WHEN U GROW UP…A Reflection on the Education Crisis in the Philippines

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The walk home from work has always been interesting. Since I’m rarely home these days, the streets feel a bit unfamiliar, estranged even, yet they still carry the warmth of something known. They still feel like home. One of the most familiar sights along the way is my old elementary school. It looks different now with three new buildings on what used to be open fields, the same fields where we once ran wild during recess, barefoot and breathless, with no idea how fast time would pass us by.

It reminded me of a moment I had in our sunlit classroom years ago, surrounded by classmates and dreams too big for our small bodies. My homeroom adviser got up and asked everyone a question: “Anong gusto n’yo maging, paglaki?” The class went silent for a moment. Then she continued, “Anong pangarap n’yo?” And as if a wind of excitement blew over our heads, waves of hands and enthusiastic answers filled the room. Some said they wanted to be doctors, others wanted to be engineers. I remember one student yelling he wanted to be a chef. After the commotion died down, our teacher said something that has stayed with me since:

“Alam n’yo ba, walang ibang propesyon kung walang nagtuturo?”

As a kid, I didn’t think too much about it. I assumed it was just her way of pointing out that almost no one said they wanted to be a teacher. But as time passed, I started to really reflect on: a) the truth behind what she said,  b) why we have fewer and fewer educators, and c) the outdated, unjust education system in our country.

Ten years ago, all United Nations Member States adopted the 2030 Agenda for Sustainable Development: seventeen goals focused on people, planet, prosperity, peace, and partnership. In line with this, the Philippines launched AmBisyon Natin 2040, envisioning a strongly rooted, comfortable, and secure life for all Filipinos. Central to this vision is education.  Today, however, that vision feels further out of reach. 

The Second Congressional Commission on Education (EDCOM II) has made it plain: we are in a learning crisis. According to their findings, more than 90% of Filipino learners are not meeting basic proficiency in reading, math, and science. We are not merely failing standards, we are failing the Filipino children.

Access to education remains a fundamental issue. A 2013 report already exposed the stark disparity in high school attendance between the richest and poorest Filipinos but that gap has only deepened over time, worsened by crisis after crisis. The COVID-19 pandemic magnified these inequalities: at the height of the lockdown, nearly 4 million students failed to enroll for the 2020–2021 academic year (CNN Philippines, 2020). But the pandemic is only one part of a much larger picture. As one of the most disaster-prone countries in the world, the Philippines faces frequent typhoons, floods, earthquakes, and other climate-related emergencies that repeatedly disrupt learning, damage school infrastructure, and displace entire communities.

UNICEF warns that climate change intensifies the threats to children’s survival and development, affecting not just health, nutrition, and safety, but also their access to education, water, and sanitation. Each calamity pushes the most vulnerable children further to the margins, struggling not only to stay safe, but simply to stay in school. In a country constantly battling disaster, the right to education becomes precarious, too often treated as optional when it should be non-negotiable.

This wasn’t just a learning gap, it was a rights gap. Education, enshrined as a fundamental right in our Constitution, became a luxury for many at the height of the pandemic. The sudden shift to remote learning exposed just how unequal our system truly is. The poorest families were expected to adapt to digital platforms they could not afford. Internet connectivity remained out of reach in many rural areas, and gadgets were a privilege, not a given. The government’s response fell painfully short. Instead of closing the gap, it left millions of children behind with little to no support, underestimating the scale of digital exclusion: systemic cracks disguised as isolated glitches.

Improving the quality of education remains a tremendous challenge. The Philippine Development Plan 2017–2022 already warned of stagnant achievement rates in both elementary and secondary levels. The culprits? Undertrained teachers, high student-teacher ratios, substandard learning facilities, and outdated curricula. 

The situation hasn’t improved significantly. According to recent data, Philippine public elementary schools average 43.9 students per class, while secondary schools average 56.1, the highest in Asia (Sison, 2020). Compare that to Thailand (22.9), Malaysia (31.7), or even India (40). Crowded classrooms, poor infrastructure, and learning materials riddled with errors or outdated perspectives continue to plague our schools. From nationalist misinformation to sexist or classist undertones, many learning modules fail to uphold the values of critical thinking and inclusion.

And what of our educators? The truth is sobering: they are overworked, underpaid, and undervalued. Teachers often create their own learning materials, spend from their own pockets, and manage entire classrooms with little support. Is it any wonder why there is a shortage of teachers?

Is education a right or a privilege? The 1987 Philippine Constitution puts it best: “The State shall protect and promote the right of all citizens to quality education at all levels and shall take appropriate steps to make such education accessible to all.” Yet on the ground, that right is denied daily. When a child walks into an overcrowded classroom without books, taught by an overwhelmed teacher, and has no food or transport to get to school, they are not just falling behind, they are being left behind.

Much has been said about the need to teach critical thinking. And yet, in a country where disinformation thrives, where blind obedience is often mistaken for discipline, and where leaders are rarely held accountable for abuse of power, the lack of critical thinking posts an academic issue. When citizens are unable to discern fact from propaganda, to interrogate power, or to ask the hard questions, they become vulnerable to manipulation. Corruption festers, and mediocrity becomes the norm. This is how kakistocracy takes root and becomes normalized.

But how can we expect students to think critically when the materials they are given merely ask them to memorize, not question? When textbooks erase uncomfortable truths and sanitize history? When modules are riddled with errors, stereotypes, and outdated thinking? We need learning content that goes beyond rote facts and content that reflects current realities, invites debate, promotes empathy, and teaches students not just what to think, but how to think. We must cultivate classrooms where curiosity is encouraged, where students learn to ask “why” and “what if,” and where disagreement is not punished but explored.

Tertiary education, too, must evolve beyond the narrow frame of employability. A diploma is not a passport to mere survival in the job market; it should be a tool for building a more just and humane society. Students deserve the space to imagine how their skills, knowledge, and passions can serve the greater good. A degree is not the end goal. The true goal is nation-building, one informed, critical thinker at a time.

Access to education must be dismantled as the privilege of the few. Restrictive admissions, financial barriers, and poor foundational education have built a pipeline where only the wealthy succeed. To reclaim education as a right, we must break this cycle of exclusion.

These problems are not the end of the story. They are the beginning of a reckoning. Recognizing that these issues exist and that they harm every Filipino child is the first step toward real, lasting change. Ensuring inclusive and quality education for all is no small task. But it is a necessary one. As UNICEF reports, children across the Philippines continue to face barriers to their development: conflict, climate disasters, poverty. And yet, it is precisely for these children that we must fight harder.

“Education must stop being a token budget item and start being treated as the beating heart of our national development.”

This is a call to the Marcos Jr. administration to treat the education crisis not as a passing concern, but as a national emergency. The EDCOM II report is not a suggestion, it is a warning. Education must stop being a token budget item and start being treated as the beating heart of our national development. Because what Filipino children deserve is not just access to education, it is a just, inclusive, liberating education that prepares them not only to survive, but to lead.

But my dream alone is not enough. Hope is stronger when it is shared; and if coupled with action, it becomes power that will fuel a collective refusal to accept a system that teaches children to memorize facts but deprives them of the tools to think critically, dream boldly, and live with dignity. We must demand more. A nation that truly values its children must invest in the minds and hearts of its future. Education must not remain a privilege of the few for it is a birthright of every Filipino.

DAKILA stands with teachers, students, and communities who rise each day to demand real, meaningful education reform. Together, we raise our voices in protest and in purpose. Let us build an education system worthy of our children, one that does not merely inform, but transforms.

Aaron is the current Communications Manager of DAKILA, an organization of artists, cultural and development activists, students, young professionals, and individuals creatively building a movement of heroism toward social transformation.  When he’s not in front of his laptop, he’s likely in the kitchen, trying his best to whip up something good.