Forty years ago, massive crowds filled Epifanio de los Santos Avenue for four days, armed not with weapons but with courage, conviction, and truth. The EDSA People Power Revolution toppled a dictatorship without bloodshed, proving that when citizens unite, entrenched power can collapse. Behind the prayers and protests was another force that helped make EDSA possible: the press.
In my plenary message to campus journalists at the University of St. La Salle Bacolod, I reminded them of a principle that remains timeless: Journalism’s first obligation is to the truth, and its loyalty is to the citizens – words not mine but those of Kovach and Rosenstiel (2021). This is the essence of “Exact Change Only,” the theme of the La Sallian Collegiate Press Conference (LCPC) 2026 organized by the USLS Student Government – Department of Public Relations on February 13 and 14. Just as transaction demands precision, journalism demands accuracy and integrity. No half-truths, no compromises.
During Martial Law, the Marcos administration attempted to silence the press. ABS-CBN was shut down in 1972 (a move of the government that was repeated in August 2020 under the Duterte Administration), and journalists faced harassment, intimidation, and even disappearance. Jose Burgos, Jr., founder of We Forum and Malaya, became a symbol of resistance. At the same time, his son Jonas Burgos was abducted decades later, reminding us that threats to press freedom persist (Burgos, 2013). However, even in the darkest times, the so-called “mosquito press” —small, independent publications—buzzed loudly enough to sting the dictatorship. They proved that even small voices can pierce propaganda and keep truth alive (McCoy, 1993; David, 2016). The Mosquito Press and courageous journalists resisted. They exposed election fraud, corruption, and human rights abuses, giving citizens the information they needed to act. International coverage of the EDSA Revolution further magnified the moral force of the revolution, showing the world that Filipinos could topple a dictator through unity and truth.
Globally, the Watergate Scandal in the United States showed the same principle at work. In 1972, operatives tied to President Richard Nixon’s re-election campaign broke into the Democratic National Committee Headquarters. Nixon tried to cover it up, but persistent investigative reporting by Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein of The Washington Post uncovered the truth. Secret tapes later proved Nixon’s involvement, and facing impeachment, he resigned in 1974 (Bernstein & Woodward, 1974; Kutler, 1990). Watergate demonstrated the power of investigative journalism to hold even the most powerful leaders accountable.
Nationally, we cannot forget the role of student publications during Martial Law. In the 70s and 80s, when mainstream media was censored, campus journalists resisted. They became voices of truth in a time of silence (David, 2016). That legacy continues today. Campus journalists are still watchdogs, challenging corruption, exposing disinformation, and defending press freedom.
This is a reminder that their work is part of a long tradition of resistance and courage in Philippine democracy.
However, this legacy is now under threat from historical revisionism. Attempts to sanitize the record of Martial Law, downplay issues, or glorify authoritarian rule distort the truth and betray the sacrifices of those who fought for freedom. Journalism must confront these distortions head-on, ensuring that facts are not erased and that future generations understand the cost of silence.
Today, the challenge is no less urgent. The flood control mess has left communities vulnerable, exposing failures in governance and accountability. The scars of extra-judicial killings remain, with families still seeking justice even as a former president sits in detention and faces trial at The Hague. Moreover, already, the noise of the 2028 elections is deafening: a controversial vice president has announced her candidacy for president, while a popular senator-actor continues to posture on the national stage, despite a plain lack of self-awareness—-or perhaps a simple display of audacity to aspire for public office despite his inadequacy in credentials, experience, and even common sense, compounded by the fact that he has previously been convicted of criminal charges, a case affirmed by the Supreme Court before he was later granted conditional pardon. These developments underscore why journalism must call out abusive leaders, expose incompetence, and challenge the normalization of celebrity politics.
Maria Ressa, who endured harassment and arrest before being named a Nobel Peace Laureate, reminds us to “hold the line.” That line is the truth. That line is accountability. That line is service to the public. Her story is a modern echo of EDSA: courage in the face of intimidation, persistence in the pursuit of truth, and loyalty to citizens above all else.
For campus journalists, the call is clear. Journalism is not a hobby—it is a vocation of service. Practice ethical reporting as enshrined in the Campus Journalism Act of 1991.
Forty years after EDSA, the message remains: tell the truth, hold power to account, and serve the people. The revolution was bloodless, but it was fueled by courage. Today, courage means refusing to compromise facts, refusing to be silenced, and refusing to surrender journalism’s ethical core.
Exact change only. Nothing less. Padayon!*
