The recent uproar surrounding the interviews of Sarah and Curlee Discaya by veteran broadcasters Korina Sanchez and Julius Babao, and the firm criticism from Pasig City Mayor Vico Sotto, has peeled back a rotten layer in Philippine media: the erosion of journalism ethics in favor of access, profit, and patronage.
More than a viral scandal, the controversy raises fundamental questions: What is journalism for? Who benefits when the media forgets its ethical duties?
The price of a platform
Mayor Sotto’s now-viral Facebook post questioned the intent behind airing glowing interviews of the Discayas — contractors currently linked to billion-peso government projects, many of which are now under scrutiny due to their alleged poor quality. These interviews, published on Sanchez’s and Babao’s YouTube platforms, painted the Discayas in an aspirational light, celebrating their rags-to-riches rise while downplaying or ignoring their entanglement in public infrastructure controversies.
Sotto’s hypothetical mention of a ₱10-million payment raised not only eyebrows but alarm bells.
While both broadcasters denied the figure and threatened legal action, the issue remains: was there any form of financial transaction, direct or indirect, tied to these “lifestyle” segments?
Manila Mayor Vico Sotto interview on Discayas’ Scandal / ABS-CBN Youtube Channel
Even without conclusive proof of payment, the optics are damning. The interviews showcased luxury vehicles, extravagant homes, and opulent living — all while the Discayas remain at the center of national conversations about flood control failures and possible government collusion.
In such a context, the journalists’ decision not to ask critical, probing questions was not just a missed opportunity — it was an ethical failure.
Journalism or paid promotion?
The Journalist’s Code of Ethics in the Philippines is clear:
“A journalist shall not let personal motives or interests influence the performance of duties, nor accept any present, gift, or other consideration that may cast doubt on their professional integrity.”
If interviews like these are sponsored, they must be labeled as such. This is not merely a formality; it is a duty of disclosure to preserve transparency and protect public trust.
Korina Sanchez’s now-deleted post all but confirmed that some segments on her show “Rated Korina” were paid placements. Whether this includes the Discaya feature or not, the revelation is troubling. If a program airs politically charged content under the guise of human-interest storytelling, without disclosing the financial relationship behind it, it ceases to be journalism. It becomes propaganda. And when seasoned journalists lend their credibility to such content, they betray the public.
The dangers of genre confusion
Both Sanchez and Babao may defend their choices by categorizing their work as “lifestyle journalism.” But lifestyle segments are not exempt from journalistic responsibility. If anything, they must work harder to clarify their boundaries.
In a media environment where advertorials often blur with news, clarity is crucial. The problem lies not just in the failure to disclose; it is the intellectual dishonesty of treating sensitive political subjects as fluff pieces. The Discayas were not random businesspeople — they were public contractors with billions in government deals. Sarah Discaya was a former mayoral candidate. The moment the cameras started rolling, their story should have been treated with critical rigor, not glossy celebration.
Veteran journalist Chelo Banal Formoso put it best:
“The second they saw that huge garage and those many super expensive cars, that lifestyle story should have instantly turned into an investigative story.”
Instead, what viewers received was what many have labeled “wealth porn”—a glamorization of opulence built on questionable public service. That editorial choice is not merely careless; it’s complicit.
Public trust: Hard to earn, easy to lose
At the heart of this ethical dilemma lies public trust. Journalists do not merely report news; they mediate our understanding of the world. When media figures allow themselves to be used as image-laundering machines for the powerful, they don’t just betray professional standards—they erode public confidence in journalism itself.
The National Union of Journalists of the Philippines (NUJP) was correct in its firm reminder:
“Soliciting and accepting money, gifts, and other forms of compensation in exchange for favorable coverage threatens editorial independence. It erodes trust in our profession… and undermines its role as a watchdog against corruption.”
This is especially true when the subjects of such interviews are actively under scrutiny for alleged misuse of public funds. Even if the feature was conducted before the campaign period, the Discayas’ political ambitions, government ties, and lavish spending should have prompted caution, not celebration.
Media as watchdog — or lapdog?
What makes this episode especially disturbing is that it occurred in a media environment already battling disinformation, political pressure, and crumbling trust. In such a climate, ethical journalism is not just noble—it is necessary.
But the Discaya interviews exemplify a troubling trend: the transformation of journalism into a transactional, personality-driven enterprise where access trumps accountability. This isn’t just about two journalists—it’s about the broader media landscape where blurred lines between content and commerce are increasingly normalized.
The bigger picture: Accountability in all sectors
This scandal doesn’t end with Sanchez and Babao. It extends to media networks, advertisers, political handlers, and viewers.
It asks us to reconsider how narratives are shaped — and who shapes them. It asks: When media platforms sell access to public image, who gets to rewrite history in their favor?
Mayor Sotto’s criticism was more than a political clapback. It was a call for introspection: for journalists to remember that credibility is a currency no amount of sponsorship can buy back once it’s spent.
In the end, the question is simple, but the answer is damning: Can you trust a journalist who profits from silence?
Until the media industry can draw — and respect — the line between journalism and advertising, between truth and performance, it will continue to risk becoming the very thing it claims to guard against: a tool for the powerful, not a voice for the people.
