When handcuffs become political

A powerful politician gets arrested, and almost immediately the country hears two words: accountability and persecution. Which one are we actually seeing? That question deserves more than a quick answer because, at first glance, the two can look remarkably similar—complete with investigations, warrants, prosecutors, court hearings, angry supporters, and politicians saying the law has been turned against them. The difference is not found in the drama surrounding an arrest. It is found in what came before it—and what happens after.

This is why I found Bonnie Ladrido’s recent commentary for the Institute of Contemporary Economics worth sitting with. His central argument is more careful than the usual partisan shouting match. Accountability, he writes, is part of the “institutional infrastructure of development.” A government that cannot investigate powerful people produces impunity; one that can punish people according to political allegiance produces arbitrariness. That distinction deserves more attention than another round of kami versus sila.

The temptation, of course, is to begin with the name of the accused. If the politician belongs to our camp, prosecution becomes persecution. If the politician belongs to the other camp, prosecution suddenly becomes justice. Our standards acquire party colors faster than campaign tarpaulins. Yet the rule of law becomes meaningful precisely when we resist that instinct. The useful questions are less exciting: What is the evidence? Who investigated it? Was probable cause independently determined? Can the accused challenge the allegations? Are comparable cases being treated comparably? And, eventually, can prosecutors prove their case under the standard required by law?

The question is no longer abstract. Vice President Sara Duterte faces three counts of grave threats stemming from remarks made in 2024. On September 4, a Quezon City court found probable cause to proceed and issued a warrant, setting bail at ₱120,000 per count. Duterte contests the charges. But a case going to court is not the same as guilt being established. We should remember that before making our own verdicts.

The case of former Speaker Martin Romualdez complicates the argument that the present accountability drive is aimed only at the Duterte camp. The Ombudsman has charged Romualdez—President Ferdinand Marcos Jr.’s cousin—with plunder over alleged kickbacks amounting to at least ₱7.44 billion from infrastructure projects. He has pleaded not guilty. Malacañang publicly said it respected the Ombudsman’s action despite his relationship with the President. None of this proves that every current prosecution is fair. It does, however, show why partisan affiliation alone may not adequately explain every current investigation or prosecution. That is essentially Ladrido’s challenge to the persecution narrative.

But his argument deserves the same caution it asks of everyone else. The existence of a case against an administration figure does not automatically prove that the entire system is impartial. Governments can prosecute allies and still selectively enforce laws elsewhere. Prosecutors can possess real evidence and still exercise discretion unevenly. Ladrido himself acknowledges this: selective enforcement can exist even when underlying offenses are real, which means the treatment of materially similar cases must continue to be examined. That qualification, for me, is crucial.

Our caution has a history. Leila de Lima spent more than six years detained over drug-related charges filed during the Duterte administration. In June 2024, her final case was dismissed after the court found that prosecutors had failed to prove guilt beyond reasonable doubt. Earlier proceedings had also been affected by witness recantations. Whatever side we take politically, handcuffs alone should never be enough to convince us that justice has been done.

Still, caution must work in both directions. Past political prosecutions do not make every present case abusive, and acquittal does not automatically prove fabrication. Sometimes prosecutors simply cannot prove the case beyond reasonable doubt. That possibility is built into the justice system.

We should therefore be able to hold two ideas at once: wrongdoing deserves investigation, and every accused person deserves due process. Presumption of innocence, credible evidence, competent counsel, and independent courts are not privileges for our political allies. They belong to everyone.

There is an economic dimension here that is easily overlooked. Businesses, workers, investors, taxpayers, and ordinary households make decisions partly on whether rules are reasonably predictable. Ladrido’s larger point is that development depends not merely on catching corrupt officials but on building institutions that can do so without becoming extensions of whoever occupies Malacañang. A country where connections guarantee immunity is dangerous. A country where changing administrations merely changes who gets investigated is dangerous in another way.

The real test, therefore, will not be one arrest, one administration, or one famous surname. It will be consistency over time. Investigate the President’s cousin when evidence warrants it. Investigate the Vice President when evidence warrants it. Investigate senators, governors, mayors, contractors, bureaucrats, allies, opponents, and eventually whoever succeeds them under the same evidentiary and legal standards. Then let independent courts determine guilt rather than Facebook, political rallies, or presidential preference.

I support the principle at the heart of Ladrido’s argument, but perhaps with one additional warning: accountability should never ask for blind faith. It should invite verification. Every prosecution should remain open to scrutiny, every accused person free to challenge the state, and every conviction grounded in evidence tested through due process. And every administration should know that the standards it uses against today’s opponents may someday be used to examine its own conduct.

Maybe that is the better measure of whether accountability has become political persecution. Do not begin by asking who was arrested. Begin by asking why, on what evidence, through which institution, under what process, and whether we would accept the same treatment if the person belonged to our side.

When those questions can be answered convincingly, accountability need not fear scrutiny.

It should depend on it.

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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.