For a broadcaster that has spent years lingering in obscurity, operating on the margins of public consciousness and government attention, this new franchise is more than a technical extension — it is a lifeline. Whether it becomes a fresh beginning or just another round of stagnation depends on what comes next.
Survival, Not Success
The most immediate takeaway from the renewal is simple: their fear of getting shut down was averted.
IBC, part of the Integrated State Media (ISM) portfolio alongside People's Television (PTV) and Radyo Pilipinas, faced an uncertain future. Its franchise under Republic Act 8954 was due to expire last month. Without renewal, it would have been forced to go dark, leaving hundreds of employees jobless and a piece of the country’s public media infrastructure dismantled.
Now, IBC can continue operating its television network and AM radio arm, DWAN 1206, for the next quarter-century. It also preserves newer ventures on their digital TV like Congress TV Digital, ensuring continuity for the few, but vital, platforms under its wing.
To many who have worked both familiar and quietly behind the scenes — like Marc Logan, Faith Santiago, technical staff, and veterans who held on despite financial and institutional challenges — this is no small victory. The sense of relief is palpable.
But survival is not the same as success. IBC may have earned the legal right to exist, but it must still prove the moral and professional right to remain relevant.
The Public’s Network, in Theory
As with all broadcast franchises, the new law comes with conditions — and they’re not mere formalities.
IBC is mandated to:
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Dedicate at least 10% of its advertising airtime to government and public service announcements;
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Ensure 15% of daily programming is child-friendly;
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Uphold content standards that reject disinformation, hate speech, and partisan manipulation.
These are noble standards, but they demand consistent funding, creative direction, and managerial willpower — resources that IBC has long struggled to secure.
For years, the network has been known less for its content and more for its Lotto Draws, public advisories, and archival reruns. In our MaxDiff analysis last September, IBC barely broke into the Top 12 most recalled broadcast entities — a rare feat among state-run outlets, but still far from competitive against commercial heavyweights like GMA and TV5.
IBC’s challenge has never been about legitimacy; it has always been about identity. What is IBC’s role in a digital-first, streaming-obsessed generation? Is it a government information arm, a public-service broadcaster, or an eventual private asset waiting for a buyer?
Privatization in the Horizon
The last question is crucial.
Government officials, including those in Congress and the Department of Finance, have long floated privatization as the network’s endgame. Indeed, renewing the franchise was a necessary step for that to happen. A valid franchise until 2050 makes IBC a legally “clean” entity — far easier to sell or transfer to investors who might be interested in its frequencies, facilities, and name.
According to the network's 2024 Accomplishment Report, the approval of the franchise will further boost the company’s value by at least 3.4 times.
Supporters of privatization argue that this will lessen the taxpayer burden, encourage innovation, and open up investment in a long-neglected space. Critics, however, worry that privatization will erode IBC’s public-service obligations — that a private buyer, motivated by profit, might discard community and educational programming in favor of clickbait entertainment.
Perhaps the more fundamental question is this: if IBC is to be privatized, should the process not be transparent and accountable to the Filipino people — the true owners of its assets?
Privatization should not mean absolving the state of responsibility, but transferring stewardship with safeguards. Otherwise, we risk turning a public good into a private monopoly, no different from the commercial behemoths it was meant to balance.
A Tale of Two Franchises
The IBC renewal cannot be discussed without invoking the shadow and ghost of ABS-CBN’s non-renewal five years ago.
In 2020, the then-largest network in the country — employing thousands and serving millions — was denied a new franchise after 70 lawmakers voted against it, citing alleged violations that were echoed by the tenant in Malacanang back then (now in custody by the ICC). The decision effectively silenced a major source of information, entertainment, and employment.
Today, IBC’s smooth renewal — passed without fanfare or visible opposition — draws inevitable comparisons. Some Filipinos, particularly those who followed and remembered the 2020 hearings, see it as a case of selective fairness.
If the state’s smallest network, barely surviving on minimal ratings and desperate for relevance, can be renewed with little debate, why was the country’s biggest broadcaster, with far more resources and compliance documents, denied the same chance?
Defenders of IBC’s renewal will argue the comparison is apples to oranges — one is a state network with a public mandate, the other a private enterprise with different dynamics.
But public perception operates differently. To most Filipinos, the inconsistency still feels unjust.
The government may have saved its other network, but in doing so, it reopened old wounds of fairness, political influence, and media freedom.
From Relevance to Responsibility
IBC’s return to stability offers a chance to redefine its purpose. To justify its new lease on life, it must reaffirm its public-service ethos — not as a mouthpiece of government (that munches on the plate of PTV, even scraps), but as a platform for people’s voices. That means:
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Producing programs that inform, educate, and unite rather than just fill airtime;
Investing in regional coverage to showcase stories outside Metro Manila;
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Collaborating with independent producers and local filmmakers to diversify content;
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Strengthening its digital presence, where younger audiences now consume news.
The renewal should preserve existing jobs but create new opportunities for Filipino storytellers and journalists who believe in public interest broadcasting.
To achieve this, IBC must first address internal issues— outdated facilities, underpaid staff, and low morale. The government’s role is crucial: provide the necessary budget and policy support to make IBC truly competitive, not just compliant.
The Case for Sustaining State Media
Critics question why the country needs a state-run network amid a private broadcast landscape.
The answer lies in public trust and emergency response. During crises — typhoons, earthquakes, pandemics — state media should provide verified information, broadcast advisories without waiting for advertisers, and reach remote areas often neglected by commercial stations.
Major democracies like the UK’s BBC and Japan’s NHK preserve public broadcasters not as propaganda but as trusted institutions. The Philippines can do the same, provided its networks—including IBC—maintain editorial independence, accuracy, and integrity.
Renewing IBC’s franchise is not mere bureaucratic renewal but a reaffirmation that the state must invest in media that informs, educates, and unites—not misleads or divides.
Toward 2050: The Real Test
IBC now has 25 years to prove its worth. That’s a long time in broadcasting terms — enough to transition fully to digital terrestrial television, expand online streaming, and nurture a new generation of Filipino journalists and producers.
But time alone isn't enough; it requires vision, leadership, and creativity.
The worst yet often-realistic outcome would be to spend the next two decades as a ghost network, justifying its frequency and hosting government press conferences as it is at the moment. The best yet often impractical outcome would be for it to evolve into a credible, independent public broadcaster that complements, not competes with, commercial media.
Achieving this depends on regaining the public’s attention, trust, and respect—none of which can be legislated.
Renewal with Responsibility
IBC-13’s franchise renewal until 2050 is not an end, but a beginning.
It prevents immediate extinction, preserves jobs, and sustains public service on the airwaves. But it also comes with a duty — to reform, modernize, and reconnect with the public.
Failing to do so wastes a vital opportunity others cannot access.
As citizens and consumers, we must hold IBC accountable to the spirit of its franchise, not just its legal form. Because in a democracy, a broadcast license is more than a piece of paper — it is a covenant between a nation and its storytellers.
IBC has been given another chance. The real question now is: can it finally learn how to matter again?
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