In too many Filipino homes, parents advise their children—especially those drawn to journalism—to keep quiet, to steer clear of writing or speaking up. The argument is often rooted in love: "It's safer not to rock the boat," they say. But when our Inang Bayan is bleeding from corruption, oppression, inequality, and rampant injustice, this kind of silence is not protection. It is surrender.
The wounds of our nation run deep. From systemic corruption in government corridors to the marginalized being ignored or crushed, from environmental destruction to the deepening economic divide, the list of our motherland's pains is long and unsettling. In such a context, journalism is not a luxury, it is a necessity. It is the mechanism by which we expose abuse, call out impunity, and lift the voices of those who are often silenced.
Journalism is not just about stories; it is a calling. When young reporters risk writing about environment awareness, police abuse, or human-rights violations, they are doing far more than pursuing a job—they are undertaking a civic duty. Telling them to abandon this path because it is ‘risky’ sends a dangerous message: that speaking the truth is too dangerous, and that silence is a shield. But in doing so, we strip them of their moral agency and capitulate to a narrative that fears truth.
Today, this fear is not unfounded. Journalists are increasingly red-tagged—branded as communists, sympathizers of the New People's Army (NPA), or even terrorists—not because they have taken up arms, but because they report, question, and probe. This smear campaign is not merely rhetorical: it has real and frightening consequences.
One of the most chilling cases is that of Frenchie Mae Cumpio, a community journalist detained on terrorism-related charges. Her case has drawn international attention, with press-freedom groups decrying her criminalization as politically motivated.
It's not just isolated cases. According to press-freedom monitors, there has been a sharp rise in attacks on media workers: 184 incidents of press freedom violations were documented from July 2022 to April 2025—including 48 red-tagging cases, surveillance, cyberattacks, and even libel charges.
Advising silence to young journalists may feel like protection, but it ultimately reinforces a chilling environment. When we discourage them from speaking out, we allow fear to dictate the national conversation. We leave injustice unchecked. We embolden those who would rather see dissent muted than debated.
Real protection doesn't lie in silence. It's in commitment: helping young journalists build their skills, encouraging their courage, and standing firmly by them when they expose wrongdoing. A free press isn't reckless, it's accountable, ethical, and essential. But accountability has to be reciprocal: society must support the press, and the press must hold power to account.
To parents, your fear is legitimate. But courage isn't the absence of fear, it's what you do despite it. By urging your children to speak, write, and question, you're not leading them into danger—you're giving them the tools to heal and rebuild our country.
To society, we must refuse to accept the normalization of red-tagging, intimidation, and criminalization of the press. We must demand reforms, legal protections, accountability mechanisms, and a culture that values truth over propaganda.
Our Inang Bayan bleeds not because her children spoke, but, all too often, because they were forced into silence. Labeling truth-tellers as enemies or terrorists does not make us safer. It makes us weaker, less just, and more vulnerable.
Silence is not the cure. The cure lies in speaking the truth, in protecting those who report it, and in building a nation strong enough to withstand criticism, because only in the light of truth can healing begin.
Written by John Benedict N. Banday (Veritas), Insight PH
John Benedict N. Banday (Veritas), Insight PH is a dedicated campus journalist and contributor. Their insightful writing sparks meaningful conversations and keeps the community informed.
