🕓 Last Updated: June 3, 2025, 3:11 am (PH time)
A continuation from a memoir titled “From Leyte to Manila: Becoming an Iskolar ng Bayan (Part 1)“
Awakened Voices: Activism and Campus Journalism at PUP
Despite all its flaws and chaos, you will inevitably fall in love with the Polytechnic University of the Philippines (PUP). You will love it for its unrestrained academic freedom—raw and radical. For the rigor that comes not only from the lectures and exams but from living through its broken chairs, outdated books, and overcrowded halls.
Certainly, you will love it for its people—students from all walks of life, bonded by struggle and survival—and for its openness to ideas—socialism, liberalism, anarchism, or even religious dogmas—all find their corners here, debated and defended in open classrooms, student assemblies, and late-night tambayan talks. It is what it is, the life of iskolar ng bayan at PUP.
But most of all, you will love PUP simply because you are an iskolar ng bayan. You pay the least, yet you gain the most—an education responsive not just to the job market, but to the soul of a struggling nation.
From Curious Observer to Social Activist
Long before I entered PUP, I was already restless. I became an activist—not by recruitment, but by realization. As early as high school, I began to question why those in power lived so far removed from the daily agonies of the poor. Then, I began to sense the widening divide between the privileged and the powerless, between those who held the system and those crushed by it.
In fact, I still recall the night of my high school graduation—my silent revolt. I was the class valedictorian, and I had written a heartfelt speech reflecting my observations and my dream for a more equitable society. But my physics teacher—my adviser—silenced my voice. She insistently replaced my speech with one copied from another school’s valedictorian, who, ironically, had once been my classmate. That night, I half-heartedly read what wasn’t mine, my conscience rebelling against the betrayal of authenticity. I learned, painfully early, what control and silencing felt like.
Baptism by Fire: Becoming a Campus Journalist
In my first semester at PUP, I walked into the gates of campus journalism with no experience, no background from elementary or high school, but a fire in my gut and a pen eager to tell the truth. Finally, I took the written and oral exams for the official student publication. I passed with ease.
A month later, I was officially inducted. My first major assignment was to attend an Education Summit at UP Manila. I remember the overwhelming crowd—students and student leaders from various universities across Metro Manila coming together to dissect the national education crisis. Budget cuts, rising tuition fees, and institutional neglect—these weren’t just headlines; they were everyday realities in state universities.
That summit was my baptism by fire. It opened the floodgates. Soon, I was covering more conferences, joining demonstrations, sitting in educational discussions, and immersing myself in communities. I wasn’t just reporting—I was learning how systems work, how power moves, and how resistance takes shape.
As a campus journalist, I was affiliated with the College Editors Guild of the Philippines (CEGP). This meant we were not mere scribes—we were activists in print, watchdogs, and truth-tellers, speaking and voicing out even if it was difficult and dangerous to do so. We had this so-called duty to be socially aware and politically discerning.
The Label: Activist, ‘Tibak’, or Demonized?
Naturally, I got labeled.
“Aktibista.” “Tibak.” “Komunista.” “Demonyo.”
I’ve heard it all.
There was a time I’d confront such accusations with defiance:
“If fighting for students’ rights is already activism, then yes—I am an activist. Got a problem with that? ”
But beyond slogans and retorts, I often reflected on the nuanced difference between being an activist and being a Marxist–Leninist–Maoist (MLM) ideologue. Not every activist subscribes to armed struggle. Not every militant voice is a communist recruit. There is a distinct line, and it matters.
I considered myself a student activist guided by the spirit of the Constitution—asserting civil liberties, academic freedom, and social justice. I was also a social activist, driven by reason and logic. For me, activism was not about towing an ideological line—it was about resisting systemic apathy, especially where injustice undermined our shared humanity.
Editor-in-Chief of The Chronicler: Leading Without Chains
When I became Editor-in-Chief of The Chronicler, the official student publication, I carried a quiet but firm mission: to guard our editorial and fiscal autonomy against all forms of external influence, political or ideological.
In a university like PUP, where activism thrived and ideological lines were constantly drawn, leading a publication meant walking a tightrope. I had to protect the paper from both right-wing interference and leftist domination. I wanted the student publication to stand on its own, neutral yet courageous, critical yet responsible.
This was no easy task. I faced subtle coercion, organizational intimidation, and financial suppression. But I endured. And in time, I fulfilled the mission: The Chronicler operated freely, with integrity, untouched by any faction—neither student government nor underground bloc. While others succumbed to pressures, we kept our pen independent.
At the time, even the UP Philippine Collegian, one of the most respected student publications, was facing a crackdown on its editorial autonomy. All over the country, student publications rallied, issued unified headlines, and exposed campus press suppression. We were not spared, but we stood firm.
Activism Without Indoctrination: A Personal Philosophy
Despite my immersion in activism, I remained grounded in my own sense-experience philosophy—a self-conceived framework rooted in empirical observation, personal introspection, and rational inquiry.
I understood the difference between idealism and delusion. I saw through the propaganda from all sides. Class struggle, I learned, is not just a Marxist tool; it’s a lived reality. But revolutions of the mind don’t always need a gun—they require courage, clarity, and critical thinking.
I never subscribed to MLM ideology. Not because I was apathetic, but because I was awake. I saw how ideological movements could use genuine issues—poverty, corruption, imperialism—as fuel for their political agendas. And while their critiques were often valid, their methods weren’t always just.
To me, the true struggle is not merely left versus right, but truth versus manipulation. And in that struggle, I have always chosen to think, to write, and to question—freely and fearlessly.
Final Thoughts: The Power of a Free Mind
In hindsight, my journey as a student journalist and activist at PUP was not defined by who recruited me but by what I resisted. I resisted silence. I resisted dogma. I resisted complicity.
And perhaps that is the soul of the iskolar ng bayan: to never stop questioning, to never stop caring, and to never stop writing—even when it hurts. ▲▼
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Regel Javines is the founder/editor-publisher of The Philippine Pundit. Born in Leyte and raised by struggle, he writes truth from the margins. His work explores the intersections of politics, spirituality, and life’s deeper questions. Blogging since 2011, Regel has contributed incisive political analysis to global citizen journalism platforms, giving voice to stories often left unheard. Currently, he works as a consultant for the Congressional Assistance, Response, and Education (CARE) Program of the House of Representatives of the Philippines.