Enough for the Culprit to Evade:
Burying the Complaint in the Name of the Law
On the night of August 6, 2025, under the dim glow of the Senate’s grandeur and the watchful eye of a nation, nineteen senators made a decision that may haunt Philippine democracy for years to come. With a vote to archive—not dismiss—the articles of impeachment against Vice President Sara Duterte, the Senate cloaked political evasion in the robes of legalism, a move both surgically calculated and morally evasive.
They called it respect for the Supreme Court. They framed it as fidelity to the Constitution. But what it truly was—at its cold, naked core—was an institutional surrender dressed up as jurisprudence.
The Supreme Court had earlier ruled that the impeachment complaint, endorsed by more than 200 members of the House of Representatives and grounded on serious allegations of betrayal of public trust and culpable violations of the Constitution, was barred by the Constitution’s one-year rule and infringed on Duterte’s right to due process. But the decision was not final—a Motion for Reconsideration had already been filed. The Court itself acknowledged the gravity of the House’s arguments by requiring the respondents, including Duterte, to reply.
Despite this pending judicial process, the Senate moved swiftly—not to seek the truth, not to uphold its constitutional duty as the sole impeachment court, but to pre-emptively entomb the complaint.
Let everyone be clear: archiving is not neutrality. It is action. It is, as Speaker Martin Romualdez warned, “in effect, to bury the Articles of Impeachment.” And buried they now are—tucked away in the archives, conveniently dormant, sealed with the collective signatures of senators who either did not want, or could not afford, to confront the political ramifications of proceeding with a full trial.
This was not respect. This was capitulation. Senate President Francis Escudero hailed this decision as a victory for the rule of law. “Let history record that in this moment, we chose the Constitution,” he proclaimed. But history may remember something else: a moment when political expediency wore the mask of legalism, when a chamber empowered to deliver justice opted instead to store it in a drawer.
But history may record something more damning: that in this moment, a Senate that once rose against dictatorship bowed to executive proximity and judicial ambiguity. That instead of fulfilling its sacred duty to act as the people’s court in times of constitutional crisis, the Senate became a chamber of clerks, deferring not to principle, but to political weather.
Let us remember that this complaint was not a whisper from the margins—it was a thunderous act by a constitutional body. Over 200 lawmakers stood behind the impeachment of the Vice President. That is not a political prank. That is the House of Representatives speaking in institutional unison, raising a red flag before the people and the Republic. What followed was an orchestrated attempt to downplay, discredit, and, ultimately, disable that act.
The August Twenty-One Movement said it best:
“In choosing to abandon their constitutional duty… the Senate has allowed the Supreme Court to interfere in a process that should belong to Congress alone… That is not how checks and balances work. That is how accountability dies.”
And die it did—not with a bang, but with a bureaucratic shrug.
The Senate could have chosen courage. It could have waited for finality from the Supreme Court. It could have asserted its constitutional primacy in impeachment proceedings. But instead, it deferred—abdicating not just responsibility, but relevance.
This moment exposed something graver than a legal misstep. It revealed the rotting underside of political self-preservation, where legal arguments are reverse-engineered to justify the avoidance of scrutiny. It is no coincidence that those who voted to archive the case include Vice President Duterte’s allies, her longtime defenders, and future election hopefuls. Their votes were not blind. They were calibrated.
Even more alarming is the rhetorical gymnastics used to dismiss legitimate scrutiny. Some senators dared to brand the House’s impeachment as “politically motivated”—as if that automatically invalidates the facts. As if politics, the lifeblood of democracy, is incompatible with constitutional duty. As if allegations of public fund misuse during a period when Duterte held no legal mandate are mere theater.
This is gaslighting on a national scale.
Rep. Benny Abante put it bluntly:
“Impeachment is not a political circus. It is a constitutional mechanism designed to hold high officials accountable.”
And yet the circus went on—just not in the halls of the Senate, but in the selective outrage of those defending the decision to archive.
Even the illusion of mutual respect between the two chambers is fraying. Rep. Jude Acidre’s rebuke was pointed:
“You can’t defend one branch of government by attacking another… Just because the Senate dropped the case doesn’t mean the issue disappears. Deflection is not accountability.”
Indeed, the public knows better. They see the threads of power being stitched quietly behind velvet curtains. They see how the powerful find escape hatches while ordinary citizens face the crushing weight of the law for far less. They see how public institutions, tasked with defending truth, often serve as shields for the politically untouchable.
And in that moment of clarity, they ask: If not now, then when? If not this case, then what kind of case will ever be worthy?
The Senate may argue that archiving keeps options open. Former Senate President Miguel Zubiri said, “That will never stop us from being able to pull out the document from the archives.” But that’s not reassurance. That’s a bureaucratic form of ghosting—"We’ll call you when we’re ready." And if the SC upholds its earlier ruling? Then the case never stood a chance.
This decision sets a dangerous precedent. It tells every future high-ranking official: if you’re powerful enough, the law will blink first. It encourages evasion, not introspection. It rewards silence, not accountability.
But this story is not yet over.
The House has vowed to continue the fight. A new impeachment complaint may be filed after the one-year bar lapses. The public’s verdict, too, is still being written—not only in courtrooms, but in the streets, in social media, and, soon enough, at the ballot box.
Let no one forget what happened here. Let no one confuse legalism with justice. Let no one pretend that this was a normal day in a healthy democracy.
Because on that day, the Senate did not just archive a document.
It archived the chance for the truth to speak.
And in doing so, it allowed the culprit to evade—not because the system failed, but because the guardians of the system chose not to act.
Let history judge them not by their words, but by what they buried.