The wrong side of one-sided

By Herman M. Lagon

Have you ever watched a basketball referee stop the game and ask why one team keeps shooting at only one basket?

Ridiculous, of course.

That is precisely why Senator Robin Padilla’s remark during the impeachment trial yesterday, July 23—asking the prosecution panel to avoid being “one-sided”—immediately escaped the Senate hall and entered the country’s comedy circuit. Within hours, social media was flooded with jokes. “Should the prosecution defend the accused, too?” one commenter asked. Another wondered whether the referee should also score points for both teams. Someone quipped that the impeachment proceedings became less stressful because “every time Robin speaks, expect comedy.” The humor was relentless, but beneath the laughter lay something more unsettling than another viral meme. It exposed how poorly many of us understand the institutions we entrust with our democracy.

To be fair, asking questions is not a weakness. It is part of public service. Every senator should ask difficult questions. Every legislator should seek clarification. The problem begins when the question itself misunderstands the role of the institution being questioned. An impeachment court is not a mediation session where everyone tries to meet halfway. It is an adversarial proceeding. The prosecution exists to prove its case. The defense exists to challenge it. Fairness comes not from asking both sides to sound alike, but from expecting the senator-judges to weigh both arguments impartially before deciding. That distinction is not a technicality. It is the architecture of due process.

Teachers understand this instinctively.

Imagine supervising a debate in a Grade 12 classroom. One team argues in favor of mandatory ROTC. The other argues against it. Halfway through, a judge interrupts and scolds the affirmative side for sounding too supportive of its own position. Every student in the room would probably laugh. That is because everyone understands the assignment. The debaters advocate. The judges evaluate. The moment those roles are confused, the exercise stops making sense.

Perhaps that explains why the online reaction was unusually creative. Pinoys rarely stay angry for long. We process disappointment through humor. We survived dictatorships with jokes. We endured calamities with memes. We transformed power interruptions into punchlines and traffic into stand-up material. The reactions to Senator Padilla followed the same tradition. “The prosecution should also defend the respondent?” one commenter joked. “Baka gusto rin niyang ang referee ang tumira sa ring.” Another observed, “The prosecution and defense should be one-sided. The judges should not.” These were not simply insults. They were legal lessons disguised as comedy.

Unfortunately, the episode also points to something deeper than one remark made during one hearing. It reminds us how easily celebrity can substitute for competence in public life. The Constitution wisely does not require senators to be lawyers. Neither should it. Some of our finest legislators have come from education, medicine, journalism, agriculture, labor, and business. Expertise wears many faces. What public office does demand, however, is intellectual humility—the willingness to recognize when a subject requires deeper study, expert advice, or simply the courage to say, “Help me understand.”

Good leaders ask questions.

Great leaders know what questions to ask.

That difference matters.

In schools, we constantly teach learners that confidence alone is not evidence. We remind them to define terms before using them, cite sources before making claims, and distinguish opinion from proof. A research adviser who confidently misreads the methodology section does not become correct because of confidence. A principal who misunderstands child protection policies cannot simply appeal to popularity. A guidance counselor who mistakes empathy for agreement may unintentionally harm the very student seeking help. Every profession disciplines confidence with learning. Public office should be no different.

Perhaps that is why this controversy resonated beyond legal circles. It touched a familiar Filipino frustration. Many citizens increasingly feel that expertise is becoming optional, while confidence is becoming qualification. Social media rewards certainty. Politics often rewards familiarity. Elections sometimes reward celebrity. Yet governance quietly rewards something else entirely: preparation. Laws are not improvised. Constitutional processes are not movie scripts. They require patience, precision, and respect for institutions that existed long before today’s personalities arrived and will remain long after they leave.

None of this means Senator Padilla cannot grow into the office. Public service has always allowed room for learning. Every capable leader has made mistakes. Every legislator has asked imperfect questions. The measure of leadership has never been infallibility. It has always been teachability. Citizens are generally forgiving of honest errors. They are less forgiving when certainty persists after correction. Democracies become healthier when leaders are willing to listen as carefully as they speak.

Perhaps that is the real lesson hidden beneath all the laughter.

The memes were not simply making fun of one senator. They were reminding all of us that democracy depends not only on good laws but on citizens and leaders who understand them. We should never expect the prosecution to become the defense, just as we should never expect judges to become apologists.

Because the greatest threat to democracy is not disagreement.

It is forgetting the rules that allow disagreement to remain just, orderly, and free.

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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.