Press freedom does not die only when journalists are silenced. Sometimes, it dies when those sworn to protect the public begin treating the press as the enemy.
That is what makes the alleged harassment of photojournalists during the recent July 22 protest in Pasay City so alarming — a rally by progressive groups led by BAYAN against the visit of US Secretary of State Marco Rubio and the proposed US-led Pax Silica project during the ASEAN Foreign Ministers’ Meeting.
Freelance photographer Bullit Marquez and Manila Times photo editor Rene Dilan were reportedly confronted by police, blocked from documenting the arrest of protesters, and nearly arrested despite clearly wearing press identification. Another journalist, Jian Sanz, was forcibly detained while covering the rally.
And yet, Pasay City Police chief Col. Joselito M. De Sesto said it was an “honest mistake.”
Far from the claimed random lapses in judgment and harmless misunderstandings, these are direct assaults on the very people who stand between power and public ignorance.
This is not an isolated incident. The National Union of Journalists of the Philippines (NUJP) has documented 242 press-freedom violations, with 43 percent involving government and state security forces, and 10 journalists killed under the administration of President Ferdinand Marcos Jr.
The Center for Media Freedom and Responsibility (CMFR) has already shown the same pattern in the September 21, 2025, anti-corruption protests in Manila: journalists were assaulted, blocked, and stopped from documenting police action.
Among them were photojournalists Raffy Lerma, who was hit with tear gas and water cannons and suffered minor injuries; Ezra Acayan, who was ordered by a SWAT officer to stop taking photos; Chantal Eco, who struggled to breathe after tear gas exposure; and Lisa Marie David who said a police officer shoved a riot shield into her camera.
The pattern of incidents goes far back. In 2015, Panay News and Philippine Daily Inquirer photojournalist Guijo Dueñas was reportedly seized, pinned down, and interrogated by protesters in Iloilo while covering a rally, with seven men taking his camera, holding him by the arms and shoulders, and demanding his identification before finally returning the equipment only after he proved he was press.
There is no “mistake” about police officers surrounding journalists, preventing them from doing their work, and attempting to arrest them in the middle of a public demonstration.
A “mistake” does not erase the fact that people with cameras were treated like criminals.
Contrary to what the “protectors” believe, the press does not enter protests to become part of the spectacle. It enters to record what power would rather bury, distort, or deny.
To obstruct that work is to obstruct the public’s right to know. To threaten journalists is to threaten the truth itself.
I know this not from theory, but from experience. As a student photojournalist, I know what it means to stand in danger with nothing but a camera and a duty to tell the truth. In rallies, the greatest threat does not come from the crowd, but from the very people sworn to maintain order.
Still, we go because this work is bigger than us. We go not for recognition, but for the students, the people, the mass — for those whose stories deserve to be seen, heard, and remembered. We go because when public events unfold, silence protects no one, but witness protects the truth.
That is why the incident cannot be dismissed as if it were nothing more than a misunderstanding. If accredited photojournalists can be cornered, blocked, and nearly arrested while simply doing their jobs, then a bad judgment can no longer be used as a scapegoat.
The problem is a system that still does not fully respect the role of the press and a culture that becomes dangerous the moment it confuses visibility with threat.
Because once law enforcers begin to treat media workers as if documentation is provocation, democracy starts to crack. In this void, the access to factual information is locked in the shadows.
As the truth becomes harder to reach, fear begins to replace accountability.
The NUJP was right to say, “These actions should not be tolerated.”
The Photojournalists’ Center of the Philippines (PCP) was right to demand an investigation. The harm was done and it cannot be washed away by a phrase chosen to make it sound less severe.
No journalist should have to wonder whether a press ID is enough to keep them safe. No photojournalist should have to choose between documenting a story and becoming its casualty. No institution committed to public order should be allowed to injure the very people who help the public see what order really looks like.
So no, that was not merely an honest mistake. It was another attempt to keep the public from seeing what happened.
When cameras become targets, so does the truth they are trying to capture.
Joseline Baculi is the Head Photojournalist of The Angelite for Publication Year 2026–2027 and writes opinions under the column “Auto Focus.”
The views and opinion of the editor does not necessarily reflect those of the publication.
