Contributed by Orlando Liwag, Journalism student, PUP College of Communication

In the landscape of Philippine politics, where narratives can be reshaped and accountability easily blurred, photojournalists do more than document events—they preserve them.

 

Amidst the chanting crowd, a protester raises a placard whose message demands to be heard. A camera lifts. A shutter clicks.

The photograph is silent, yet the images captured by campus photojournalists Roselle Ochobillo and Hanz Gabriel Ramos scream with the deafening anger of the streets. Each picture captures the raw struggles of the masses that words alone cannot express.

In the landscape of Philippine politics, where narratives can be reshaped and accountability easily blurred, photojournalists do more than document events—they preserve them. Their images stay, even when the attention fades. With their lenses, scattered scenes begin to form a single, striking picture of the present—bringing the reality of Philippine politics up close through the viewfinder.

Changing the Frame

Ochobillo’s political awakening began in the eighth grade, but she admits her early view of the government was shallow, rooted in the belief that high-ranking leaders existed to be obeyed. Joining her college publication, The Communicator, and working on the ground exposed her to a rotten system. “Doon na mismo binago yung pananaw ko na ano na nangyayari sa bulok na sistema to? Bakit ba ganito yung gobyerno natin?” she recalls.

It was on the streets where her focus shifted entirely to the struggles of the community. “Doon ko mismo napagtanto na mas malalim pa yung sitwasyon o yung [kinalalagyan] ng lipunan, o yung mga taong nasa laylayan o mga nasa sektor, mga manggagawa, mga mangingisda, [at] mga magsasaka.”

This shift pushed her to put down her pen and pick up a camera. While she began her campus journalism career in the opinion and editorial section, she made the leap to photojournalism after recognizing that readers need powerful images to truly connect with a story.

“Yung mga larawan na nakukuha natin, parang mas nagbibigay buhay siya doon sa mismong istorya na sinusulat natin,” she says, explaining how audiences today are more drawn to visuals. Through her lens, she continues to reframe not only how she sees politics, but how it is seen by others.

Viewfinder: If politics were a picture

If Philippine politics were reduced to a single photograph, Ramos envisions a chilling juxtaposition: high-ranking officials standing at a zoo, looking through a glass enclosure at the crocodiles inside. The reflection blurs the boundary, turning the glass into a mirror that reflects the true nature of those in power.

For Ramos, this imagined picture captures a system where corruption starts at the very top and quickly spreads down to everything else. “Parang nagdo-domino effect na rin yun sa ibang issues na kailangan pang lutasin,” he explains.

On the frontlines of protest, his experience goes beyond simple coverage. “Mas napi-feel mo yung galit ng mga tao…lalo na sa mga sigaw at panawagan nila,” he shares. That intensity, he says, pushes him to capture not just the event, but the emotion behind the protesters. “Kung gaano kalakas yung boses nila, gano’n ko kalakas gusto ipakita sa pictures yung mga panawagan din nila.”

In Ramos’ viewfinder, politics is not a single, simple shot. It would not be clean or composed—it would be layered, uneasy, and unresolved, a reflection of the reality caught in these photojournalists’ lenses.

Beyond the Shutter

The click of a camera is often seen as the final step in capturing a story, but for Ochobillo and Ramos, it is merely the beginning.

For Ochobillo, the true realization of her work hits when she watches exhausted protesters pack up to leave. As placards are lowered and the streets begin to clear, a different kind of silence settles in.  “Tapos na yung araw na yun pero hindi ang laban nila…babalik sila sa pagawaan, sa mga sakahan sa pangisdaan. Lalo na yung sobrang vivid ng moments na nakasakay sila sa jeep tapos kumakaway sila.” It is in these quiet moments that she realizes the struggle is far from over, the demands they shouted for remain unmet.

While keeping her professional duty to document the truth, she refuses to separate herself completely from the struggles of the masses, choosing to march and shout alongside them. She stands her ground even when the situation turns perilous.“Nandoon yung takot, nandoon yung kaba. Pero nandoon din yung paninindigan mo na mag-stay doon sa mismong lugar, na gamitin pa rin yung camera mo, cellphone mo, to capture the moment,” she admits.

For her, campus journalists and alternative media are a crucial line of defense against skewed narratives that often unfairly blame the marginalized for the social tension and conflict. She believes that the true power of photojournalism is archiving the truth. By saving these raw moments, their images become permanent, clear proof.

Ramos carries this same sense of responsibility through a strict demand for systemic accountability. He strongly refuses to treat the government as a mere “circus” or joke, arguing that doing so turns corrupt authorities into a “laughing stock” and normalizes toxic Filipino resilience.

He believes words alone are no longer enough to expose this chaotic system. “Hindi na nagiging effective in a way yung mga articles lang alone,” he says, explaining why photojournalists are vital in today’s digital age. Photojournalism, he adds, is what helps the public truly see the consequences of these failures.

Still, exposing these harsh realities through images does not erase the struggles on the ground. Beyond the shutter lies a reality that neither Ochobillo nor Ramos can simply walk away from.  The problems don’t end once the camera stops clicking. Every rally, every protester, and every raised placard becomes part of a larger picture of a nation still burdened by inequality, corruption, and unresolved struggles.

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