The handcuffs clicked shut not in the shadows of a clandestine meeting, but under the bright, impersonal lights of Ninoy Aquino International Airport. The man in them, retired Air Force General Romeo Poquiz, had just landed from a family holiday in Thailand. His homecoming gift: an arrest warrant, served by the Philippine National Police’s Criminal Investigation and Detection Group (CIDG). The charge that stuck? Inciting to sedition. The more explosive accusation of rebellion had already been left on the legal cutting room floor.
This is not a simple story of law and order. It is a narrative etched at the volatile intersection of free speech, political vendetta, and the lingering tremors of a powerful rivalry.
The Two Romes: From Tarmac to Courtroom
By 8 a.m. on Monday, January 5, Poquiz was in custody. By noon, his lawyer, Ferdinand Topacio, was scrambling to post the P48,000 bail at the Quezon City Regional Trial Court. “We just need his physical presence,” Topacio told Rappler, a statement that laid bare the procedural dance underway. The general’ “crime,” according to his legal counsel Levito Baligod, was not born from the fiery rallies he helped organize, nor from his controversial closed-door meeting with AFP Chief Gen. Romeo Brawner Jr. last November—a meeting he insisted was merely to air “legitimate grievances.”
The state’s case, it appears, hinges on a sentence. A Facebook post. Words on a screen.
The post in question read: “Kailangan mag-seryoso ang gobyerno na mag-imbestiga sa anomalya dahil kung hindi, baka isipin ng mga tao na ang mastermind ay nasa Malacañang.” (The government needs to be serious in investigating the anomalies because if not, Filipinos might think that the mastermind is in Malacañang.)
For this, the CIDG pursued him. For this, a warrant was issued by QC RTC Branch 77 on December 5. For this, a retired general found himself detained upon arrival.
The Political Ghost in the Legal Machine
To view this arrest through a purely legal lens is to miss the towering political silhouette behind it. Poquiz is no anonymous critic. He is an outspoken antagonist of the Marcos administration and a vocal ally of groups loyal to former President Rodrigo Duterte. As a lead organizer of the United People’s Initiative (UPI), he helmed the September rallies against infrastructure corruption—rallies widely perceived as a political vehicle to elevate the Duterte bloc.
The state’s machinery had already been grinding against these assemblies. The Armed Forces of the Philippines and the Quezon City government scrutinized them; the local government even halted the UPI’s third-day rally in November for "seditious tendencies." Poquiz’s name had also been whispered in connection with alleged coup plots—a claim he vehemently denied.
Yet, when the legal gavel fell, it was not for rebellion, nor for organizing protested rallies. It was for a Facebook post implying Malacañang could be suspect.
The Charge That Remained: A Chilling Signal
The dismissal of the rebellion charge speaks volumes. It suggests a lack of evidence for overt, violent insurrection. But the progression of the “inciting to sedition” charge is perhaps more telling, and more chilling. It is a charge historically vulnerable to interpretation, often resting on the perception of how speech might influence others. It transforms criticism into a potential crime, a line of thinking into a prosecutable offense.
The message seems meticulously calibrated: We will not charge you with taking up arms, but we will pursue you for the words you type. It draws a new front line not on battlefields, but in the digital public square. It targets not the soldier, but the speaker.
As General Poquiz awaited his release on bail, the question hanging in the air was heavier than any legal technicality. In today’s Philippines, where does legitimate criticism end and sedition begin? And when a government pursues a retired general for a social media post, is it enforcing the law, or attempting to silence a political echo it finds dangerously persuasive?
The arrest at NAIA was an event. The charge that survived—inciting to sedition over a Facebook post—is the enduring, and deeply disquieting, statement.
The Slippery Slope of a "Dangerous Tendency": How a Century-Old Law Became the Weapon of Choice
In the annals of Philippine law, Article 139 of the Revised Penal Code rests like a dormant relic. Crafted in an era of different threats, it defines sedition with a specific, physical image: persons who “rise publicly and tumultuously” to threaten the state by force. Its companion, Article 142, criminalizes the act of inciting such tumult through “speeches, proclamations, writings... tending to the same end.”
For decades, these statutes gathered dust, their requirements for public, forcible uprising setting a high bar. But in recent years, a seismic shift has occurred. The legal tool of choice is no longer the blunt charge of sedition itself, but its more elusive, more flexible shadow: inciting to sedition, supercharged by a judicial doctrine known as the "dangerous tendency" rule.
This rule, a potent legal phantasm, argues that speech is punishable not for what it does, but for what it might do. It suggests that words which could easily produce disaffection among the people, fostering feelings incompatible with loyalty to the government, are criminal.
A Weaponized Legacy: From Trillanes to Poquiz
The ghost of this doctrine first materialized powerfully under the Duterte administration. Its target: staunch critic Senator Antonio Trillanes IV. State prosecutors, sidestepping the need for evidence of actual tumult, argued that Trillanes’s fiery speeches possessed a "dangerous tendency" to stir disloyalty. The case, from which Trillanes was eventually cleared, nonetheless set a perilous precedent. It demonstrated how century-old statutes could be reanimated not by proof of action, but by speculation about potential sentiment.
Here lies the profound and bitter irony in the case of retired General Romeo Poquiz.
Arrested at NAIA for a Facebook post, Poquiz is no Duterte critic; he is an ally of pro-Duterte blocs, an organizer of rallies perceived to undermine the current Marcos administration. Yet, the legal sword once forged against Duterte’s foes has been seamlessly passed to a new hand, now poised against a Duterte ally.
The complaint against Poquiz did not stem from his rallies, nor his controversial meeting with a military chief. It stemmed, his lawyer states, from a single social media post questioning the government's seriousness in investigating anomalies and warning that the public might think "the mastermind is in Malacañang."
For this, state prosecutors have again invoked the "dangerous tendency" rule. The logic is circular and chilling: criticizing the government’s inaction on corruption could make people distrust the government. That distrust is "incompatible with loyalty." Therefore, the criticism is criminal.
The Chilling Effect: A Borderless Crime
The case of General Poquiz reveals a terrifying legal evolution. Inciting to sedition, powered by "dangerous tendency," has been decoupled from any requirement of imminent threat or public disorder. It has become a crime of perception and potential, adjudicated not by the public's reaction, but by the state's sensitivity.
The rebellion charge against Poquiz was dropped—the state admits there was no plot for forcible uprising. But the incitement charge progresses precisely because it needs no such evidence. It needs only a prosecutor’s assertion that the words could theoretically, eventually, lead to disaffection.
This creates a borderless crime scene. The "public and tumultuous" rising of Article 139 is tangible. The "dangerous tendency" of a Facebook post is a matter of political interpretation. It turns every critical statement into a possible legal liability, transforming the public square and the digital sphere into minefields.
The message to citizens, activists, and even retired generals is stark: Beware not just of what you do, but of how your criticism might make others feel about power. The state now claims the authority to police not just actions, but atmospheres; not just insurrection, but innuendo.
In the end, the arrest of Romeo Poquiz is more than a political twist. It is a warning that the "dangerous tendency" rule has become the regime-agnostic playbook for silencing dissent. It is a weapon that outlives its wielder, ready to be turned against anyone, from any side, who speaks a truth that power finds inconvenient. The law, once a shield for order, has become a sword against discourse, and its edge grows sharper with every use.
Legal Experts Slam Sedition Case, Cite Use of ‘Obsolete’ Standard
Legal experts have raised alarm over the filing of a sedition case against a critic of the Marcos administration, arguing that prosecutors relied on a legal doctrine long abandoned by the Supreme Court and ignored established protections for free speech.
Lawyer Barry Gutierrez Baligod criticized the city prosecutor for using the “dangerous tendency” doctrine in assessing whether the questioned statements constituted incitement to sedition. According to Baligod, this standard has been repeatedly struck down by the Supreme Court and replaced with the more stringent “clear and present danger” test.
“The city prosecutor used an obsolete standard in evaluating whether the utterance incited or not [to sedition],” Baligod said. “There have been many Supreme Court decisions removing that standard, and we have a new one called ‘clear and present danger.’”
Under Supreme Court jurisprudence, the clear and present danger test requires a two-pronged analysis: first, whether the evil sought to be prevented by the government is extremely serious; and second, whether the imminence of that evil is extremely high. Free speech advocates stress that both elements must be present before the state may lawfully curtail expression.
Baligod noted that even during the presidency of Rodrigo Duterte—widely criticized for his hardline stance against dissent—many actions taken against critics failed to meet this constitutional threshold. “Cracking down on dissent without satisfying the clear and present danger test undermines the very foundations of free expression,” he said.
Critics argue that the current case reflects a familiar pattern. They point out that President Ferdinand Marcos Jr. has, on several occasions, drawn from what they describe as the “Duterte playbook” in dealing with critics. Protesters during Marcos’ 2022 inauguration were warned of similar charges, and members of the progressive bloc faced the same threats during the November 30 anti-corruption rally last year.
Adding to the controversy, Baligod revealed that the charges were filed in court despite a pending motion for reconsideration (MR) before the Department of Justice (DOJ). “Generally, prosecutors wait for the resolution of an MR before filing charges,” he said. “But during the Duterte era, the DOJ often opted not to wait—and we are seeing the same practice repeated now.”
Free speech advocates warn that the case could have a chilling effect on public discourse if allowed to proceed under outdated legal standards. They stress that adherence to Supreme Court doctrine is not merely procedural, but essential to safeguarding democratic space and protecting citizens’ constitutional rights.