Bayan o Gantimpala, Pumili Ka!

When my name appears among my publication's peers, I am often asked what level of the coveted schools press conferences I was able to participate in. That is the reality for many student journalists in the Philippines—that our value is measured not by our advocacy, but by wearing a medal inked by perseverance.

In the Philippines, only the top regional winners of their categories are given the opportunity to represent their homes in the esteemed National Schools Press Conference (NSPC); a stark contrast to the thousands of students who vie not just for awards—but for their voice to be heard.

While yes, being recognized in the country’s most prestigious campus journalism competition certainly adds weight to one’s name, it does not define a student’s career nor passion as a “journo.”

So what is the true purpose of the media?

From times far preceding our own to the present day, journalism has been used not as a publicity hound, but as a shining light that gazes upon issues shrouded by what mainstream media wants the people to know.

The press has never been one to be tagged as heroic. During the 1972 Martial Law, then-President Ferdinand Marcos Sr. was quick to shut down news sources that discerned his actions. However, small media organizations proved to be a constant thorn in the administration’s side, even being branded as the “mosquito press.”

Those few voices were a pivotal piece in attaining not just freedom of the press, but of the Philippines itself. Yet, where is their recognition? Where are their flowers?

Did they not deserve the same acknowledgement that awards could bestow?

They did not. Nor did they wish for it. Because in a time when even a mere opinion could be punished, their eyes were not set on the victorious glint of metal around their necks. Rather, they risked their own lives—even if it meant being put behind rusted steel bars.

That, above all else—is the true honor of being a writer.

Even our country’s respected heroes were journalists of their own. From Sucesos Felices, the Philippines’ first printed newspaper by Tomas Pinpin, to José Rizal’s work in La Solidaridad, journalism was already making its mark, which did not go unnoticed by the Spanish colonizers.

That was in the past. How is journalism supposed to be the catalyst for freedom of expression if we are already free?

But can we truly say the Philippines is liberated?

Yes, we have our own democratic republic. Yes, there is no imminent risk of being detained for speaking out against the government’s actions. But there is no consolation for the marginalized.

Those who drown in the flood of poverty, kicked out of their homes and stripped of their livelihoods for infrastructure that supposedly helps the economy. Patients packed in tight, unsanitary hospital corridors because of money-hungry conspirators. Where can they voice out?

What of their freedom?

That is what journalism in the modern era highlights—declining literacy rates, ghosted infrastructure projects that only build up anonymous bank accounts, and every murky truth the government refuses to acknowledge.

And as for students—ones who feel insignificant compared to their administrators—perhaps campus journalism is what gives them hope. Yet they are eclipsed by the bandwagon that performs for itself.

One that only knows how to brag, but doesn’t bother to look beyond what they’re told to write.

For every writer who lived off the high—the fame—there was another whose keyboard was slippery from the tears they’d shed, wondering if someone else shared the same struggles on the other side of the screen.

As Kara David once said, “Lagi mong tandaan na ginagawa mo ‘to hindi para sa sarili mo, pero para sa mas nakakaraming tao.”

While yes, not every journalist gets to stand on that stage, it costs nothing to stand amongst the crowd whose march beats with the heart of the hopeless. Is that not the essence of being the hope of the nation José Rizal once wrote about?

To give a voice to the silenced, a chance for those who were robbed of the rights our country has fought time and time again to protect. Because at the end of the day, what is worth a neck worn down by medals if it cannot even speak out for its people?