In this court, we too are tried
We all reserve the right to choose our sides. In Philippine politics, that has almost become instinct. But an impeachment trial demands more.

We all reserve the right to choose our sides. In Philippine politics, that has almost become instinct. But an impeachment trial demands more.


Malacañang on Wednesday dismissed online claims that Senator Ronald “Bato” dela Rosa had been arrested, describing it…

A Notice of Disallowance (ND) issued by the Commission on Audit (CoA), along with an order to return disallowed…

The Senate impeachment court on Wednesday granted the prosecution’s request to take judicial notice of the House of…

A senator-judge in Vice President Sara Duterte’s impeachment trial on Wednesday questioned whether there was a conflict…

Government rules governing the liquidation of confidential and intelligence funds neither explicitly allow nor prohibit…
In the auditorium of San Beda College, we watched a constitutional process unfold.
It was late 2000, and the impeachment trial of President Joseph Estrada was not just a news story. Senators sat as judges, lawyers argued, witnesses testified, and the country tried to understand what it meant to test power under the Constitution.
Protests around Mendiola had become almost daily occurrences. Classes across the Mendiola Consortium would sometimes be suspended. Because many major subjects were held in the late afternoon or early evening, we would still be on campus during trial days, absorbing history as much as textbooks.
San Beda showed the live coverage in the auditorium. Undergraduates and law students watched together, eyes fixed on the grainy television feed, as the nation held its breath.
Facebook did not exist. YouTube was not yet a thing. Our Nokias were indestructible marvels, but they could not stream a Senate hearing. To watch, you had to gather. And we did.
Certain faces remain vivid. Senator Miriam Defensor Santiago, sharp, forceful, impossible to ignore. I also recall her, though vaguely, as one of my mother’s law professors at the University of the Philippines. I remember Joker Arroyo arguing as one of the House prosecutors. They are gone now, but their voices still echo.
More than two decades later, I find myself watching another impeachment trial unfold. In my adult lifetime, I have witnessed at least three: Estrada, Corona, and now Duterte. Different names. Different charges. Different political climates. But the same constitutional anxiety returns.
By the time this piece reaches print, the trial of Vice President Sara Duterte will have moved on from its opening days. The first headlines would have been written, the first clips shared, the first loyalties declared. By its second week, it had moved into testimony, motions, questions, procedure, and restraint.
This is where the harder public duty begins: not merely to react, but to keep watching.
We all reserve the right to choose our sides. In Philippine politics, that has almost become instinct. But an impeachment trial demands more. The accused is not convicted by public anger, party loyalty, or the loudest commentary online. Conviction belongs to the Senate, voting under the Constitution. Until then, the responsible posture is not blind defense or instant condemnation, but discernment.
So we must be extra vigilant. We can listen to the lawyers, commentators, journalists, officials, friends, and even algorithms. But we must not subcontract our discernment. We cannot treat an impeachment trial like a reality show where we pick a team and wait for the finale.
We blame social media for much of our modern dysfunction. Often, we are right. But despite the noise, there is an upside. We are no longer passive consumers. We have fewer excuses to remain oblivious, and fewer reasons to depend on a single gatekeeper.
The tools for discernment are now within reach. We can read, compare, verify, revisit, and listen beyond the first loud claim.
But access is not wisdom.
The burden is ours: to use these tools not merely to confirm what we already believe, but to test whether what we believe is true.
At some point, while watching a senator-judge ask a question, frame an argument, or reveal a sense of judgment, a citizen may quietly ask: should I have voted for that other senatorial candidate? In an impeachment trial, the campaign jingle becomes a constitutional duty.
Ultimately, an impeachment trial should not destroy a nation. It may wound, divide, and exhaust public patience. But if carried out with fidelity to the Constitution, fairness to the accused, respect for evidence, and sobriety from those who watch, it can strengthen the republic.
The trial will judge one official. The way we watch it may reveal the condition of the republic.