I weep for our children

I weep for all the children who will never go to school, who will never finish school, and those who, despite going to school, will not get the education they deserve.

I weep for all the children whose lives, whose futures, will be held back by this deprivation. Who, through no fault of their own, are several years behind their counterparts in other countries in the most basic of subjects. I weep for children who, whether they stay in our country or seek a better life elsewhere, may someday think they are insufficient in a world that demands so much but gives so little.

I weep for the lack of accessible, quality, health care that would have given children a fighting chance against diseases that, like tuberculosis, have long been addressed elsewhere. Or against conditions, like a congenital heart problem, where the only barrier to treatment is the ability to pay. I weep for those who have to turn to social media—with their photos and stories—to gain sympathy and hopefully financial assistance.

I weep for the lack of nutrition and the consequent wasting and stunting that literally holds back children’s physical, emotional, and intellectual growth. I weep for those who jump on New Year’s Eve as high as they could, even as in real life they can only aim as high as their circumstances permit them.

I weep for the children who were needlessly locked down in their homes for years during the pandemic, cut off from their friends, cousins, playmates, sunshine. While adults were going to malls and cinemas, young people were not able to go to school; they were not allowed to play outdoors. It would have meant so much for their physical and social development, which was why, despite knowing the risks, many countries fought hard to reopen schools as possible. We were one of the last ones to do so. I weep especially for those who suffered, and still suffer, abuse in the hands of those who are supposed to love and protect them.

I weep for the children who will never learn about their local history; the tales of their grandparents; the songs of their ancestors, because these are not part of the curriculum, and there’s very little investment in valuing culture. I weep for them who will be told that their knowledge of the world around them—from the birds they know by name to the skills they know by heart—doesn’t count.

I weep for the children who will never be told that theirs is a great country with a deep and diverse heritage, and that of our families, their communities, their towns, and regions there is much to be proud of. I weep for all the knowledge that is being lost in the name of science and technology. And all the opportunities that are being lost in the name of global competitiveness.

I weep for the children who will never go to field trips because some bus fell and some grownups, instead of fighting to make their trips safer, decided that it is too dangerous for them to go and see the world. I weep for the children who are shackled by the overprotectiveness of the people and institutions around them.

I weep for the children who will never be able to glimpse our mountains, our islands, our mangroves, our biodiversity, because they cannot afford it, and because by the time they’re old enough to do so, our environment would have been further exploited and irreparably altered.

I weep for the children who are taught that obedience is more important than critical thinking.

I weep for the children who will be told that there is only one kind of intelligence, one strict definition of morality, one version of beauty, and that they have to try to conform to all of them. I weep for all the creativities that are being stifled, the identities that are not allowed to thrive.

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I weep for the children who are deprived of liberty, and for all the children whose parents are deprived of liberty, because of a cruel, punitive justice system that further excludes and impoverishes people through its harsh provisions and unequal implementation.

I weep for all the victims and orphans of the drug war, and all those senseless wars; of those killed in the name of protecting the nation; of saving the youth. I weep for the children whose schools are being bombed, whose lands are being militarized, and whose education is being politicized.

I weep for all the children who have been failed by our educational system, one whose chronic failures we have been desensitized to. One whose good people, all those dedicated teachers and talented educators, have been undermined by corruption and inaction. Will we ever acknowledge and act on the extent of our education crisis, before it’s too late? Will our leaders step up to address this emergency that is compromising our nation’s future?

I weep for our children, because they, too, are God’s children, and every single one of them deserves a chance to have a better life.

Author’s note: This piece is partly a reaction to the results of the 2022 Programme for International Student Assessment, released last month, which showed the Philippines’ dismal rankings in all subjects: mathematics, reading, and science (See tiny.cc/zw3zvz).—————–glasco@inquirer.com.ph