trial without hearing a single witness, they’re not just betraying the Constitution—they’re strangling democracy in silence. Imagine a courtroom where the jury bolts the door to evidence, where the accused is shielded by cronyism and stalling tactics. This is the razor’s edge of crisis in the Philippines, where the Senate’s cowardice threatens to gut the checks and balances forged in the 1987 Constitution, a bulwark against the dark days of dictatorship.

The impeachment of Sara Duterte, the first against a sitting vice president, is a make-or-break moment for Filipino democracy. Accused of jaw-dropping crimes—corruption, misuse of ₱612.5 million in confidential funds, and a chilling plot to assassinate President Ferdinand Marcos Jr.—Duterte faces a trial that could reshape the nation. Yet, as 97 scholars from the University of the Philippines, De La Salle University, and retired Supreme Court justices cry foul, the Senate teeters on the brink, flirting with “de facto dismissal” resolutions. This isn’t a procedural hiccup—it’s a stealth attack on the rule of law, reverberating with the sinister echoes of democratic decay from Washington to Caracas.

Democracy Under Siege: A Constitutional Catastrophe Looms

The 1987 Constitution, birthed in the fire of the EDSA People Power Revolution, demands action: Article XI, Section 3(4) orders that when the House, with over 200 signatures, impeaches by a one-third vote, “trial by the Senate shall forthwith proceed.” But Sen. Bato dela Rosa, a Duterte loyalist, wields draft resolutions to choke the process, claiming time runs short before Congress adjourns and the Senate, a “non-continuing body,” can’t carry on. This ploy, backed by shadowy allies, aims to kill the trial in its crib, a move the UP Law faculty brands “unsupported by factual developments and a proper reading of the Constitution.”

Globally, the parallels chill the bone. The Trump impeachments saw senators block witnesses, gutting accountability in partisan fervor. In Latin America, populist strongmen from Venezuela to Peru lean on tame legislatures to evade justice, eroding democratic guardrails. Here, dela Rosa’s “de facto dismissal” mirrors this, defying the Constitution’s design to check power. The UP Law faculty, 97 strong, warns, “A premature dismissal will undermine the core democratic principle of checks and balances.” De La Salle University thunders, calling it “an abdication of constitutional duty,” while retired Justice Adolf Azcuna insists, “There is no sound basis for delay.” Against this, Senate President Chiz Escudero delays from June 2 to June 11, citing “priority legislative measures.” With six session days left, is this a calculated sabotage, a silent coup against justice? The stench of evasion grows stronger.

Power Plays or Justice Denied: The Marcos-Duterte Blood Feud Explodes

This saga pulses with the venom of a ruptured alliance between Sara Duterte and President Marcos, once partners in the 2022 UniTeam. Duterte, daughter of ex-President Rodrigo, quit as Education Secretary amid clashes with Marcos and House Speaker Martin Romualdez, his cousin. The impeachment, filed February 5, 2025, hurls explosive charges: a plot to assassinate Marcos, his wife, and Romualdez—Duterte mused in November 2024 about ordering such a hit if she died—and the murky misuse of ₱612.5 million in confidential funds from her vice presidential and education roles. Her camp screams political vendetta; critics demand truth through trial.

Is this a righteous reckoning or a Marcos-Romualdez power grab? The House’s lightning-fast impeachment, with over 200 backers, hints at a plot to crush Duterte before the 2028 election. Her brother, Rep. Paolo Duterte, decries a “clear act of political persecution.” Yet the charges—graft, bribery, betrayal of trust—tap a public vein of fury over unaccounted funds and dynastic excess. Senators dodge with contradictions: they lean on *Neri v. Senate* and *Balag v. Senate*, claiming the Senate’s term limits bar a trial into the 20th Congress. The UP Law faculty torches this: these cases tie to legislative probes, not impeachment, a “singularly important constitutional duty.” The 2012 Corona trial spanned Congresses, ending in conviction—why not now? Loyalty to Duterte, not law, seems to steer this ship.

EDSA’s Ghost Haunts: Senate’s Betrayal Imperils Trust

The 1986 EDSA Revolution ousted a dictator, birthing a Constitution to cage power. Impeachment, De La Salle University proclaims, is a “sacred mechanism… to ensure that the highest public officials remain answerable to the people.” But the Senate’s stalling—Escudero’s delays, dela Rosa’s dismissal push—spits on this legacy. “To cut short this process is not only a disservice to justice but also a betrayal of public trust,” DLSU roars. The UP Law faculty adds: “A dismissal at this point would be deemed by the Filipino people as effectively engineered by the Senate’s own delay.”

Civil society battles back. Ninety-seven UP scholars, DLSU, and San Beda’s retired justices—Adolf Azcuna, Jose Vitug—demand action. “The people look to their Senate to be the forum for the country’s most important truth-telling procedure,” UP pleads. Professor Paolo Tamase urges vigilance: “We want to have more information on who to elect in the next round.” This echoes EDSA’s cry, a firewall against authoritarianism’s return. The Senate’s dodge risks trust’s collapse, abandoning its “august chamber” honor, as UP warns, against Escudero’s flimsy excuses. The tally screams: 97 scholars, two universities, justices versus three shadowy resolutions. Whose side dares the Senate take?

Doomsday Precedent: Democracy’s Fate Hangs in the Balance

The stakes are apocalyptic. If the Senate buries this trial, it carves a blueprint: future leaders could wield impeachment as a weapon or dodge it with delays and allies. Picture a corrupt president, cloaked by a tame Senate, beyond the law’s reach. The 1987 Constitution’s armor—forged to block tyranny—cracks apart. “The problem with government, and the resulting lack of public trust in it, has to do with deficits in measures of accountability,” San Beda’s professors warn. A dismissal green-lights impunity.

Globally, the warning blares: Trump’s acquittals, Latin American strongmen—legislatures bowing to power kill democracy. The Philippines, once a beacon for ousting Marcos Sr., risks this abyss. Charter framer Christian Monsod eyes a Supreme Court fight if the Senate flinches. Six session days remain; the 20th Congress looms in July 2025, shaped by elections. Will new senators uphold the Constitution or cower? DLSU prays for “truth, transparency, and transformative governance,” urging courage over convenience.

Will Filipinos tolerate a Senate that kneels to power rather than truth? The answer rests with citizens, scholars, and a fading hope that 24 senators honor their oath. Democracy dangles—not by bullets, but by the quiet dagger of a trial never held.