As we near the convening of the Senate for the purpose of the impeachment trial of Vice President Sara Duterte, legal circles are actively debating the question of how many votes, exactly, will it take to convict her.

On one hand, it will be easier to convict now compared to when impeachment first entered our constitutional system. After the 1940 amendments, the 1935 Constitution read, “No person shall be convicted without the concurrence of three-fourths of all the Members of the Senate.” The present Charter reads, “No person shall be convicted without the concurrence of two-thirds of all the Members of the Senate.” We understand that two-thirds of the 24-member Senate equals 16.

But here’s the problem: Sen. Ronald “Bato” dela Rosa is a fugitive; Sen. Jinggoy Estrada is in detention for the third time in his political career, and the Supreme Court already decreed that people facing trial cannot do their pre-arrest jobs. This means that only 22 senators can reasonably expect to participate in the trial—and what if more senators end up behind bars because of other charges?

We are all called upon to use our best lights to make sense of our laws. To me, this requires five considerations.

The first is, what does impeachment aim to solve? I keep returning to the comments of two Americans from whose political thought our institutions are descended. When Alexander Hamilton described an impeachment as “an inquest into the conduct of public men,” he was comparing it to the formal inquiry into a suspicious death: a necessary getting to the bottom of things over questions that won’t go away. And when Benjamin Franklin said impeachment was preferable to assassination, up to that point the traditional antidote to tyrannical rulers, he was speaking as a pragmatic champion of institutionalizing an alternative to what we might call extraconstitutional—or extrajudicial—killing.

The second is related to the first: what offenses or behavior deserve impeachment? The 1935 Constitution’s grounds, “culpable violation of the Constitution, treason, bribery, or other high crimes,” were expanded in the 1987 Constitution’s, “culpable violation of the Constitution, treason, bribery, graft and corruption, other high crimes, or betrayal of public trust.” There are some offenses so extreme, or so harmful—some situations so toxic—that catchall phrases like “high crimes” are needed to provide for such unforeseen eventualities that they demand removal from office.

And third, related to the second: why should our highest officials be removable from office, not by means of a trial in court, but instead, by a trial conducted by politicians, none of whom are required to be lawyers?

The answer lies in who the officials on trial are: our highest, put in place either by direct election by the people, or by the people’s highest representatives. In either case, it requires other representatives of the people to charge them, and then convict or acquit them—unelected judges who may know much about the law, but often little to hardly anything at all about running a country simply won’t do; their intrusion would justifiably spark a revolt.

In truth, an impeachment is the only instance where a Filipino is tried by a jury of their peers. Of all our officials who are directly elected by all the people, only three: the president, vice president, and senators; the House, composed of district representatives, is closest to the people, but does not share the same mandate or constituency.

That the Senate is the body that actually renders a verdict on articles of impeachment, because it has a national mandate, brings us to the fourth consideration, which is why are the proceedings public? A public trial brings up the question of public pressure.

The troublesome nature of our institutions lies in their being part and parcel of a democracy. And a democracy, at least under our system, is one where the public is called upon to render periodic judgment on its rulers. It necessarily involves the participation of that fickle monster, public opinion, in deciding the fate of leaders and parties.

The fifth consideration is why is impeachment, though made easier compared to earlier Constitutions, is still a relatively difficult process to undertake? It is here, actually, where the lawyers are most fiercely locked in debate. Strict constructionists and functionalists disagree on the word “all” in describing the Senate’s membership when it votes on impeachment.

The strict constructionists have their strongest argument in the fact that both the 1935 and 1987 Charters insist on “all,” and since it’s defined as a 24-person chamber, it’s clear. The functionalists disagree: it cannot be a fixed number because it would lead to an absurd situation where impeachment becomes impossible due to senators being counted even if unable to participate. To which the constructionists might justifiably reply, who ever said it should be easy?

Who could’ve imagined today back in 1987? Though to me, 2001 proved conclusively that impeachment’s provisions had failed, and former President Joseph Estrada’s removal equally conclusively proved that a new Constitution was already in order back then. But we have what we have, including the sobering possibility that the real trial will be in the court of public opinion.