The Philippines’ House of Representatives recently passed House Bill No. 9465, titled the Digital Media Anti-False Information Act, by an overwhelming margin of 286 to three. Spearheaded by House Majority Leader Sandro Marcos, the son of President Ferdinand Marcos Jr., the bill seeks to penalize the creation and dissemination of false information intended to cause public harm or threaten national security. With penalties ranging from six to 12 years in prison and heavy fines, the measure aims to address the country’s rampant online disinformation crisis, fulfilling a priority request from the President for “balanced” legislation.
However, the bill faces fierce opposition from a broad coalition of journalists, researchers, and civil society groups who argue that the government should not be the ultimate arbiter of truth. Critics point to the Philippines’ history of “red-tagging,” where anti-terror and cybercrime laws have been weaponized to persecute journalists, academics, and activists. Given this track record, experts fear that the bill’s broad definitions of “public harm” and “material assistance” will inevitably be used by those in power to silence dissent and suppress legitimate criticism under the guise of national security.
The bill’s proponents emphasize that it includes specific exemptions for journalism, whistleblowing, and academic discourse, intended to protect press freedom. Yet, skeptics argue that these safeguards are insufficient in a political climate where the state frequently targets non-accredited individuals and activists. Researchers, including those from the Sigla Research Centre, note that while the language may seem reasonable on paper, it mirrors the problematic structure of the 2020 Anti-Terrorism Act, which has already been utilized to prosecute government critics through guilt by association.
A central point of contention is the comparison of this bill to Singapore’s Protection from Online Falsehoods and Manipulation Act (POFMA). Scholars argue that such a model is fundamentally ill-suited for the Philippines, a nation characterized by low trust in political elites and a documented history of corruption. Critics contend that those currently advocating for the legislation are often the same figures who have benefited from organized, state-aligned disinformation networks. By focusing on individual posters rather than the systemic “grey economy” of PR firms and troll farms, the bill is seen as an ineffective solution that ignores the industrial-scale nature of the problem.
The bill is also criticized for its failure to hold social media platforms accountable, while simultaneously creating dangerous precedents for individual users. The proposed Senate versions, in particular, appear even more restrictive, potentially penalizing users who share information in “good faith” and allowing a government-led council to order content takedowns without court oversight. Experts argue that the focus should shift away from policing individual “truth” and toward regulating the algorithms and inauthentic amplification mechanisms that allow lies to scale to millions of viewers.
As the bill moves toward the Senate, advocates are urging lawmakers to abandon the punitive approach in favor of legislation focused on platform accountability, transparency, and independent auditing. With the 2028 presidential election cycle looming, the pressure to pass a measure labeled as a priority by the administration is high. However, opponents warn that without fundamental changes, the proposed law risks becoming just another tool for political incumbents to protect themselves from public scrutiny rather than protecting the public from disinformation.