The price of our platform
The past week has been dominated by an urgent debate on how journalism can still effectively draw a clear line between information, entertainment, and endorsement in an evolving media landscape. In a Facebook post, Pasig City Mayor Vico Sotto criticized veteran journalists Korina Sanchez and Julius Babao for featuring his political rivals, Sarah and Curlee Discaya, in lifestyle-type interviews, alleging that money was involved in the coverage. The couple had recently become a subject of public interest after official reports revealed that their companies secured the second-largest contract in a major flood-prevention project. Sanchez’s feature, in particular, included a house tour that showcased the couple’s collection of 40 luxury cars. The Discayas were also quoted as saying that they became wealthy through DPWH contracts.
Some critics of Sotto’s remarks have argued that accusing journalists of accepting P10 million for interviews without concrete evidence is reckless and damaging. Indeed, unsubstantiated allegations can unjustly erode reputations and risk normalizing a culture of libelous discourse online. Stopping there, however, misses the broader and more urgent issue that Sotto raised. Apart from clarifying that the figure was illustrative and not literal, he is correct in pointing out that journalists must contend with how their choices appear to the public, and whether those choices uphold or erode the credibility of their profession.
Interviewing politicians and politically exposed figures for lifestyle-type pieces poses an inherent conflict of interest. These profiles focus on personal aspects like family anecdotes and humble beginnings, and they tend to be softer or flattering. These features do not usually come with tough questions or critical examination, allowing politicians to dictate the narrative and shape their image unchallenged.
The producers of Rated Korina and Korina Interviews have released a joint statement insisting that the story followed “transparent and strict standards of the airing stations.” What is most troubling about their defense of the feature is their insistence that it was a “rags-to-riches” tale meant to inspire Filipinos. Even setting aside the recent scrutiny over billions in DPWH flood-control contracts, the fact that a family amassed immense wealth through public works projects should have already raised red flags. If this were immediately clear to the public, it is worth asking how veteran journalists with decades of experience might have overlooked it.
The statement also asserted that the episode was taped before Sarah Discaya announced her candidacy and that Sanchez learned of Discaya’s mayoral run on the day of the interview. But that excuse sidesteps the bigger issue: Whether or not they anticipated her candidacy, choosing to still air the segment, which included Discaya’s plans for Pasig, provided inadvertent political branding. Being granted airtime by a trusted journalist is never “benign,” as the statement claimed. Whether they like it or not, Sanchez and Babao lend their credibility—and by extension the credibility of every media institution they have represented—to the people they feature.
The producers are correct in saying that they cannot make “presumptions about their subjects’ moral character.” However, editorial discernment requires drawing a clear line between storytelling that elevates public discourse and storytelling that could potentially legitimize questionable practices. Giving a platform to a contractor family whose fortune comes from public works is not the same as profiling a celebrity or a small business owner because the consequences and stakes for public welfare are entirely different. If the Discaya feature was sponsored through advertising, then it would have been far more ethical to declare it outright as an advertorial. Viewers should not be left guessing whether a segment is editorial or paid content.
It would be naive to believe that the editorial decisions of even the most reputable media institutions are completely unaffected by advertisers. But it would be equally naive to demand that media outlets only accept advertising money from “clean” people. The truth is, the age of free content has made audiences less willing to pay for news, and the democratized digital platforms have significantly eroded advertising revenues. This has left many media institutions in a precarious state and more dependent than ever on sponsored ads to survive. This challenge does not excuse poor editorial judgment, but it does explain the vulnerability of newsrooms. The blurred line between journalism and PR these days isn’t just about what is considered ethical or not; it’s also about acknowledging that our designated watchdogs of society are also struggling to fund themselves.
Perhaps another urgent conversation we should be having is how ordinary citizens can help protect media outlets. Yes, it is good to call them out when they make mistakes. Accountability is essential to democracy. But it is equally important to help support their economic viability. For instance, how many of us actually still pay for news subscriptions? Unfortunately, our passionate posts about the need for noble and ethical journalism do not help pay for the salaries of reporters and editors or the other overhead costs that keep these institutions alive. If we truly believe in the importance of media as society’s watchdog, then we must also help ensure its survival in this changing landscape.
In an era when public trust is fragile, journalists cannot afford to blur the line between inspiration and inadvertent endorsement. However, citizens, too, cannot fully demand fearless journalism while making little effort to sustain it. The stories we choose to tell and the institutions we choose to support will determine whether truth and democracy still have a fighting chance.
