The recent statements issued by Kabataan Partylist and Anakbayan Southern Mindanao condemning the appearance of alleged red-tagging posters in Davao City raise concerns that deserve to be taken seriously. If any individual or organization is publicly accused without evidence, such actions should be rejected. Freedom of expression, freedom of association, and due process remain fundamental rights that should be protected regardless of political affiliation.
Yet the discussion should not end there.
What has become increasingly evident in recent years is that public conversations about the communist insurgency often reach an impasse the moment questions are raised about the relationship between the Communist Party of the Philippines (CPP), the New People’s Army (NPA), and sectors of the legal democratic movement. Before evidence is examined or competing accounts are heard, the conversation is frequently reduced to a single conclusion: red-tagging.
That response may sometimes be justified. There have been instances where individuals and organizations were irresponsibly labeled without sufficient basis. Such practices deserve criticism because they undermine public trust, weaken legitimate security efforts, and place innocent people at risk.
However, it is equally problematic when every discussion of organizational links, recruitment patterns, or revolutionary strategy is automatically dismissed without examining the evidence supporting—or refuting—those claims.
One perspective that is often absent from these discussions is that of former rebels.
Much of the public debate assumes that allegations about the relationship between the underground revolutionary movement and legal organizations originate solely from government agencies. That assumption overlooks an important reality: many of the details now discussed publicly were first disclosed by people who once belonged to the movement itself.
Former rebels did not learn about the CPP’s united front strategy through government briefings. They encountered it while participating in the movement. Their understanding comes from lived experience—whether as organizers, political instructors, recruiters, guerrillas, or members of underground networks. Their accounts differ in detail, but many describe organizational methods and political strategies that are also reflected in the CPP’s own ideological writings and internal publications.
This does not mean that every organization advocating social reforms is part of the revolutionary movement. Such a conclusion would be both inaccurate and unfair. Our country has countless legitimate organizations that work within the law to advance the interests of workers, farmers, students, Indigenous Peoples, women, and other marginalized sectors. Democratic societies depend on their ability to organize, criticize government policies, and advocate reforms without fear of harassment.
Recognizing that reality, however, should not prevent society from examining another.
The CPP has never concealed its belief in building a broad united front. Across decades of publications and political documents, it has openly discussed organizing various sectors of society as part of a broader revolutionary strategy. Whether one supports or opposes that strategy is a matter of political belief, but its existence is neither a recent invention nor merely a product of military discourse.
This is where greater precision becomes necessary.
The term red-tagging has become an essential concept in discussions on human rights because it describes the irresponsible and often baseless labeling of individuals or organizations as communist supporters without evidence. Protecting people from such practices is important in any democratic society.
At the same time, not every attribution or allegation automatically falls within that definition.
Evidence matters.
If an accusation is based solely on rumor, assumption, or guilt by association, it should be rejected. If it is supported by verifiable testimony, documentary evidence, judicial findings, or corroborated accounts from multiple independent sources—including former members of the revolutionary movement—it deserves to be examined critically rather than dismissed outright.
The distinction is important because public discourse suffers when concepts lose their precision. If every allegation is automatically accepted, innocent people are harmed. But if every allegation is automatically dismissed as red-tagging, meaningful inquiry also becomes impossible. Neither approach serves the public interest.
From the perspective of many former rebels, this issue is not merely theoretical.
For years, they have shared personal accounts of recruitment, political education, underground organizing, and the relationship they observed between different components of the revolutionary movement. Some of these testimonies have informed government programs. Others have been presented before local governments, academic institutions, religious groups, and peace dialogues. Yet their voices are often absent from public debates that speak confidently about the insurgency.
Ironically, many of those discussions claim to amplify marginalized voices while overlooking people who once lived inside the very movement being discussed.
Former rebels do not possess a monopoly on truth, nor should their testimonies be accepted uncritically. Their accounts should be subjected to the same standards of scrutiny applied to government statements, academic research, and media reporting. But neither should they be excluded simply because their experiences complicate prevailing narratives.
The Philippine communist insurgency has endured for more than five decades because it cannot be explained through a single lens. It is a story of social inequality and governance failures. It is also a story of revolutionary ideology, armed struggle, political organizing, competing visions of justice, and communities caught between them. Any attempt to explain the conflict while ignoring one of these dimensions inevitably produces an incomplete picture.
Universities, media organizations, civil society groups, and government institutions all have a responsibility to encourage informed public debate. That responsibility includes protecting constitutional rights, challenging abuses of power, and questioning official narratives. It also includes examining evidence honestly, even when that evidence comes from sources that complicate long-held assumptions.
The challenge before us is not to choose between the language of national security and the language of human rights. A mature democracy must be capable of defending both.
The more important question is whether we still have the willingness to examine difficult evidence before deciding which narrative deserves our support.
If we cannot do that, we risk replacing critical thinking with political certainty—and in doing so, we become less interested in understanding the insurgency than in defending the stories we have already chosen to believe.
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