Our overprotective society (1)
Ours is an overprotective society; we tend to view people under our jurisdiction—most especially children and young people—as needful of supervision and surveillance, not support and self-reliance.
This overprotectiveness starts at home—and it has been around for a long time. Psychologist Eileen Espina (1996), for instance, found that overprotectiveness was the most prevalent attitude among the 226 mothers that she surveyed, validating previous studies, for instance, by A. Timothy Church (1986) and Perpetua Umali-Razon (1981) that “overprotection characterizes one of the most desirable maternal roles in the Philippines” and that “the presence of overprotection in the Philippines is a fact.”
Espina’s observations are worth quoting at length because they remain resonant today:
“Overprotection usually involves various forms of fears, anxieties, and worries which concentrate in one way or another on the handling of the child. Such areas as the child’s health, safety, and education are the objects of the anxiety … Overprotective mothers also tend to imagine their children meeting accidents. For this reason, mothers employ excessively strict rules to offset imagined hazards … In extreme cases, mothers deprive the children of the experiences provided by social contact with the children’s own group, stemming from worries that their children might catch contagious diseases by playing with other children or that they might be involved in fights. This act of isolating children from other children and depriving them of normal play activities can be carried to such an extent that their social development is actually impeded.”
She adds that fathers are likewise prone to such “overcontrol,” and that “they are driven to impose limitations on their children and to regulate their children’s activities even if it may hinder the development of more adjusted social skills.”
Such overprotectiveness—which is often applied not just to very young children but teenagers and even young adults, and is more so for girls than for boys—is also reflected in our educational system. In response to a bus accident that killed students on their way to a camping trip in Rizal, the response of both the Department of Education and the Commission on Higher Education was to suspend field trips nationwide altogether; even today, the idea of “extracurricular activities” are frowned upon notwithstanding their pedagogical value.
Arguably, our education lockdown—one of the longest in the world—is propelled by similar logics. It was not simply that Duterte wanted children locked down in their homes; it is what many Filipino parents would have done if they were in his place.
Beyond children and young people, this overprotectiveness extends to the ways in which people under one’s supervision or jurisdiction are treated. Hikers have to procure medical certificates, local government permits, and other documents just to climb mountains, and they are required to secure guides—even in easy trails. Some people with disability complain that what really confines them at home is not so much their own impairment but their family members’ overprotection.
To be fair, there are many instances where prudence—parental, governmental, and otherwise—is well-grounded, or at least, well-meaning. For various reasons—e.g., volcanic activity, militarization—some mountains are indeed dangerous. In Mount Makiling—where park officials have begun to require guides after decades of the trail being open to independent hikers—officials cite past incidents of people having to be rescued as the rationale behind such a move (at the very least, I hope they will grant exemptions to regular hikers and local residents, who deserve an accessible hiking trail).
During the early part of the pandemic, when there was so much that was unknown, it was also very understandable for everyone to exercise an abundance of caution.
But when parental and societal fears are blown out of proportion and have no real basis, they needlessly lead to policies that, in the name of “protecting” our children and our citizens, actually expose them to harm by not letting them develop skills and experiences they need to grow, learn independence, gain critical thinking, and reach their full potential.
The pandemic lockdown, for instance, is already having far-reaching effects among our young people, further complicating our educational and mental health crises. In contrast, many other countries—including our neighbors Thailand, Vietnam, and Singapore—fiercely fought for educational continuity as much as possible, clear-eyed about the possible risks of holding face-to-face classes but also mindful of the even greater, longer-term harms of not holding them.
How do we protect people—especially our young ones—without holding them back? In my next column, I will consider this question and explore some possible answers.
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