I was a student journalist during the darkest days of Martial Law. I wrote and published when every word could be your last in print—and possibly your last, period.
We lived in the shadows of surveillance and censorship, but we wrote anyway. Because truth, then, was not just an ideal. It was an act of resistance.
That’s why, even now, I still trust institutions like The Guardian, CNN, TIME, BBC and The Washington Post. I trust them—not because they’re flawless—but because I remember who told the truth when it was most dangerous to do so.
When the Marcos regime controlled the airwaves and silenced dissent, it was these global media outlets that published what many local journalists were forbidden to say.
They exposed the disappearances, the torture, the stolen wealth, and the slow strangling of a nation’s freedoms. They bore witness when our own could not.
And when Duterte echoed those same tactics decades later, it was the newsrooms with integrity—Rappler, ABS-CBN and others—that became targets again.
This is why I feel disheartened when many today, especially those raised in the algorithmic age, dismiss these same sources as “biased” or “fake news”—not based on evidence, but because they challenge what they already believe.
If we won’t trust those who stood by truth under fire, then who do we trust now? Too many now trust anonymous vloggers, TikTok influencers, or meme pages that confirm their biases but offer no transparency, no editorial standards, and no accountability.
That may feel like independent thinking—but it’s really algorithmic indoctrination packaged as empowerment. Yes, the media is imperfect. But there is a difference between imperfection and manipulation. Reputable newsrooms operate under layers of editorial scrutiny.
They issue corrections. They cite sources. They don’t always get it right, but they are answerable. That’s what makes them credible. Compare that to disinformation networks that thrive on outrage—offering no context, no corrections, and no consequences.
They’re not interested in forming citizens. They’re interested in farming clicks. To those who believe distrusting the media makes them independent thinkers, I ask: is your “independence” leading you toward deeper truth—or just deeper resentment? True critical thinking doesn’t reject all institutions—it holds them accountable while staying grounded in reason, evidence and history.
And history is where this conversation must return. Because if we forget who silenced the press before—and who defended it—we are doomed to repeat the same cycle: myth over memory, propaganda over principle, spectacle over substance.
The Marcoses didn’t return because they were forgiven. They returned because we allowed forgetting. And now, with AI-generated lies and short-form misinformation, we risk raising a generation fluent in trends but illiterate in truth. That’s why I still trust the press.
Because the truth-tellers of the past earned that trust—not through perfection, but through presence when it mattered most. As a former student journalist, I still believe that journalism, at its best, is a vocation of courage. And those who seek only comfort from the news will never be formed by it.
Because real journalism doesn’t just inform—it disturbs, it provokes and yes, sometimes it hurts. But it also saves. So I will keep reading The Guardian. I will keep trusting BBC, CNN, The Washington Post, the Philippine Daily Inquirer and Sun Star Cebu —not blindly, but faithfully. Because they still try.
They still care about the craft. They still dare to print what power wishes to hide. And I will keep writing, too—quietly, stubbornly, hopefully. Because truth still matters. And memory must never die.