Protection or evasion?!

By Herman M. Lagon

The circus started, strangely enough, with a return appearance. After months of staying away from the Senate, Senator Ronald “Bato” dela Rosa suddenly walked back into the chamber on May 11, just in time for a leadership shake-up that looked more like a political teleserye season finale than legislative work. Cameras followed him. Senators clustered around him. Security tightened. Then came the bigger reveal: there was already an International Criminal Court arrest warrant hanging over his head. By evening, the discussion had shifted from Senate arithmetic to something heavier: whether the Senate should protect one of its own from arrest tied to alleged crimes against humanity. For many watching online, it felt surreal. The institution tasked to make laws was suddenly debating whether it could function as a temporary shield from one.

I am not a lawyer. Most Filipinos are not. We process these things the same way ordinary teachers, jeepney drivers, nurses, office workers, and students do: through instinct, experience, common sense, and whatever legal explanations we can digest between work and dinner. My interest in the issue deepened because of a persistent friend, Bambam Parreño-Lopez, who kept urging me to watch the vlogs of Dean Ralph Sarmiento of the DLSU College of Law. The timing was uncanny. One moment, social media was flooded with clips of senators arguing over “protective custody.” The next, seasoned legal minds like former Senate President Franklin Drilon, Leila de Lima, Mel Sta. Maria, and Dean Sarmiento were patiently unpacking why many of these claims sounded shakier than they first appeared. Listening to them felt less like partisan noise and more like attending an impromptu civic education class the country badly needed.

The strongest point raised by Drilon was also the simplest. There is no law saying a senator cannot be arrested inside the Senate. None. What exists is tradition, courtesy, and institutional practice. Those are not the same as legal immunity. Drilon even recalled how the practice traces back to the time Senate President Jovito Salonga resisted the arrest of Juan Ponce Enrile during the Aquino years. That story matters because it shows the roots of the custom. Still, customs are not constitutional armor. As Drilon bluntly put it, the reason Bato had not yet been arrested was “tradition, not law.” That distinction matters more than people think. We all know this instinctively. A barangay captain cannot hide a relative inside the barangay hall forever because “nakasanayan na.” A school principal cannot stop police from serving a lawful warrant inside campus just because it feels improper. Institutions deserve respect, yes, but respect is different from exemption.

What complicated matters further was the argument that Senate “protective custody” somehow carried legal force strong enough to block the ICC warrant. The Senate resolution opposing “protective custody” was unusually direct. Signed by five senators (Tito Sotto, Bam Aquino, Risa Hontiveros, Ping Lacson, and Kiko Pangilinan), it stated that the Senate has no constitutional or statutory authority to shield anyone from lawful arrest. Malacañang echoed the same point, noting that Senate privileges are not absolute, especially for grave offenses.

Dean Ralph Sarmiento’s explanation was more measured, and perhaps because of that, more persuasive. He did not dismiss protective custody outright. He acknowledged that there may be temporary reasons for it: maintaining order, verifying the warrant’s basis, allowing time for judicial remedies. That sounded reasonable to many who still value due process and institutional stability. Nobody wants lawmakers tackled dramatically in the middle of session like a scene from an action movie. But Sarmiento also warned against something more dangerous: protective custody becoming permanent refuge. That is where the slope becomes slippery. Once the Senate transforms from deliberative chamber into safehouse, the institution begins drifting from its constitutional role. One can already imagine the future abuse. A senator accused of plunder stays indefinitely inside the Senate. Another accused of trafficking claims institutional courtesy. Eventually, “tradition” mutates into selective protection for the powerful.

That slippery slope resonates deeply in all of us because we already feel and experience how uneven justice can be. A public school teacher in Iloilo who misses liquidation deadlines does not receive “protective custody.” A tricycle driver accused of theft cannot hide inside city hall because his friends are there. The average Filipino meets the law directly, often harshly. That is why many people reacted uneasily while watching senators debate how far they could shield a colleague. The optics mattered. Outside the Senate walls were families still grieving deaths linked to the drug war. Inside were lawmakers discussing courtesy, tradition, and procedural dignity. One can understand why the contrast unsettled many viewers.

At the center of the issue is not merely Bato dela Rosa himself, but the unresolved legacy of the drug war. The ICC warrant alleges his involvement in creating systems and operations connected to systematic killings. That accusation remains an accusation. It still requires proof, hearings, and defense. Yet that is precisely why many legal experts insist he should face the process rather than evade it. Surrendering to lawful authorities is not an admission of guilt. It is participation in due process. Former Senator Leila de Lima, who herself experienced arrest inside Senate premises, pointed this out with painful irony. She surrendered peacefully and was formally served her warrant inside the Senate. Antonio Trillanes IV was also served a warrant while Senate session was ongoing. History itself weakens the claim that Senate grounds are untouchable.

The sovereignty argument also deserves respect. Some pundits believe the ICC has no more place here after the country’s withdrawal from the Rome Statute, while others fear that relying on foreign tribunals weakens faith in local justice. Those fears are not baseless. But lawyers continue stressing that RA 9851 remains active Philippine law and that alleged acts committed before withdrawal may still fall under ICC processes.

For teachers following the debate, the situation feels contradictory. Schools teach students that accountability matters and that leadership should mean carrying heavier responsibility, not lighter consequences. Then they open Facebook and watch national leaders debate whether a senator can stay inside the Senate to avoid arrest. That disconnect quietly shapes civic trust. Young people notice it. Teachers notice it too. A lesson repeated in classrooms loses force when institutions appear hesitant to practice it themselves.

There is also something culturally revealing about how we reacted online. Some defended Bato fiercely because they still associate him with order, discipline, and anti-crime campaigns. Others saw the Senate’s actions as elite protection disguised as tradition. Away from the noise of Facebook comment sections and political camps, many ordinary Filipinos appeared to be looking for one thing: consistency. If the law reaches ordinary citizens, why should powerful officials be shielded differently? If courts exist to determine guilt or innocence, why fear appearing before them? Those thoughts kept surfacing in classrooms, coffee shops, sari-sari stores, and family conversations.

The deeper danger here is not one senator sleeping inside Senate premises. It is the gradual normalization of institutions bending themselves around personalities. Democracies rarely collapse in one dramatic moment. More often, they erode quietly through exceptions, accommodations, and selective interpretations made “just this once.” A courtesy here. A loophole there. A tradition stretched a little further each time. Then one day people realize the line between lawmaking and law shielding has blurred beyond recognition.

The danger was never the overnight stay. The danger was the message. When institutions look more willing to protect power than protect principle, people stop seeing democracy as fairness and start seeing it as theater with VIP seating.

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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.