A Plea to My Conservative Colleagues

A Plea to My Conservative Colleagues

I am a criminal defense lawyer. I am a proud Filipina-American, raised not just on stories of resilience and resistance from my Lolo (grandfather) and my mom, but someone who lived through the dark days of Ferdinand Marcos’ dictatorship in the Philippines and during martial law. And I am unapologetically liberal—someone who believes in second chances, systemic reform, and the inherent dignity of every person, even those accused of the worst crimes. But today, I’m not writing to my fellow progressives alone. I’m writing to every lawyer—conservative, libertarian, centrist, or otherwise—because we are facing a crisis that transcends ideology: Donald Trump’s escalating assault on the rule of law.

As lawyers, we are the guardians of a system that, for all its flaws, is built on principles of justice, accountability, and fairness. We swore an oath to uphold the Constitution, not any one person or party. Yet here we are, watching a former president—and potential future one—chip away at those foundations with a recklessness that feels eerily familiar to me, a child of the Filipino diaspora whose family survived Marcos’ playbook of power consolidation.

Let’s rewind to the Philippines, 1972. Ferdinand Marcos declared martial law, claiming it was necessary to "save" the nation from chaos—communists, crime, dissent. Sound familiar? He suspended habeas corpus, silenced the press, and dismantled checks and balances, all while painting himself as the indispensable strongman. The judiciary? Gutted or co-opted. Congress? Dissolved. Critics? Jailed, exiled, or worse (“disappeared”). What started as "law and order" rhetoric morphed into a 14-year dictatorship that plundered the nation and crushed its democratic spirit.

Marcos didn’t seize power overnight. It was gradual—a slow boil of eroded norms, stacked institutions, and a cult of personality that convinced too many he was above the law.  Not gone are the memories of the radio broadcasts: Marcos railing against "elites" and "enemies," promising to restore greatness while his cronies tightened their grip.  The brave radio broadcasters who had to go into hiding to tell the truth about the disappearances and corruption while Marcos waged war on them, attempting to shut down the lines and find those who criticized his unfettered power.  

Now look at Trump. He calls the free press "the enemy of the people." He attacks judges who rule against him, labeling them "biased" or "disgraceful." He pardons allies convicted of crimes while decrying the "weaponized" justice system when it targets him. He incites mobs to storm the Capitol, then claims immunity from accountability. Each step inches us closer to a place where the law bends to one man’s will—a place my family and I knew too well.

I’ve spent my career defending people accused of breaking the law, so I’m no stranger to skepticism about the system. But there’s a difference between critique and destruction. Trump’s actions—his refusal to accept election results, his threats to punish political opponents, his flirtation with loyalists who’d bypass legal norms—aren’t just partisan bluster. They’re authoritarian tactics. When he muses about being a "dictator on day one" or suggests jailing journalists (which was done repeatedly in the Philippines during Marcos’ reign), we should hear alarm bells, not applause.

The rule of law isn’t a liberal or conservative ideal—it’s the bedrock of our profession and of our democracy. It’s what lets a conservative prosecutor demand accountability for a corrupt Democrat, or a liberal defender like me fight for an indigent client’s rights against a GOP-led state. Strip that away, and we’re left with might-makes-right—a system Marcos perfected, where loyalty to the leader trumps evidence, precedent, or reason.

So, to my colleagues on the right: I get it. You might cheer Trump’s policies—tax cuts, deregulation, "tough on crime" rhetoric. You might see his bombast as a middle finger to a broken establishment. But ask yourself: What happens when the strongman you back turns on you? When the judiciary you rely on to uphold your principles is packed with sycophants? When the Constitution you revere becomes a prop for unchecked power? Marcos didn’t care about ideology once he had control—only obedience.

And to my fellow liberals: We can’t just preach to the choir. We need to reach across the divide, to the conservative lawyers who share our oath, and remind them that this isn’t about party—it’s about survival. The rule of law doesn’t bend left or right; it breaks when we let it.

Lawyers, all of us, must speak up. Write op-eds. File amicus briefs. Call out Trump’s assaults on judicial independence, election integrity, and democratic norms—publicly, relentlessly. Organize bar association resolutions condemning authoritarian drift. Educate our clients, our communities, our kids. We’re not just advocates for our cases; we’re advocates for the system itself.

For me, this is personal. My family fought against and joined in with the People’s Power movement in EDSA against Marcos’ regime because the Philippines was becoming a place where the law was a tool of the powerful, not a shield for the weak. I became a defense lawyer to fight for the marginalized, to hold the state accountable. I’ll be damned if I watch America slide into the same abyss my family fought back on decades ago.

We don’t have to agree on abortion, guns, or taxes to see the danger here. Trump’s actions threaten the very framework that lets us debate those issues in a free society. If we lose the rule of law, we lose everything—left, right, and center.

So, colleagues, let’s rise above the partisan noise. Let’s channel the courage of the Filipino people who joined together (lawyers, priests, students, home makers, soldiers, etc) who resisted Marcos—men and women who faced imprisonment or death to defend justice. Let’s protect what we’ve sworn to uphold, before it’s too late. The rule of law isn’t a suggestion. It’s our legacy. Act like it.