EDITORIAL PAGE (CARTOONING)

A cap and gown may symbolize completion, but for over 18 million Filipino high school graduates, it hides a grim reality—one of confusion and unread pages. According to a recent Philippine Statistics Authority (PSA) study, an alarming number of graduates are unable to comprehend what they read. This isn’t just a statistic—it’s a wake-up call.

What value does a diploma hold if students graduate without the essential skill of reading comprehension? The roots of this issue run deep: outdated teaching methods, overcrowded classrooms, underpaid teachers, and an education system that prioritizes output over understanding.

Literacy is the foundation of all learning. Without it, young Filipinos are deprived of the ability to think critically, participate in civic life, and improve their own economic future. This crisis threatens not just the youth, but the nation’s development.

The Department of Education must treat this issue as urgent. Investments in reading programs, comprehensive teacher training, and curriculum reforms must no longer be delayed. More importantly, we need a national commitment to quality education—one that empowers minds, not just distributes diplomas.

Until then, many graduates will continue to walk the stage with blank expressions—symbolic of a system that failed them before they even opened the first page.

Let’s demand accountability and change.

“That's the problem of basic education because paano sila nag-graduate nang hindi sila functional literate? Iba ‘yung hindi pumasok eh, iba rin yung pumasok ka but naka-graduate ka but you’re not functional literate.” 

— Sherwin Gatchalian 

Students, wide-eyed with concern and discomfort, are shown clinging to every part of the makeshift classroom—through the windows, over the roof, spilling out the door. The overcrowded scene is more than just exaggerated imagery; it is a reflection of what many students face daily in underfunded schools across the country. Behind this illustration lies the truth of deteriorating infrastructure, insufficient budget allocations, and a rapidly growing student population that the government has failed to accommodate.

The presence of the national flag serves as a reminder: this is not just a localized problem—it is a national shame. Education, long promised as a priority by various administrations, continues to be treated as a footnote in policy and planning. Teachers are left to manage classes beyond capacity, and students are robbed of the focused attention and conducive environment they need to learn and thrive.

Elected leaders in our democracy ought to be chosen for their abilities, morals and actions-not because of their family name. To this day, there are many cases where government officials come from the same families.Because of this, we talk about political dynasties which remain a major concern for us.

Having political dynasties means there are fewer chances for new talent to step forward. When one family has been in charge for a long time, others may feel neglected, especially young people or ordinary citizens. This means power is not spread out, but is concentrated n the hands of a few, who may not welcome new ideas or real reform.

Unfortunately, political dynasties can lead to misuse of power, corruption, and poor public service. Some leaders may feel secure in their positions and might begin paying attention just to their own interests, ignoring the needs of the people.

We need leaders who put the country before their family or personal gain. If political dynasties are stopped, those who truly want to serve the community and care about its problems will have room to join politics.

We can no longer keep doing the same thing. What matters for our future is a government that upholds fairness, values transparency, and serves everyone  not just a few elite people. A good leader listens to the people more than they rely on a family name.

A government official sits quietly, hammer in hand, in front of a half-collapsed shack labeled “LGBTQIA+ Office.” The scene is barren, but the meaning isn't: someone, somewhere, has been waiting too long for something that should’ve been built yesterday.

This isn't just a cartoon. It's a mirror—and it's hard to look away.

The sketch might seem simple at first glance: one person, one broken building, and a question floating in the air—“To build or not to build?” But look closer, and you'll see what many members of the LGBTQIA+ community feel every day: being sidelined. Ignored. Left in limbo.

There's no shortage of words from leaders promising inclusivity. There are proposals, press releases, and proud statements during Pride Month. But when the banners are taken down, when the music stops, where are the walls, the shelters, the services? Where are the safe spaces that were promised?

We've heard the speeches. What we need now is structure—literally and figuratively.

“You can’t expect people to feel safe in a country that won’t even give them a roof under their name.”

— Lian, 24, transgender advocate

“We’re not asking for special treatment—we’re asking to be treated like people.”

— Anonymous LGBTQIA+ youth advocate