The cameras rolled, the senators took their seats, and the country once again found itself watching history unfold on live television. Strangely enough, I found myself looking forward to the proceedings instead of avoiding them. Far from convincing me that guilt had already been established, the spectacle strengthened my view that the accusations deserved the highest level of scrutiny before anyone could speak of conviction.
One reason I appreciate the televised nature of the proceedings is that it allows ordinary citizens to judge the arguments for themselves rather than rely entirely on headlines, edited clips, or partisan summaries. There is something refreshing about hearing testimonies, questions, objections, and explanations in their complete form. Sunlight remains a stubborn enemy of shortcuts. When every exchange is visible to the public, the viewers become silent spectators in the gallery, each carrying home his own verdict long before the chamber reaches its official one.
As I watch portions of the hearings and discussions surrounding them, I often come away with more questions than answers. Allegations are not evidence, suspicions are not proof, and political noise does not automatically become legal substance simply because microphones are nearby. The courtroom and the senate chamber may sometimes resemble a theater, but they are not supposed to operate on applause meters. If a case is strong, it should stand comfortably on documents, testimony, and verifiable facts rather than on volume, repetition, or public excitement.
Ironically, the very process that some expected would damage the Vice President politically has, in my view, given many citizens the opportunity to evaluate the accusations more carefully. Public proceedings have a habit of producing unintended results. Sometimes they sharpen accusations; sometimes they expose weaknesses; sometimes they simply reveal how divided interpretations can be in a highly polarized political climate. Whatever conclusion one reaches, transparency has allowed the public to participate in the evaluation rather than merely receive instructions on what to believe.
Yet my appreciation for the proceedings stops where the bill begins. Impeachment is among the most expensive political exercises a democracy can undertake. Every hearing, every administrative requirement, every hour spent inside the chamber carries a price tag eventually paid by taxpayers who expect roads to be repaired, classrooms to be built, medicines to reach hospitals, and services to reach communities. Government money behaves much like water in a dry season: once poured into one field, another field waits longer for its turn.
Time itself is another expense that rarely appears in accounting reports. Legislators have only a limited number of working days to craft laws, review budgets, and address national concerns affecting millions of people. An impeachment trial naturally commands attention and consumes political oxygen. Whether one supports or opposes the Vice President, it is difficult to deny that such proceedings inevitably rearrange priorities inside government halls.
Personally, I cannot escape the feeling that politics lurks behind every major political battle in the country, regardless of which side occupies the stage. Supporters of the Vice President see political demolition; critics see constitutional accountability. Perhaps this is the curse of Philippine politics: even legitimate processes are immediately viewed through the lens of party colors, alliances, rivalries, and future elections. Every move resembles chess, and the public is left wondering whether the pieces are advancing principles or merely protecting kingdoms.
I am somewhat happy that the proceedings are public because they allow citizens like me to observe, question, agree or disagree, and decide. I dislike the enormous cost, the time consumed, and the possibility that political calculations may overshadow the search for truth. If impeachment must proceed, then the best service it can render the nation is to remain anchored on evidence, fairness, and restraint, because institutions emerge stronger not when they defeat opponents, but when they convince citizens that justice—not politics—won the day.
