A country that fears its youth is like a house that boards up its own windows—terrified of the light that might come in. Every question becomes a crack. Every dissenting voice, a storm to be shut out. So instead of listening, it reaches for labels, hammering them down like nails—quick, careless, and meant to keep everything silent inside.
This is not a misunderstanding. This is not a clash of generations. This is suppression—calculated, normalized, and aimed squarely at the youth.
In the Philippines, it now takes so little to be branded an enemy. A student publication questions a policy. A young writer posts a political critique. A teenager speaks up about injustice. And suddenly, the label comes easy: “NPA.” No evidence. No nuance. Just accusation.
Worse, it gets personal.
The moment young people criticize a politician—especially one adults idolize and defend with near-religious loyalty, they are instantly branded “anti-government.” No argument, no engagement—just dismissal. The response is not dialogue but degradation. The script is predictable: “Komunista ka.” “May hawak kang M16.” “Corn beef ‘too soon.” “Akyat ka pa sa bundok.” These are not counterarguments. They are weapons—designed to humiliate, discredit, and shut down.
This is red-tagging—and it is not harmless.
Organizations such as Human Rights Watch have repeatedly warned that red-tagging in the Philippines places individuals at “serious risk” of harm. It is not just rhetoric—it is a precursor. A signal. A target painted in public. Those labeled are often subjected to surveillance, threats, harassment, and in the worst cases, violence.
And young people are not spared—they are especially vulnerable.
According to Amnesty International, youth activists in the country face systematic intimidation, both offline and online. They are harassed, monitored, and psychologically pressured simply for speaking out. The cost of dissent is no longer just criticism—it is fear.
But let this message be clear to everyone: Activism is not Terrorism. Journalism is not Communism.
This is how the rotten and damn system works: speak, get tagged, get threatened, fall silent.
What makes it more dangerous is how casually it is done. Red-tagging has become a punchline, a common comment in a post, a debate tactic, a lazy rebuttal. Adults—those who should know better—weaponize it against the very generation expected to inherit the nation.
They say, “Why be afraid if you have nothing to hide?” And my answer is, because in this country, a label can become a sentence.
The Supreme Court of the Philippines itself has recognized that red-tagging threatens the fundamental rights to life, liberty, and security. That is not an activist slogan—that is a legal reality. When the highest court acknowledges the danger, denial is no longer ignorance. It is complicated.
Take the case of Frenchie Mae Cumpio, a young journalist who was red-tagged, arrested, and detained for years. Her story is not an anomaly—it is a warning. If journalists can be silenced, what chance does an ordinary student have?
And that is the point.
Red-tagging is not about truth. It is about control. It is about teaching young people that speaking out will cost them their safety, their peace of mind, their future. It conditions them to self-censor before they even begin.
This is not just an attack on journalism. It is an attack on thought, on expression, on the very idea of a thinking citizenry.
Because when the youth are afraid to speak, democracy does not just weaken—it collapses quietly.
Enough with the labels. Enough with the fear tactics. Criticism is not rebellion. Dissent is not terrorism. And the youth are not the enemy.
If you silence them today, tomorrow you will inherit a nation that no longer knows how to speak.
Written by John Benedict Banday, Insight PH
John Benedict Banday, Insight PH is a dedicated campus journalist and contributor. Their insightful writing sparks meaningful conversations and keeps the community informed.
