Last Tuesday, the Senate convened (constituted, it says) as an impeachment court in what was anticipated to be a solemn undertaking under the 1987 Constitution: the trial of an impeached public official, in this case, Vice President Sara Duterte.
Instead, what transpired resembled a political circus with flying tempers, clashing egos, and a courtroom drama that never reached trial. With the Senate ultimately remanding the articles of impeachment back to the House of Representatives, citing “fatal infirmities,” critics could not help but ask: did the upper chamber just wash its hands of the matter, Pontius Pilate-style?
Theatrics were in full display from the opening gavel. The refusal of Senators Imee Marcos, Cynthia Villar and Robin Padilla to don judicial robes was the first sign that this was no ordinary constitutional moment. Robes are symbolic — of impartiality, seriousness and judicial demeanor. Their refusal spoke volumes. Were they signaling protest? Disdain? Or merely treating the occasion as dress-down Tuesday?
The show, however, was stolen by a near altercation between Senator Robin Padilla and Senator Joel Villanueva. Tensions flared when Padilla, a staunch Duterte ally, accused certain colleagues of pre-judging the Vice President and weaponizing her impeachment to divide the country.
Villanueva, who had taken a more measured but critical tone on the accusations, shot back. What began as a verbal tussle escalated until the sergeant-at-arms subtly shifted closer, just in case fists replaced words.
Meanwhile, another front opened up in the form of a verbal joust between Senator Imee Marcos and Senator Risa Hontiveros.
Hontiveros questioned the Senate’s apparent reluctance to proceed with a fair and open trial, warning against reducing the impeachment process to mere political accommodation.
Imee Marcos, fiercely loyal to her family’s alliance with the Dutertes, fired back, branding the charges as baseless and politically motivated.
The two senators sparred over procedure, substance, and decorum — a vivid reminder that despite the marble halls and solemn language, Philippine politics is still deeply personal and factional.
But the real headline came not from the noise but from the silence — the Senate’s decision to send the articles of impeachment back to the House.
Senate President Chiz Escudero, attempting to maintain institutional dignity, explained that the articles were “infirm” — lacking in form, substance, and perhaps seriousness. Without the formal endorsement of one-third of the House membership (as required by law), the articles were dead on arrival. This legal technicality became the Senate’s fig leaf, its clean towel to wipe its hands.
By sending the case back instead of receiving and docketing it, the Senate avoided a political minefield. But it also opened itself up to criticism: did the Senate fail in its duty to check abuse of power? Or did it save the nation from a political wildfire?
Supporters of the Vice President cheered the remand as vindication, while critics saw in it the continuation of elite protectionism and impunity.
Ultimately, the scene last Tuesday was less a trial than a tragicomedy. The impeachment court constituted itself only to self-destruct, and in doing so, may have set a dangerous precedent.
In prioritizing political survival over accountability, the Senate may have played Pontius Pilate — not with water and basin, but with microphones and moral ambiguity.