INTRODUCTION

I would like you to know at the outset that this humble speaker is neither a legal educator nor a legal commentator who has written a legal tome on any specialized subject of law. I am simply a practicing lawyer who has spent the greater part of his life in the company of clients, courtrooms, pleadings, and the occasional disappointment that comes with the administration of justice.

I remember Senator Jovito Salonga when he was invited to lecture at our College of Law. After a generous introduction by one of our professors, he profusely thanked the person who introduced him and said, more or less:

“Thank you very much for that kind and generous introduction. This humble invited speaker is a simple country lawyer doing an honest racket in this city.”

I have never forgotten that introduction.

Of course, I cannot pretend to approximate the caliber of Senator Jovito Salonga, who passed away at the ripe age of 95. This humble speaker is only 71 years old, hoping that he might equal the longevity of the late Senate President, if not his legal acumen.

At 71, I no longer have many acquaintances in the lower courts, the Court of Appeals, or the Supreme Court. Why? For the simple reason that most of my friends in the judiciary have already retired upon reaching the compulsory retirement age of 70.

So here I am, a simple, old, but still good-looking lawyer, going to the office every day and trying to remain productive. Fortunately, many of my retainers have become my best friends over the last 45 years.

My humble law office is my ikigai, my reason for getting up in the morning.

There is another reason I hesitate to present myself before you as a legal authority.

I recall a podcast featuring retired Supreme Court Justices Antonio Carpio and Adolfo Azcuna. During the discussion, a moderator asked them to assess Senator Rodante Marcoleta as a lawyer and whether he could be considered a legal luminary. Their response, as I recall it, was rather unflattering.

Now, I disagree with Senator Marcoleta on practically everything, and I have never voted for him. Nevertheless, I respect him as a colleague in the legal profession. There is something awkward about reducing a fellow lawyer’s professional standing to a casual assessment before a podcast audience. After all, lawyers have different careers, different experiences, and different contributions to public life. I certainly do not presume to have Senator Marcoleta’s experience as an elected public official. He has served in Congress and subsequently secured election to the Senate. His career in electoral politics is different from the judicial careers of Justices Carpio and Azcuna.

Perhaps the lesson is that the legal profession is too broad, and the responsibilities of its members too varied, to be reduced to a passing remark.

But enough about lawyers, their reputations, and my own humble place in the profession.

We are here to talk about something far more consequential: the judiciary under the 1987 Constitution.

I. THE CONSTITUTIONAL HISTORY OF THE JUDICIARY

Every Constitution has its own history. It is a product of the circumstances, personalities, controversies, and political struggles of its time.

A. The 1935 Constitution

The 1935 Constitution was drafted under the auspices of the United States of America. Nevertheless, the delegates to the Constitutional Convention were distinguished Filipinos, including Claro M. Recto, who was elected president of the Convention. I remember that in 1971, I had the opportunity to converse with Miguel Cuaderno, the former Governor of the Central Bank, at the iconic Manila Hotel, where the Constitutional Convention was held. Governor Cuaderno told me that he had also been a delegate to the Convention that drafted the 1935 Constitution. That was quite a conversation with a venerable learned man. Here I was, a young university, conversing with a man who had personally participated in the framing of our fundamental law twice over. I found Governor Cuaderno brilliant. The experience left a lasting impression on me.

The 1935 Constitution drew heavily from the American constitutional system, particularly its presidential structure, separation of powers, and Bill of Rights. But it was not merely a reproduction of the United States Constitution. Its framers adapted American constitutional principles to Philippine conditions.

One of the most important principles we inherited from American constitutional law was judicial review. And when we speak of judicial review, we inevitably encounter the celebrated decision in Marbury v. Madison, 5 U.S. (1 Cranch) 137 (1803).

B. Marbury v. Madison and the Birth of Judicial Review

The story of Marbury v. Madison began during the transition from President John Adams to President Thomas Jefferson.

Before leaving office, President Adams appointed William Marbury as a justice of the peace. His commission had been signed and sealed, but it was not delivered. When Jefferson assumed office, his Secretary of State, James Madison, refused to deliver the commission. Marbury went directly to the United States Supreme Court and sought a writ of mandamus compelling Madison to deliver it. Chief Justice John Marshall held that Marbury had a legal right to the commission and that its withholding violated that right. Nevertheless, the Court refused to issue the writ because the provision of the Judiciary Act of 1789 purporting to confer the necessary original jurisdiction was inconsistent with the Constitution. In deciding that question, the Supreme Court asserted its authority to declare an act of Congress unconstitutional.

Thus, Marbury v. Madison became the landmark precedent establishing judicial review in American constitutional law.

Its enduring significance lies in the proposition that the Constitution is superior to ordinary legislation. When the two conflict in a case properly before a court, the Constitution must prevail.

What is particularly interesting is that the United States Constitution does not expressly state that its Supreme Court has the power to invalidate unconstitutional legislation. That authority was articulated through judicial interpretation. Here we encounter one of the great paradoxes of constitutional law: the judiciary’s authority to review the acts of the political branches was itself established through an act of judicial interpretation.

C. Judicial Review Under the 1935 Constitution

There is an important qualification to the historical comparison. Unlike the United States Constitution, the 1935 Philippine Constitution expressly contemplated judicial review of the constitutionality of governmental acts. Article VIII, Section 2 recognized the Supreme Court’s jurisdiction to review cases involving the constitutionality or validity of laws and executive issuances. Section 10 went further by requiring constitutional challenges to treaties and laws to be heard by the Supreme Court en banc and prescribing the concurrence necessary to declare them unconstitutional.

Thus, judicial review under the 1935 Constitution was not merely an implied judicial power derived from Marbury v. Madison.

What the 1987 Constitution later introduced was something more far-reaching: an express definition of judicial power that includes the duty to examine grave abuse of discretion by any branch or instrumentality of government. That distinction is central to our discussion.

II. FREE ACCESS TO THE COURTS: FROM JUDICIAL DOCTRINE TO CONSTITUTIONAL RIGHT

There is another important development in constitutional law that illustrates the significance of expressly incorporating a judicial doctrine into the Constitution.

I refer to the right of free access to the courts. The American Constitution contains no general provision expressly guaranteeing free access to the courts regardless of a litigant’s financial circumstances. American jurisprudence consequently developed this protection through the Due Process and Equal Protection Clauses.

Three decisions illustrate the development of that doctrine.

In Griffin v. Illinois, 351 U.S. 12 (1956), the United States Supreme Court held that a state could not administer its system of criminal appellate review in a manner that effectively denied indigent defendants meaningful review solely because they could not afford the necessary trial transcripts.

In Boddie v. Connecticut, 401 U.S. 371 (1971), the Court held that indigent persons could not be denied access to divorce proceedings solely because they could not afford court fees and costs, particularly when judicial proceedings were the only means of dissolving their marriages.

But in United States v. Kras, 409 U.S. 434 (1973), the Court upheld a bankruptcy filing-fee requirement despite the applicant’s indigence. The Court distinguished bankruptcy from divorce and found that the constitutional considerations governing Boddie did not require the same result. Thus, in American jurisprudence, the availability of relief from court fees depended partly on the nature of the interest involved and the necessity of resorting to judicial proceedings.

The Philippine Constitution took a different approach by incorporating an express guarantee.

Article IV, Section 23 of the 1973 Constitution provided that poverty should not be a reason to deny access to the courts.

The 1987 Constitution expanded that protection under Article III, Section 11 to include access to quasi-judicial bodies and adequate legal assistance. This is a significant constitutional development.

The guarantee does not mean that every litigant is entitled to litigate without any cost, regardless of financial circumstances. It means that poverty must not become a barrier to the judicial protection of legally enforceable rights.

What was developed through judicial interpretation in the United States was expressly protected in our fundamental law.

I recall the discussion in The 1973 Constitution: Notes and Cases, 1974 edition, page 787, on the importance of an express free-access provision and the distinctions emerging from American jurisprudence.

This brings me to another constitutional question. Why not define political dynasties directly in the Constitution?

Article II, Section 26 of the 1987 Constitution declares that the State shall prohibit political dynasties as may be defined by law. However, the Constitution leaves the definition of a political dynasty to legislation. The question I raise is whether a constitutional prohibition would be more directly enforceable if the Constitution itself defined the prohibited relationships, offices, and circumstances.

After all, a constitutional provision may be sufficiently complete to operate without further legislation. If the framers could expressly guarantee free access to the courts, could a future constitutional amendment likewise supply a sufficiently definite rule governing political dynasties?

That is a question worth examining in any discussion of constitutional reform.

For our present purposes, however, the more important point is that the language of the Constitution determines not only the rights it protects but also the extent to which the judiciary may enforce them.

III. THE 1973 CONSTITUTION AND THE EXPERIENCE OF MARTIAL LAW

Let us now turn to the 1973 Constitution.

The Constitutional Convention was originally organized under legislation enacted in 1970. Its delegates were elected on November 10, 1970, and the Convention formally opened at the Manila Hotel on June 1, 1971. While the Convention was still deliberating, President Ferdinand E. Marcos declared Martial Law through Proclamation No. 1081 in September 1972.

The new Constitution was subsequently submitted for ratification through citizens’ assemblies in January 1973, under circumstances that became the subject of constitutional litigation. The 1973 Constitution was an extraordinary constitutional experiment, one that combined a parliamentary framework with extensive executive powers exercised by President Marcos.

Its adoption and implementation raised fundamental questions about the relationship between constitutional authority and political power. The controversy surrounding its ratification reached the Supreme Court in Javellana v. Executive Secretary, G.R. No. L-36142, March 31, 1973.

The Court examined whether the proposed Constitution had been validly ratified and whether it was already in force. The justices expressed differing views on justiciability, the validity of ratification, and the consequences of the new Constitution’s implementation.

Ultimately, the petitions were dismissed, and the 1973 Constitution remained in effect.

For constitutional lawyers, Javellana presents a fundamental question: What happens when the judiciary is asked to decide the validity of a Constitution under which the government is already operating? The problem is not merely academic. It concerns the capacity of courts to exercise their constitutional authority when the political consequences of their decisions are substantial.

Sanidad v. COMELEC

Another important case during the Martial Law period was Sanidad v. Commission on Elections, G.R. No. L-44640, October 12, 1976.

The case involved Presidential Decree Nos. 991, 1031, and 1033, which concerned the proposed constitutional amendments and the referendum-plebiscite scheduled for October 16, 1976.

The principal question was whether President Marcos could propose constitutional amendments when the interim National Assembly had not been convened. The Solicitor General argued, among other things, that the controversy involved a political question beyond judicial review. The Supreme Court rejected that jurisdictional argument. It considered the legality of the constitutional amendment process to be a justiciable question.

Nevertheless, the Court sustained the challenged presidential action under its interpretation of the constitutional arrangements governing the transition period.

Here lies the importance of Sanidad.

The Court did not simply refuse to exercise judicial review. It exercised that power, examined the constitutional question, and reached a conclusion favorable to the President. That distinction matters.

One may disagree with the Court’s constitutional reasoning without saying that it entirely abandoned judicial review.

The case also provides an important historical setting for the 1976 amendments, including Amendment No. 6, which authorized the President, under specified circumstances, to issue decrees, orders, and letters of instructions having the force of law.

The constitutional concentration of legislative and executive authority under the Marcos presidency would later become an important point of reference for the framers of the 1987 Constitution.

IV. THE FREEDOM CONSTITUTION AND THE RETURN TO CONSTITUTIONAL GOVERNMENT

In February 1986, another historical upheaval took place in our country.

The EDSA People Power Revolution brought the government of Ferdinand Marcos Sr. to an end and installed Corazon C. Aquino as President.

On March 25, 1986, President Aquino issued Proclamation No. 3, adopting the provisional Constitution commonly known as the Freedom Constitution. Joker Arroyo, then Executive Secretary, signed the proclamation by authority of the President. The provisional charter provided the constitutional framework for the transition to a new government, expressly recognizing the protection of basic rights and fundamental freedoms.

I recall that Rene Saguisag and other human rights lawyers also played important roles in the legal and political developments surrounding the transition.

The Freedom Constitution was intended to be temporary.

A Constitutional Commission was constituted to draft a permanent Constitution. Its members deliberated under the leadership of former Supreme Court Justice Cecilia Munoz Palma.

The proposed Constitution was ratified in a national plebiscite on February 2, 1987, replacing the provisional charter.

I also remember President Corazon Aquino’s historic address before a joint session of the United States Congress on September 18, 1986. She received prolonged applause as she recounted the struggle for democracy and the restoration of constitutional government in the Philippines. The 1987 Constitution emerged from that historical experience.

Its provisions on executive power, judicial review, civil liberties, and accountability must be understood against the background of the constitutional controversies of the preceding years.

V. JUDICIAL POWER AND THE DOCTRINE OF STARE DECISIS

During our law school days, one of our principal references in Political Law was Vicente G. Sinco’s Philippine Political Law: Principles and Concepts.

Even today, we continue to cite Sinco in our pleadings, memoranda, and discussions of constitutional law. Why is this so? Because according to Dean Daly Pangalangan, the Supreme Court merely “regurgitates” its decisions.

Sinco explains that one of the characteristic principles of Anglo-American jurisprudence is the obligation of courts to follow established judicial precedents. That principle is known as stare decisis. When the highest court deliberately examines and decides a question of law, its ruling becomes a precedent to be followed in subsequent cases involving substantially similar legal questions. The doctrine promotes stability, predictability, and consistency in the administration of justice.

Our Civil Code recognizes the importance of judicial decisions in Article 8, which provides that judicial decisions interpreting the laws or the Constitution form part of the legal system of the Philippines. Thus, jurisprudence is not merely an intellectual exercise reserved for academics. It is part of the legal framework within which lawyers advise their clients, judges decide cases, and citizens organize their affairs. However, stare decisis does not mean that an erroneous precedent can never be reconsidered. The Supreme Court may depart from an established doctrine when sufficient legal justification exists.

The more fundamental question is whether the Court explains its departure in a manner consistent with constitutional principles and the requirements of judicial reasoning. The first duty of the courts is to apply the law.

I am reminded of the pronouncement in Lizarraga Hermanos v. Yap Tico, 24 Phil. 504, 513, concerning the distinction between applying the law and interpreting it. The Court emphasized that application is the fundamental duty of judges, while interpretation becomes necessary when the law cannot be adequately applied without it. This is a principle that every practicing lawyer can appreciate.

If the law is clear, it must be applied.

If the law is ambiguous, it must be interpreted.

If the law is constitutionally defective, its validity may be examined in a proper case.

But the judiciary must always remain conscious of the distinction between interpreting the law and substituting its own policy preferences for those of the lawmaking branch.

In Osborn v. Bank of the United States, 22 U.S. (9 Wheat.) 738 (1824), Chief Justice John Marshall likewise emphasized that judicial discretion must be exercised according to law. Sinco discusses this principle in his treatment of judicial power, including the relationship between law, judicial discretion, and the independence of the courts. The principle is simple, but its application is often difficult. A court must possess sufficient independence to decide controversies according to law, even when its conclusions are unpopular. At the same time, judicial independence does not confer unlimited authority to rewrite the Constitution or the statutes. The rule of law requires both independence and restraint.

VI. THE POLITICAL QUESTION DOCTRINE

This brings us to what I consider one of the most fascinating aspects of Philippine constitutional law: the political question doctrine. Under the 1935 Constitution, the Supreme Court encountered disputes involving acts of the President, Congress, and other political institutions. Some controversies required the Court to determine whether a governmental act was constitutional.

Others involved questions of policy entrusted to another branch. The distinction gave rise to the political question doctrine.

In Vera v. Avelino, 77 Phil. 192 (1946), and Tanada v. Cuenco, 103 Phil. 1051 (1957), the Court discussed the nature of political questions and the distinction between the wisdom and legality of governmental action. The doctrine also appeared in controversies involving constitutional amendments and the authority of the political branches.

One such case was Mabanag v. Lopez Vito, 78 Phil. 1 (1947), which involved the validity of a congressional resolution proposing an amendment to the Constitution. The Court declined to inquire into certain aspects of the amendment process under its application of the political question doctrine.

For the practicing lawyer, the doctrine could sometimes appear like a magic wand.

A petition questions an act of Congress or the President. The government invokes the political question doctrine. The Court determines that the issue belongs to the political departments, and judicial relief is denied. But the doctrine has never been absolute. The question is not simply whether the President or Congress is involved. The essential inquiry is whether the Constitution has committed the particular issue to the political branch or whether the controversy presents a legal question susceptible to judicial determination.

Indeed, Sanidad v. COMELEC demonstrates that the Court could examine the legality of presidential action even during the Martial Law period.

The Expanded Judicial Power Under the 1987 Constitution

The framers of the 1987 Constitution expressly addressed the scope of judicial power. Article VIII, Section 1 provides that judicial power includes not only the duty to settle actual controversies involving legally demandable and enforceable rights, but also the duty to determine whether any branch or instrumentality of government has committed grave abuse of discretion amounting to lack or excess of jurisdiction. This was a significant development in Philippine constitutional law. The Constitution made clear that the judiciary has a duty to examine grave abuse of discretion, even when the challenged act originates from a political branch. The political question doctrine could no longer serve as an automatic answer to every constitutional challenge against the President or Congress.

Nevertheless, the 1987 Constitution did not abolish the doctrine entirely.

The Supreme Court explained this distinction in Francisco, Jr. v. House of Representatives, G.R. No. 160261, November 10, 2003. It distinguished truly political questions, which remain beyond judicial review, from questions that involve the constitutional limits of governmental authority. The doctrine was subsequently discussed in Syjuco, Jr. v. Abaya, G.R. Nos. 215650 and related cases, March 28, 2023.

The Court explained that the expanded definition of judicial power permits judicial inquiry into whether a political branch has exceeded the constitutional limits of its authority. However, the exercise of judicial review remains subject to established requirements, including an actual controversy, standing, timely invocation of the constitutional issue, and its necessity to the resolution of the case. That is the essential distinction. The judiciary may not substitute its judgment for the wisdom of a policy decision entrusted to the President or Congress. But when the issue concerns whether the President or Congress has acted beyond constitutional limits, the judiciary has a duty to examine the question in a proper case. The political question doctrine is therefore not a convenient escape from constitutional responsibility. Neither is expanded judicial power a license for the courts to govern in place of the elected branches. Both principles must be understood together.

VII. THE SUPREME COURT AND THE MARAWI MARTIAL LAW PROCLAMATION

Let us now examine how the expanded judicial power operates when the President exercises extraordinary powers as Commander-in-Chief. One important example is President Rodrigo Duterte’s declaration of Martial Law in Mindanao in 2017.

On May 23, 2017, President Duterte issued Proclamation No. 216 following the outbreak of armed hostilities in Marawi City. The proclamation placed the entire Mindanao region under Martial Law and suspended the privilege of the writ of habeas corpus. The declaration was challenged before the Supreme Court in Lagman v. Medialdea, G.R. No. 231658 and related cases. The petitioners questioned whether the declaration had sufficient factual basis and whether Martial Law could constitutionally extend throughout Mindanao.

On July 4, 2017, the Supreme Court upheld the proclamation. The Court concluded that the President had sufficient factual basis to believe that rebellion existed and that public safety required the declaration. The important question for our discussion is not simply whether the Supreme Court agreed with the President. It is the nature and extent of the judicial review that the Court exercised.

Article VII, Section 18 of the Constitution expressly authorizes the Supreme Court to review the sufficiency of the factual basis of a Martial Law proclamation or suspension of the privilege of the writ of habeas corpus. In Lagman, the majority explained that the constitutional standard was the sufficiency of the factual basis, not the absolute accuracy of every fact presented to the President.

The Court also recognized that the President must act in circumstances involving urgent security considerations.

Justice Antonio Carpio dissented on the territorial scope of the proclamation, maintaining that the declaration could not constitutionally extend to areas where the necessary factual basis had not been established. These competing positions illustrate the constitutional controversy. How much latitude should the President possess in determining the territorial scope of Martial Law? How closely must the judiciary examine the government’s factual assertions? At what point does respect for executive judgment become excessive judicial deference? And how can courts ensure meaningful constitutional review without assuming the operational responsibilities entrusted to the Commander-in-Chief?

These are precisely the questions that the framers of the 1987 Constitution intended the judiciary to confront.

For the practicing lawyer, the lesson is that the existence of judicial review does not, by itself, resolve the question of how extensively that power should be exercised. The standard of review matters. The evidence matters.

And the reasoning of the Court matters.

VIII. THE SUPREME COURT AND THE IMPEACHMENT POWER OF CONGRESS

We now come to another contemporary constitutional controversy: impeachment.

Article XI, Section 3 of the 1987 Constitution establishes the respective powers of the House of Representatives and the Senate in impeachment proceedings. The House has the exclusive power to initiate impeachment cases. The Senate has the sole power to try and decide them. The Constitution also establishes the procedures for initiating impeachment and prohibits initiating impeachment proceedings against the same official more than once within a one-year period. The controversy involving the impeachment of Vice President Sara Duterte brought these constitutional provisions directly before the Supreme Court.

On July 25, 2025, the Supreme Court declared the Articles of Impeachment unconstitutional. The Court held that the proceedings were barred by the constitutional one-year rule and that the process violated due process. The House of Representatives sought reconsideration.

On January 28, 2026, the Court denied the House’s motion for reconsideration and reaffirmed its ruling. The decision generated substantial discussion concerning the separation of powers and the limits of judicial review over impeachment proceedings.

I remember reading the August 8, 2025 column of Jarius Bondoc in The Philippine Star concerning the Supreme Court’s impeachment ruling. Bondoc questioned the Court’s treatment of the impeachment process and characterized the decision as imposing seven additional procedural requirements. His commentary concerned, among other things, the specificity of the evidence, the respondent’s opportunity to answer the charges, access to the complaint and supporting evidence, the knowledge and participation of House members, the manner of plenary deliberation, and the holding of a hearing.

Bondoc’s criticism raises a legitimate subject for constitutional discussion, although his characterization of the decision should be distinguished from the actual language of the Court’s ruling. The question is whether the Supreme Court, in enforcing constitutional safeguards, is merely interpreting the Constitution or prescribing procedures that the Constitution leaves to Congress.

On the other hand, the Supreme Court has explained that impeachment, notwithstanding its political character, remains a constitutional process subject to the limitations of the Constitution.

In its January 28, 2026 Resolution, the Court reaffirmed that the House has the exclusive prerogative to initiate impeachment and promulgate its impeachment rules, but those rules must conform to constitutional requirements.

The Court also explained that it does not decide which impeachable officer should be removed or disqualified. Its role is to determine, in a proper case, whether the constitutional process has been observed. Here we return to the central theme of this lecture. The Constitution confers powers upon the political branches. But it also imposes limitations upon the exercise of those powers.

When those limitations are brought before the judiciary in a proper case, the Court must determine whether they have been observed. The difficult question is where constitutional interpretation ends and judicial intrusion into the exclusive powers of another branch begins.

Impeachment presents that question in a particularly consequential setting because the institution exercising judicial review may itself have members who are constitutionally subject to impeachment.

The constitutional framework must therefore preserve both judicial independence and the accountability of public officers. Neither principle should be understood as extinguishing the other.

ALL MEMBERS PRESENT IS NOT CARVED IN STONE

I would go along with the precedent enunciated by the Supreme Court in Republic v. Sereno, the quo warranto case against Chief Justice Maria Lourdes Sereno.

Under the Constitution, a Justice of the Supreme Court, particularly the Chief Justice, is an impeachable officer. Thus, impeachment, not quo warranto, should ordinarily be the de rigueur method of removing a sitting magistrate of the Supreme Court.

Yet the quo warranto proceeding against Chief Justice Sereno was allowed precisely to hurdle, if not short-circuit, the constitutional process of impeachment. Her entitlement to office was adjudicated by her own colleagues in the Supreme Court. The judgment ultimately led to her expulsion as both Chief Justice and Member of the Court, without the Senate ever sitting as an impeachment court.

The Supreme Court held that impeachment and quo warranto address different questions. Impeachment concerns misconduct committed by a lawful officeholder, while quo warranto attacks the legality of the officer’s title to the office from the very beginning. Whether one agrees with this distinction or not, it became the controlling doctrine of the Court in Republic v. Sereno, G.R. No. 237428, promulgated on May 11, 2018.

Nor did the Court declare that the Sereno ruling was pro hac vice, meaning applicable only to Chief Justice Sereno and incapable of serving as precedent in subsequent cases. Without such an express limitation, the ruling entered the body of Philippine jurisprudence and became part of the law of the land.

If the Supreme Court could adopt a functional and unconventional interpretation that permitted the removal of an impeachable officer through quo warranto, then the same willingness to confront constitutional reality should inform the interpretation of the phrase “two-thirds of all the Members of the Senate.”

This brings us to the present predicament.

The Constitution provides that no person shall be convicted in an impeachment trial without the concurrence of two-thirds of all the Members of the Senate. On a strictly numerical reading, a Senate composed of twenty-four members would require sixteen votes to convict. The text says “all the Members,” not merely all those present or all those voting.

But circumstances may alter the application of even an apparently categorical constitutional formula. Clausula rebus sic stantibus, literally, things standing thus, recognizes that legal obligations and their application cannot always be divorced from radically altered circumstances.

What happens when two senators are incarcerated for non-bailable offenses, one is a fugitive from justice and another senator remains abroad and beyond the practical reach of the Senate? Should they continue to be counted as though they were physically and legally capable of participating in the impeachment trial of Vice President Sara Duterte? Should their enforced or deliberate absence effectively operate as three automatic votes against conviction?

A rigid interpretation would allow absence, detention, flight, or calculated inaccessibility to distort the constitutional process. Senators who cannot hear the evidence, participate in the deliberations, or cast their votes would nevertheless remain part of the denominator. Their absence would acquire the legal effect of negative votes, although no votes had actually been cast. This situation is legally and morally untenable.

The more functional interpretation is that “all the Members of the Senate” should refer to all incumbent senators legally and practically capable of constituting the impeachment court and participating in its judgment. It should not include those who, by detention, legal disability, prolonged flight, or deliberate refusal to submit to the Senate’s jurisdiction, have become incapable of discharging their constitutional duty.

This does not mean that an ordinary absence should reduce the constitutional threshold. Otherwise, senators could manipulate the required vote simply by staying away. The exclusion must rest on an objective and legally established incapacity, not mere inconvenience, political boycott, or temporary absence.

The Sereno precedent opened the constitutional door. It demonstrated that even an impeachable officer could be removed through a mechanism not previously accepted as the ordinary constitutional route. Having once allowed constitutional interpretation to respond to an exceptional situation, the Supreme Court cannot easily insist that every other constitutional phrase must forever be applied with mathematical rigidity, regardless of an extraordinary and disabling reality.

The Constitution was written for a functioning government, not for a paralysis manufactured by detention, flight, or strategic absence. “All Members” must mean all members who remain legally capable of acting as members of the impeachment court. Otherwise, persons who cannot or will not participate will be permitted to decide the case through their silence.

They would be absent in fact, yet fully present in the arithmetic. That is neither judgment nor justice.

EPILOGUE

I began this lecture by introducing myself as a simple country lawyer who has spent more than four decades practicing law.

I have seen judges come and go. I have seen doctrines affirmed, modified, and abandoned. I have seen lawyers who were once my contemporaries retire from the judiciary, while I continue to report to my humble office every morning. Along the way, I have learned that the law is not merely a collection of statutes and judicial decisions. It is a living institution through which society seeks to reconcile authority with liberty, individual rights with public interests, and governmental power with constitutional limitations.

I am reminded of Arturo M. Tolentino’s discussion in Commentaries and Jurisprudence on the Civil Code of the Philippines, Volume I, page 35, citing Valverde. Tolentino explains that courts are not confined to the mechanical interpretation of legislation. They also perform an important function in addressing deficiencies in the law and adapting legal principles to changing social conditions. The law must remain capable of responding to the needs of society.

But judicial flexibility must always operate within the framework of the Constitution. The challenge for the judiciary is to interpret and apply the law faithfully while respecting the authority entrusted to the other branches of government. The challenge for the political branches is to exercise their powers within constitutional limitations.

And the challenge for lawyers is to hold all branches accountable to the Constitution, regardless of who happens to occupy the presidency, control Congress, or sit on the Supreme Court.

In the final analysis, the expanded judicial power under the 1987 Constitution is both an authority and a responsibility. Its effectiveness depends not merely on the constitutional text but also on how faithfully that text is applied in actual controversies.

As we reflect on Marbury v. Madison, Mabanag v. Lopez Vito, Javellana v. Executive Secretary, Sanidad v. COMELEC, Francisco v. House of Representatives, Lagman v. Medialdea, and Syjuco v. Abaya, we encounter the same recurring constitutional question:

How can the judiciary preserve the supremacy of the Constitution while respecting the powers that the Constitution has entrusted to the other branches of government?

That question remains relevant to every generation of lawyers.

And perhaps that is why, at 71 years old, I still find my profession fascinating.

My humble office remains my ikigai.

Thank you very much.