Logic lessons from Sara’s impeachment

By Herman M. Lagon

A quick apology in advance for the length of this piece. Perhaps the article became this long after watching nearly an entire day of congressional speeches this Monday—where logic, emotion, theater, constitutional law, and political survival all collided in one livestream. Ironically, this also comes at a time when some sectors are debating whether Logic should even remain part of General Education in college. After listening to parts of the impeachment debates, one quietly realizes why logic still matters.

The House impeachment debates sometimes felt less like constitutional proceedings and more like a loud Filipino family gathering suddenly handed microphones and livestream cameras. One congressman quoted constitutional principles. Another invoked hungry mothers and rising gasoline prices. One cited suspicious transactions and SALN discrepancies. Another suddenly brought up flood control scandals, war in the Middle East, and political persecution. Social media quickly split into familiar camps: “fight corruption” and “political demolition job.” Somewhere between the online outrage and emotional speeches, the debate stopped being just about Sara Duterte. It became a reminder of how easily emotion can overpower careful reasoning. The House voted 257-25, with nine abstentions, but beyond the tally was a more revealing truth: passionate delivery can make weak arguments sound convincing.

To be fair, several pro-impeachment lawmakers remained focused on constitutional procedure. They repeatedly clarified that impeachment is not yet conviction but simply a process to determine whether the allegations deserve Senate trial. Chel Diokno stressed accountability and transparency. Antonio Tinio emphasized the Senate’s role in testing evidence and explanations. Even Toby Tiangco admitted that unresolved SALN and financial questions deserved proper scrutiny. Those arguments felt stronger because they avoided excessive theatrics.

The problem was that many anti-impeachment speeches wandered far from the actual constitutional question. One of the most common fallacies was plain old whataboutism—the Filipino classic: “Eh bakit sila?” Some lawmakers repeatedly redirected attention toward flood control scandals, alleged House corruption, inflation, or other controversies. That frustration over selective justice is understandable, especially in a country tired of seeing small fish punished while bigger figures swim comfortably. But another scandal does not erase the questions in this one. If two students cheat, one does not become innocent because the other also cheated.

Another recurring weakness was appeal to popularity. Several speeches leaned heavily on Sara Duterte’s 32 million UniTeam votes, almost as though elections automatically grant constitutional immunity. But democracy does not end after election day. Winning millions of votes gives leaders authority to govern, not exemption from scrutiny. Otherwise, every popular politician in history would automatically be beyond accountability. A barangay captain overwhelmingly loved by the community can still be investigated if funds disappear. A school principal widely admired by parents can still face audit questions. Elections legitimize governance; they do not erase constitutional obligations.

Several lawmakers also pushed a false dilemma: either solve inflation, transport costs, poverty, and global crises—or pursue impeachment. At first glance, that sounds practical because we are all exhausted by political noise while grocery prices continue rising. But governments are expected to handle many responsibilities at once. By that logic, courts should stop during typhoon season and schools should cancel exams whenever rice prices spike. Accountability cannot always be postponed simply because the country is constantly facing another crisis.

Some speeches also slipped into slippery slope arguments, warning that impeachment would supposedly destroy democracy or permanently weaponize politics. Those fears sound dramatic, but constitutional processes do not automatically become illegitimate simply because they are politically uncomfortable. Democracies survive by using accountability mechanisms carefully—not by avoiding them altogether.

Another emotionally powerful tactic was appeal to pity. Hungry children, exhausted commuters, struggling farmers, poor workers, and rising grocery prices repeatedly entered the speeches. Those realities are painfully real. Every Filipino buying food lately understands that immediately. But public suffering alone does not determine whether probable cause exists. Emotion may explain urgency, but it cannot replace evidence.

There was also noticeable appeal to martyrdom also known as ‘pa-victim.’ Some speeches portrayed the Vice President less as a public official facing constitutional scrutiny and more as a persecuted political victim surrounded by enemies. Closely tied to this was the personalization of accountability. Some speeches blurred the line between criticizing a public official and attacking the people who support her. That framing is emotionally powerful because institutional scrutiny suddenly feels like personal insult. But accountability is directed at actions and decisions, not at the worth of entire communities.

Others distracted the discussion with unrelated issues like inflation, wars abroad, or separate controversies. Some also kept moving the goalposts: first claiming there was “no evidence,” then later insisting the evidence was insufficient or politically motivated once details appeared. The standard kept changing. Instead of honestly evaluating the evidence presented, the argument continuously shifts so the conclusion never has to change.

There were also hints of bandwagon reasoning. Some speeches implied that because millions still support Duterte, skepticism toward impeachment automatically becomes the correct public position. But constitutional truth is not decided purely by crowd size. Popularity may influence elections, but it cannot fully replace evidence, conscience, and legal reasoning.

At times, political loyalty itself almost became proof of innocence. Long-standing alliances, regional solidarity, and emotional attachment were subtly treated as shields against scrutiny. Yet democracies weaken when personal loyalty becomes stronger than institutional accountability.

There were also moments of circular reasoning. Some speeches essentially argued that the impeachment must be politically motivated because, despite the unprecedented back-to-back impeachments, Sara Duterte is still innocent—and she must be innocent because the impeachment is politically motivated. The conclusion simply kept feeding itself.

Some speeches also quietly leaned into fear. The message was almost always the same: impeachment would supposedly destabilize the country, divide the nation, or permanently poison politics. Fear works because anxious people naturally cling to emotional certainty. But democracies do not become healthier by avoiding accountability every time political tension rises.

A few lawmakers also distorted the actual impeachment issue into something easier to attack. Instead of discussing the constitutional complaints directly, the debate sometimes became framed as pure political revenge, elite conspiracy, or personal hatred. That may emotionally energize supporters, but simplifying complex constitutional questions into “us versus them” narratives avoids the harder issues being raised.

There were moments too when personalities replaced evidence. Some speeches focused more on questioning motives, political loyalties, or ambitions instead of directly addressing the allegations themselves. But even politically motivated people can still raise legitimate constitutional concerns. Weak messengers do not automatically make every argument false.

Even so, not all anti-impeachment arguments were weak. The more grounded objections centered on due process, AMLC materials, evidentiary scope, and procedural fairness. Representatives Robert Nazal and Julius Cesar Vergara, among others, raised concerns about whether newly introduced annexes, affidavits, testimonies, and AMLC-related reports expanded the case beyond what the respondent originally answered. Those are legitimate constitutional concerns worth discussing seriously. Due process is not merely a technical shield reserved for allies or the innocent. It exists because constitutional shortcuts used against one political enemy today can easily be weaponized against another tomorrow.

Ironically, however, many speeches weakened themselves the moment they abandoned legal reasoning and drifted into conspiracy narratives, emotional grandstanding, or political theater. Political motivation may partly exist in any impeachment process—that is simply the nature of politics. But possible political motives do not automatically invalidate constitutional mechanisms. One can believe politics is involved while still believing the allegations deserve proper investigation.

The House debates also exposed something deeper about modern political communication itself. Emotional substitution increasingly replaces factual analysis. A loud voice, dramatic ‘music,’ patriotic slogans, angry delivery, and viral captions often persuade audiences before evidence is even examined. One can almost hear the YouTube thumbnail already: “Shocking! Nakakagulat!” Meanwhile, the actual evidence quietly sits somewhere beneath 10 minutes of theatrical buildup.

To be fair, some pro-impeachment speeches also drifted into weaker rhetoric. A few crossed into guilt by association by linking Sara Duterte too directly to Rodrigo Duterte’s ICC controversies as though political lineage alone proves constitutional violations. Emotional attacks may energize supporters, but they also weaken otherwise legitimate accountability arguments. The stronger “yes” speeches were the disciplined ones: probable cause, public trust, SALN discrepancies, unexplained wealth questions, confidential fund liquidation issues, and the constitutional duty to allow a Senate trial.

In the end, the biggest lesson from this impeachment debate may not even be about Sara Duterte anymore. It may be about how Filipinos process political information in the age of spectacle. The House floor became a mirror of modern Philippine discourse: emotional, theatrical, intelligent in parts, manipulative in others, occasionally profound, often exhausting. The danger today is not merely fake news. It is emotionally satisfying reasoning that feels true even when the logic quietly collapses underneath it.

A polished speech can still contain fallacies. A patriotic tone can still distract from weak evidence. A passionate congressman can still commit intellectual shortcuts. That is why ordinary citizens must keep asking basic questions beyond applause lines and viral clips: Does the conclusion logically follow? Is emotion replacing proof? Is another issue being used to distract from the actual issue? Is popularity being mistaken for innocence? Is accountability being reframed as persecution?

Because once applause becomes stronger than logic, the loudest voice in the room eventually starts sounding like the truth.

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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.