Six months have passed since Police Colonel Hector Grijaldo was locked up in the Quezon City Police Station 6 jail, one of the longest congressional detentions in recent memory, after he repeatedly refused to comply with House subpoenas and invoked his right against self-incrimination.
Grijaldo, detained since December 2024, has become a symbol of what critics describe as an alarming overreach of congressional authority. His continued detention — despite no formal criminal charges — has drawn quiet sympathy within the police service and raised eyebrows of legal scholars.
His family visits every Sunday, holding on to routine and hope as the embattled officer nears his expected release by Friday, 13 June — the day the 19th Congress formally adjourns.
In an exclusive interview with DAILY TRIBUNE, Grijaldo’s sister-in-law, Loricel Grijaldo, said the police colonel remains mentally sharp despite being held in isolation.
“He’s okay, he’s in good spirits,” she said. “He doesn’t share his cell with anyone.”
‘I served without fear or favor’
A Facebook post last week showed a shirt draped over Grijaldo’s sparse jail bed, bearing the words: “I am not a police officer for nothing. I served my country and the Filipino people without fear or favor.”
The message captures what his allies and sympathizers say is a defiant stance against congressional pressure to retract his testimony given at a 2023 Senate hearing on extrajudicial killings.
In that hearing, Grijaldo alleged that Representatives Dan Fernandez and Bienvenido Abante Jr. pressured him to back testimony of a supposed reward system for police officers compensated for killing drug suspects during the administration of President Rodrigo Duterte. He said he told them no.
The House Quad Committee, composed of four panels conducting a parallel investigation, cited him in contempt after he declined to testify anew. The lawmakers accused him of grandstanding in the Senate and stonewalling in the House.
He was initially held at the House of Representatives Custodial Center before being transferred to QCPD Station 6.
Since his detention began, Grijaldo has been on leave without pay — leaving his family to survive on his wife’s business and donations from sympathizers.
“He wasn’t there for holidays or birthdays. When my mother-in-law got sick, he couldn’t come,” Loricel said in Filipino. “But we visit him every Sunday.”
A recent post by a journalist who visited him last Thursday summed up the toll it has taken on him: “It’s been six months. He has missed birthdays, hospital visits, and Christmas. Monday is his next hearing… they’ve been trying to survive without his salary.”
End of Congress, end of contempt?
Grijaldo is set to be released, not because of a court decision, but due to legislative rules. The adjournment of the 19th Congress legally terminates all contempt citations tied to ongoing congressional inquiries.
Lawyer Abram Manahan explained to DAILY TRIBUNE that the House of Representatives may only detain its resource speakers in accordance with its power of contempt until the termination of the legislative inquiry — either through the submission of the committee report or the expiration of one Congress.
“The 19th Congress will expire on 13 June 2025. Accordingly, any detention based on contempt powers must legally cease by that date,” Manahan said.
He explained that the authority of the House to cite a person in contempt is an implied power vested in Congress to effectively carry out its constitutional mandate to conduct inquiries in aid of legislation, as provided under Section 21, Article VI of the Constitution.
However, the power is not absolute. It has limitations.
“In the case of Ong v. Senate, the Supreme Court clarified the three limitations of Congress’ contempt power: 1) the inquiry must be in aid of legislation; 2) the inquiry must be in accordance with the duly published rules; and 3) the committee must respect the rights of the person involved,” Manahan said.
“Congress may not detain someone just because they did not like the resource person’s answer,” he added.
Overreach or justice?
Legal experts say the case has exposed a gray area in the law: the boundary between oversight and coercion.
For lawyer Ferdinand Topacio, the case exemplifies how contempt powers, which are supposed to be coercive not punitive, may be abused.
“The contempt charge [against Col. Grijaldo] stems from his refusal to reaffirm accusations of coercion and witness tampering by members of the Quad Committee,” Topacio said. “The committee is practically defunct now. There’s no more legislative purpose being served by his detention.”
“It appears his continued detention is the result of pique — an improper exercise of contempt powers,” he added.
Lingering threats
Even after his release, Grijaldo’s legal battles may be far from over.
During the hearings, Rep. Ace Barbers and others hinted at possible perjury and obstruction of justice charges against him. Barbers also floated Grijaldo’s possible link to the 2020 assassination of former PCSO board secretary Wesley Barayuga.
At the time of Barayuga’s murder, Grijaldo was Mandaluyong police chief. His classmate, former PCSO general manager Royina Garma, was also tagged by Barbers in the alleged STL corruption scandal linked to Barayuga’s killing.
What happens next?
Grijaldo’s camp has not commented publicly on whether he plans to return to active duty in the Philippine National Police. However, insiders say his reinstatement may be complicated. The Internal Affairs Service and the National Police Commission may review his status before any decision is made.
Some legal experts believe Grijaldo could sue for damages or petition the courts to define the limits of congressional contempt powers.
If Grijaldo decides to take legal action, his case could establish a precedent and define the limits of legislative oversight and when it crosses into violating one’s constitutional rights.
Grijaldo’s ordeal has reignited calls for reforms in Congress’ contempt powers. Several lawyers and lawmakers are pushing for clearer rules — such as time limits on detention or a requirement for judicial review after a set period.
Grijaldo has kept silent throughout his detention, and his family has largely stayed out of the spotlight.
Whether he returns to uniform, starts a legal battle, or chooses to disappear from public view, one thing is clear: His case is not just about one officer — it’s about the limits of power, the rights of individuals, and the meaning of justice in a democratic society.