Be careful of ‘diskarte’

By Herman M. Lagon

There is a reason the word diskarte feels familiar even before it is explained. Most Pinoys meet it early, long before it appears in essays or debates. It shows up in kitchens where budgets are stretched, at jeepney stops when the last ride leaves too soon, and in classrooms where teachers quietly adjust because life intrudes again. Diskarte did not begin as a slogan. It grew out of necessity. It named a kind of intelligence that learned how to move forward without ideal conditions. For a long time, that meaning held. Today, it deserves more care as diskarte is now used to excuse shortcuts, avoid effort, and blur the line between resourcefulness and wrongdoing.

In its earlier sense, diskarte meant resourcefulness with responsibility. It was the ability to read a situation, weigh limits, and act with judgment using what was available. A sari-sari store owner who knew exactly which items sold before payday. A teacher who rebuilt a lesson after a brownout. A parent who rearranged work hours to attend a school meeting without losing a day’s pay. None of these involved shortcuts. They involved attention, patience, and dignity. Psychologists describe this as creative problem-solving shaped by context, not impulse (Morales, 2017). Diskarte was never about beating the system. It was about surviving it without losing oneself.

Many still defend the word from that place, and they are not wrong. People operate in systems that rarely fit real life. Schools often reward compliance over understanding. Workplaces track attendance better than output. Public systems move slowly even when needs are urgent. In these gaps, diskarte appears as adaptation. It is the ability to manage scarcity, adjust quickly, and respond to pressure without panic. Used with character, it looks like leadership, resilience, and quiet competence. In this sense, diskarte is not the problem. It is a response to friction.

But criticism did not arise out of thin air. In everyday use, the word has drifted. Increasingly, diskarte is invoked to excuse actions that have little to do with ingenuity and everything to do with avoidance. Cheating becomes diskarte. Cutting lines becomes diskarte. Passing requirements without learning becomes diskarte. It also shows up in the casual hunt for a padrino—calling in connections to skip steps, secure favors, or edge out others quietly. What is defended as diskarte often leaves someone else carrying the cost. “Basta pasado” is framed as being madiskarte. In offices, it shows up as gaming systems instead of building skill. In public life, it turns into panggugulang dressed up as cleverness. This version of diskarte quietly erodes trust and lowers standards. Outcomes are praised without asking how they were achieved.

Education exposes this tension most clearly. Teachers see it every day. I once asked a student why he copied an assignment word for word. He did not look embarrassed. He looked practical. “Diskarte po, Sir,” he said, as if naming a tool rather than admitting a choice. That moment stayed with me, not because of the violation, but because of how normal it had become. Over time, learning is replaced by maneuvering. Studies on academic integrity warn that when shortcuts become normal, real competence fades (OECD, 2017). What begins as a “small” diskarte quietly hardens into habit. The real loss is not failure, but the fading joy of doing something well.

At the same time, pretending the word diskarte should disappear altogether would be dishonest. Diskarte exists because life is uneven. Many of us improvise because we must. Vendors test ideas before they can afford permits. Nurses stretch limited supplies without compromising care. Workers adjust routes, schedules, and plans just to arrive. These are not moral failures. They are responses to constraint. The danger lies not in recognizing diskarte, but in romanticizing it as a substitute for learning, reform, or fairness. When diskarte becomes expectation rather than response, people are quietly told to endure what should be fixed.

A more grounded position is practical rather than ideological. Strategy without ethics becomes exploitation. Cleverness without competence becomes fraud. Diskarte needs grounding. When rooted in skill, values, and responsibility, it remains practical wisdom. When detached from character, it becomes an excuse. Behavioral research shows that people rationalize shortcuts when systems reward results without examining process (Kahneman, Sibony, & Sunstein, 2021). Language matters. Calling every tactic diskarte clouds necessary distinctions.

The difference appears in daily life. A jeepney driver learns accounting informally, then later takes a course to formalize the business. A market vendor notices waste and turns it into value without deceiving anyone. A worker finds a workaround that saves time without shifting the burden to others. These are slow, patient sequences of judgment and learning. They are not rebellion against rules, but navigation within imperfect ones. This is diskarte at its best: adaptive, ethical, and forward-looking.

The real caution, then, is cultural. When diskarte is used carelessly, it becomes a moral shortcut. Cleverness is mistaken for competence, speed for skill. Young people absorb the lesson that results matter more than learning, and that rules are optional rather than purposeful. Over time, trust thins—between people and within institutions. And once trust erodes, rebuilding it takes far more effort than any clever maneuver.

I will take up the larger conversation about diskarte and formal education in a forthcoming piece, Diskarte Beyond the Diploma. For now, this is enough to say clearly: Diskarte is not the enemy. Uncritical use of the word is. It began as a language of survival and grit, shaped by constraint and care. When stripped of ethics, it becomes a language of excuse. Used well, it helps people move forward with dignity. Used carelessly, it teaches them how to arrive without learning how they got there.

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Doc H fondly describes himself as a “student of and for life” who, like many others, aspires to a life-giving and why-driven world grounded in social justice and the pursuit of happiness. His views do not necessarily reflect those of the institutions he is employed or connected with.