Learning the law together

By Herman M. Lagon

Whenever the Constitution enters public debate, a familiar tension appears. The tone subtly shifts from guidance to warning, as if reminding people to tread carefully. Ordinary citizens begin asking questions, and suddenly the conversation feels restricted – guarded by credentials, framed as technical, and quietly closed to many. The effect is not education, but distance.

This is why political scientist Richard Heydarian’s point resonated with so many. It wasn’t provocative; it was practical. In a country where constitutional decisions reach into daily life—from taxes and traffic rules to abuse of power, corruption, and impeachment—it’s only natural for people to want to understand what’s happening. Democracy doesn’t weaken when citizens engage with its rules; it quietly thins when that engagement is discouraged.

This isn’t about questioning the authority of lawyers and judges. Heydarian was not claiming a judicial role or issuing legal rulings. He was doing what educators, analysts, and civic thinkers often do—helping place legal developments in a wider political and social story. Courts decide cases. Citizens and commentators help interpret what those decisions mean beyond the courtroom. These roles touch, but they are not interchangeable.

Public frustration after controversial rulings often comes from lived reality rather than legal ignorance. People read decisions as parents worried about the future, commuters stuck in broken systems, and taxpayers searching for accountability. When explanations feel distant from everyday experience, frustration naturally follows. That frustration does not automatically make arguments correct—but it makes them worth hearing.

Some worry that opening constitutional discussion too widely risks disorder. History does offer warnings about populism overpowering institutions. But the challenge today is not that citizens are talking too much about the law—it is that many feel institutions are explaining too little. Silence does not produce stability; understanding does.

The rule of law survives on understanding, not blind trust. Decisions feel legitimate when people can follow the reasoning behind them. When questions are met with jargon or authority, the space between legality and public trust quietly expands. That space is where cynicism grows.

In truth, interpretation already happens everywhere. Drivers interpret traffic rules. Parents, students, and teachers interpret school policies. Workers interpret labor protections. Even government agencies interpret laws daily in implementation. Courts rightly have the final word in disputes, but understanding cannot belong to one profession alone—especially in a system where ignorance of the law excuses no one.

This is where restraint matters on all sides. Citizens must resist treating protests or drastic measures as automatic answers to every institutional disappointment. At the same time, institutions must resist retreating into technical fortresses that shut out public understanding. Authority that cannot be explained eventually invites challenge—sometimes thoughtful, sometimes reckless.

At its core, this conversation is not anti-lawyer or anti-court. It is pro-citizen. The Constitution is meant to guide our shared life, not to mystify it. When citizens read it, talk about it, and question it responsibly, they are doing exactly what democracy asks of them. The rule of law is not proven by silence, but by engagement grounded in respect and care.

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Doc H fondly describes himself as a “student of and for life” who, like many others, aspires to a life-giving and why-driven world grounded in social justice and the pursuit of happiness. His views do not necessarily reflect those of the institutions he is employed or connected with.