𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗗𝗘𝗙𝗘𝗖𝗧𝗜𝗩𝗘𝗡𝗘𝗦𝗦 𝗢𝗙 𝗔 𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗙𝗢𝗥𝗠𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗩𝗘 𝗟𝗔𝗪

𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗗𝗘𝗙𝗘𝗖𝗧𝗜𝗩𝗘𝗡𝗘𝗦𝗦 𝗢𝗙 𝗔 𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗙𝗢𝗥𝗠𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗩𝗘 𝗟𝗔𝗪

A surface-level solution is not a solution.

Last November 3, 2025, Senator JV Ejercito filed the Emman Atienza Bill, which aims to expand the scope of the Cybercrime Prevention Act and the Anti-Bullying Act. The law was named after Emman Atienza, a TikTok influencer and daughter of journalist Kim Atienza, who tragically took her own life after enduring relentless online harassment recently.

On the shallow waters, the bill appears empathetic. Toxicity has been a contagious virus that has manifested into millions of harassers in the Internet and social media. Therefore, every day, countless Filipinos face a barrage of hate from trolls and online harassers. These digital attacks mirror the pain and cruelty of real-world bullying — just equally leaving deep scars on one’s mental and emotional health. Therefore, the bill seems like a strong step toward protecting people from cyberbullying in the Philippines.

But that’s where Senator Ejercito fumbled the bag.

Ejercito seems to believe that criminalizing online hate automatically ends the culture of harassment. But cyber harassers and Internet trolls are only the symptoms, not the disease. You can’t legislate empathy. You can fine, jail, or delete people—but you can’t write compassion into law. Cyberbullying isn’t merely a criminal issue. It’s a reflection of deeper social decay.

Outside the internet, bullies and harassers still exist face-to-face conversations and subtle abuses. Many students' chests stiffen at the persecution of a narcissistic schoolmate behind school walls. Many people's heads throb at the sound of their names being smeared about by their work peers at offices. And even some homes aren't safe havens from discrimination, knowing some parents treat as lectures how passions are useless, their emotions are exaggerated, or their identity is “just a phase.”

What's worse, is the laws can easily be weaponized. Under such broad and vague definitions, “hate” could be anything the powerful decide it is. Criticizing a politician might be called “harassment.” Expose corruption might be deemed “discrimination.” And a simple satirical joke might be too woke that it might be labeled as online hate.

And that’s why it can be used by politicians to avoid being called out for their wrongdoings. Pointing out their misuse of funds might suddenly be deemed offensive. Questioning their power abuses might be treated as an attack. Even confronting them of appointing unqualified family members to politics could be framed as crossing a line. The law may become less about protecting people and more about protecting egos.

And beyond all that, the bill ignores the deeper, more uncomfortable reality: the mental health crisis in the Philippines. Cyberbullying is only one of many contributors to mental distress.

Many Filipinos silently battle family trauma that echoes through their days like an old bruise pressed again and again. Many stagger under financial stress, feeling their wallets hollow out faster than their hopes can refill. Others push through academic pressures that tighten like knots behind their eyes. Countless workers burn out under the hum of fluorescent lights and impossible deadlines. And many carry unresolved grief, recurring relapses of their bad memories that sits in their chest long after the world has moved on.

And let's not forget the fact that many people in the country are already suffering or diagnosed with mental illnesses that they've been experiencing since earlier stages of their lives. For some, anxiety clings to them like a second skin, making every step feel like walking on a razor’s edge. For others, persistent depressive disorder seeps into their bones like constant inner hollers of hopelessness. And for those with bipolar disorder, the highs are a reckless rush, and the lows, a crushing fall, leaving them stuck between two extremes, unable to find solid ground.

Mental health care remains largely inaccessible. Therapy is still a privilege in this country. Those who need help often have nowhere to turn. People living with diagnosed mental illnesses face long waiting lists, high costs, and a shortage of mental health professionals. The Emman Atienza Bill does nothing to address this gaping hole in our system.

It was very clear that JV Ejercito only passed the law for optics to cure his FOMO during the attention frenzy at the week of Emma's wake. But this law is rushed, it lacks a lot and fails to go deeper into the root-level grounds of the nationwide mental health problem in the country. This law could be passed and it wouldn't matter, because the youth and people wity mental health problems will still be suffering from large effects of their depression and anxiety.

We need to do more than legislate punishment—we must legislate care. What we need are more mental health facilities, community-based support centers, and trained professionals who can provide affordable, accessible help. We need more spaces where people can seek guidance when they’re overwhelmed by family problems, school pressure, or the exhaustion of daily survival.

And most importantly, empathy should be part of the Philippine curriculum. 

When we teach empathy in classrooms—when we teach children how to understand, listen, and respect others—that’s how we start dismantling this culture of cruelty.

That’s how we prevent the next generation from growing up to become the bullies and trolls we legislate against. Because at the end of the day, no law can cure the weight of a damaged and broken well-being.

‎P.S.The Northwestern Visayan Colleges upholds the right of its students and organizations to free expression in all accordance with the Constitution and school policies. However, the views expressed by NVC The Forum publication are solely their own and do not necessarily reflect those of the institution.

✍: Christian Jhon Dela Cruz, Section Editor

🖼: Patrick James Ureta, Editorial Cartoonist