So this is how democracy dies. With thunderous applause.

I have always found it interesting how people behave when given power. Some become more conscious of the responsibility that comes with it. Others seem to mistake the opportunity to exercise authority for the opportunity to exercise control.

I suppose this is why one of the most memorable lines in Star Wars has stayed with me long after I first heard it. In Revenge of the Sith, as the Galactic Senate applauds Chancellor Palpatine’s consolidation of power, Senator Padmé Amidala quietly observes, “So this is how liberty dies… with thunderous applause.”

It is a fictional scene, but it captures something very real about the way democracies can deteriorate. We like to imagine that democracy dies when someone takes up arms against the government, suspends the Constitution, or some other dramatic event where the rules no longer apply. But sometimes, the rules remain. The institutions remain. The people in power continue to invoke the law. And yet, something fundamental begins to disappear: the willingness to tolerate disagreement, the independence to question authority, and the recognition that winning an election does not give anyone ownership of the government.

Which brings me to what is happening in Iloilo City.

By a reported vote of 13–1, the Sangguniang Panlungsod approved a measure restricting the legislative participation of Vice Mayor Lady Julie Grace Baronda, with all USWAG councilors reportedly voting in favor. Thirteen votes against one. The numbers are difficult to ignore, not because there is anything inherently wrong with a majority prevailing, but because of what we sometimes allow a majority to justify.

The measure draws on a Department of the Interior and Local Government legal opinion concerning the role of the Vice Mayor as presiding officer of the Council. There is a legitimate legal discussion to be had about whether the presiding officer may sponsor legislation, participate in debates, or deliver privilege speeches. The law must be respected, and the rules governing a legislative body cannot simply be disregarded whenever they become inconvenient.

But I find myself asking a different question. Even if the Council believes that its interpretation is correct, why has this become such an important political battle? What exactly is the City Government trying to protect, and from whom?

The distinction matters because the DILG’s legal opinion has reportedly been clarified as advisory rather than binding. The Council was not necessarily left without a choice. It had to decide whether to adopt that interpretation and how to apply it. And when thirteen councilors vote together to restrict the participation of an independently elected official, I think it is fair to ask whether they considered not only what the law might permit, but also what their decision would mean for the institution they were elected to serve.

What makes the situation more difficult to understand is that this is happening while several of the Vice Mayor’s proposed ordinances reportedly remain pending at the committee level. Were these measures so overly dangerous to the Ilonggo way of life that the Iloilo City Council found it necessary that they be silenced permanently? Among them are proposals for a unified emergency hotline, institutionalized volunteerism, incentives for exemplary Ilonggo graduates, mandatory water breaks in schools and government offices, and a Seal of Good Housekeeping for barangays.

These are not dangerous – not even revolutionary – ideas. They are ordinary proposals concerning public safety, education, health, and good governance. They may be good or bad. They may need revisions, perhaps further study – maybe even a serious discussion of how they will be funded. That is what a legislative council is supposed to do. If a proposal is unnecessary, explain why. If it is impractical, demonstrate its shortcomings. If it is worthwhile, then perhaps the political affiliation of the person who proposed it should not matter so much.

After all, what is the point of having a legislative body if the merits of an idea become secondary to the identity of the person who introduced it?

I find this particularly troubling when considered alongside the allocation of all 32 standing committee chairmanships to administration-aligned councilors, leaving the minority without committee leadership. The majority already exercises considerable influence over which measures are heard, deliberated upon, and advanced. That is the natural consequence of numbers in a political institution. But when control over the legislative agenda is accompanied by restrictions on the participation of another elected official, it becomes reasonable to ask whether we are witnessing the ordinary exercise of legislative authority or something that deserves a closer look.

And then there is the vote itself. Thirteen to one, with every USWAG councilor reportedly voting in favor.

I do not believe that councilors should vote against their party merely for the sake of appearing independent. Nor do I believe that a unanimous or near-unanimous vote is automatically evidence of wrongdoing. But I do believe that public office requires something more than the ability to count votes and ensure that the numbers are sufficient. It requires the willingness to examine whether a decision is right, whether it is necessary, and whether it serves the people who entrusted us with authority in the first place.

A majority can be legally constituted and still exercise its power unwisely. A decision can be defended through procedure and still leave us questioning its purpose. The fact that thirteen people agreed on something does not relieve each of them of the responsibility to explain why it was worth doing, moreso even than the many other things that are more deserving of the City Council’s attention.

Perhaps that is what bothers me most about this controversy. Iloilo City has no shortage of problems that deserve the full attention of its elected officials. Businesses are struggling with costs, families are dealing with the rising price of necessities, and our communities continue to need better services and more opportunities. Surely, there is enough work to be done without making the political independence of the Vice Mayor another problem that City Hall must solve.

Will restricting her participation make emergency services more accessible? Will it improve the lives of students, make the government more accountable, or help the people who struggle to make ends meet? Or does it simply make the exercise of government more comfortable for those who already have the numbers to get their way?

I do not pretend to know the private motivations of the thirteen councilors who voted in favor. It would be unfair to assume that every one of them acted out of political spite. They may sincerely believe that their decision is necessary. But that is precisely why they should be willing to explain it, beyond simply pointing to a legal opinion or the fact that they have the votes.

The Vice Mayor is not an employee of the Mayor. She holds a separate electoral mandate, subject to the limitations imposed by law. Her mandate does not make her immune from rules, but neither does the majority’s mandate make her politically irrelevant. The Council exists to legislate, not merely to ensure that the preferences of the dominant political group proceed without inconvenience.

There is another dimension to this that deserves consideration. Vice Mayor Baronda is also the National Chairman of the Vice Mayors’ League of the Philippines, a position that places her at the forefront of representing the interests and concerns of vice mayors across the country. Her experience is not limited to presiding over Iloilo City’s legislative council; she occupies a national leadership role among local officials who must navigate the same questions of authority, accountability, and institutional independence. This makes the present controversy particularly significant. If the role of a vice mayor is to be interpreted so narrowly that the official becomes little more than a ceremonial presiding officer, then the implications extend beyond one person and one city. They raise a broader question about how we understand the mandate of elected local officials and whether the rules governing their participation are being applied in a manner that strengthens democratic institutions or diminishes them.

And I think this is where we need to be careful about the kind of political culture we are building. We have a habit of judging the exercise of power according to whether we like the person exercising it. When our allies impose restrictions, we call it discipline. When our opponents do the same, we call it oppression. When our preferred leaders silence criticism, we applaud their decisiveness. When the same thing happens to us, we suddenly remember the importance of fairness.

But democratic principles cannot depend on whose side we happen to be on. If a practice is dangerous when our opponents use it, we should be cautious about celebrating it when our allies do. Otherwise, we are not defending principles at all. We are merely defending our own political convenience.

And the consequences may outlast the people involved in this dispute. The rules and precedents established today will eventually be inherited by another administration, another council, and another political majority. Those who are comfortable with the restriction of a rival today may someday discover that the same machinery can be used against someone they support. By then, they may find that the safeguards they once dismissed were there for a reason.

Iloilo City deserves better than a political culture in which the ability to silence an argument is mistaken for the ability to answer it. It deserves leaders who understand that their mandate is temporary, that institutions are bigger than the people who occupy them, and that the real test of a majority is not how effectively it can defeat opposition, but how responsibly it can exercise power.

Which brings me back to Padmé Amidala.

In that fictional Senate, the applause was not merely a reaction to one man’s rise to power. It was a reflection of the willingness of an entire institution to celebrate a decision without fully confronting what it meant. The tragedy was not simply that power was concentrated. It was that so many people helped make it happen, convinced that the result was justified.

I hope we never reach a point where we need to look back at our own political decisions with the same realization.

Because perhaps the question is not whether thirteen councilors have the votes to restrict the Vice Mayor. Clearly, they do. The question is whether they have considered what their decision says about the kind of democracy they want Iloilo City to have.

And whether the rest of us are willing to ask that question, even when the people exercising power are the very people we elected.

Because democracy does not always die with a declaration that it is over. Sometimes, it erodes one decision at a time, while everyone insists that the rules are being followed.

And sometimes, all it takes to make us forget what we are losing is a room full of people applauding.