I never thought I’d become a human rights journalist. I thought to myself after I graduated that journalism will not bring food to the table, especially in my condition as a breadwinner. However, all throughout this journey, I witnessed things far greater than myself and I learned to trust the newsroom and our community in delivering news based on the principles of human rights.

I am not good at writing first-person stories. Since I started reporting for Bulatlat, I have always written news, profiles, and in-depth stories from the perspective of other people—those who know their communities best and are far more grounded in reality. Writing this from my own perspective is a challenge I dare to accept.

My journey started when I was an intern in late 2021. My first story assignment was about the campaign of palay farmers advocating for more dryers as they braced for the rainy season. My first profile story was a collaboration with my colleague, Aira Siguenza, about the slain unionist Leonor Alay-ay on November 12, 1986. His story was often told in the shadows. However, for his wife, Lina, the memory remains vivid decades after he was killed.

After my internship, I decided to continue contributing to Bulatlat despite being a full-time working student. A year later, I graduated and applied for several jobs in the development sector. Soon after, I was accepted at the Commission on Human Rights (CHR) as the Growth and Networking Officer of their education arm.

It has been a year of working with partners, yet I always sought to write more stories and be closer to the communities. I want to give journalism a chance. I do not subscribe to the notion that journalism is dead. I believe that truth-telling and journalism are crucial necessities in this age. Most of all, I have seen firsthand how Bulatlat perseveres despite state-sponsored attacks, especially in its legal fight against the website-blocking order. All these experiences pushed me to become a human rights journalist. So after my contract at CHR, I decided to become the full-time Community Manager and reporter of Bulatlat.

Now, I write stories, join people’s organizations in fact-finding missions, and, like in my previous work, engage with partners. Sustaining relationships with our sources, especially those in the grassroots, is a significant part of my work. Communicating with sources, partners, and even readers makes me feel more grounded in reality.

Being a human rights journalist in the Philippines means constantly looking over my shoulder. The threats are not just online but tangible, lurking in the shadows. Many of my colleagues have been harassed, red-tagged, or even killed for daring to speak truth to power. There are days when fear grips me, when I wonder if the risk is worth it. But then I remember the voices of the people I write about—the mothers of the disappeared, the farmers whose lands have been stolen, the activists who refuse to be silenced. Their resilience fuels mine.

Then there is my newsroom: I attribute my continuous survival in this field, in all aspects, to the care they offer. Caring for each other — for some, known as community and collective care — is a necessity in this field. There are days when we have to listen closely to the violence that our sources bravely expose. There are days when we are the direct recipient of fear.

Day by day, I learn to live with fear: doing things with fear, fighting despite the fear, stimulated by fear, but I do not let myself succumb in fear because I know there is a newsroom and a people’s movement behind me.

There are moments of triumph—small victories that remind me why I continue to do this work. Witnessing the freedom of the oldest political prisoner, when a story helps peoples’ organizations and grassroots communities champion their campaign, when an investigation sheds light on a censored truth, when ordinary people expressed their gratitude for making their struggle visible—these are the moments that reaffirm me. Things that are bigger than myself. (RTS)