Truth is the only cure

They say words can be dangerous. That the truth I write could put me in trouble. That silence is safer, easier, more convenient. But in a country drowning in lies, silence is like betrayal. Every time we choose to stay quiet in the face of lies, a part of our nation’s conscience dies.

We live in a time when lies are not whispered—they are broadcast, printed, and shared by millions; when truth is twisted to look suspicious, and deception is dressed in patriotism; when “fake news” has become a weapon, and truth-tellers are labeled as enemies. In this sickness of disinformation, I often wonder: who will dare to heal us if everyone is too afraid to speak?

As a young campus journalist, I’ve seen fear up close. I’ve felt it in the trembling hands of a co-campus journalist submitting a controversial article. I’ve heard it in the worried voice of a parent warning me to stop. Their fear is valid, but silence, no matter how well-intentioned, will not save us. Silence keeps the infection alive.

Our country—our “Inang Bayan”—is sick. She coughs in corruption, bleeds in disinformation, and suffers from the fever of apathy. The symptoms are everywhere: manipulated headlines, silenced voices, youth afraid to ask questions. And yet, the cure has always been simple, though never easy. Truth. Truth that is fearless, unfiltered, and unafraid of consequence. Truth that hurts before it heals. Truth that may shake the powerful but empowers the powerless.

Sometimes, when young dares to speak truth that challenges the powerful, they are branded with cruel names. They are accused of being troublemakers, of being ungrateful, of being “against the government.” Some are even called terrorists simply because they demand accountability, justice, or reform. But activism is not terrorism. Asking questions is not rebellion. Caring deeply for one’s country is not a crime. It is, in fact, the purest form of love for our Inang Bayan. Yet we are told to stay silent because we are young, because we “do not know everything,” because we should just focus on our studies and stop interfering. But how can learning have meaning if it teaches us to look away from truth? How can education be complete if it fails to build courage?

Dr. Jose Rizal believed in us. “The youth is the hope of the nation,” he said. But hope dies when the young are told to shut up. What is the use of a generation that is brilliant, capable, and full of dreams, but too scared to speak? When we muzzle the youth, we’re not protecting them; we’re poisoning the future. A nation that silences its young truth-tellers chooses to remain sick.

I write not because I am fearless, but because fear loses its power when faced with truth. Journalism is not about comfort; it’s about conscience. We, the youth, write because we owe it to the people who can’t. We tell stories for those who have been silenced, for those whose voices have been buried under the noise of propaganda. We write not for fame, but for freedom. Not to destroy, but to illuminate.

But truth, by itself, is not just an antidote—it is also a mirror. It forces us to look at our reflection as a nation: the wounds we’ve ignored, the lies we’ve normalized, and the systems we’ve allowed to rot. Healing cannot happen without honesty. We cannot cure corruption with denial, nor can we fix injustice with silence. The truth may sting like alcohol on an open wound, but it is the pain that precedes recovery. To love our country is to let her feel that sting, and to help her heal through truth.

In journalism, I learned that the pen is not just mightier than the sword, it is also the scalpel that can heal a nation. Each story we publish is a small act of defiance, a dose of medicine for our ailing democracy. Every word is a reminder that truth still exists, and it is ours to protect.

But what happens when we stop writing? When we trade truth for convenience? The disease festers. The powerful thrive. The ordinary suffer. Lies, after all, don’t just deceive, they destroy, they make people lose faith, not just in the press, but in each other. That’s the real danger: when citizens stop believing that truth still matters.

So I say this to my fellow young journalists, to every student who dares to pick up a pen and call out the wrongs others ignore: do not be silenced. Let them say you are too idealistic, too brave, too loud. Be all of that. Because idealism is the fire that keeps this nation alive, bravery is the voice that challenges decay, and being loud is sometimes the only way to be heard in a country that keeps turning up the volume on lies.

We are the antibiotics of truth in a nation infected by deceit. We are the generation that refuses to let lies define the future. And though we may be young, we are not powerless.

In a nation sick with lies, truth is the only cure, and courage is how we deliver it.

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John Benedict N. Banday, 18, is a registered author at the National Book Development Board–Philippines, a campus journalist, student leader, and community journalist.