Once, in one of my hikes up in Japan’s Northern Alps, I met a Japanese teacher with a troop of boys, probably around 11 to 12 years old, hiking on the same trail. “Sugoi!” I said, expressing amazement over the boys’ determination to climb the mountain.
In the conversation that ensued, I shared that an all-boys high school in the Philippines asked me to organize a hike for their students, and I actually already came over to give an orientation, only for the idea to be vetoed by some of the parents. “It’s good that your school is supporting this,” I told the children’s sensei.
“Being exposed to the mountains, to nature, is so important for our young ones,” he told me. “It’s worth the risks.”
Of course, the Japanese trails—well-marked and well-maintained, and with emergency numbers to call when needed—are arguably safer than some of our mountains.
But if that is the case, then part of the solution—instead of forbidding people from going there or restricting their access through all kinds of regulations—is to also make our outdoor spaces safer and more inclusive, allowing people from all ages, genders, and income levels to access them. And investing in more park rangers, well-maintained trails, facilities, and so on.
The same can be said of roads and public transport. Japan is famous for five-year-olds allowed to go to school on their own, or with their classmates—either by taking public transport and walking, but this practice is premised on the existence of a safe environment, with supportive members of the community.
Surely, if Metro Manila were walkable, the streets safe, the public transport comfortable and secure, more parents will feel confident to allow their kids to commute.
But such an environment, even when it already exists, will not be availed of unless people—especially children—have been trained for them. Thus, we also need to incorporate life skills in our educational system (see “Life skills for young Filipinos,” 06/24/22), instead of being set aside to make way for populist proposals like mandatory Reserve Officers’ Training Corps—or neoliberal imperatives like cutting down physical education and social sciences to make way for science, technology, engineering, and math.
As for educators, one great role model is none other than Jose Rizal, whose curriculum for his school in Dapitan included swimming and other sports—as well as walks in the forest. Clearly, Rizal understood that the only way to “protect” his students is to equip them with the skills, values, and experiences to protect themselves.
We can also draw inspiration from our indigenous peoples, many of whom never saw children as passive beings to be sheltered, but, from a young age, as individuals with their own agency and sense of responsibility. In Bontoc society, for instance, boys and girls slept outside their parents’ homes from a young age—reflecting an interdependence that was not limited to one’s parents or family.
As I draw to a close, I want to stress that I do not mean to imply that all Filipino parents are overprotective. Some, exposed to Western parenting styles, may take a decidedly different approach. Others, by force of necessity, cannot afford to supervise their children even if they want to; and they may have socialized in environments where other values outweigh supervision.
I also want to emphasize that the goal of this piece is not to disparage parental, educational, or governmental attitudes—but to redirect it to something that is more productive and affirmative.
Instead of shutting down a pool when somebody drowns, a more affirmative way to respond is to make the pool safer (e.g., by assigning a lifeguard or installing actively monitored CCTVs) and, in the long run, to teach kids how to swim so they won’t drown in the first place.
Instead of banning field trips in response to an accident, a more affirmative response is to implement safety standards for transportation, but allow field trips—a very important opportunity for children to learn beyond the classroom—to continue.
Instead of suspending classes at the slightest inclemency, the Department of Education and local government units alike should focus on how to prepare for climate crisis, including by designing climate-resilient buildings and, of course, building physical and virtual infrastructure to ensure educational continuity. And of course, working with other agencies to ensure infrastructures outside the schools are equally adequate.
Perhaps most difficult of all, there will have to be a recognition that one accident or one perceived difficulty or risk does not have to lead to our common set of responses—including suspension, cancellation, and prohibition.
If we want to truly “protect” our people, especially our children, then we need to give them the opportunity to explore and grow on their own. And just as importantly, we should work toward building environments where they can be safe.
—————-
glasco@inquirer.com.ph