Delivering the truth might actually cost a single penny

Llianah Marie Mora 

Journalism in a person’s dictionary comes with the same synonymous description—unbiased, free, and accessible. 

For many years, media and news organizations in the Philippines have encountered varying eras of manipulation and censorship, starting from the dark ages of martial law up until the hard-sought independence of the press in the present. 

Today, all you need to do is click a link, read the headline, scroll down to read the article… and get blocked by a paywall. 

The swerve from newspapers to digital links 

Following the rise of independent press after years of being used as propaganda for authoritarian regimes, journalism has finally gotten a taste of its beloved autonomy. Since the genesis of press freedom, bound by the protection of the 1987 constitution, many news outlets continued to pursue becoming the watchdog of the country and the government, now being led with a new principle that became the core of many journalists: to inform and speak of the truth. 

Noble as it was, independent media and news organizations have been in the limelight—mainstream or not—to deliver news stories, opinions, and commentaries that give a glimpse of the sentiment of the community. For years, these have been the ins and outs of such organizations, swerving from newspapers being delivered by news boys every morning, up until its disappearance after the massive uplift of the digital age. 

Digital platforms now replace newspapers with websites, accessible in one click. Whether you can read the article up until the very last period, who knows? Maybe you just have to go beyond the wall. 

Where the wall comes from

Reading the news is actually easy. One crafty, witty headline—a how-to, a jaw-dropping event, your favorite sports team winning a national sporting league—all those that managed to poke the slumbering interest in your mind will eventually lead you to a link that redirects to a website. All preface greets you with the same format: the headline, the lead, and… a blurred text previewing the entire article. 

You try to scroll down, but then you are hit with a wall—a literal wall. This wall, marked with the same narrative script: “subscribe or register to continue,” or perhaps a blatant “pay __ every month”, is a classic example of a “paywall.” Your mind is no longer interested in knowing what happens to the news story, it is now itching to know why you can’t actually read it. 

Questioning the accessibility of information, especially coming from independent press, should never come in a citizen’s mind in the first place. But in order to go beyond the wall, one must know where it came from in the first place. 

Because independent press cannot stay afloat simply by relying on advertising revenue, paywalls are not the primary weapon that changes the game for profit, or at least not yet. Many journalism organizations in the Philippines have cards in their hands before they completely run out of it, and that includes a diversified revenue stack. 

Independent newsrooms in the country primarily apply for project-based grants from media development organizations such as the National Endowment for Democracy (NED) and the International Fund for Public Interest Media (IFPIM) to fund investigative reporting and regional coverage. 

Moreover, third-party fact-checking programs and initiatives also provide leverage as a viable income stream. Outlets like Vera Files and Rappler generate platform-based revenue by serving as official third-party fact-checking partners for Meta (Facebook) while also collaborating with huge companies like Google and Poynter’s International Fact-Checking Network (IFCN). 

Once these options are exhausted and the newsroom still struggles to stay afloat, they are left with no choice but to balance the scale between monetization and easy access to information. 

Defining the paywall 

In the Philippine media landscape, independent newsrooms operating in the country are often dealing with socio-economic, technological, and democratic challenges brought by the current state of the country. These newsrooms also get swayed by the waves when they come crashing, and so the truth emerges: strict subscription paywalls are highly impractical and counter their core public service missions. 

To balance the scale, independent newsrooms resort to one option: soft paywalls. 

Because hard paywalls—the typical paywalls that completely block you from accessing the entire article—go beyond the principle of journalism, independent newsrooms often rely on soft paywalls to encourage readers without fully enforcing monetization and gatekeeping information behind transactions. 

The New York Times popularized the metered paywall approach, where readers get a set number of free articles per month. Once they hit the limit, a paywall prompts them to subscribe to access more articles. Premium content, such as deep-dive investigative reports, opinion pieces, or financial analysis are also often locked behind paid subscription, as seen in The Guardian and The Telegraph. 

In the Philippines, independent newsrooms such as Rappler utilize a registration wall or a “lead wall.” Instead of asking for money immediately, the site encourages users to register a free account, usually by providing an email address, to access articles. The publisher then gets a free pass to email newsletters and targeted subscription offers. 

How to stay afloat 

Independent newsrooms in the country do not possess miraculous powers to stay afloat amidst changing coastlines. 

When waves start to crash on revenues and funding, newsrooms face a different kind of struggle that is different from their usual line of adversities—they are also in need of funding to compensate the hard work of journalists who stay awake when the country is asleep, finance legal defense funds to counter threats to their safety, and support long-form investigations that aim to uncover the truth hidden behind the scenes. 

In fact, entry-level newsroom personnel and provincial correspondents often earn at or near the regional minimum wage which is roughly ₱15,000 to ₱20,000 per month. However, these paper bills are not enough to compensate for the blood and sweat exerted by these journalists every single day. Amidst long hours of unsafe field conditions, journalists have to pay for both: their bills and their safety. 

Journalists, like doctors, lawyers, or simply families who try to grapple at the very start of dawnbreak, are also individuals with families waiting at home. They, too, have bills to pay, taxes to surrender, and fares to spend. 

But the difference is clear. Vloggers may do the same work and earn higher, while journalists are left with nothing but meager changes and looming threats. 

Even so, the reality stands: balancing the scale between survival and information equity is not as easy as simply adjusting its weight. As independent newsrooms anchored on public interest, investigative reporting and corruption exposés are the bread and butter that the democratic public good deserves to have for breakfast. 

There is nothing more frustrating than hitting the wall right when you reach the part that you wanted to know the most. Whether it is about the government, a feature article about your favorite game, or the result of the sports tournament you missed watching live—independent newsrooms and the articles they craft are the root of information for us to stay informed. 

This should not cost a penny. But if we think about the people behind the wall, beyond the bylines—perhaps even a small compensation might just be necessary.