A SPARE tire is supposed to be used only when the vehicle breaks down. It is there for emergencies, not to compete with the driver. But what happens when the driver begins to fear the spare tire more than the dangers on the road? What happens when the spare tire becomes a political threat simply because it might one day be needed? This is the political paradox confronting Vice President Sara Duterte.
In 2022, Ferdinand Marcos Jr.
and Sara Duterte forged UniTeam, an electoral alliance that promised unity, continuity and national recovery. Together, they secured overwhelming electoral mandates. Yet barely a year into their administration, the partnership began unraveling. By 2023, congressional scrutiny of Duterte’s confidential funds had become a major political confrontation.
What followed was an escalating series of investigations, impeachment complaints, criminal charges and political hostilities.
Duterte supporters call it persecution. The administration and its allies maintain that accountability must apply to everyone.
But one question deserves serious examination: Is this merely about accountability, or has accountability become entangled with the struggle for power beyond 2028? Consider the sequence.
Marcos Jr. approved confidential funds for the Office of the Vice President, yet their utilization later became a central controversy. Duterte resigned as education secretary in June 2024. The impeachment campaign intensified, eventually reaching the Supreme Court, which invalidated the 2025 impeachment on constitutional grounds. The ruling became final in January 2026.
Then came March 2025. Former president Rodrigo Duterte was arrested by Philippine authorities and transported to The Hague, where he was surrendered to the International Criminal Court. His supporters described the operation as a kidnapping. The Marcos administration maintained that it was complying with international law-enforcement obligations. The ICC confirmed that the arrest followed its warrant involving alleged crimes against humanity
Duterte denies criminal responsibility. Whatever one’s position on the ICC proceedings, the political consequences were unmistakable.
The former president was detained abroad. His daughter faced mounting political and legal pressure at home. The Duterte political organization found itself confronting the government it had helped elect. By February 2026, Sara Duterte had announced her presidential candidacy. Her impeachment trial subsequently began in July. On its 39th day, prosecutors withdrew three of four articles, leaving allegations of unexplained wealth. They insisted the remaining evidence was sufficient; the defense objected that accusations aired publicly would no longer undergo the same adversarial examination. Then another development surfaced.
On Oct. 15, reports emerged that House Speaker Faustino “Bojie” Dy III was being considered as Duterte’s possible replacement should she be convicted. Malacañang denied that President Marcos had discussed any successor. The reports nevertheless appeared while the Senate impeachment court had yet to hear the defense’s complete presentation. Why was a replacement being discussed before judgment? Under the Constitution, a vacancy in the vice presidency allows the president to nominate a successor from Congress, subject to confirmation by both chambers voting separately. The provision protects continuity. It was never intended to prejudge impeachment proceedings.
The speculation also raises a political question: Who benefits from replacing an independently elected vice president with someone acceptable to the incumbent administration? Here, history becomes instructive. In February 1986, the Marcos family departed Malacañang following the People Power Revolution. Thirty-six years later, Ferdinand Marcos Jr. returned the family to the presidency through the ballot box.
The restoration was extraordinary.
But restoration and permanence are different propositions.
Political speculation about constitutional amendments, term extensions, altered electoral arrangements, and carefully managed succession has consequently attracted attention. None establishes that Marcos has adopted a plan to remain in power beyond 2028. Nevertheless, such possibilities warrant scrutiny because the Constitution limits a president to one six-year term. Would a returning political dynasty willingly surrender its restored influence after one administration? That is a legitimate question, not proof of a predetermined conspiracy.
And where does Sara Duterte fit into this equation? She represents an independent political organization with its own electoral history, regional networks and national constituency. Her father’s presidential victory in 2016, the Duterte-aligned successes in subsequent elections, and her own 2022 mandate help explain why political competitors take the family seriously. But historical electoral strength is not a guarantee of victory in 2028. That decision belongs to voters, not political strategists, or incumbent power brokers.
What politicians may fear is not simply a Duterte presidency.
It is the possibility that a future administration could reverse policies, reorder alliances, reopen controversies, and scrutinize decisions made under the present government. These incentives are familiar in succession politics. They do not establish the motives of every official investigating Duterte.
There is also an uncomfortable contradiction. The vice president is constitutionally designated to succeed the president under specified circumstances. Yet when political relationships collapse, the same constitutional successor can become the administration’s principal adversary. That is why due process matters more than partisan interpretation.
Duterte must answer credible allegations of wrongdoing. Her accusers must likewise prove their case through evidence, constitutional procedures and an impartial hearing. Conviction cannot be presumed, and persecution cannot be asserted as a substitute for a legal defense.
After nearly four years of political conflict, the central issue extends beyond one family, one impeachment, or one election.
Can Philippine democracy accommodate a political successor whom the incumbent administration does not support? And can a political family restored to power after 36 years accept the constitutional necessity of eventually relinquishing it? The Constitution provides a spare tire because no presidency lasts forever. The danger begins when political leaders treat that spare tire not as a safeguard for the Republic but as an obstacle to their own permanence.
