THE recent Senate shakeups make skepticism understandable. Leadership changes, missing senators and quorum disputes occurring just weeks before a historic impeachment trial create the impression that legal procedure is being shaped by political maneuvering. The trial of Vice President Sara Duterte will, therefore, be judged not only by the evidence presented but also by whether the Senate’s rules appear fair, consistent and constitutionally grounded.
The most important issue is the conviction threshold. Under the 1987 Constitution, conviction requires the concurrence of at least two-thirds of all members of the Senate. In a full 24-member Senate, that means 16 votes. Recent events, however, have complicated the math. Following Sen. Jinggoy Estrada’s arrest and the absence of senators aligned with former Senate president Alan Peter Cayetano, the new majority under acting Senate President Sherwin Gatchalian established a quorum using a smaller number of active senators. The House prosecution panel is arguing that because only 22 senators are presently capable of performing their duties, the two-thirds threshold should be based on that number. If accepted, the votes needed to convict would fall from 16 to 14.
This shift matters because impeachment is both legal and political. It uses courtroom-like mechanisms — prosecutors, defense lawyers, evidence and rulings — but the judges are elected senators. The leadership change from Cayetano, who was seen as more favorable to the vice president, to Gatchalian changes who controls the pace, procedure and interpretation of Senate rules. Sen. Joel Villanueva’s move to provide the crucial 13th vote to oust Cayetano illustrates how political consolidation has already become part of the trial’s prologue.
The Supreme Court is unlikely to intervene unless there is grave abuse of discretion. This reluctance is rooted in separation of powers and the political question doctrine. The Constitution gives the Senate the sole power to try impeachment cases, and the court traditionally avoids interfering with legislative judgment. The Senate majority has also invoked Avelino v. Cuenco, a 1949 ruling suggesting that quorum may be based on senators within the country and within the Senate’s coercive jurisdiction, rather than on the absolute total membership. Because this precedent exists, the court may leave it to the Senate to apply it internally.
Still, a 14-vote threshold would create a serious legitimacy problem. Even if legally defensible, it could look like “moving the goalposts” to secure a conviction. For the prosecution, that is a major risk. Removing a popularly elected vice president through a disputed mathematical interpretation would allow supporters to portray the process as a rigged political deal, or “lutong macao.” Instead of settling the constitutional question, the verdict could deepen polarization and turn the vice president into a political martyr.
The defense faces its own dilemma. If it challenges the 14-vote rule before the Supreme Court, the case may take months and freeze the country in uncertainty. If it does not challenge the rule, it risks accepting a process it considers unconstitutional. Either way, the trial will not simply test the strength of the evidence; it will test public confidence in the institutions managing the crisis.
While the impeachment trial’s presiding officer Francis Escudero has declared a minimum vote rule of 16, a possible return to the argument is foreseen.
Filipinos can tolerate political drama, but they react strongly to perceived unfairness. If conviction is reached through a contested lowering of the threshold, supporters may see the decision as a partisan attack rather than a constitutional judgment. Regional resentments could also intensify, especially in Mindanao and parts of the Visayas, where the “Solid South” narrative remains strong. A story of a vice president from Mindanao being removed by based elites would be highly combustible.
Philippine history shows that impeachment crises rarely remain confined to formal institutions. In EDSA Dos, the Senate impeachment court’s refusal to open the “second envelope” against President Joseph Estrada triggered mass mobilization and his removal. In EDSA Tres, Estrada’s arrest later provoked violent protests by supporters who believed their leader had been unfairly targeted. If the Duterte trial drags on beyond September, every procedural ruling delay and evidentiary dispute could be amplified online as proof of persecution, giving organizers time to build a martyrdom narrative.
The military dimension adds another layer of danger. In early 2026, the Armed Forces of the Philippines (AFP) had to deny reports that senior officers were withdrawing support from the Marcos administration to align with the vice president. The AFP called these claims deliberate disinformation and reaffirmed loyalty to the Constitution. Yet the need to issue such statements shows that psychological efforts to test military loyalties have already begun. Although the AFP is more professionalized today, promotions, confirmations and public narratives still intersect with politics. For now, tensions in the West Philippine Sea and the push toward external defense modernization help keep the armed forces focused outward rather than on domestic rivalries.
However, this is exacerbated by the fact that it has been more than a year since the president exposed corruption and all that is happening is investigation. The public perception is that no big fish has been caught, some senators face serious cases, the rainy season is upon us, road repair and flood control proceeds at a snail’s pace. Indeed, it is a very trying time for the government and our people.
But if a contested conviction sparks mass protests or paralyzes the capital, pressure on the military to “intervene for the republic” could rise sharply. The Senate is therefore not merely deciding the fate of one official. It is deciding whether the impeachment process will strengthen constitutional order or deepen distrust in every institution involved.
