In aid of extortion

At first there were three. The first was by a lawyer no one even heard of, containing allegations expressed in such a way that no one could take them seriously, but newsworthy because it wasn’t just an impeachment complaint against President Marcos, but was also endorsed almost instantly by the kind of congressman everyone likes to hate, a contractor.

The second was filed by the grim and determined Makabayan bloc, which was not amused when its striking heroic poses were derailed by it taking a few days of hide-and-seek before the House secretary general could be found to formally receive it.

The third was by the Gang of Four (former Ilocos Sur Gov. Luis “Chavit” Singson, former Rep. Michael “Mike” Defensor, former Rep. Jacinto “Jing” Paras, and lawyer Ferdinand Topacio) Plus Plus. Not only did they also end up playing hide-and-seek with the secretary general, but not even a single representative expressed willingness to endorse their complaint. Not even Navotas Rep. Toby Tiangco, whose talk was taken by the Gang of Four Plus Plus as evidence, dignified the complaint with an endorsement.

And so there were two. Lawyer Andre de Jesus’ and that of Makabayan were transmitted, together, by the Speaker, to the House committee on justice. So now there is one.

According to the chair of the committee on justice, Batangas Rep. Gerville Luistro, the Francisco ruling of the Supreme Court says the one-year prescriptive period on new impeachments against the same official kicks off when the House plenary transmits a complaint to the committee on justice. This means no further impeachment complaints against the President can be entertained until next year.

What comes next? Determining sufficiency—in form and substance—of the complaint. Luistro is of the opinion that since the two were referred together, they have been merged into one complaint; a deficiency in one or the other for one would make the other deficient, too: sort of like how, when one of a pair of Siamese twins dies, the other expires, too.

Alexander Hamilton loftily proposed impeachment as “a method of national inquest into the conduct of public men,” while Benjamin Franklin more earthily asserted that it was an improvement on what, up to that point, had been the only recourse for subjects who wanted to get rid of an obnoxious ruler: assassination. Impeachment, as we inherited and adopted it, was meant to be a kind of nuclear option to preserve the state, in the face of an elected or constitutional official becoming intolerable. By design, it was meant to be a difficult thing to carry off, requiring almost superhuman majorities in our political and not legal institutions, because only an overwhelming consensus by elected representatives would carry legitimacy in the eyes of the public.

In their wisdom –or to be precise, naiveté—the framers of our current Charter decided to make impeachment easier—merely one-third of the House could, if they combined, automatically impeach—but also, allow the citizenry to file impeachment complaints, too, which only needed a representative’s endorsement to be taken up.

But our judiciary, essentially chosen by unelected lawyers who present a limited menu for presidents to take it or leave it (which is why in an act of intellectual buyer’s remorse, the late Joaquin Bernas proposed a return to the pre-martial law system of having Congress’ Commission on Appointments do the job again), has spent over 30 years amending the Constitution by repeatedly interpreting it to steadily turn impeachment from the political process it wisely—and democratically—was, to a judicial one it was precisely meant not to be. Conviction in an impeachment did not lead to the loss of life, liberty, or property, which are so serious, they require the strictest procedures because of what’s at stake. In impeachment, merely public office—and being able to hold it in the future—is at stake.

In the face of thinking themselves so clever, the response of other, even clever, lawyers has been to defeat the tinkering by justices, the intentions of the framers, or the opportunity for our institutions to do their job. The Marcosian legal legacy of creative circumvention honed by the likes of the late Sen. Juan Ponce Enrile and former Solicitor General Estelito Mendoza, found expression in Marcos-worshipper Oliver Lozano’s tactic of filing an obviously weak impeachment in order to inoculate then President Gloria Macapagal Arroyo. Critics of the President caught napping complained De Jesus did a Lozano, to which the cynic might shrug and reply, “What was good enough for a Macapagal is obviously good enough for a Marcos.”

With a Siamese twin of a complaint in its lap, it’s supremely easy for the committee on justice to strangle it in its cradle. This political euthanasia might not happen as quickly as Feb. 6, when the one-year ban on impeaching the “Veep” expires, but surely it’s impossible to think that an institution known for its integrity (and impeccable honesty) could ever consider dragging things along to provoke presidential diverticulitis. Why, that would reduce any impeachment to being an exercise in aid of extortion, perish the thought.

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Email: mlquezon3@gmail.com; Twitter: @mlq3

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