“The noise may have died down, but the questions are still alive, and they’re staring us in the face”
NOW that the dust has settled on the impeachment of Vice President Sara Duterte, we can finally talk about it without the shouting and the hashtags. But make no mistake—quiet doesn’t mean closure.
The noise may have died down, but the questions are still alive, and they’re staring us in the face.
From the very beginning, this was never just about politics. It was about accountability—plain and simple. To dismiss it as “just politics” is a lazy way to duck the real issue.
Sure, some of those who pushed for impeachment didn’t like the Vice President. But let’s be honest—some of those who killed it in the Senate didn’t care about the facts either.
They were loyal to her. Loyalty over law. Protection over principle. And when that happens, democracy takes the hit.
And here’s the part that should bother every Filipino: the core questions remain unanswered.
Where did the half a billion pesos in confidential funds go?
Was the money used as intended, or did it vanish into the shadows of “national security”?
And did the Vice President really threaten to hire a hitman to take out the President, the First Lady, and the Speaker of the House? Were those just jokes? Idle talk? Or something more serious?
We’ll never know.
Because the Senate slammed the door shut, not with a verdict on the facts, but with a technicality.
That’s not justice—that’s escape.
And when you “clear” someone without ever letting them face the evidence, what you’re really doing is protecting them from accountability.
The people aren’t blind to this.
The surveys showed it—most Filipinos wanted the trial to proceed.
They wanted answers. They wanted to see the process work.
Instead, they saw lawmakers shield an impeachable officer from the one Constitutional process designed to test her case. And for what? To keep political peace? To protect alliances?
But beyond the politics, this is the part that cuts the deepest: what message are we sending to our children? That power beats the truth? That if you’re in the right position, you can hide behind procedure? That public office is about privilege, not public trust?
Our Constitution says it clearly—public office is a public trust.
But trust is earned, not inherited. And right now, we’re asking the public to keep trusting institutions that won’t even finish the one job the Constitution gives them when it comes to impeachable officials.
The Senate could have done its duty—hear the case, decide on the facts, and let the chips fall where they may.
If she was innocent, fine—clear her after the evidence is heard. If she was guilty, hold her to account. Either way, the people would have had closure.
The Supreme Court could have done the same—hold oral arguments, hear the petitions, let the light in. By now, we could have clarity instead of conspiracy theories. We could have strengthened the idea that in the Philippines no one is untouchable.
But that didn’t happen.
What happened instead was a retreat—a quiet, careful sidestep around the truth. The impeachment process, meant to be a check on the most powerful officials, was reduced to a paperwork exercise.
And so here we are, left with more questions than answers, more suspicion than trust.
We could have shown the world that our democracy still has teeth. Instead, we’ve shown that it can gum its way around the truth when the accused holds enough power.
Maybe that’s the real verdict here—not on the Vice President, but on us. On our institutions, our lawmakers, and our willingness to accept a shortcut when the long road gets uncomfortable.
Because in the end, impeachment isn’t just about removing someone from office. It’s about proving that in this country, truth matters more than power.
And if we can’t prove that, then the real betrayal isn’t what one person did with public money or public trust. The real betrayal is that we let her walk away without ever having to answer for it.
And history will remember that—not just her name, but ours.
