Pending justice: The unfinished case of Frenchie Mae Cumpio

In a country where press freedom continues to face escalating threats, the case of Frenchie Mae Cumpio stands as one of the most alarming — and enduring — examples of how state power can be wielded to silence dissent.

Frenchie Mae Cumpio was 21 years old when she was arrested in the early hours of February 7, 2020, during a coordinated police-military raid in Tacloban City. At the time, she was the executive director of Eastern Vista, an alternative news publication based in the Eastern Visayas region, and a known voice for social justice in a part of the country often left out of the national conversation.

She wasn’t just reporting on the sidelines. From killings of farmers in Northern Samar to post-disaster relief failures and the chilling effects of Memorandum No. 32 — President Duterte’s order to deploy troops in “communist hotspots”— Cumpio covered stories that few dared to. For this, it seems, she became a target.

From student journalist to ‘enemy of the state’

Cumpio’s journey began in the campus press, mentoring young writers and leading workshops before moving into the independent media network Altermidya in 2018. She eventually rose to become anchor for a radio program at Aksyon Radyo-Tacloban DYVL, where she discussed local issues through a social justice lens.

By late 2019, the threats had already begun. Cumpio told colleagues she was being followed by unidentified men on motorcycles. Just days before her arrest, a funeral wreath bearing her photograph was delivered to her residence.

Then came the pre-dawn raid.

Authorities claimed they found firearms, a grenade, and a Communist Party flag in her room. But press freedom advocates, including Reporters Without Borders (RSF), have poked holes in the official story. The items, found suspiciously laid out on top of her bed at 2 AM, were described by RSF as likely “planted.” As one journalist interviewed in RSF’s investigation pointed out, “Even guerrilla fighters don’t sleep beside grenades.”

Cumpio was charged with illegal possession of firearms, a non-bailable offense, soon followed by another: financing terrorism. Authorities claimed she was in possession of ₱557,360 intended for rebel forces. Her legal team insists the funds were legitimate organizational savings. Crucially, no court had reviewed or approved the seizure of the money before it was announced publicly.

A weaponized justice system

The backdrop to all of this is the 2020 passage of the Philippine Anti-Terrorism Act (RA 11479), a law criticized internationally for its vague definitions and the unchecked power it grants to law enforcement. Cumpio’s case exemplifies its worst fears realized: the criminalization of journalism through red-tagging and the layering of baseless charges to ensure prolonged detention without trial.

And yet, after five years, she remains behind bars at Tacloban City Jail — a facility meant for 187 inmates, now housing over 520. She has reportedly developed a respiratory illness but continues to be denied a full medical assessment.

Her conditions are not just physically dire; they represent an erosion of her legal rights. NUJP and Altermidya filed complaints citing surveillance of attorney-client meetings, confiscation of letters, and even inspection of privileged legal documents. The Commission on Human Rights has validated these reports and launched an investigation.

A new case, same pattern

Just as global attention turned toward her ongoing trial, a new and deeply “suspicious” case surfaced. RSF revealed that Cumpio is now also being accused of double murder and multiple attempted murder, tied to an October 2019 ambush in Northern Samar that left two soldiers dead.

The timing raises questions: the charges were quietly filed in January 2020, before her initial arrest, but lay dormant for years. Inexplicably, no effort was made to arrest her for the alleged murders even when she was already in custody.

There’s also the matter of evidence or a lack thereof. The accusations rest solely on the testimonies of alleged former rebels. One witness claims to have “immediately recognized” Cumpio at the ambush site. Another witness, however, failed to name her at all. Notably, at the time of the ambush, Cumpio was already under military surveillance in Tacloban — seven hours away from the scene.

One of the accusers, Alma G., reportedly had 17 criminal cases dropped before testifying against human rights defenders. Another, Marjie R., gave conflicting accounts of when she met Cumpio; one timeline even places their first meeting in 2008, when Cumpio was just nine years old.

Red-tagging as a blueprint for silencing dissent

What’s happening to Frenchie Mae Cumpio is not new. It mirrors what happened to activists like Reina Mae Nasino and fellow journalist Lady Ann Salem, both accused under eerily similar circumstances. These cases form a pattern: red-tagging followed by raids, then discovery of firearms and explosives, and then prolonged detention often without trial.

In Cumpio’s case, this cycle has persisted for five years. Hearings in 2025 were scattered across March, May, and July with no verdict in sight. The strategy appears clear: keep her detained long enough that the process itself becomes punishment.

In June 2025, UN Special Rapporteur Irene Khan presented Cumpio’s handwritten letter to the Human Rights Council, calling out due process violations. The Philippines was also cited in the 2023 Committee to Protect Journalists prison report for her continued detention.

Despite mounting scrutiny, the Marcos Jr. administration has offered little transparency. In a recent international visit authorized by 51 states, observers were given only limited visual access to Cumpio far from the open oversight needed to ensure justice.

Why it matters

Frenchie Mae Cumpio is not imprisoned for what she has done. but for what she represents: a young journalist speaking truth to power in a region starved of independent media. Her case exemplifies how red-tagging is not merely a label but a tool for repression. How journalism, when inconvenient to the state, can be reframed as terrorism. And how the law can be twisted to serve as a cage.

Her ongoing detention is not just a legal failure; it’s a democratic crisis. As she continues to await justice, Frenchie’s story has become a rallying cry for press freedom advocates not just in the Philippines, but around the world. And while the wheels of justice turn agonizingly slow, one truth remains: no journalist should be jailed for doing their job.

The world is watching. And it must continue to.