The Philippines' judiciary

MONTHS of verbal sparring between President Benigno Aquino and the head of the Supreme Court turned into a bare-knuckled fight on December 12th, when the Philippines’ House of Representatives impeached Renato Corona, the court’s chief justice. Mr Aquino’s allies in Congress have charged Mr Corona with partiality towards the president’s predecessor, Gloria Arroyo, whom Mr Aquino intends to prosecute for corruption. But this is also a fight between the executive and the judiciary, institutions that are meant to be equal in the country’s American-style system. The great danger is that Philippine political ring may be too fragile to withstand the strain.

The impeachment process is the only way to remove any of the 15 sitting Supreme Court judges who are relatively young, healthy—and unwilling to resign. The House, which acts as prosecutor in this process, is dominated by supporters of the president. Mr Aquino applauded the impeachment of Mr Corona, saying to congressmen that the chief justice is the protector not of justice but of Mrs Arroyo. Mr Corona denies the charges that have been levelled against him. He is to be tried by the Senate, where support for Mr Aquino is less certain. If it confirms the charges, he will be removed from office.

The fight began in the dying days of Mrs Arroyo’s presidency, when she appointed Mr Corona, formerly a member of her cabinet, as chief justice. Mr Aquino, at the time a candidate to succeed Mrs Arroyo, had objected that the appointment was unconstitutional. The rest of the Supreme Court, then as now dominated by other judges appointed by Mrs Arroyo, dismissed his objection.

Mr Aquino promised the voters that fighting corruption was his main aim, and he was duly elected president in May 2010. But his attempt to set up a “truth commission” to investigate corruption during the Arroyo administration was thwarted by the Supreme Court, which ruled the commission unconstitutional.

Undaunted, the government continued to seek evidence against Mrs Arroyo, who denies any wrongdoing, and prevented her from leaving the country. The Supreme Court ruled that the government had no power to prevent her leaving, because she had been charged with no crime. But when she tried to go abroad in November for medical treatment, the government disregarded the court’s ruling and stopped her. Two days later she was charged with rigging the elections that were held in 2007 and arrested. She is now detained in a government hospital.

Coincidentally or not, the following week the Supreme Court ruled that a vast sugar plantation, still owned by Mr Aquino’s family in defiance of 23-year-old land reform legislation, should be handed over to landless peasants.

And now the gloves are off, with the executive and legislature claiming to champion the cause of an electorate long grown weary of corruption. For added effect, the judiciary claims to champion the rule of law. But the constitution, with its separation of powers and its checks and balances, has proved to be a flimsy document in the past, most notably in the years in which it was crumpled up by the dictatorship of Ferdinand Marcos. Ever since its mechanisms for settling confrontations have proved feeble.

The only other official whose impeachment led to a trial was President Joseph Estrada. The corruption case against him collapsed in procedural chaos in 2001, after it had reached the Senate. The collapse provoked a popular uprising, supported by the armed forces, which overthrew Mr Estrada—and replaced him with Mrs Arroyo. On that occasion, public opinion and the armed forces both stood against corruption and for the rule of law. In the latest confrontation, public opinion (as measured by polls) is on Mr Aquino’s side. Where the armed forces stand is unclear. What is certain is that the Philippine constitution does a poor job of digesting constitutional crises.

(Picture credit: AFP)