In this imagined crisis, the judges’ revolt becomes less a partisan thunderclap than a brutal X-ray of the republic’s bones. Their letter doesn’t just challenge a former president; it exposes how thin the line is between orderly procedure and institutional panic. Senators stall, pollsters spin, and the public is left to guess whether this is a final alarm or just another performance in an age of permanent outrage.

What lingers is a darker realization: no clause in a constitution can substitute for character, trust, and restraint. When judges feel they must shout to be heard, and lawmakers treat that warning as ammunition instead of obligation, the system survives only on muscle memory. The crisis passes, the headlines fade, but a quiet damage remains—a country that has learned to doubt not only its leaders, but the very referees of its democracy.