We are not influencers

I didn’t learn how to corner an evasive and shifty politician or dissect a local government budget just to optimize my headlines for an algorithm designed to sell a food supplement or another crypto scam.

Yet, here we are.

The line between a news feed and a digital carnival has been completely blurred, if not deleted altogether.

We are competing for attention with conspiracy theorists, viral stunts, and an endless stream of pure, unadulterated fluff.

If journalism wants to survive this era of algorithmic noise, our superpower cannot be going viral. Our superpower has to be the unapologetic, often unglamorous pursuit of the facts — because when the spectacle ends, the people still need to know who pocketed the city’s budget for infrastructure projects.

Let’s be the adults in the room.

Somehow, newsrooms decided the best way to stay relevant was to act like desperate influencers. We are trading shoe-leather reporting for desk-bound aggregation, regurgitating trending topics, and slapping sensationalist, clickbait headlines on absolute non-stories just to keep our daily metrics from flatlining

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But let’s be brutally honest: trying to out-entertain the entertainment industry doesn't make the press look hip.

It makes us look like a desperate uncle doing a TikTok dance at a wake. Trying to beat social media algorithms at their own game is a fool’s errand that degrades the profession and turns the Fourth Estate into a cheap circus act.

The tech billionaires have designed their platforms so that form is king. Everything must be bite-sized, visually stimulating, and immediately enraging. But look where it has gotten us.

If form is king in their digital fiefdoms, then substance and context must be queen in ours. And historically speaking, queens outlast kings.

Form can never truly defeat substance.

You cannot simply shove flowers into an asshole and start calling it a vase. A polished, highly-produced viral reel of a press conference doesn’t change the underlying fact that the official at the podium is lying through their teeth.

The antidote to this industry-wide brain rot isn’t a savvier social media manager or a better hashtag strategy; it’s a return to gritty, old-fashioned investigative reporting.

It’s time we put the human rights lens back on the camera. Social media ignores the actual marginalized stories because systemic rot and the daily survival of those in the city’s margins don’t naturally trend.

They require reading comprehension and a modicum of empathy — two things the algorithm actively suppresses.

The public doesn’t need another 15-second video summarizing a politician’s idiotic tweet.

They need dogged reporters digging into why city hall’s record-keeping is suspiciously deficient, or why the exact same communities are left to drown every time a storm hits.

We are here to document the real-world body count of bad governance, not to serve up cheap internet brownie points. We are here to afflict the comfortable and comfort the afflicted, not to be the internet’s court jesters.

Trust is the only currency journalism actually owns. If we trade it for cheap clicks and fleeting engagement, we will bankrupt ourselves.

Propaganda and fake news thrive in an environment where everything is treated as light entertainment and all information is equally worthless.

If journalism wants to survive, we have to draw a hard line in the sand.

Let the content creators have their ring lights, their viral dances, and their engagement bait. We’ll take the public records, the hard questions, and the unvarnished truth.

Veritas Liberabit Vos.

Of rats and rants

IT’S an open secret that the Cogon Public Market has seen better days — probably days when tartanilyas still ruled our streets. But apparently, pointing out that the place is a biohazard has suddenly become a dangerous proposition.

When Franklin Dagcuta, the president of the Market Vendors Association, raised a red flag linking the market’s grim sanitary state to a case of leptospirosis, he probably expected a mop. Maybe a pressure washer.

Instead, he got a political ultimatum.

City Councilor Enrico Salcedo — Agaw Eric, apparently the Grim Reaper of Speech to his critics — threatened to declare the vendor leader persona non grata unless he publicly apologized.

This serves as a chilling reminder: In the hallowed halls of the City Council, preserving the government’s Facebook aesthetic often takes precedence over actually sweeping the floor.

This begs a critical question for Cagayan de Oro: Has the City Council prioritized reputation management over public safety? Are we protecting the people, or are we protecting the poster?

A tale of two rodents

Let’s get personal. My ex-girlfriend and I once braved the Cogon Public Market “food court” (heavy quotation marks intended).

In the middle of devouring a slab of humba, a furry creature scurried over my foot. I looked down and saw what appeared to be a “spotted squirrel.”

Now, logic dictates that since we were not in a forest, it couldn’t have been a squirrel. It was, in fact, a rat the size of our Persian cat. I mistook the mange-induced bald spots on its back for the markings of the endangered Xerospermophilus perotensis.

I posted this on Facebook as a funny observation about how neglected the market has become.

But in light of recent events, should I issue a public apology to Agaw Eric? Does my review of a rodent require a retraction under threat of legislative exile?

The Councilor’s response to Dagcuta wasn’t to investigate the rats; it was to silence the whistleblower. This isn’t a request for accountability; it is coerced speech.

The Constitutional pushback

Demanding an apology under the threat of sanction forces a citizen to publicly disavow their reality just to avoid a scarlet letter. It implies that criticizing city management comes with a social price tag.

But let’s look at the law, shall we?

For the nth time, persona non grata is a diplomatic term usually reserved for foreign spies or ambassadors who commit major faux pas. But since the City Council loves throwing this phrase around like confetti, here is the reality check:

A City Council resolution cannot “banish” a Filipino citizen. The Supreme Court and the DILG have consistently held that local legislative bodies cannot prevent a Filipino from entering their city. Doing so would violate the Right to Travel and Liberty of Abode.

Sa ato pa, this declaration is legally toothless.

It is a legislative temper tantrum designed to assuage the “bruised” egos of councilors, not to protect the city’s residents. Remember: The councilors are employees of the city. 

We are Cagayan de Oro City, not them.

The chilling effect

The threat is essentially a formal expression of displeasure — a government-issued “unfriend” button.

But here lies the rub: Dagcuta apologized. Why? Because while the law is on his side, the power dynamic is not. He represents vendors who operate at the mercy of the city government.

This wasn’t an apology; it was a hostage video.

Dagcuta shouldn’t have to apologize for describing reality — unless the rats (sized like mid-sized cats) in Cogon Market were the ones offended.

Using a legislative body to censure a private citizen for a comment on public infrastructure is a gross mismatch of power. 

Even if Dagcuta’s medical link to leptospirosis wasn’t scientifically peer-reviewed, since when is being wrong a crime?

A vendor leader — and any citizen — should have the Constitutional right to be wrong without facing political exile.

When the government uses a sledgehammer to crack a nut, it creates a “chilling effect.” It sends a message to every other Kagay-anon: Do not complain about the smell, do not point out the rats, or you will be next.

The bottom line

Ultimately, this political intramural is a distraction. By focusing on Dagcuta’s “offense,” the narrative shifts away from the actual issue: the market is dirty.

The apology has become more important than the sanitation.

In a democratic space, the feedback loop between the government and the governed is sacred. If pointing out that a market is filthy results in a legislative threat, that feedback loop is broken.

This drama isn’t just about Dagcuta. It is about the fundamental right of any citizen to complain about their city without fear of retribution.

The persona non grata status should be a shield against actual threats to the city — the daylight killings, the crime syndicates, the visiting motorists with noisy mufflers — not a weapon used to smack down critics who just want a cleaner place to buy and eat.

Hard pass on ‘Pahinungod’: Why I won’t break bread a hypocrisy

THE invitation arrived with all the trappings of officialdom and intended goodwill. 

The Misamis Oriental provincial government has invited the Cagayan de Oro Press Club to "Pahinungod," a gala ostensibly dedicated to honoring the local media.

As the club’s vice president for print, I have a short, unequivocal response: Hard pass.

I will not be an accomplice to this ostentatious display, nor will I lend my presence to an event that reeks of irony.

It requires a particularly short memory to accept this invitation without flinching. 

It was, after all, only late last year when the Governor stood before a captive audience at the Capitol and undressed the local press. She didn't just call us biased; she weaponized our economic reality against us.

She painted practitioners as destitutes, condescendingly remarking on how we struggle to feed our families on “meager salaries.” It was a backhanded statement that implied our poverty makes us vulnerable, unethical, or irrelevant.

I also remember that all the big media organizations issued a statement of rebuke for that incident.

That moment stripped away the veneer of mutual respect. It revealed a mindset that views the press not as a pillar of democracy to be respected, but as a charity case to be pitied — or worse, bought.

To attend “Pahinungod” now would be to validate that condescension.

It sends a signal that while we may be insulted from the podium one day, we can be pacified with a banquet the next. It suggests our dignity is cheap — priced at the cost of a catered meal.

But beyond the personal insult to the Fourth Estate, there is a more pressing issue: the morality of the expense.

Hosting an extravagant gala on the public peso is an exercise in tone-deaf governance. 

We are living in tight economic times. To lavish funds on a party for the press — while Capitol employees reportedly wait for delayed wages — is not just insensitive; the optics are grotesque.

Public funds are finite. Every peso spent on appetizers and venue rentals for a self-serving “tribute” is a peso that should have gone to the people who actually keep the provincial government running.

Journalism is not about being feted by the powers that be. It is about holding them accountable. 

We do not need a gala to validate our existence. 

What we need — and what the public deserves — is a government that respects the role of a free press without resorting to economic shaming, and one that prioritizes its workers’ salaries over its image.

So, keep the invitation. Keep the banquet. I prefer to keep my self-respect.