It was the late Sen. Miriam Defensor-Santiago — said to be the best president the Philippines never had — who declared that “lawmakers should not be the first to break the law.” Santiago, a former judge, apparently made that statement out of sheer exasperation at colleagues who seemed too eager to cross lines they themselves were sworn to uphold.
Her words echo today in the wake of Sen. Erwin Tulfo’s gem of wisdom he expressed in Filipino during a Senate Blue Ribbon Committee hearing: “Sometimes you have to bend the law to please the people.”
Tulfo later clarified that he didn’t mean breaking the law — just bending it, as if the Constitution were a piece of rattan furniture you could twist to fit the décor.
But the Constitution isn’t a wicker chair. Article II, Section 1, says the Philippines is a democratic and republican state where sovereignty resides in the people. But here’s the catch: that sovereignty is exercised through laws duly enacted and enforced — not through improvisation by senators in mid-hearing.
Article VI, Section 1 vests legislative power in Congress, but it doesn’t grant members the license to treat laws as flexible guidelines. Article VII, Section 17 commands the President to “ensure that the laws be faithfully executed.”
And Article VIII, Section 5(2) gives the Supreme Court the exclusive power to decide questions of legality. In short: legislators make the laws, the President enforces them, and the courts interpret them.
No senator, no President, or even a Chief Justice, acting in a personal capacity, is authorized to bend anything. What part of, “No man is above the law,” is subject to interpretation?
History has already taught us what happens when officials claim to “bend” rules in the name of the people. Marcos Sr. declared martial law under the guise of public welfare. The result was the plunder of the treasury and the suspension of rights. When laws are bent too far, they don’t spring back. They snap.
The Supreme Court has been crystal clear. In Angara v. Electoral Commission (1936), it ruled that constitutional supremacy is absolute and binding. In Oposa v. Factoran (1993), it reminded public officials that they are trustees of the people, bound to obey — not “adjust” — the law.
And in People v. Maceren (1977), it affirmed the principle of nullum crimen, nulla poena sine lege: nothing is a crime, and nothing is excusable, except as defined by law.
If Tulfo thinks the Witness Protection Program needs tweaking, then by all means, file a bill. That’s what senators are supposed to do. Not improvise like frustrated stand-up comics in committee hearings.
What made Tulfo’s remark even more jarring was not just the words but the reaction they drew.
Behind him sat a veteran lawyer, schooled in the weight of every legal phrase. When Tulfo spoke of “bending” the law, the lawyer visibly winced, as if the sentence had landed like a blunt object on his professional conscience. That wince was a silent scream: the law is not made of rubber.
Populist shortcuts will always sound appealing. They promise speed in a country where justice too often crawls. But Article III, Section 1 of the Bill of Rights guarantees that “no person shall be deprived of life, liberty, or property without due process of law, nor shall any person be denied the equal protection of the laws.” Due process and equal protection are the guardrails of democracy: remove them, and justice becomes a crash waiting to happen.
In the end, we get the leaders we deserve. If we elect senators whose pronouncements make even ordinary people cringe, then maybe the Constitution itself will be the next to flinch.