This two-part special examines the ascent and decline of Estrada’s presidency, setting it against a backdrop where fresh impeachment threats loom over Vice President Sara Duterte.
MANILA, Philippines — The path of Joseph Ejercito Estrada to the presidency started with great excitement, yet it concluded in disgrace, brought down not by a military rebellion but by the same systems he vowed to protect.
In 1998, he was catapulted into office as the people's hero, a previous film actor whose slogan "Erap para sa Mahirap" ignited the aspirations of countless individuals who felt excluded from political influence for years.
However, within just three years, this individual would face a trial accused of treachery. The presidency that started with great success soon collapsed amidst a whirlwind of controversy: explosive revelations, a critical whistleblowing incident, and a pivotal seven-minute action from Congress that destroyed his authority.
Nevertheless, it was the Senate's decision not to open a single sealed envelope known as the "second envelope" that ignited the firestorm. This led to an outburst of anger: legislators walking out, masses taking to the streets in demonstrations, and ultimately, a second People Power Movement that would topple him from power through popular will rather than a judicial ruling.
This two-part special looks back at the ascent and decline of Estrada’s presidency, setting it against the backdrop of fresh impeachment threats surrounding Vice President Sara Duterte.
As we stand between the past and the present, we reflect on the political, ethical, and social dynamics that previously led to the downfall of a president and recalibrated Philippine democracy.
The creation of a president, and the start of his downfall
On June 30, 1998, inside the historically significant Barasoain Church in Malolos, Bulacan, an adored movie star was sworn in as the country’s 13th president of the Republic of the Philippines.
Following constitutional requirements, the inauguration took place precisely at 12 noon; however, the significance of the location added depth beyond mere protocol. This marked the first instance since World War II where a Philippine President chose an inaugural site away from Manila, with the selection of Barasoain—birthplace of the First Philippine Republic—strategically honoring nationalistic sentiments and appealing to popular sentiment.
The official inauguration ceremonies took place soon afterward at the Quirino Grandstand in Manila, where thousands assembled beneath the scorching sun to hear Joseph "Erap" Ejercito Estrada speak for the first time as president.
For his followers, it was the instant when their "Erap for the Poor" finally came into being.
Estrada, who climbed from being the mayor of San Juan to serving as a Senator, and later becoming Vice President under Fidel V. Ramos, had just clinched the presidency with an overwhelming victory, garnering more than 10.7 million votes—a record-breaking margin for a Philippine presidential election at that time.
His rival, Speaker Jose de Venecia Jr., had slim chances against Erap’s immense popularity, built through his extensive film career where he played characters that resonated deeply with ordinary people: the underestimated fighter, the stern-yet-caring streetwise character, and the champion for those less fortunate.
His sobriquet, "Erap," wasn’t just an appellation; it functioned as a brand. Derived from reversing the Tagalog term "pare" (which means pal), the name was bestowed upon him by his co-actor Fernando Poe Jr. This title clung to him over time and ultimately became emblematic of a regular guy persona—a man who could mingle easily, share drinks, and crack jokes with anyone. This very image accompanied Estrada all the way to becoming president.
Estrada’s campaign vehicle, aptly labeled JEEP—representing Justice, Economy, Environment, and Peace—not only had a motto but also pledged an inclusive approach to governance. His aim was to make the presidency more accessible to ordinary citizens. At least, that was his intention.
During his first address, he raised concerns about corruption and nepotism, pledging not to allow any misuse of power under his leadership.
Warning ko sila. Wala silang kaibigang pwedeng magpatulan sa ngayon, wala silang kakampi, at hindi rin kanilang mga kamaganak o anakan na makapagtatransgresa. Ngayo'y palagian ko lang sana ito masusing sabihin: Nagpapaubaya lamang kayo ng orasan. Hindi ninyo ako patutulungan.
(I'm letting you know. No friends, no godparents, no relatives, nor children will be permitted to benefit from this situation. As of right now, I want to make it clear: attempting anything will only waste your time. There’s no point in testing my resolve.)
He concluded with an inspiring appeal for joint endeavor and unity among Filipinos:
Alamin natin, mahalin kong bayani, walang magpapatawad sa atin maliban na lamang ang isa pang Pilipino.
(Let us bear in mind, dear countrymen: no one will aid Filipinos except their fellow Filipinos.)
For the countless supporters who rejoiced at his rise, it was a time brimming with pride, hope, and a sense of justice. Their "Erap" had emerged victorious. Not the choice of the elites, but someone from among them.
However, history did not allow him to complete the six-year term for which he was elected. Within fewer than three years, the populist administration that began with great enthusiasm crumbled due to accusations of widespread corruption, numerous high-level departures, and an intense impeachment process that gripped the entire country watching intently.
However, before the collapse occurred, there were signs of fissures.
Within the walls of Malacañang, tales of late-night drinking sprees, poker evenings with close associates, and an endless stream of people seeking political favors started to become known to the general public.
Critics of Estrada—who were once isolated voices—became more vocal, claiming that the president was handling the nation's top office as though it were a seedy bar from one of his past films.
Then arrived the reports. Initially shared as hushed murmurs. Afterward splashed across headlines. Finally, quantified into figures: ownership deeds, mysterious riches, and phantom companies, unveiled by probing reporters who followed the traces of authority all the way to the royal residence.
The honeymoon was over.
Once the flaws started becoming apparent
Initially, these tales circulated as hushed whispers, passed along casually through the staff, and recounted nervously among those with inside knowledge. People began skipping meetings and ignoring memos. They claimed decisions weren’t being made around the conference table at the Palace, but rather during dinners, cocktail gatherings, and gambling sessions.
By the year 2000, Joseph Estrada's persona as the beloved "people’s president"—the ruggedly charismatic antihero reminiscent of movie characters—began to wear thin. Despite his landslide victory at the polls which initially propelled him into office with great momentum, his government started exhibiting indications of exhaustion, disarray, and extravagance. While he retained his appealing demeanor, the repercussions of his actions became increasingly evident.
Next was the initial strike.
In July of that same year, on the exact day when Estrada was scheduled to give his second State of the Nation Address, the Philippine Center for Investigative Journalism (PCIJ) published a scathing investigative report.
Titled 'The Condition of the President's Finances: Can Estrada Justify His Wealth?' the report outlined how Estrada, along with his spouse and various recognized companions, had connections to 66 enterprises, most of which weren’t listed in his formal financial disclosures.
These enterprises, many established during his time in public service, collectively boasted an authorized capital of P893 million—quite a contrast from the P35.8 million net worth and P2.3 million yearly income Estrada declared back in 1999.
The report brought up challenging queries. What was the process through which an incumbent president amassed significant holdings in sectors such as property development, media, and restaurants? And why did premium assets, including a P40 million house in Wack-Wack associated with his associates, end up listed under a recognized ally of the presidency—in public documents yet absent from his declared financial statements?
The Malacañang Palace maintained silence. The legal representatives guaranteed responses that failed to materialize. Meanwhile, outside, people started speaking up more assertively.
After five more months, the curtain rose even higher.
In December, The Washington Post presented a striking depiction of life within Malacañang, which seemed to mirror a scene directly out of one of Estrada’s past film productions.
Over at the president's personal lounge, once the day's formal responsibilities were concluded, the "midnight cabinet" meetings would commence.
Gathered were political cronies, entrepreneurs, and former bar companions who stayed up late into the night. Engaging in games of mahjong where bets soared as high as half a million dollars—approximately twenty-two point five million pesos then—they also savored bottles of Château Pétrus worth one thousand dollars each.
During breaks between sessions, discussions revolved around promotions, contracts, and regulations. Whatever transpired after dark frequently turned into official policy come dawn. "Things were spiraling out of hand," reminisced an ex-official. "He would strike the deals, leaving us with the task of sorting everything out."
Meanwhile, Estrada continued to entertain the audience.
He continued to tour the regions. He persisted in eating with his hands as flashbulbs popped around him. He kept distributing money from his billfold to those less fortunate. For countless Filipinos, particularly in rural areas, this approach remained effective. To them, he wasn’t seen as a besieged president; instead, they viewed him as someone pursued by wealthy elites and influential figures.
“His genuine and open nature was evident,” remarked former Finance Secretary Jose Pardo during a 2000 interview. “A cult of personality has developed around him. To his supporters, he cannot do anything wrong.”
Estrada immersed himself in the story.
This isn’t merely a conflict between the wealthy and Erap," he addressed his followers. "It’s a struggle between the affluent and those less fortunate—the impoverished individuals I wish to serve.
However, by then, the show had started to shift. The applause was more subdued. The banners became bolder. The atmosphere grew somber.
Initially seen as mere murmurs within the Palace walls, these issues have escalated into a widespread national emergency—a situation closely monitored by a worried populace, wary yet attentive. Just outside the glare of media attention, an individual who was part of Estrada’s inner circle, one whom he had previously referred to as a comrade, was getting ready to break their silence.
The turning point: Chavit’s shocking revelation, the country on tenterhooks
As of October 2000, the speculations surrounding the Palace were at their peak. For several months, people had been abuzz with murmurs about extravagant living, nocturnal gaming activities, and undisclosed riches.
Next, Ilocos Sur Governor Luis "Chavit" Singson emerged from obscurity with a decisive action that left everyone stunned.
On October 4, during a nationally broadcasted press conference, Singson, who was once a close ally of the President, alleged that Estrada had personally amassed P400 million from jueteng protection fees, which were channeled to him over approximately twenty-four months.
Jueteng, an illicit lottery prevalent in Filipino society, has traditionally served as a covert income stream for both local organizers and government representatives. However, no previous incumbent president had ever been implicated as the head of this operation.
"I personally gave President Estrada P10 million each month," Singson stated in a written statement. According to him, these payments occurred consistently from November 1998 through August 2000—a period squarely within Estrada’s term as president.
Next was the second blow. According to Singson, Estrada also wanted a share of the excise taxes on tobacco, which were supposed to be allotted to tobacco-growing areas as per Republic Act No. 7171.
The legislation aimed at assisting farmers via infrastructure and livelihood initiatives was meant to be beneficial. However, Singson claimed that P130 million from Ilocos Sur’s allocation was redirected after Estrada set this as a prerequisite for releasing the money.
"I consented to both the task of gathering jueteng money and the condition for releasing the funds because I was eager to fulfill our campaign pledge to the community," he stated, mentioning that he originally believed in Estrada’s commitment to improve rural areas.
The disclosures caused political tremors throughout the nation.
Over the ensuing days, the moral and political pressure escalated further. Reports highlighted that Manila Archbishop Cardinal Jaime Sin, the nation’s most revered Catholic leader, urged Estrada to resign "in the interest of the country," underscoring the severity of the situation.
Sin went deeper, stressing that Estrada had "lost the ethical authority needed for governance." This statement from the Diocese was the first instance where the Cardinal openly called for Estrada's resignation since he assumed office in 1998.
Estrada objected, claiming he was being adjudicated prematurely since the due process hadn't even started—a stance that echoed with certain individuals; however, by this point, most of the populace had formed their opinions.
On October 11, the opposition took formal action when House Minority Leader Sonny Belmonte submitted the Articles of Impeachment, citing:
“I have the responsibility to notify the country that, on behalf of the minority and all Filipinos, we are formally filing an impeachment complaint against the President of the Philippines.”
Supporting their allegations with Singson’s sworn statement, 115 legislators joined in, significantly surpassing the constitutionally mandated one-third requirement necessary to forward the case directly to the Senate.
Even after almost 28 months in power and increasing allegations, Estrada dismissed the claims and portrayed himself as an unjustly maligned underdog—an individual fighter standing up to formidable adversaries.
He allegedly commented, "This situation feels like something from the movies." He further explained, "Generally, in films—particularly in my own works—the protagonist often faces defeat and hardship, yet they never surrender. They persist until the very end and ultimately triumph over adversity."
Seven minutes that crumbled the presidency
On November 13, 2000, the House of Representatives gathered for what appeared to be an ordinary session; however, beneath the surface, the atmosphere was charged with unease.
Speaker Manny Villar, who had separated himself from Estrada’s governing alliance mere days before, made a crucial move that would alter the trajectory of Philippine history.
Surrounded by the buzz of political factions and intense stares, he stood up and declared that the impeachment complaint had garnered the necessary 115 signatures—more than enough to meet the threshold of one-third support.
He bypassed discussion and a floor vote altogether as he proceeded to read out loud the directive ordering the Secretary General to promptly forward the complaint to the Senate.
The accusations were extensive: including bribery, embezzlement, and breach of public trust, along with violations of the Constitution. Despite the House being rife with rumors for several weeks, nobody anticipated the motion’s official submission to progress so rapidly, not even without prior notice.
That declaration was swift, a mere seven minutes from opening prayer to gavel strike, but it cracked the very foundation of Estrada’s presidency.
Reports from that day depict a volatile scene: the chamber was consumed by pandemonium as Estrada’s supporters pounded on desks, vociferated allegations of misconduct, and labeled the action as "ramming through".
As reported by The Taipei Times, supporters of the President vehemently protested that standard protocols like roll calls and quorum verifications were bypassed. However, Villar remained composed and slammed the gavel, concluding the session before dissent could gather momentum.
Above the gallery, the reaction was intense. Social organizations and regular citizens who filled the meeting chamber stood up, shouting "Erap step down!" and performing "Bayan Ko."
On the ground, members of the opposing party hugged each other. Numerous individuals hurried over to Villar, who was clearly moved emotionally, expressing deep gratitude that the constitutional procedure had not just been maintained but had also triumphed.
Later, Estrada’s supporters challenged the validity of this action. However, the Constitution offered minimal leeway for different views: as soon as an impeachment complaint secures a minimum of one-third support from members of the House, it must be automatically forwarded without needing additional approval through a floor vote or further discussion.
Thus, a historic moment occurred. Joseph Ejercito Estrada was the first incumbent Philippine president to face impeachment proceedings.
In an area more familiar with military takeovers and rebellions rather than peaceful shifts in governance, the Philippines conveyed a distinct message: despite its fragility, democracy was functioning. The whole nation was observing—via live TV broadcasts, radio chatter in jeeps, hushed conversations in offices, and murmurings at markets.
It wasn't merely about law; it involved theater, revolution, and accountability—everything happening live.
The impeachment trial begins
On December 7, 2000, history was made within the halls of the Philippine Senate. This marked the first occasion since the nation regained democracy in 1986 that a sitting president faced a trial backed fully by the Constitution.
Chief Justice Hilario G. Davide Jr. led the proceedings. Before him, 21 senators raised their right hands and swore an oath as judges.
The accusations were severe: including bribery, embezzlement, and breach of public faith, along with violations of the Constitution. Estrada could lose his position if at least 15 out of the total 24 senators decided to find him guilty.
Every morning started with prayers and pledges, yet tranquility remained scarce within the hall. Television cameras operated nonstop, streaming each legal tactic nationwide into households and bustling marketplaces alike. To countless Filipinos, this wasn’t merely political—this felt intensely personal.
Eyewitnesses gave their testimonies, evidence was reviewed, and the atmosphere grew tense. Shortly before Christmas, the prosecutors stunned everyone with an unexpected revelation.
"I was merely a step away from President Estrada when he penned 'Jose Velarde' with his signature," recounted Clarissa Ocampo, who serves as the senior vice president of Equitable PCI Bank. According to her testimony, she herself delivered these papers to Malacañang on February 4, 1999, witnessing in astonishment as Estrada appended this pseudonym to an investment pact worth PHP 500 million.
Her statement clearly connected Estrada to a bank account that had been widely believed to be utilized for hiding unreported riches. This marked a pivotal moment in the legal proceedings, intensifying the tension and paving the way for the upheaval triggered by what came to be known as the second envelope incident.
The envelope that shattered the presidency
The country remained tense. The trial had captured the public’s interest, being thoroughly discussed at street corners, in classrooms, and within newsrooms. With the case extending into January 2001, the excitement wasn’t just bubbling up anymore; it was sparking intensely.
Everyone was looking towards the Senate, anticipating the subsequent developments in a saga that had moved beyond politics to become intensely personal for millions of Filipinos.
The Senate chamber was quiet yet charged with tension. On January 16, 2001, all 21 senators were seated as solemnly as judges. Leaders from civil society, members of the press, and worried citizens filled the galleries, their anticipation palpable in the room.
From his position at the podium, Davide oversaw everything. In front of him sat the notorious second envelope—an unopened, sealed item, yet brimming with political controversy. Rumors suggested that this envelope held banking records connecting President Joseph Estrada to the pseudonym Jose Velarde—the same name that kept appearing during testimonies about suspected money laundering and concealed assets.
Lawyers from the House of Representatives have been striving to open the envelope, claiming it contains banking documents showing Estrada accumulated $63.5 million in undisclosed earnings from graft and payoffs starting when he assumed power in 1998.
For the prosecution and many people involved, this envelope wasn't simply another piece of paper. It held crucial importance. If missing, the strongest evidence pointing towards questionable finances would stay hidden—and with it, the possibility of achieving justice could be lost, as they worried about.
As soon as they were ready to cast their votes on opening the envelope, Senate President Aquilino "Nene" Pimentel Jr., broke the quiet with his choice:
I cast my ballot to open the second envelope. My rationale for doing so is that it is the sole method to ascertain if the contents... hold relevance or significance to our case. Given these new circumstances, Mr. Chief Justice, I acknowledge that the opposition has won. Consequently, I will step down from my role as president of the Senate immediately upon the election of my replacement.
Even before the official count was completed, he stepped down, causing ripples throughout the assembly. "For the young people who will come after us," Pimentel would subsequently share with journalists, "For the youth who will follow us."
Then came the count.
Ten senators voted against opening the envelope:
- Tessie Aquino-Oreta
- Nikki Coseteng
- Miriam Defensor Santiago
- Juan Ponce Enrile
- Gringo Honasan
- Robert Jaworski
- Blas Ople
- John Henry Osmeña
- Ramon Revilla Sr.
- Tito Sotto
- Francisco Tatad
Only ten voted to open it, one short of the simple majority needed.
The response within the Senate was swift and passionate. As reported by The Washington Post, those opposing Estrada appeared tearful, whereas shouts of "Conscience! Conscience!" filled the air from the audience section. Many felt this vote essentially indicated Estrada’s exoneration.
As an act of protest, the House prosecution team staged a walkout—an uncommon and striking event in the annals of Philippine politics. They quietly exited the Senate chamber, expressing their disapproval of what they perceived as obstruction of the truth.
It was only following the walkout that Senator Franklin Drilon approached the Senate President. He gave Pimentel a firm hug. Trailing behind him were Belmonte, Representative Joker Arroyo, and several other principal prosecutors.
Subsequently, during an independent press conference, Pimentel stated:
I believe that those backing President Estrada have inflicted irreparable harm upon this institution, which I hold dear as a senator, and thus, I am unable to keep steering an organization in such a compromised state.
"I do this so that our people, particularly those who follow us, may retain some hope that there are still government servants ready to uphold what is right and beneficial, what is ethical and fair, for the welfare of everyone," he said additionally.
Senator Loren Legarda, who had cast her vote to open the envelope, was observed dabbing at her tears. Throughout the hall, people clapped not out of joy, but as a silent acknowledgment of principle.
On the contrary, Oreta was seen on live TV laughing, dancing, and provoking the audience in the Senate gallery after she and other pro-Estrada senators were booed. This incident became widely shared online. To those who witnessed it, it seemed like an act of ridicule.
The hearing adjourns, the crowd stands.
On that very night, the House prosecution team delivered an unexpected declaration. During an impromptu media briefing, they announced their joint decision to step down from the impeachment proceedings. They stated they would not be appearing before the Senate anymore nor presenting any more witnesses.
In simpler terms," stated a committee member, "the impeachment trial will move forward without any prosecutors, whether they be from the public sector or privately appointed.
This move wasn’t merely a formal resignation; it represented an ethical stand. Clearly indicating that the panel no longer had faith in achieving fairness through this procedure.
Arroyo wasted no words. He labeled the Senate’s decision as an "embarrassing act of exoneration," blaming the 11 senators who prevented the envelope from being opened for being "under the President's influence."
Belmonte referred to the decision as "crushing," stating that it undermines transparency and accountability.
In the meantime, Estrada conveyed via a statement someone else had read out, adopted a milder stance: "Similar to what happens in significant trials... sometimes you emerge victorious, at others, not so much." He encouraged Filipinos to "pray for unity and direction" and called for calmness amidst escalating disorder.
Many people viewed the vote as an escape for Estrada. Although the second envelope remained unopened, it served as a powerful emblem for his critics, illustrating how political loyalties could overshadow the quest for justice and transparency.
Throughout a period of 23 days—from December 7, 2000, to January 16, 2001—the impeachment proceedings against President Estrada unfolded as a nationwide scrutiny happening live.
Within the Senate, frustration shifted to sorrow. Beyond its walls, rage evolved into momentum.
On that very night, Filipinos started gathering at the EDSA Shrine. Students, religious organizations, professionals, and common people united in their demonstration, reviving the essence of People Power. What initially stemmed from hopelessness transformed into a resolute effort to oust a president whom many felt lacked the ethical authority to lead.
The second envelope remained unopened throughout the Senate proceedings. Yet, its undisclosed contents sent shockwaves across the country. This led to banging gavels in the Senate chambers and clenched fists in the streets.
(Proceeding: From EDSA Dos to Estrada’s removal—and the subsequent political comeback.)