Is it time for a constitutional court?
Watching how the current Senate leadership tried to sidestep its constitutional duty to convene as an impeachment court in the case against Vice President Sara Duterte, I found myself wondering: would we be better off with a permanent Constitutional Court?
The 1987 Philippine Constitution, following American practice, assigns this role to the Senate. But unlike the US, where institutional norms have been toughened by centuries of practice, we have struggled with the fiction that senators can abruptly transform into impartial judges. In truth, many of them are too steeped in partisanship to even feign neutrality. At their recent gathering as senator-judges, some of them could hardly conceal their contempt at having to literally don judicial robes.
Their discomfort is understandable—but it doesn’t excuse their refusal to comply with a clear constitutional mandate. Worse, most seem to have already made up their minds on charges as serious as corruption and betrayal of public trust.
This crisis points to a broader institutional design problem: the absence of a dedicated body tasked solely with defending the constitutional order by clarifying and enforcing its mandates. Our Supreme Court, already burdened as the nation’s court of last resort, cannot always give undivided attention to urgent constitutional questions, even as it wants to prioritize these.
Other countries have addressed this need more explicitly. South Korea, for example, authorizes its national parliament to initiate impeachment, but assigns the trial to a Constitutional Court composed of full-time, appointed justices. This avoids the awkward fusion of politics and adjudication that mars our own understanding of political accountability.
Such courts are not limited to impeachment. They typically rule on constitutional questions, such as the legality of martial law declarations or the validity of amendments. They do not function as appellate bodies; that task remains with the Supreme Court.
I still remember a time when we regarded strict fidelity to the Constitution as the backbone of the rule of law. It was how we measured our preparedness to govern ourselves as an independent nation. Accordingly, public office was regarded as a solemn trust—conferred by a people who believed in the rule of law. But that commitment appears to have weakened as political calculation seeped into every corner of our national life. Today, even the law and the justice system are seen as instruments of some politician’s political power.
That is why we must restore the Constitution’s primacy—as a set of foundational commitments freely embraced through the act of popular ratification, not just as a guide for governance but as a safeguard against political expediency.
US Supreme Court Justice Amy Coney Barrett once captured this idea by invoking Homer’s Odysseus. In a 2022 lecture, she recalled how Odysseus, sailing past the Sirens, ordered himself bound to the ship’s mast to resist their seductive song. “We, the people, are Odysseus,” she said. “There will be times when a democratic majority will be tempted to take actions that violate our fundamental commitments … We’ve tied our hands … so that we can resist that temptation in the moment.” I like that metaphor. Fidelity to a Constitution is like resolutely tying our hands to a set of fundamental principles, both as a defense and a necessity.
The present Senate, led by its current leader Senate President Chiz Escudero, offers a stark contrast. Unwilling and unable to rise above their political loyalties and resentments, the majority treated the impeachment case as a nuisance—an ambush laid by a scheming House. Their response was to stall, obfuscate, and delay. They sent back the Articles of Impeachment to the Lower House demanding that the document be accompanied by a certification that it was in full compliance with the law. Sheer hubris.
It is unclear what they hoped to achieve. The complaint against Vice President Duterte remains technically alive. But their actions have inflicted lasting damage. They have deepened the public’s skepticism toward the rule of law, reinforcing the perception that laws, including constitutional mandates, are optional—mere suggestions to be followed only when convenient.
Many Filipinos are now beginning to question whether we’ve placed too much power in the hands of legislators unprepared for the discipline that constitutional democracy demands.
