The controversy surrounding Ronald dela Rosa is often discussed through the language of individual constitutional rights. Public debates revolve around due process, habeas corpus, unlawful arrest, jurisdiction, and the limits of state power. Lawyers argue over warrants, detention, treaty obligations, and procedural safeguards. In the courtroom and in legal commentary, the central figure becomes the accused individual whose liberty is under threat. Yet beneath this procedural surface lies a deeper and more uncomfortable question: why does society seem more consumed with the constitutional rights of the accused than with the collective rights of the victims whose deaths, suffering, and grievances gave rise to the controversy in the first place?
The answer lies in the very history of constitutional democracy itself. Modern constitutional systems were born out of humanity’s long struggle against unchecked political power. For centuries, rulers possessed enormous authority over life and liberty. Kings imprisoned enemies without trial, governments confiscated property at will, and political dissent was often crushed through violence or arbitrary detention. In response, constitutionalism emerged as a shield for the individual against the State. The great constitutional traditions of the world—from the Magna Carta to the modern Bill of Rights—were fundamentally designed to restrain governmental power. Thus arose the core protections now deeply embedded in democratic societies: due process, presumption of innocence, right to counsel, protection against arbitrary arrest, and the writ of habeas corpus.
These rights were intentionally crafted to protect even the unpopular, the accused, and the politically vulnerable. Constitutional law assumes that if rights apply only to the favored or the innocent, then they are not truly rights at all. This is why legal discourse instinctively focuses on the liberty of the person facing arrest or detention. Courts are structurally designed to examine whether the State acted lawfully before they examine the larger political or moral implications of a case. The immediate question becomes whether government power was exercised within constitutional limits.
But modern constitutionalism did not stop with the protection of individual liberty. Over time, societies realized that an excessive emphasis on individual rights alone could also produce injustice. Industrial inequality, systemic oppression, human rights abuses, and social violence revealed that society itself possesses legitimate interests deserving constitutional protection. Thus emerged the concept of collective rights: the rights of communities to justice, security, dignity, accountability, and social order. Modern constitutions increasingly recognized that the law must not only protect individuals from the State but also protect society from impunity and institutional abuse.
This tension becomes especially visible in cases involving alleged large-scale killings or crimes against humanity. The victims are no longer viewed merely as isolated individuals. Their deaths become part of a broader societal injury. Families seek truth. Communities seek accountability. Society demands recognition that human dignity was violated on a collective scale. In this context, supporters of accountability argue that focusing solely on the procedural rights of the accused risks reducing constitutional law into a purely technical exercise while the suffering of victims fades into the background.
International criminal law reflects this shift in perspective. Traditional criminal law generally frames cases as disputes between the State and the accused. But international criminal law reframes certain acts as offenses against humanity itself. Institutions such as the International Criminal Court operate on the principle that some crimes are so grave that they implicate not only individual victims but the moral conscience of the international community. Under this framework, justice is no longer exclusively about punishing offenders; it also involves acknowledging victims, preserving collective memory, and preventing future impunity.
Yet constitutional democracies remain cautious. They understand the danger of allowing collective outrage to overwhelm individual liberty. History repeatedly demonstrates that governments invoking “public welfare” or “justice” can become instruments of persecution if procedural safeguards disappear. Without due process, even noble causes may evolve into authoritarian practices. This is why constitutional systems insist that the rights of the accused must still be respected, even in emotionally charged or politically divisive cases.
At the same time, there is also danger in the opposite extreme. If society becomes so focused on procedural protections that accountability becomes nearly impossible, public trust in institutions erodes. Victims begin to feel invisible. Justice appears selective or inaccessible. Constitutional rights may then be perceived not as instruments of liberty but as shields for impunity. The law therefore stands in a constant struggle to maintain equilibrium between liberty and accountability, between individual protection and collective justice.
This same constitutional tension exists beyond criminal law. In expropriation, for example, the Constitution protects private property while simultaneously recognizing the State’s authority to take land for public use upon payment of just compensation. Neither the individual property owner nor the collective needs of society absolutely prevail. Instead, the Constitution attempts to balance both through due process and fairness. Modern constitutional democracy operates on this same balancing principle across many areas of law.
Ultimately, the controversy surrounding Bato is not merely about one senator, one arrest, or one procedural remedy. It is part of a larger constitutional conversation about the direction of democratic society itself. The real issue is whether a constitutional order can simultaneously protect the liberty of the accused while honoring the rights of victims and society’s demand for justice. That tension may never fully disappear because it reflects the very complexity of human civilization. Constitutional democracy survives not by choosing only liberty or only collective justice, but by continually attempting to reconcile both within the rule of law.
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