Community journalists face greater risks as press attacks mount

MANILA, Philippines — More than four years into the administration of President Ferdinand Marcos Jr., the National Union of Journalists of the Philippines (NUJP) has documented about 260 cases of attacks against the press.

The rising number of incidents is alarming in itself. But beyond the figures is another troubling pattern: who bears the brunt of these attacks.

READ: ‘Access to truth at risk’ as attacks vs media rise to 256 – NUJP

Based on NUJP data, more than 180 of the recorded cases involved media workers from local newspapers and radio stations, alternative media outlets and campus publications.

This indicates that a significant share of those targeted come from smaller and independent news organizations — outlets that often operate with limited resources, lower compensation and fewer protections for their workers.

For them, the risks can be far greater than the pay.

Working outside the country’s largest newsrooms can mean reporting from communities where journalists sometimes have fewer institutional safeguards and where local political and economic interests can exert considerable pressure.

Yet despite these vulnerabilities, they continue to cover stories that might otherwise receive little or no attention.

The data tell more than a story of attacks against the press. They reveal who is most exposed when press freedom is under threat: journalists working closest to the communities they serve, often with the fewest resources to protect them.

As the NUJP pointed out, “behind every number is a journalist, a newsroom, and a community whose access to truth is at risk.”

Fewer resources, greater risks

Jay Lavapiez, a radio broadcaster in Roxas City, Capiz, told the INQUIRER that working as a journalist outside Metro Manila means doing the same job with fewer resources, but sometimes with far greater risks.

“We report from the communities where we live — where the people we cover are our neighbors, and the officials we scrutinize are often people we personally know,” he said.

Last June, Lavapiez, 48, station manager of Baskog Radyo, survived an assassination attempt. His vehicle was blocked by two men on a motorcycle and hit by four bullets from a 9 mm pistol.

Earlier in April, the NUJP sounded the alarm over the filing of cases against Lavapiez and his wife, India.

Based on the spouses’ account cited by the NUJP in its statement, the harassment against them started last year, when they reported on a cemetery owned by a local official and other allegations of abuse and corruption.

“These reports were done in good faith, in service of the public,” the spouses said.

Since then, several cyberlibel cases have been filed against them and their staff in Manila, Muntinlupa and Capiz.

READ: NUJP: Red-tagging, abuse of libel laws still prevalent

Lavapiez told the INQUIRER that when journalists question people in power, the risks are real — libel and cyberlibel complaints, online harassment, intimidation, threats, smear campaigns and even armed attacks.

“The hardest part is that provincial journalists don’t have the luxury of simply walking away,” he said. “This is our community. We go back to the same streets, we see the same people, and continue broadcasting the next morning.”

More of a public service

Lavapiez said salaries are modest for media workers in the provinces and “certainly not proportional to the risks we face.”

For instance, last April, community journalist RJ Ledesma was killed in Toboso, Negros Occidental, where he was conducting community work and reporting on renewable energy initiatives and their effects on agricultural communities.

He was among 19 people killed in a military operation that was condemned by a fact-finding mission for serious violations, including the alleged indiscriminate firing by the military despite reportedly having a clear view of the scene.

READ: Fact-finding mission: Military fired indiscriminately on ‘Toboso 19’

Lavapiez pointed out that “community journalism has never been primarily about money for us.”

“We do it because somebody has to ask the uncomfortable questions when public money is involved and ordinary citizens feel they have no voice,” he said.

Especially in the provinces, “our work is sometimes a test of courage,” Lavapiez said.

“Our work is community journalism,” he said, but “the irony is that the closer you are to the community, the more vulnerable you can become, because everyone knows where you work, where you live, and who you are.”

For Lavapiez, journalists do not expect special treatment.

“We simply ask for the same thing every journalist deserves — the freedom to do our work without being threatened, harassed, prosecuted into silence, or physically harmed for asking questions,” he said. /dm