The Resign Reflex

By Herman M. Lagon

Sara Duterte’s impeachment trial looms large, but in the chess game of Philippine politics, resignation may be her best move to avoid checkmate. While she insists she’s staying put, history and realpolitik suggest otherwise. Politicians have a knack for saying one thing and doing another, and Sara Duterte is no exception. While she dismisses the idea today, tomorrow could tell a different story. If she steps down, the legal and political repercussions could play out in ways that are both predictable and unprecedented.

In the Philippines, resignation has been a time-tested escape hatch for embattled officials. It’s a way to cut losses, preserve political viability, and, more importantly, sidestep further humiliation. Antonio Carpio, a former Supreme Court justice, points out that should Duterte resign before conviction, the impeachment proceedings will likely be dismissed. No longer holding office means there’s no position to remove her from, and the Constitution limits penalties to removal and disqualification. It’s the ultimate political loophole—leave before the ax falls. This wouldn’t be the first time an official chose self-preservation over a protracted public trial.

The playbook is simple: resign now, regroup later. If Duterte resigns, the impeachment trial is off the table, but the possibility of criminal cases remains. Impeachment is a political process, but a criminal charge is another beast entirely. Resignation wouldn’t erase allegations of bribery, graft, and even the wildest conspiracy theories linking her to an assassination plot against President Ferdinand Marcos Jr. and other top officials. If criminal cases follow, Duterte could find herself fighting battles beyond the Senate, this time in courtrooms where the rules are stricter, and the penalties are real prison sentences, not just political exile.

The looming 2028 elections add another layer of complexity. If Sara Duterte harbors presidential ambitions, resignation could be her path to political rehabilitation. Remaining in office and fighting impeachment would mean months of ugly hearings, damaging revelations, and a divided Senate determining her fate. Stepping down, however, could allow her to reframe her narrative, portray herself as a victim of political persecution, and prepare for a comeback, much like her father, former President Rodrigo Duterte, who faced controversies but retained public support.

For Filipino voters, resignation may feel like an injustice, a way for Duterte to escape accountability. After all, a public trial would provide transparency and, in theory, ensure that the truth prevails. But politics isn’t just about truth—it’s about survival. The current Senate composition doesn’t guarantee her acquittal, and with the midterm elections approaching, the numbers could shift further against her. By then, a new set of senators—possibly less sympathetic—could tilt the scales toward conviction. Would she gamble on that?

Her statements so far suggest she is buying time. She insists she hasn’t spoken to senators, hasn’t counted votes, and hasn’t even read the impeachment complaint against her. That’s political theater at its finest. Her legal team, “overwhelmed” by lawyers eager to defend her, is working overtime. And yet, she has refused to disclose her legal strategy, as if it’s a secret weapon that will make the impeachment complaint disappear. If anything, her silence fuels speculation that she is considering all options, including a well-timed exit.

Historically, impeachment in the Philippines is as much a political drama as it is a legal process. We saw this with Joseph Estrada, who chose to walk away through “constructive resignation” rather than endure a dragged-out trial. Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo, though besieged by impeachment complaints, outmaneuvered her opponents and survived. Chief Justice Renato Corona, on the other hand, fought until the bitter end and lost. The lesson? The longer the battle, the greater the damage. For Sara Duterte, resigning early may be the lesser evil.

Yet resignation doesn’t necessarily mean she gets off scot-free. If criminal charges are filed, she could still face trial in the Sandiganbayan. The allegations—bribery, misuse of confidential funds, unexplained wealth—are serious. Resignation might prevent a Senate conviction, but it won’t erase the paper trail or testimonies of whistleblowers. If her goal is long-term political survival, she must weigh whether leaving now secures her future or sets her up for a bigger fall.

For her supporters, resignation would be framed as a “principled sacrifice,” a move to spare the country from political division. To critics, it would be seen as an act of cowardice, an attempt to dodge accountability. Either way, she controls the narrative—for now. But as history has shown, public perception can shift. Ferdinand Marcos Sr. once claimed he would “never step down,” only to flee to Hawaii. Joseph Estrada said he would “fight to the finish,” only to submit a resignation letter in the end. When the tide turns, even the most defiant leaders know when to cut their losses.

Duterte’s father, Rodrigo, once warned, “Never underestimate the power of self-preservation.” His daughter might just take that advice. The political winds are shifting, and she knows it. The midterm elections could see a Senate less willing to shield her. The moment those numbers no longer favor her, the calculus changes. If her allies start jumping ship, expect her to do the same—perhaps not today, not tomorrow, but when the political math says it’s time.

But what happens if she doesn’t resign? The impeachment trial could become the country’s next national spectacle, dragging out for months. Every hearing would be a headline, every witness testimony another nail in the coffin. In a culture where political resilience is often mistaken for strength, Duterte might feel compelled to fight until the last gavel falls. The question is whether she wants to risk it. Her resignation—if it happens—would not be an admission of guilt but a calculated retreat, a pause before plotting her next move.

For now, she denies it. But denials in politics mean little. Today’s “no” can be tomorrow’s “yes.” If history is any guide, her exit—if it comes—will be framed not as an act of surrender but as a strategic withdrawal. The next few months will tell whether she plays this game to the end or walks away before the final verdict. Either way, it’s a gamble. The only question left is whether she’ll take the bet or fold before the cards are even laid down.

If resignation is Sara Duterte’s escape plan, she won’t be the first, nor will she be the last. Politics rewards those who know when to fight and when to walk away. And if history is any indication, the real decision won’t be made in press conferences, Senate halls, or legal briefings—it will be made when the numbers shift against her. When that happens, her next move will define her political future. Until then, the clock ticks, and the country watches.

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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 that is grounded in social justice and the pursuit of happiness. His views herewith do not necessarily reflect those of the institutions he is employed or connected with.