On Father’s Day, a dad and his son wander through the museum’s quiet halls—a celebration not of buffets or malls, but of shared wonder.
They pause before a painting: a school of fish swimming in one direction, except for a single fish breaking away.
“Dad,” the boy asks, “why is this one fish swimming against the others?” The father smiles, knowing the question is larger than the canvas.
That image captures today’s political landscape. Civil society groups have voiced alarm over the possible appointment of Senator Chiz Escudero as impeachment court presiding judge, warning it could be “the most imperfect and one of the most dangerous.”
Against this tide of concern, Escudero’s counterintuitive redemption story unfolds like that lone fish—swimming against the current, defying the school, and forcing the nation to look closer.
When Leaders Stumble
In politics, as in faith, such solitary defiance often comes at a cost: the moment of rupture, the stumble that exposes both fragility and possibility.
The rooster crowed, and Peter, the disciple closest to Jesus, wept. Centuries later, a word—“forthwith”—echoed in the halls of the Philippine Senate, and Escudero stumbled.
Both moments, separated by time and culture, reveal the fragile humanity of leaders who falter in the face of pressure.
Yet both stories remind us: redemption is not the absence of failure, but the transformation of failure into renewed authority.
Tears Before The Rock
Peter denied Jesus three times when fear gripped his heart. His fall was public, his shame bitter. But Jesus, after the resurrection, restored him with a threefold question: “Do you love me?”
In that moment, Peter’s weakness became the soil for strength. He was appointed the “rock” of the Church, proving that divine leadership is forged not in perfection but in repentance.
Shield Bearer, Then Presider
The backlash was swift; Escudero's name carried the weight of public disappointment.
I was among his critics at the height of the shelved VP Duterte impeachment. In fact, I wrote an ATABAY article titled What’s In A Name? Escudero Means ‘Shield Bearer.'
That phrase came from a striking comment made by my college schoolmate and ATABAY reader, Dave. In response to my article Freeze The Ball: The Game Plan In Impeachment Delay, he shared an intriguing insight rooted in the etymology of names:
“One explanation for the Senate President delaying the impeachment process against lying, free spending VP lies in his name. Escudero means shield bearer, and that is exactly what he is doing—shielding Sara Duterte from being held accountable for her extravagant use of public funds.”
Dave even added a cheeky observation about the Senate President’s first name: “In Brit slang, Chiz means deception.”
By the way, Dave hit the nail on the head with his words “lying, free spending VP.” Sara Duterte herself once said: “I tell them all, that there is no single candidate who does not lie, so honesty should not be an issue now.”
That confession seemed to validate the critique, painting a picture of a leader unbothered by deception and indulgence.
Those words captured the mood of the moment—Escudero as shield, Escudero as deception—an image that resonated with the public’s frustration.
Yet, like Peter, Escudero found a path to redemption.
His decisive shift to Gatchalian’s side during the Senate deadlock became the game changer that restored legislative function and gave the nation relief.
From Savior To Scrutiny
Now, he is elevated to preside over the very impeachment that once marked his fall—a paradox of failure turned into stewardship.
Yet even as Escudero’s decisive move restored the Senate’s function and offered the nation a sigh of relief, the story cannot end there.
Redemption, after all, is not the same as acquittal. As Antonio Contreras reminds us in his Manila Times column, “Redemption is not acquittal.”
His warning is timely: Escudero’s act of political recalibration may have redeemed him in the eyes of many, but it does not erase the questions that continue to surround his conduct.
To elevate him solely as savior risks confusing a commendable act with blanket exoneration. And so, the narrative must pause here—not to diminish his redemption, but to temper it with accountability.
Grace Without Impunity
What Escudero does not deserve is “automatic exoneration from other questions that continue to surround him,” Contreras cautions.
Yet Contreras stresses that it appears to be exactly what is beginning to happen—an emerging narrative portraying Escudero “not merely as a senator who made the correct decision at a critical moment but as a political savior who rescued the Senate from dysfunction.”
Here is where caution becomes necessary.
“Political heroism and public accountability are not mutually exclusive,” Contreras explains. “A politician can perform a commendable act and still be required to answer allegations concerning his conduct in other matters.”
Indeed, to confuse redemption with acquittal is to blur the line between grace and impunity.
And that is precisely the point: redemption restores trust, but it does not erase responsibility. Otherwise, the rooster’s crow and the word “forthwith” risk becoming symbols not of truth reclaimed but of truth deferred.
A Second Chance, Not A Blank Slate
The rooster crowed, and Peter became the rock. The word “forthwith” echoed, and Escudero became the presider.
In both stories, redemption was not a clean erasure of failure but a reforging of weakness into strength.
The lesson is clear: leadership is not about never falling, but about rising with humility when one does. A ferocious champion from boxing’s golden age, Jack Dempsey once said, “A champion is someone who gets up when he can’t.”
Yet redemption must walk hand in hand with accountability. To celebrate Escudero’s decisive act is fair; to canonize him as savior without scrutiny is dangerous.
As Contreras reminds us, “Redemption is not acquittal.” It is restoration, not exoneration. It is a second chance, not a blank slate.
Like that child in the museum, staring at the lone fish swimming against the tide, we too must ask: “Dad, why is this one fish swimming against the others?”
The answer is not simple defiance, but the courage to rise differently, to resist the current when truth demands it.
In the marketplace of faith and politics, that lone fish is a reminder that redemption is not about blending with the school—it is about swimming with conscience, even when the waters rage.
Ancient and modern, spiritual and civic, personal and national—this is the rhythm of redemption.
Content and editing put together in collaboration with Microsoft Co-pilot
Head image created by Microsoft Co-pilot
Image app by Canva
Still photos courtesy of iStock, Bible Pics, Microsoft Co-pilot image, Instagram, Philstar, & GetRealPhilippines.com
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