In a country that prides itself on democracy, the right to speak, protest, and organize should be protected—not feared. Yet in recent years, a troubling pattern has emerged: activism is increasingly being blurred with terrorism.
The recent issue involving Alyssa Alano—circulating in public discourse and on social media—echoes a much larger problem. Whether through accusations, labeling, or public suspicion, individuals who express dissent or advocate for change are too often placed under a dangerous umbrella—that of “terrorism.” It is a label that does not just misrepresent—it endangers.
To be clear, activism and terrorism are not the same. Not even close.
Activism is the act of standing up for a cause—whether it be against corruption, environmental destruction, or social injustice. It is rooted in participation, in the belief that ordinary citizens have the power to influence society. In fact, government officials have acknowledged that activism, in itself, is not a threat. It only becomes dangerous when it crosses into violence or coercion—this is what defines extremism, not activism.
Terrorism, on the other hand, is characterized by deliberate violence against civilians to instill fear and achieve political aims. It is not a protest. It is not criticism. It is not organizing communities. Conflating these two erases an essential line—and once that line disappears, so does the safety of those who dare to speak.
The consequences of this confusion are not theoretical—they are real.
In the Philippines, activists and community workers have faced accusations linking them to terrorism, a practice widely known as red-tagging. This has led to frozen funds, delayed projects, and even threats to personal safety. In some cases, individuals have been charged under anti-terror laws, only for courts to later dismiss these cases due to a lack of evidence.
Even more concerning, human rights groups have noted that broad counterterrorism laws—such as the Anti-Terrorism Act of 2020—have sometimes been used in ways that risk targeting legitimate dissent. While the law itself states that activism and protest are protected, its implementation has sparked debate about whether those protections are always upheld.
This is where the danger lies.
When activism is labeled as terrorism, it creates a chilling effect. Students hesitate to join organizations. Journalists think twice before publishing. Citizens begin to silence themselves—not because they are wrong, but because they are afraid.
And fear is exactly what terrorism aims to create.
Ironically, by mislabeling activism as terrorism, we risk achieving the very atmosphere that terrorism seeks: a society too intimidated to speak.
The Alyssa Alano issue, regardless of its specific details, should remind us of a crucial responsibility—to question narratives before accepting them. Labels carry power. Once someone is called a “terrorist,” the burden of proof often shifts unfairly, and public judgment comes swiftly.
But democracy does not function on assumptions. It thrives on evidence, on dialogue, and on the protection of rights—even when those rights are inconvenient.
Activism is not the enemy of the state. It is a sign that people still care enough to demand better from it.
And perhaps that is the real question we should be asking: If speaking up is treated as a threat, what kind of future are we building?
Written by Luis Timothy Bito-on
Luis Timothy Bito-on is a dedicated campus journalist and contributor. Their insightful writing sparks meaningful conversations and keeps the community informed.
