Author: The LaSallian

Five hundred pesos—an amount the Department of Trade and Industry (DTI) claims is enough for a family of four to have their Noche Buena. DTI Secretary Cristina Roque’s remark, framed as an appeal to simplicity rather than excess, was delivered as though restraint in this context were merely a matter of preference for the Filipinos, not of necessity.

From where we sit, inside one of the country’s most prestigious universities, it would be dishonest to pretend we understand scarcity in the same way many families do. Most of us in the University dine at full tables—at home or abroad—with our intact traditions and the assurance that the holidays will not require impossible trade-offs.

It is precisely because of this distance, however, that we recognize how dangerous it is when those in power speak so casually about what should be “enough” for everyone else. The issue is not just about one holiday meal; it is about how far public officials are from the everyday struggles of the working class. This reveals a disconnect that enables political arrogance to pass as common sense, normalizing and reframing economic struggle as acceptable.

This arrogance is made even more obscene coming from a government that funneled billions into questionable projects and budget allocations controlled by personal and vested interests, while instructing ordinary Filipinos to lower their expectations and embrace scarcity as a virtue. 

This meagerness is imposed on the many through cold, selective data, while excess is only reserved for a few at the top, paid by the very taxes we pay. This is why such rhetoric goes beyond disrespect; it entrenches deprivation as the norm, while those who agree with the notion remain fully shielded from any financial consequence. But the problem has never been the numbers alone.

Ultimately, the issue transcends financial shrewdness. The season of giving falters in the hands of our covetous public servants, who police citizens’ budgets rather than provide meaningful, long-term solutions that would erase the need for such restraint in the first place. 

Noche Buena has always been a celebration of Filipino togetherness. It should not be centered on how much is spent or what is served, but on with whom the dishes are shared. But when families are forced to scrimp and scrape by with what they can afford, the added factor of frugality makes it all the more challenging to create lasting memories with their loved ones amid already turbulent times. 

The matter at hand is not a concern of materialism; it is a demand for fairness. While those who cleverly make do with tight budgets are admirable, their arduous efforts make us ponder: Why, during a tradition meant for us to share and show gratitude for our blessings, must they still have to go without? Why must Filipinos have to constantly reduce themselves to restriction, just so those at the top can indulge themselves in extravagance?

The Christmas season is meant to reinforce the celebration of life and the value of community. However, when government agencies tell us that frugality should be our reality in the face of rampant corruption, this casts doubt on whether they are really listening to the public’s pleas. 

The DTI’s proposed budget is more than just absurd; it is an insult to every Filipino. As government agencies shift the blame from rotting financial systems to poor personal financial management, families are led to believe that their failure is caused by their own incompetence rather than systemic injustice.

Time and time again, officials have washed their hands clean of the responsibility to provide safety nets and adequate living by advising the masses to save and conserve. But comfort should not be mutually exclusive from survival. 

This is a wound that festers deep beyond the holiday season. We cannot dictate a definite value on life or happiness. Five hundred pesos pales in comparison to the billions lost in untraceable deals, unfelt projects, and undelivered promises. The nation’s longevity should not rest upon the austerity demanded of the common Filipino, but on the transparency and accountability of its leaders. 

Rather than demanding personal sacrifices to accommodate the greed of a select few, we must instead demand a government that serves the nation’s needs without self-interest. 

As Lasallians, our distance from scarcity obligates us to take action, because to remain compliant is to betray the very purpose of our education: to question power and stop those who try to define what is “enough” for those already living with less.

From the corridors of the University to the crossroads of national struggle, The LaSallian has stood unflinching before history—documenting, questioning, and narrating the story as it is. 

For 65 years, since our maiden issue in 1960,  the publication has remained steadfast in its role as the voice of the Lasallian community—never cowering from administrative pressure and attempts to suppress our editorial independence. Guided by our motto, “Be there when it happens,” we have borne witness to defining moments: from being forced to cease operations during the Martial Law in 1972, to chronicling the EDSA People Power Revolution in 1986, and most recently, documenting the Trillion Peso March last September 21. In every chapter, we have sought to bridge national issues with Lasallians to make sense of the world in and beyond Taft.

Back when print media reigned supreme, its authority rested on credibility and permanence—whatever was printed carried weight, and once it was out, there was nothing to do but let the fine print shape conversation. Yet as the publication, along with the rest of the world, entered the digital age, the challenges evolved alongside it. While we continue to uphold the value of print through our broadsheets, we now contend with shrinking budgets and ongoing attempts to curtail editorial independence.

In today’s fast-paced digital space, where every post can be edited and manipulated at a moment’s notice, journalists shoulder a new burden: balancing truth-telling with mounting public and institutional pressures. The forms of censorship we once confronted—violent, direct, and physical—have transformed into subtler, digital forms: online harassment, disinformation, and systemic suppression that spreads faster and cuts deeper.

Our publication is no stranger to the pressure. We have faced calls to delete or “rewrite” published stories deemed “too damaging” or “misleading.” These requests rarely come from readers seeking accuracy but from groups wishing to control public perception. Take, for instance, our recent newsbites on the bomb threat and psychology professor—both grounded in verified facts and official accounts, yet still met with calls for alteration, censorship, and removal. 

But responsible journalism does not mean appeasing those who feel exposed. Even subtle forms of censorship, be it institutional pressure or social media optics, erode the integrity of the press. We are not anyone’s mouthpiece; our role is to inform, provoke, and hold the line when the truth is at stake. 

The editorial independence we exercise comes at a heavy cost. Reporting without external influence attracts backlash, pressure, and isolation—all because institutions fear public knowledge and value reputation over accountability. Within our own campus, external parties have even attempted to prevent us from distributing our broadsheets. 

Relatively, The LaSallian enjoys the privilege of near-complete editorial independence—a freedom not all college publications can claim. Many continue to operate under constraints—their voices are monitored, and their ability to hold institutions accountable is limited.  Campus journalists were even targeted by the Criminal Investigation and Detection Group after the September 21 protests—threatening not just the unfiltered truth of what transpired during that afternoon, but also the freedom of the press as a whole.

Being one of the nation’s leading student publications, our stance against censorship is a shared experience of all campus journalists, as mirrored in our editorials in 2023 and 2024. In the same vein, we must confront efforts that silence the student press and distort accountability, reminding the public of the truths that matter and the facts that will always sting for those whose actions do not benefit the common good. However, when the perpetrators divert blame toward truth-tellers for being “biased” or “destroying their reputations,” they not only sap the spirits of the resilient press but also toy with the confines of the information ecosystem.

At present, the Philippine climate is fraught with a manifold of catastrophes—from intense earthquakes and widespread flu outbreaks, to “ghost” flood control projects and a Congress slowly descending into chaos. In times like these, the press plays an essential role in bridging these multifaceted issues and the public, particularly those from the younger generations. However,  when the very citizens we seek to serve also dismiss journalists, propagate misinformation, and constrain spaces for dissent, they risk their own access to factual information and critical discourse. 

Despite this, we remain steadfast in the fight for press freedom. We firmly urge university administrators, students, alumni, and the Filipino people to respect our duty as a cornerstone of truth and accountability, and not as an echo chamber for comfort, consensus, and convenience. 

The LaSallian will always tell the complete story, even when others demand only distorted fragments. This is the responsibility we have inherited, the same one our predecessors have fought for across generations. Because the truth, no matter how inconvenient, will always be what the community deserves.

The LaSallian invites scrutiny with every story it publishes. As student journalists, we understand that our work is not above criticism. It is in this spirit that we duly acknowledge the Council of Student Organizations’ (CSO) response to the banner story of our March issue. 

With the Lasallian Enrichment Alternative Program (LEAP) 2025 fast approaching, the statement opens the door to public discourse. However, CSO leveled serious accusations against the publication. In their words, the article was riddled with “inaccurate details” that neglected to tell “CSO’s side of the story.” Yet, amid this verbal volley, they offered no evidence to back up their claims—no misquote identified, no data disproven, and no passage flagged for inaccuracy.

If CSO’s goal is to clarify the truth, then let us do just that.

Contrary to the “freedom wall posts” cited in the statement, the article did not speculate on the miscellaneous tuition fees. It only covered the financial operations tied to LEAP, including LEAP 2023’s misappropriated funds and LEAP 2024’s delayed vendor dues. These details were supported by interview transcripts, multiple corroborating sources, and requests for comment from all involved parties.

If CSO believed our report was “undermining confidentiality,” they should raise this concern to their partners. Our sources knew their statements were on the record and still agreed to publish.

We also never implied that CSO has full control over the financial processes. In fact, we dedicated an entire section explaining how these transactions pass through the Finance and Accounting Office, the Information and Technology Services Office, and the Office of Student Leadership Involvement, Formation, and Empowerment (SLIFE). If anything, the article highlighted how the problem is bigger than CSO.

As for the suggestion that the article was “misleading,” we acknowledge that no report can capture every facet of the story. Still, this is a curious claim. The bulk of the information came from the vendors who worked with CSO, as well as SLIFE Director James Laxa, whose office is named as CSO’s “faculty adviser.” If these parties were misrepresented, we welcome clarification. Which quotes were altered? What details were taken out of context?

Instead of engaging with these questions, the statement focused on more nebulous concerns. Notably, it suggests that the article casts doubt on CSO’s “values and operational standards.” However, none of the comments regarding their conduct came from The LaSallian. They came from the vendors who endured months of uncertainty, chasing payments that never arrived on time. Their voices deserved to be heard in the article.

CSO further asserted that the issues from LEAP 2024 have been “thoroughly addressed and resolved.” While it’s good that action was taken, this does not erase the story’s relevance. Journalistic inquiry does not stop at resolution. It extends to understanding why these problems emerged, how they were handled, and what can be done to prevent them in the future. 

This is why we labeled the article as a developing story. Since the beginning of Term 3, we have been gathering information for its second part. We want to release this follow-up because we recognize that responsible journalism does not stop at a single publication, especially when there are larger systems involved. Even if all the issues with LEAP have been addressed, those outcomes still deserve scrutiny to ensure that accountability remains a constant, rather than just a crisis response.

CSO’s statement may be the most public confrontation The LaSallian has had to deal with, but it is not the first attempt to suppress our outputs. In February, we were contacted to take down a photo because it became a viral meme. At the start of the academic year, we were greeted with a request to delete a campus situationer because it may potentially affect a fast fashion brand’s publicity. Most recently, the University administration cautioned the publication to be “mindful” when reporting about political flyers on campus.

These incidents have escalated in stakes, but they all go back to a recurring issue we identified in our 64th anniversary editorial: the fundamental misunderstanding of a journalist’s role. Even when we publish mere reportage of events, our posts are seen as threats to privacy, branding, and political neutrality.

In reality, The LaSallian does not exist to protect reputations or bend to convenient narratives. We also do not report stories for the sake of confrontation; we report them to serve the public as the bastion of issue-oriented critical thinking. If our work incites discomfort, it is often the byproduct of the truth, especially when accountability is overdue. 

Ethical journalism, after all, is not about deflection or damage control. It is committed to the truth and fair representation.

But in this age of disinformation, we understand why people would be skeptical of journalists. The LaSallian has never claimed to be infallible. Recently, we owned up to the errors in our reportage on the Pulso ng Lasalyano Bill, just as we’ve corrected other inaccuracies through public errata and internal reforms. Transparency has always been part of our response, and it will remain so moving forward.

Despite these editorial standards, we cannot control how our audience interprets our outputs. They may disagree with our stories, as that is the nature of a free press. But it is our hope that they, too, look past discomfort and engage with us critically and responsibly.

That begins with redirecting the conversation to the facts and systems at play. This is what our LEAP article set out to investigate, and this is the kind of journalism we will continue to pursue. All we ask from our critics is constructive communication.

If we want to build a community that is truly, as CSO themselves put it, “always for the passion of service,” then that service must include accountability—not just from the media, but from those in power. Because when we point our frustrations only at the press, we do not solve anything. We only allow problems to go unchecked until everyone pays the price.

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This article was published in The LaSallian‘s June 2025 issue. To read more, visit bit.ly/TLSJune2025.

Echoing the phrase “babae ka, hindi babae ‘lang’,” National Women’s Month is more than just a celebration of women’s contributions to society; it is a platform to surface critical issues they continue to endure. From pay gaps to gender-based violence, women bear the brunt of a society ruled by patriarchy. This is why women-led movements clamor for gender equality, calling for protection against abuse and discrimination.

Yet, despite feminism’s years of progress, not all who rally for equal rights uphold its principles in full. Transphobia remains prevalent even within feminist spaces that should, in theory, be fighting for all women.

Year after year, trans women face discrimination not just from the patriarchal system but also from the supposed feminists who continue to deny their identities. In particular, trans exclusionary radical feminists (TERFs) consider trans women a “threat” to the rights of cisgender women. They argue that trans-rights activists’ focus on gender identity undermines sex-based rights, as if equality were a finite resource that must be hoarded rather than shared.

But when will trans women be “woman enough” to deserve safety, dignity, and rights? They, too, experience gender-based violence, workplace inequality, and healthcare discrimination. They, too, need feminism.

Since 2010, over 50 transgender or gender nonbinary individuals have been killed in the Philippines, though the actual count may be higher. Moreover, the country ranked eighth globally in the number of transgender people murdered in 2023. The killing of Jennifer Laude by US Marine Joseph Scott Pemberton, followed by his absolute pardon, laid bare the government’s disregard for trans lives; and the deaths of other victims like Mary Jo Añonuevo and Jessa Remiendo serve as further tragic reminders of the dangers trans women endure daily.

Beyond physical violence, trans women struggle with systemic discrimination and are often denied the right to express their gender identity. Despite the Philippines’ reputation as one of the most LGBT-friendly countries in Southeast Asia, legal protections are gravely limited, with misgendering only punishable under specific contexts of the Safe Spaces Act or RA 11313. Meanwhile, the SOGIE Bill is still marred by arguments and a plethora of misperceptions, even from legislators. But one unyielding truth remains: trans women’s rights are not up for debate; they are a matter of survival. Every delay in legal protection perpetuates systemic violence, discrimination, and erasure experienced by both cisgender and trans women.

In 2019, transgender students at Tarlac State University were barred from wearing dresses for their graduation, forced to choose between their identity and a milestone meant to celebrate years of hard work. That same year, Gretchen Diez was arrested, humiliated, and treated like a criminal for using a women’s restroom. Trans women in the workforce are denied jobs or forced to present themselves as their assigned sex at birth just to be hired. These are not isolated cases—they are part of the same fight for bodily autonomy and safety that feminism has always stood for.

A movement built on fighting oppression should never be selective about whose struggles it recognizes. Contrary to what TERFs and transphobes believe, including trans women doesn’t diminish anyone’s struggles. In fact, it actually strengthens the fight against the same patriarchal system that dictates how all women should look, act, and exist. By refusing to stand with trans women, fellow women act like another gatekeeping institution, deciding who is “woman enough” to deserve rights.

The exclusion of trans women is not only hypocritical but also dangerous. Feminism should not be about deciding who is worthy of protection; it should be about dismantling the structures that harm women—cis and trans alike. It should be about promoting their voices and lived experiences so they are not pushed to the periphery. Above all, it should be about ensuring that no one has to fear for their life simply for existing.

If feminism is to mean anything, it must stand with trans women unequivocally and unapologetically. Because until all women are free, none of us truly are.

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This article was published in The LaSallian‘s March 2025 issue. To read more, visit bit.ly/TLSMarch2025.

More than a referendum on the Marcoses and the Aquinos with the 1986 Snap Elections, the EDSA Revolution in 1986 displayed the “People Power” as it became a force to restore civil liberties to a torn society that spent nearly two decades without them.

Since then, annual commemorations of EDSA I have often been done as a celebration of Philippine democracy itself, and efforts to restrict or undermine memories of the watershed period can feel like attacks on the democracy institutions strived for nearly four decades ago.

In recent years, EDSA has remained a hotspot for active political assemblies following the “spirit” of the first People Power with at least two mass events remembered as 2001’s EDSA II and III. With no “EDSA IV” in sight just yet, the continuation of pro-democracy protests has gained a separate yet derivative character of activism.

The memories of EDSA I as a movement of the united Filipino masses blur as time progresses—ever-susceptible to downplays and reductions in its role of restoring democracy to the country, alongside other regional efforts. As such, the fight for freedom against political injustice continues today as a derivative of the “People Power” of 1986.

With a growing generation of Filipinos born after EDSA I, a question arises: what does it truly mean to keep the “spirit” of EDSA alive?

Since EDSA I, Filipinos have continued to bring the fight for their causes to the streets, noticeably seen in the Pink Movement in 2022 to the recent Iglesia ni Cristo (INC) Peace Rally last January. However, succeeding mass movements within the country have seemingly failed to reach the political and social impact of EDSA I.

A key factor underlying the inability to recreate another influential mass movement is the lack of intersectoral cooperation toward the initial goals the “People Power” exercise sought to restore—the re-establishment of constitutional power back to its citizens. The recent INC rally, for instance, mobilized thousands but it was seen as insular, failing to extend its reach beyond its religious community.

With growing political polarization, deterrence to organize toward a common goal becomes no surprise. The essence of the Pink Movement was to tap into compassion and understanding as a means to unite voters on opposing sides. However, the results of the elections proved that ideological gaps run deep. Many Filipinos are not only politically divided, but they are also unwilling to engage with opposing perspectives. 

Although the current Marcos administration has “acknowledged” the essence of EDSA I, they have made subtle yet calculated efforts to chip away at its history. For one, the recently implemented MATATAG curriculum changed Diktadurang Marcos to Diktadura in textbooks, omitting his name from this label. Outside of the classroom, the administration’s efforts further manifested as they demoted the EDSA Revolution to a working holiday.

Needless to say, when the nuances and ambiguities that sustained the dictatorship and led to the EDSA People Power Revolution are erased, the desire to recognize and protect what EDSA I fought for also fades away.

But the challenge is not merely about remembering history—it is also about unlearning complacency. Resilience is usually used to praise Filipinos for how we bounce back from adversity, but this can also be weaponized to justify inaction. This level of pagtitiis can be dangerous, as we are prone to simply accept whatever is thrown at us without question.

Our tendency to form strong opinions works to our detriment, too. Once we make up our minds—like when we pick sides in today’s polarizing political rivalries—we are often prone to confirmation bias. Moreover, we tend to turn a blind eye to ideas that are against what we think, hindering us from truly acting. These values directly connect to Filipino patience as well; it takes a lot for Filipinos to say that enough is enough. After all, it took us 20 years for EDSA I to happen. When people are conditioned to endure rather than resist, the space for meaningful change narrows. Democracy is not lost in a single moment of corrupt governance; it erodes gradually when citizens no longer demand better. 

Without a strong sense of undivided nationalism—certainly not as strong as in 1986—one of the only concrete ways to instill positive change nowadays is not just to vote for the right people, but also to understand why we vote for them. Politics can be a difficult topic to discuss, but engaging with it beyond the colors and complacency is imperative to shaping a more transformative and proactive voting population.

Perhaps another EDSA People Power Revolution will never happen. We tried to do it again—twice—but these iterations failed to truly live up to the original’s name, and the many other Filipino movements inspired by it never had the same kind of impact either.

Going into EDSA I’s 39th anniversary, we always say to never forget, but we must do more than just remember history. Instead, we must remember the essence of “People Power”—of banding together and collectively retaliating against injustice through peaceful means. At the end of the day, achieving genuine change necessitates Filipinos’ unity rooted in our shared struggles, not from being divided by political differences.

Once, the internet was hailed as an equalizer and a space for human connection. Now, it has become a tool for division. This intent was initially subtle, even deniable. However, it has become strikingly clear after technology mogul Mark Zuckerberg chose to forego fact-checking on Meta-owned platforms like Facebook and Instagram—a troubling decision that favors deception over discourse and ignorance over informed thought.

This signals a startling shift toward the suppression of critical thought, coinciding with the resurgence of fascist politics. Populist leaders have mastered the art of digital propaganda; they began to flank the public conscience by infiltrating every screen, before eventually dominating the ones nestled in our pockets. They appeal to our strongest yet most irrational emotions: anger, fear, and contempt. With the removal of content moderation, their revisionist histories become the ruling narratives.

In the Philippines, where over 73 percent of the population rely on social media for news updates, this poses a grave threat. The 2022 National Elections revealed the extent to which disinformation could manipulate Philippine voters. Many fell victim to cheap campaign ads and misleading information from unverified accounts. With the 2025 Midterm Elections fast approaching, concerns have grown over the media consumption of Filipinos. 

We have seen this before. Reports suggested that in 2016, then-candidate Ferdinand Marcos Jr. allegedly asked British political consulting firm, Cambridge Analytica, to sanitize his family’s controversial image. A decades-long dictatorship was rebranded through a tale of golden eras and economic miracles—and it worked. Without robust tools to disseminate factual information to the public, we risk repeating history.

In response to Meta’s decision, a new fact-checking system mirroring Elon Musk’s Community Notes on X will be introduced. Users who sign up for this program will act as fact-checkers or add context to posts. While this empowers users to correct misinformation, it is also a double-edged sword. It risks allowing falsehoods to fester under the guise of democratic participation. The potential for satire, bias, and false information remain unchecked. In fact, this issue was highlighted when Zuckerberg himself became a target after his announcement, as posts mocking him surged, misleading vulnerable individuals.

The power of social media platforms goes beyond mere content-sharing. Algorithms and moderation policies can subtly—or overtly—dictate political opinions and election behaviors. This power is amplified within “political echo chambers,” which reinforce the user’s bias by showing them information they will likely agree with. Yet, instead of strengthening fact-checking efforts, Meta has chosen to abandon them. This absence of diverse perspectives stifles critical thinking and facilitates the spread of falsehoods.

Critics of third-party fact-checking argue that it suppresses free speech, which Zuckerberg claims to promote with the said shift. However, without systematic and impartial checks, the flood of misinformation threatens to erode informed decision-making and public trust in democratic processes. Leaving fact-checking entirely in the hands of users is not a viable solution; it is a surrender to the chaos of disinformation. Social media platforms must strike a balance, preserving freedom of expression while preventing harmful, false, or misleading content from flourishing.

Now more than ever, scrolling on social media during political campaigns feels like you are picking your poison: free speech or facts? But this is a false dilemma. While we have the right to express our opinions, we must also understand how to do so responsibly. Zuckerberg justifies the removal of Meta’s fact-checking by arguing that “fact-checkers have become politically biased.” But he is missing the point. Verifying information is never about picking a side; it’s about uncovering the truth without bias. 

This fight against disinformation is a looming threat to our collective future. It is more than just a virtual feud and debate with strangers online—it is about safeguarding democracy itself. This is especially evident in the Philippines, where political discourse is often defined by the branding of candidates instead of their platforms.

While independent fact-checkers, including campus publications, continue to hold the line against deceit, they can only do so much in the face of politicians leveraging resources to create misinformation and disinformation farms. Including third-party fact-checking on social media platforms remains essential in protecting online discourse from being fed lies.

Truth is not just an abstract ideal; it is the foundation of democracy. If we allow others to mislead us and distort history, we risk losing our ability to make sound decisions. As the 2025 Midterm Elections draw closer, we must harness our critical thinking skills to understand why we vote for someone—not just who we vote for. It’s especially crucial that we evaluate the information we encounter on online platforms, as it’s meant to persuade, not dictate. 

Ultimately, the most powerful choice is an informed one.

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This article was published in The LaSallian‘s January 2025 issue. To read more, visit bit.ly/TLSJanuary2025.

If journalism is the first draft of history, then The LaSallian has been assembling the chapters of a comprehensive tome for 64 years. Since our maiden issue, we have guided our readers through the complexities of campus life, including the tuition fee increase, students’ enrollment woes, and the scheduling of Independent Learning Week. 

We also tackle national and global issues, bringing the same dedication to the truth that anchors our work at home. This year, we criticized the Public Utility Vehicle Modernization Program and condemned Israel’s atrocities against Palestine. When protests swept the nation, our staffers were on the frontlines of coverage. 

Perhaps our greatest achievement is the revival of our print edition—a milestone that symbolizes not only a return to tradition but also our commitment to keeping the press alive in all its forms.

But beneath these accomplishments lie deeper challenges. As a once strictly print publication, The LaSallian had to overhaul its work in order to stay relevant in the digital age. Maximizing our website and social media presence has allowed us to reach a wider audience, breaking barriers that print could never cross.

This accessibility, however, comes at a price. The digital world is relentless, demanding constant updates and rapid turnarounds. While we do our best to uphold our editorial standards, we feel the pressure to publish stories quickly, sometimes at the risk of compromising depth and accuracy. 

In an era of fleeting attention spans, it is no longer enough to write a compelling article; each piece must also be paired with arresting visuals. The rise of visual storytelling has pushed us to adopt new strategies for presenting news. Although these adjustments are necessary, they can be labor-intensive, further straining our resources.

Moreover, expanding our coverage has heightened the dangers associated with our work, especially when the pandemic subsided. We commit to our philosophy—to be there when it happens—as we spotlight every sport in the UAAP, cover rallies and strikes, and write thought-provoking pieces. However, this may expose our staffers to harassment and red-tagging, both on the ground and online.

This is the price we pay for pursuing the truth, but it is a burden we should never have to bear alone. Despite our growing responsibilities, the support we receive is shrinking. In recent years, we have faced budget cuts that jeopardize the very heart of our operations, from printing our paper to traveling far for press coverage.

Censorship is another unfortunate reality for student publications nationwide. Although The LaSallian is not beholden to the University, threats to our editorial independence persist. We frequently receive requests from organizations within and outside of DLSU to edit or delete our posts, citing damages or misrepresentation to their brand. While these demands may seem trivial, they reflect a troubling misunderstanding of our role as journalists.

We are not here to advance the agendas of institutions and corporations; we are here to uncover the truth, expose injustice, and foster critical thought. Any attempt to suppress this duty undermines the very essence of journalism.

Though these challenges are not new, they are growing more acute. We cannot face them alone. The LaSallian has weathered storms throughout its history, but the current media landscape demands more than perseverance. Student journalists navigate a complex terrain of financial constraints, technological advancements, and political pressures, yet we remain dedicated to our mission.

For 64 years, the publication has held up a light for its readers, helping them navigate times of celebration, crisis, and change. Our staffers have gone to great lengths to mobilize people for the greater good and document their narratives. We continue this mission not only for our current readership but also for those who will look back at our archives, seeking to understand their history through our eyes. 

The torch we carry is not ours alone; it is a shared responsibility with the institutions and communities we serve. Without support, we risk losing more than just stories—we risk losing our right to know and to hold those in power accountable. As we continue this journey, we ask our readers to walk with us. For as we publish to expose the truth, we have chosen to advance the Filipino people’s interests.