“The impeachment of Sara Duterte…is a litmus test for a nation grappling with its democratic soul”
IN A quiet Manila street, Fr. Flavie Villanueva kneels with a rosary, leading a crowd of students and activists in prayer.
Their chants echo: “Truth! Justice! Now!”
The priest, a tireless advocate for the marginalized, has become the moral compass of a growing movement, his voice trembling not with fear but with resolve as he demands the Senate confront Vice President Sara Duterte’s impeachment trial.
On June 8, 2025, as the clock ticks toward a historic reckoning, the Philippines teeters on a razor’s edge—democracy itself hangs in the balance.
This is no ordinary trial.
The impeachment of Sara Duterte, the first vice president in Philippine history to face such a fate, is a litmus test for a nation grappling with its democratic soul.
The House of Representatives, with 215 votes on Feb. 5, 2025, charged her with graft, misuse of ₱612.5 million in confidential funds, bribery, betrayal of public trust, and chilling allegations of conspiracy to commit murder—threats against President Ferdinand Marcos Jr.
The Constitution waits.
But the Senate, tasked with upholding this sacred duty, wavers.
An unprecedented coalition of voices has risen to demand action.
Deans from Ateneo’s law schools—Manila, Davao, Zamboanga, Naga, and Cagayan—joined by the Lasallian Family, Adamson University, and the University of Santo Tomas, issued a clarion call on June 8, 2025.
“We pray that the Philippine Senate will… respond to its moral and Constitutional duty,” Ateneo’s deans declared, their joint statement a plea for truth and justice.
The Lasallian Family condemned “any and all efforts—covert or overt—to prematurely discard” the process, while Adamson insisted, “The Constitution demands action forthwith, and so do we.”
UST’s succinct cry—“Respect the Constitution. Fulfill the Duty. Forthwith proceed. Veritas (Truth)”—cuts through the noise.
This unity among academic titans frames the trial as a battle for the rule of law, a firewall against institutional decay.
Yet legal ambiguity clouds the path.
The 1987 Constitution mandates the Senate to “forthwith proceed” once impeachment articles arrive, a duty scholars like former Justice Azcuna, a drafter of the charter, say transcends congressional terms—the Senate, as a “continuing body,” must finish what it starts.
But senators like Bato dela Rosa push back, claiming a “de facto dismissal” after 100 days of delay, a stance critics decry as a dodge.
Others, like Tolentino, eye a rushed 19-day trial before the 19th Congress adjourns on June 14, 2025.
The clock ticks. Can justice breathe in such a sprint?
Beneath the legalese lies a darker subtext: a proxy war between dynasties.
Sara Duterte’s alleged threats against Marcos, his wife, and House Speaker Martin Romualdez—vowing in Nov. 2024 to order their deaths if she met harm—ignited a firestorm.
Her resignation as Education Secretary and the unraveling of her 2022 alliance with Marcos fuel suspicion.
Is this accountability or a vendetta?
With the 2028 election looming, political jockeying casts a long shadow.
Some see the Marcos camp flexing muscle to cripple the Duterte dynasty; others see a desperate bid to uphold the principle that no one is above the law.
The Lasallian Family’s warning rings true: senators must not be “mere spectators to political expedience” but “guardians of the Republic’s integrity.”
The human cost pierces through the intrigue.
Fr. Flavie Villanueva, a priest who has comforted families of drug war victims, now leads protests, his faith unshaken despite the risks.
Across town, Maria, a 21-year-old law student at Ateneo, confides her fears to me: “I studied the Constitution believing it protects us. But if the Senate delays, if they bend to pressure, what’s left to believe in?”
Her eyes, wide with hope and dread, mirror a generation’s waning trust.
The allegations—misused funds, unexplained wealth, complicity in extrajudicial killings—strike at the heart of public faith.
Adamson’s plea burns: “This is not the time for neutrality or passive observation; this is the time for principled leadership.”
The Senate’s path is fraught. A rushed 19-day trial, as Tolentino proposes, risks a spectacle, not justice.
Dismissal without evidence, as the UP law faculty warns, abandons the chamber’s “proud tradition.”
Delay erodes what Adamson calls “the foundations of our democratic institutions.”
The universities’ appeals—rooted in moral duty, pedagogical mission, and democratic zeal—echo a nation’s cry: no one is above the law.
The trial, set for June 11, 2025, teeters on a precipice.
The Senate now faces a choice.
Will it heed the Constitution, the deans, the priest, the students, and uphold its sacred role?
Or will it succumb to expediency, burying its own legitimacy?
The clock ticks.
The Constitution waits.
Fr. Villanueva prays.
Maria watches.
Democracy holds its breath—will the Senate be its guardian or its gravedigger?