Court Grants Motion to Quash Murder Charges Against Journalist Frenchie Mae Cumpio

These court documents reached me earlier this week. I wanted to write about them right away, but writing and research on other topics kept me busy. Still, this isn’t something I could just file away and forget. I’ve been praying for this good news for months now—ever since I first heard about this case.

On November 6, 2025, Regional Trial Court Branch 21 in Laoang, Northern Samar, under Acting Presiding Judge Noel G. Sermense, granted the Motion to Quash filed by the camp of community journalist Frenchie Mae Cumpio, while denying the same motion for human rights defender Alexander Philip Abinguna.

I want to thank the PAO lawyer who sent me copies of the resolution and assured me they’re safe to share since these are public documents. I’m always careful with these things; the last thing I’d want is to put anyone at risk just for doing what’s right.

This decision matters, not only because it corrects a procedural wrong, but because it reminds us that accuracy in justice isn’t optional—it’s the backbone of fairness. In Frenchie’s case, the very identity of the accused was wrong. The name written in the murder charge papers didn’t belong to her. And that simple but powerful truth finally made its way into the court’s written words.

I wanted to share this story because it’s one of those moments when the system, often criticized for its silence, finally spoke sense.

The Cases That Nearly Weren’t

At the heart of this legal episode are three murder cases linked to incidents that allegedly happened on October 18, 2019, in Barangay Sumuroy, Palapag, Northern Samar. The cases—Criminal Case Nos. 5753, 5754, and 5755—charged several individuals with attempted murder and two counts of murder in connection with shootings that left three men dead: German P. Vicencio, Jason Rebay, and Gerry Ortea.

The accused were listed with aliases, a common practice in cases tied to insurgency or alleged rebel activity: Frenchie Armando Y Cupio (alias “Ka Pen”), Ceriaco Jerusalem (alias “Kumander Gimo”), Joshua Sacdullas (alias “Ka Bon”), Alexander Philip Abinguna (alias “Ka Chakoy”), Junjun Capoquian (alias “Beloy”), Zaldy Meraya (alias “Podyot”), and Fernan Balanquit (alias “Rod”).

According to the informations, these individuals were said to have conspired together—with intent to kill—and fired from a distance, causing the victims’ deaths. But behind the formal language of those charges was a troubling discovery: at least one of the people arrested and detained for these crimes wasn’t even the person named in the court papers.

A Case of Mistaken—or Fabricated—Identity

Defense counsel Public Attorney Mae Lisette P. Espiña filed a Motion to Quash Information on September 8, 2025, arguing that the court had no jurisdiction over the accused because the person detained wasn’t the same individual named in the informations and warrants of arrest.

This wasn’t a minor clerical slip. Under Section 7, Rule 110 of the Revised Rules of Criminal Procedure, every complaint or information must clearly state the name and surname of the accused—or at least any nickname or alias they’re known by. If their name can’t be determined, the law requires the use of a fictitious one, with a statement that the true name is unknown.

The court’s resolution laid out the inconsistencies in detail. The informations filed by the Office of the Provincial Prosecutor named the accused as Frenchie Armando y Cupio, also known as “Ka Pen,” a resident of Sta. Rita, Samar. The warrant of arrest repeated the same name and alias but listed a different address—Barangay Osmeña, Palapag, Northern Samar.

The person who ended up behind bars, however, was Frenchie Mae Cumpio y Castro of Barangay Canramos, Tanauan, Leyte—a completely different person.

To make the contrast clear:

• The surname in the court papers was Armando, while the detained person’s surname was Cumpio.

• The first name was Frenchie in both, but the detainee’s full name was Frenchie Mae.

• The middle name listed was Cupio, not Castro.

After reviewing all these details, the court made it plain: “Evidently, the person detained is not the person mentioned in the Information and in the Warrant of Arrest.”

That line carried weight. The judge went further, writing that when someone is charged with a crime and arrested, “every aspect as regards the identity and circumstances surrounding the crime charged must be faultless and unblemished of any doubt and question.”

Because of this glaring mismatch, the court declared that Frenchie Mae Cumpio was not validly arrested. It granted the Motion to Quash Information in her favor.

But for Alexander Philip Dizon Abinguna, the outcome was different. The court said his name appeared consistently in both the informations and the warrant of arrest, giving it jurisdiction over his person. His motion was denied, and his case will move to trial.

The Evidence of Unidentified Suspects

The problem with identity didn’t stop at the name. The court also cited a Certification based on an excerpt from the police blotter, entry number 1531, dated October 18, 2019, around 5:00 PM. It described the shooting incident along President Corazon Aquino National Highway in Sitio Tagbak, Barangay Sumoroy, Palapag, Northern Samar—and clearly stated that the suspects were unidentified at the time.

That detail matters. If the police themselves recorded the suspects as unidentified only hours after the incident, how could prosecutors later claim to know exactly who committed the crime?

The uncertainty didn’t end there. A Request for Ballistics Examination related to the same case also described the suspects as unidentified. This aligned with the defense’s argument that the identification process was flawed from the very beginning.

Taken together, the police blotter and the ballistics request backed what the defense had been saying all along: no one properly identified the accused before charges were filed.

Alexander Abinguna: When a Name Match Isn’t Enough

While Frenchie Mae Cumpio was finally cleared from the murder charges, Alexander Philip Abinguna didn’t share the same luck. The court denied his Motion to Quash, saying his name appeared in both the information and the warrant of arrest without discrepancy.

But the defense raised something worth thinking about. They argued that Abinguna’s supposed identification was based only on a photo from the police’s Rogue’s Gallery—a photo lineup not backed by any certification from the police blotter or the Request for Ballistics Examination, both of which stated the suspects were unidentified.

This issue cuts deep. Relying on a photograph instead of actual corroborating evidence creates the risk of tagging the wrong person. The defense maintained that the court never legally gained jurisdiction over Abinguna’s person because the identification process itself was questionable from the start.

Still, the court saw it differently. It said that because his name matched the documents, the case could proceed. The resolution stated that whether Abinguna was properly identified as a perpetrator was “a matter to be determined during trial.”

In other words, Frenchie’s name mismatch spared her from trial, while Alexander’s exact match bound him to it. What this means is that his battle will now drag on through a full trial, where the court will examine evidence that could take years to resolve—all while he remains in detention.

The Legal Framework: Why Identity Matters So Much

The court’s resolution went back to a principle the Supreme Court has long upheld: in every criminal case, the identity of the accused is as vital as life and liberty themselves.

This isn’t just a legal formality. When the State files charges against someone, it takes away time, freedom, and dignity. If the accused person’s name doesn’t even match the one written in the charge sheet, the entire case rests on shaky ground.

Under Rule 110 of the Rules of Criminal Procedure, an information must include specific details—the name of the accused, the nature of the offense, the acts complained of, the name of the offended party, and where and when the alleged act happened. Without these, the charge is defective from the start.

The name of the accused isn’t optional; it’s one of the cornerstones of due process. Get that wrong, and the prosecution loses its foundation. In this case, the mismatch wasn’t just a typo—it was the difference between lawful prosecution and wrongful detention.

The Prosecution’s Silent Acquiescence

One detail in the resolution stood out—not for what was said, but for what wasn’t. The prosecution was given ten days to respond to the Motion to Quash, yet the records showed no comment or objection was ever filed.

During the hearing itself, when the defense counsel formally manifested their intent to submit the motion, the public prosecutor didn’t object. In fact, they agreed to let the motion proceed.

That silence spoke volumes. Whether it was an acknowledgment that the charges were flawed or simply a choice not to fight a losing argument, the effect was the same—the motion went unopposed.

In the context of Philippine criminal procedure, that kind of non-response isn’t procedural formality—it’s telling. It suggests the prosecution itself recognized that the foundation of the case, at least against Frenchie Mae Cumpio, could no longer stand.

Red-Tagging and the Tacloban 5

To understand why this ruling matters, it helps to look at who Frenchie Mae Cumpio and Alexander Philip Abinguna are, and how they ended up in this position.

Frenchie was the executive director of Eastern Vista, an independent media outlet affiliated with Altermidya, and a news anchor for Aksyon Radyo Tacloban. Alexander, known to many as “Chakoy,” served as the Regional Coordinator for Katungod Sinirangan Bisayas and was a member of Karapatan’s National Council, both human rights organizations in Eastern Visayas.

They were arrested on February 7, 2020, during simultaneous pre-dawn raids in Tacloban City, along with Mariel Domequil, Marissa Cabaljao, and Mira Legion. Collectively, they became known as the “Tacloban 5.” The group was charged with illegal possession of firearms and explosives, and later, terrorism financing was added to Frenchie’s list of cases.

Authorities accused them of being part of the Communist Party of the Philippines–New People’s Army (CPP–NPA). This practice—known as red-tagging—labels journalists, activists, and human rights workers as communist sympathizers or terrorists.

Red-tagging has been a dangerous pattern in the Philippines. Since the Duterte administration amplified it, several individuals who were red-tagged have been harassed, attacked, or even killed. It has become a weapon used to silence critics and justify arrests built on shaky or fabricated evidence.

Before her arrest, Frenchie told the Center for Media Freedom and Responsibility that masked men had been following their team. In one instance, someone even went to their office carrying her picture, asking where she was. Alexander, sensing what was coming, wrote to the Commission on Human Rights a day before the raid, asking for an urgent inspection of their office after receiving word of a planned operation.

Then, a few months later—July 2020—the murder charges appeared. They came long after the original weapons cases, raising the question of whether these new charges were genuinely evidence-based or simply another layer added to keep them behind bars.

A Partial Victory and What Comes Next

The November 6, 2025 ruling marked a turning point—a win for Frenchie Mae Cumpio, but only half a victory for those still fighting beside her. After more than five years in detention, the court finally recognized that she should never have been charged in these murder cases to begin with. Her name didn’t belong on those documents, and her arrest had no legal basis.

But Alexander Philip Abinguna remains behind bars. His name may match the paperwork, but that doesn’t prove guilt. What it does mean is that his battle now shifts to a full trial—a long and exhausting process that could keep him detained for years before he even gets a verdict.

The decision also confirmed what press freedom advocates and human rights groups have been saying for years: the Tacloban 5 cases were built on weak ground. When records describe suspects as unidentified, and yet names suddenly appear months later, it raises questions about how much of this was truth and how much was red-tagging dressed up as due process.

Even with the quashal, Frenchie’s ordeal isn’t over. She still faces the charges that came out of the February 2020 raids—illegal possession of firearms, explosives, and terrorism financing. Authorities claim these came from items found during those raids, which her camp insists were planted.

The toll isn’t just legal—it’s deeply human. Years of detention. Missed family moments. The mental weight of waiting for justice in a system that moves too slowly for the innocent and too quickly for the accused.

Yet this ruling offered something rare: a sign that the truth can still cut through the noise. It reminded many that names on paper are more than clerical details—they carry lives, families, and years of struggle behind them.

As human rights groups continue to call for her release, and for reforms that prevent red-tagging from turning into false prosecution, one question remains: how many others are still behind bars for names that don’t match their own?

Lessons for the Justice System

The court’s decision carries lessons that reach beyond this single case. It shows how easily bureaucratic shortcuts and careless investigations can cost people years of their lives. When identity is taken lightly, justice becomes a guessing game.

First, accuracy is protection. The entire justice system depends on getting names, addresses, and personal details right. A single error can turn an innocent person into an accused criminal.

Second, due process isn’t paperwork—it’s a safeguard. It exists to make sure no one is punished simply because it’s convenient for authorities to file charges. If the system treats forms as more important than facts, it punishes people for existing, not for doing wrong.

Third, silence from the prosecution shouldn’t be routine. When a case as serious as murder goes unopposed in a motion to quash, it hints at something deeper—either uncertainty about the evidence or quiet acknowledgment of a mistake. Both demand accountability.

Finally, this case is a reminder that justice isn’t supposed to rely on luck or connections. It’s supposed to rely on truth. The only reason Frenchie’s case reached this point was because a persistent defense lawyer noticed the mismatch and pushed through. Without that, she might still be fighting a crime she had nothing to do with.

Justice Delayed, Justice Partial

I’ve been holding on to this hope for a while now—that one day, the court would finally see what everyone close to the case already knew. When I read the resolution, I had to stop for a moment and just breathe. It felt like the kind of victory that doesn’t come with cheering, only quiet relief.

But this isn’t full justice yet. Frenchie Mae Cumpio is still facing other charges, and Alexander Abinguna remains behind bars for crimes he swears he didn’t commit. The fight goes on for them and for many others whose names ended up in case files they were never meant to be part of.

This ruling may look small on paper, but it represents something bigger—a moment when the system remembered its duty to tell the difference between truth and error. Between a name written wrong and a life almost destroyed.

To the PAO lawyer who shared these documents with me, please continue updating me. I will keep writing about this case as part of my own advocacy for justice and fairness. People need to know what happened to the Tacloban 5, and that they continue to suffer for the kind of injustice that too many others have already endured in silence.

Justice may be slow and incomplete, but sometimes even a partial one is enough to remind us that it still exists—and that it’s still worth fighting for.