The deepening impassé surrounding Senator Ronald ‘Bato’ dela Rosa is no longer merely a legal controversy. It has become a defining test of whether the rule of law in the Philippines applies equally to all, or only selectively to the powerless.

What began as an International Criminal Court (ICC) arrest issue has evolved into a national reckoning over accountability, institutional integrity, and democratic stability. Widely circulated images of Sen. dela Rosa’s sudden reappearance in the Senate after a protracted absence have hogged the limelight. He had sought refuge within the Senate premises while resisting possible arrest. The ensuing media spectacle has heightened public anxiety and sharpened political divisions.

The Filipino people have seen this movie before.

When public institutions appear unable or unwilling to act decisively amid mounting outrage, the country’s political pressure cooker inevitably generates what may broadly be called People Power conditions — not necessarily in the dramatic EDSA sense of millions occupying highways, but in the more dangerous form of widespread civic distrust, social polarization, and institutional delegitimization.

History teaches us that People Power movements do not arise overnight. They accumulate slowly through repeated perceptions of double standards, impunity, and elite exceptionalism.

This explains why the current situation has triggered strong public reactions. The issue is not simply whether one agrees or disagrees with the ICC. The larger concern is consistency.

When former President Rodrigo Duterte was arrested in March 2025 pursuant to an ICC warrant, the operation led by then CIDG chief Gen. Nicolas Torre III was implemented swiftly and decisively. Authorities maintained that the arrest was carried out “by the book,” despite political sensitivities and public protests.

Whatever one’s political position, the optics were unmistakable: the state acted with resolve.

Contrast this now with the spectacle of hesitation, protective custody arrangements, legal maneuvering, and apparent institutional paralysis involving Sen. dela Rosa. The resulting perception — fair or unfair — is that political influence can delay or complicate the enforcement of accountability mechanisms.

That perception is corrosive to democracy.

Filipinos are also reminded of former Senator Leila de Lima, who in 2017 voluntarily submitted herself to authorities after arrest orders were issued against her during the Duterte administration. She repeatedly asserted her innocence, yet chose to confront the legal process directly rather than evade it. For nearly seven years, she endured detention while insisting on her constitutional rights.

Likewise, during the Aquino administration, former Senators Juan Ponce Enrile, Ramon ‘Bong’ Revilla Jr., and Jinggoy Estrada all voluntarily surrendered when confronted with plunder charges linked to the PDAF controversy. They fought their cases in court, but they did not barricade themselves behind institutional sanctuaries or publicly encourage resistance against lawful processes.

These precedents matter because democracies survive not merely through laws but through norms — especially the norm that no public official stands above legal scrutiny.

The danger today is not simply legal confusion over ICC jurisdiction or the continuing debate over RA 9851, the Philippine Act on Crimes Against International Humanitarian Law. The greater danger lies in the erosion of public confidence in institutions supposedly designed to administer justice fairly and impartially.

Once public trust collapses, the vacuum is often filled by anger.

We saw glimpses of this during the Trillion Peso March protests since late last year, when outrage over pork barrel abuses united Filipinos across ideological lines. Today, recent polling and online discourse again reveal widespread frustration over governance, inequality, corruption, inflation, and perceived impunity. The current standoff risks becoming a symbolic lightning rod for these accumulated grievances.

Yet the Philippines must resist descending into another cycle of destabilizing confrontation.

Our challenge is to channel public outrage toward constructive civic engagement rather than destructive political hysteria.

First, Filipinos must insist on institutional consistency. The same standards of due process, accountability, and legal compliance must apply regardless of political affiliation or popularity. Selective justice inevitably breeds public cynicism.

Second, civic action must remain peaceful, disciplined, and democratic. The spirit of People Power was never merely about mass mobilization; it was fundamentally about moral legitimacy anchored on nonviolence, constitutionalism, and collective civic responsibility.

Third, Congress, the judiciary, and law enforcement agencies must communicate with greater transparency and credibility. Institutional ambiguity fuels conspiracy theories, misinformation, and social instability.

Fourth, political leaders from all sides must stop weaponizing public emotions for factional advantage. Inflaming passions may generate temporary political gains, but it weakens the Republic itself.

Finally, Filipinos must look beyond personalities.

The country cannot perpetually revolve around competing political dynasties, cults of loyalty, or cycles of vengeance. What must ultimately prevail is a deeper civic consciousness rooted in democratic maturity, institutional accountability, and national unity.

The real lesson of EDSA was never simply about removing leaders. It was about rebuilding institutions worthy of public trust. That remains our unfinished task today.

If the current crisis pushes Filipinos toward renewed civic vigilance, principled citizenship, and stronger democratic institutions, then this gathering storm may yet produce something constructive rather than catastrophic.

For in the end, genuine People Power is not measured by the size of crowds in the streets, but by the courage of citizens to demand that the rule of law apply equally to all, as embodied in the Latin maxim, fiat iustitia ruat caelum: “let justice be done though the heavens fall.”