“Decriminalize libel” sounds, at first hearing, like the sort of phrase that makes careful people clutch their pearls and careless people clutch their phones. Some imagine a lawless internet where anyone can malign anyone, then walk away laughing. Others imagine a healthier democracy where public criticism stops being treated like a crime scene. The Commission on Human Rights has recently pushed Congress to remove jail time from libel and cyberlibel, warning that criminal provisions have been “weaponized” to silence critics and weaken public discourse. In the same neighborhood of ideas are House and Senate bills that seek to decriminalize libel by removing its criminal penalties from the Revised Penal Code and repealing the cyberlibel provision of the Cybercrime Prevention Act. The question is not whether reputations matter. They do. The real question is whether a modern Philippines still needs prison bars to defend a person’s good name.
Let me begin where many teachers begin: with a classroom reminder about consequences. When a student hurts a classmate’s reputation, we intervene. We do not shrug and say, “Freedom of speech.” But we also do not reach for handcuffs. We ask: What happened? What is true? What is fair? Who needs repair? The impulse to decriminalize libel is built on a similar instinct: keep accountability, remove imprisonment. The CHR’s argument is not “let people lie.” It is “stop treating speech disputes as jailable offenses, especially when they are used to punish criticism and scare citizens into silence.” In other words, the law should discourage cruelty without discouraging courage.
The strongest case for reform is the way the current setup can be abused. Under the old criminal libel framework, the process itself becomes punishment: filing, summons, travel, lawyers’ fees, hearings, anxiety, lost workdays. Add cyberlibel, and penalties rise by a degree, turning what is already heavy into something that feels like a sledgehammer. For a journalist, a teacher-blogger, or an ordinary citizen who posts a complaint about a public service, the threat is not only a fine. It is the fear of detention and a criminal record. That fear changes behavior. People self-censor. Editors soften language. Whistleblowers choose silence. Parents hesitate to speak about a principal’s misconduct. Students learn early that power is sensitive, and that the safest sentence is the quiet one. The Supreme Court itself has recognized the danger of a “chilling effect” when criticism of public officers is punished in ways that deter legitimate speech.
There is also a basic question of scale. When so many cyberlibel cases are thrown out, it signals more than legal weakness—it shows misused public resources. DOJ data indicate that around one in three cases had been dismissed by 2022, while convictions remained rare. Meanwhile, courts choke, prosecutors juggle, and serious crimes wait. Justice should be reserved for real harm, not every wounded reputation.
At this point, someone will raise a fair objection: “But what about fake news, trolling, and deliberate character assassination?” It is a valid worry, especially in an online world where a lie travels faster than a barangay rumor on market day. Here is the part that needs honesty: decriminalizing libel does not automatically solve misinformation, and it does not automatically worsen it either. What it does is shift the remedy from imprisonment to civil accountability. Under a civil approach, the offended party can still sue for damages, seek corrections, and demand accountability without threatening jail. This is not softness; it is proportionality. Even CHR has been careful to stress that decriminalization is not the same as removing consequences. The aim is to punish speech abuses in a way that does not become a convenient weapon for those with power, money, and lawyers on speed dial.
The global direction also matters. Because the country is part of the ICCPR, it has heard this message many times: sending people to jail over defamation rarely serves justice. Justice Marvic Leonen’s dissent in the cybercrime case gave that warning local weight, noting how criminal libel, particularly online, chills speech. Whether one sides with him or not, many recognize the pattern—libel is often invoked to stop questions, not to heal damaged names.
Still, caution is necessary because there is real harm in defamation. Any teacher who has dealt with online shaming among teenagers knows how reputational violence works. It ruins confidence, friendships, and sometimes lives. A person falsely accused can lose a job, a scholarship, or a marriage. The injury is not imaginary, and the law should not treat it as petty. Some legal writers argue that civil damages may not feel like “justice” to victims of deep humiliation, especially when harm is hard to quantify. This is why the debate cannot be reduced to heroes versus villains, press freedom versus decency. The harder work is designing a system that protects both: the right to speak and the right to reputation.
That design work is where the most promising middle ground appears. Decriminalize libel, yes, but strengthen remedies that actually repair harm: faster civil proceedings, meaningful damages where justified, and a practical right of reply that reaches the same audience that consumed the defamatory claim. Some proposals in academic discussions suggest mechanisms that encourage correction, apology, and prominence of clarifications, so reputation is restored, not merely compensated. In other words, move the goal from punishment to repair. Prison does not restore a reputation. It simply frightens the next critic.
Public officials, in particular, must live with thicker skin. They chose public power, public salary, and public trust. The Supreme Court has reiterated that citizens are empowered to hold public officers accountable, and that sensitivity has little place in a line of service where scrutiny is part of the job. That does not give anyone a license to lie, but it does mean this: criticism of official conduct should not be casually treated as criminal defamation. A complaint about delayed services, a post about alleged misuse of funds, a columnist questioning policy decisions, a teacher raising concerns about a school official’s actions—these are precisely the kinds of speech that democracy needs, even when they irritate the powerful.
The media angle in this debate is unavoidable, and it is also messy. The cyberlibel conviction of Maria Ressa, CEO of Rappler, has been cited repeatedly in public discussions as an example of how cyberlibel can be used against journalists doing watchdog work. At the same time, we also see “fake journalists” and predatory vloggers who monetize outrage, threaten exposure, and blur the line between commentary and extortion. The answer to this problem is not keeping jail time as a speech control device. The answer is raising journalistic standards, supporting ethical newsrooms, enforcing laws against threats and harassment, and building public literacy so citizens can tell reporting from performance. A society that cannot distinguish journalism from noise will keep demanding criminal solutions for cultural problems.
There is also a teaching lesson here that feels uncomfortably close. When students discover that intimidation works, they use it. When public officials discover that libel complaints can scare critics into silence, some will use it too. The habit spreads. That is how “weaponization” becomes a routine reflex, and why CHR’s warning has weight. The goal of reform is not to dismiss reputation. It is to build a country where scrutiny is not punished, courts are not hijacked by bruised pride, and citizens can speak on public issues without calling a lawyer first.
Put simply, decriminalizing libel is not a free pass to harm; it is a choice not to use jail instead of transparency. Reputation can still be defended through civil remedies, while public discussion stays open. Congress’ current bills decriminalizing libel gesture toward that balance, and the CHR adds urgency. A healthy democracy is seen not in how fast it silences speech, but in how well it corrects lies without closing civic space.
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.
