No press ID required

“Hindi naman po kami journalists.” Apparently, that’s one way to explain yourself after posting something that turns out to be false.

I had to smile when I heard this story from Kara David during the Marshall McLuhan Forum at the Philippine Journalism Research Conference in UP Diliman last November 6. Smile first, that is. Because the more I thought about it, the less funny it became.

David had discovered that a social media outfit with some four million followers was announcing her new career as a rapper. Yes, a rapper. Her relatives had even begun expecting a performance at their Christmas party.

Imagine that. You spend years making documentaries, only to find out from Facebook that you’re releasing rap music. She called out the post. The people behind it apologized, blamed an intern, and deleted the story. But they also offered an explanation: they weren’t journalists. Just a social media outlet.

Ay, ganun pala. I wonder what difference that makes to someone who has already believed and shared the story.

David’s story was funny. But what if the false post had accused a teacher of abuse or a public employee of corruption? By the time it’s corrected, the damage may already be done. And not everyone has millions of followers to help clear their name.

That reminded me of Atom Araullo’s question during the forum: Who gets to call themselves a journalist these days? Before, we thought of journalists as people working for newspapers, radio, or TV. Now, anyone with a cellphone can reach more people than a local newsroom.

I don’t think that’s a bad development by itself. I’ve seen how a simple video from a concerned resident can make a difference. A flooded street, a poorly equipped classroom, or struggling fisherfolk suddenly get noticed. Sometimes that’s all it takes to get officials to act.

Good for them. And let’s not pretend that everyone carrying a press ID is automatically credible. We know better than that.

What interested me about Araullo’s point was his suggestion that we pay more attention to how information is produced than to the title of the person producing it.

Where did you get the information? Who told you? Have you checked the records? Did you talk to the other person involved? Are you being paid to promote this? Questions any responsible publisher should be able to answer. I wish more people asked them before sharing something online.

Having worked with campus journalists for many years, I’ve learned that one of the hardest things to teach is the patience to verify. Students can be wonderfully enthusiastic when they discover a possible story. They already have a headline in mind. Sometimes they’ve even imagined how the page will look.

Then you ask where the information came from. “Sir, sabi po nila.” Sino ang nila? That’s when I tell them to do their homework. Find the records. Check the figures. Ask the other side. Sometimes they come back with a better story. Sometimes, wala pala. Better to find out before publication.

I’ve also seen how easy it is to believe something simply because it agrees with what we already think. A report criticizes our preferred politician? Bias! A vlogger makes an accusation against someone we dislike? Share agad.

I understand the temptation. There are headlines that make me think, “Ayan, sabi ko na nga ba.” Then I have to remind myself that being pleased with a claim is not the same as knowing it’s true.

And disliking a report doesn’t make it false, either. I think journalists and content creators alike could do better.

May corruption daw? Nasaan ang ebidensya? Government figures? Check the source. And if someone sends you a document that’s supposedly explosive, verify it first. Baka naman fake, tapos naipost mo na.

And please, talk to the other side. I know. Sometimes they won’t answer. Sometimes they’ll promise to call back and disappear. But at least make the effort, and tell your audience what happened.

Of course, I’m not suggesting that everyone who posts on Facebook should suddenly follow the procedures of a newsroom. People should be able to complain about public services, share their experiences, joke about politics, and express opinions without having to prepare a research paper.

But saying a mayor is doing a poor job is different from claiming that the mayor stole public money. The second one needs proof.

It doesn’t matter whether the accusation comes from a television reporter, a newspaper columnist, or a vlogger with a ring light and a million followers. And if the claim turns out to be wrong, deleting it shouldn’t be the end of the matter. What about the people who already saw it? Shouldn’t they also be told that the story was false?

I find it strange that some people are very particular about the standards journalists should follow but become remarkably forgiving when their favorite influencer gets something wrong. Then again, journalists shouldn’t be too quick to lecture others.

The media have made their share of mistakes. Some newsrooms have published poorly checked stories. Some have sensationalized issues or allowed commercial and political interests to cloud their judgment. And some journalists have behaved in ways that give the profession a bad name.

Those problems deserve criticism, too.

During the forum, Araullo reminded the audience that trust isn’t something journalists can simply demand. I agree with him. Working for a known media organization doesn’t entitle anyone to be believed.

You earn that trust through your work. And you can lose it.

For me, one sign of credibility is how a person responds when corrected. Does the reporter listen? Does the creator acknowledge the mistake? Is the correction made clearly enough for the original audience to notice?

Or does the person get angry, block the critic, and insist that everyone else is biased? We’ve all seen that happen.

I actually like that more Filipinos now have ways to tell their own stories. A farmer, teacher, student, or barangay resident doesn’t have to wait for a reporter to visit before drawing attention to a problem. Social media has opened doors that used to be closed to many ordinary people.

I’d hate to see those doors shut.

We can post almost anything these days. But that doesn’t mean we should, especially when someone else might get hurt. I wish we’d remember that before forwarding stories, even to family and friends. A quick check wouldn’t hurt. Baka hindi naman pala totoo.

It won’t always be easy. Sometimes the truth takes longer to find than the video takes to watch. Still, I’d rather spend a few more minutes checking than help spread a lie.

As for that excuse David encountered, I suppose there’s a simple answer. “Hindi naman po kami journalists.”

Okay. Nobody is forcing you to call yourself one. But you published something for millions of people to see.

So, totoo ba? May resibo ba?

***

Doc H fondly describes himself as a “student of and for life” who, like many others, aspires to a life-giving and why-driven world grounded in social justice and the pursuit of happiness. His views do not necessarily reflect those of the institutions he is employed or connected with.