Jobs on fire: AI rising

By Herman M. Lagon

Scrolling through the usual billionaire quotes and tech chatter, I stumbled upon something from Bill Gates that made me pause. It was not about stocks, philanthropy, or saving the world through software. This time, he talked about something closer to the gut—our jobs. Gates, the man behind Microsoft, warned that only three kinds of work might survive the AI wave: healthcare, engineering, and creative work. The rest? Either gone or reshaped beyond recognition. I reread it not for drama, but because it felt possible. And personal.

Coming from someone of Gates’ caliber, “Most jobs will disappear” is hard to ignore. But denial is no longer an option. In a law office of a friend I recently visited, what used to be a team of five researchers was trimmed to two—and a chatbot. One of my former students lost a side gig in graphic design because the client discovered Midjourney and Canva AI. These are not isolated cases. They are ripples of something bigger. According to the IMF (2024), up to 40% of global jobs could be affected by AI. For countries like ours, the disruption hits hard—especially in BPOs, clerical work, and even some teaching roles.

But this is not just about income. It is about identity. A job, for many of us, is more than a routine. It is legacy. Purpose. The panadero inheriting his father’s oven. The teacher who knew her calling since she was eight. The nurse who put siblings through school. When AI takes over, it does more than shake up work—it shakes who we think we are. Our jobs are tied to our stories, and when those shift, we lose more than titles.

Gates makes it simple: the work that needs heart, depth, and soul is harder to replace. A machine can close a wound, but it cannot calm a worried parent. It may generate a poem, but it cannot live its metaphor. Still, even these jobs are under pressure. AI already drafts lesson plans, composes music, and grades essays with eerie accuracy. As a teacher, I can spot the difference—for now. But the gap is shrinking.

So the question is no longer “Is AI good or bad?” That debate is behind us. The question is: how do we, especially educators and everyday workers, adjust? Charlene Li (2025) nailed it: AI is not the star—people are. The best organizations will not replace us with robots. They will train us to use them wisely. That is how you build the future

And that starts with mindset, not machines. A 2023 Stanford study found that while 83% of Asians see AI as an opportunity, many feel left out of the conversation. In our setting, try explaining ChatGPT prompting to a school registrar in Capiz or a barangay secretary in Guimaras. The issue is not intelligence—it is access, confidence, and culture. What we need are not more webinars, but practical, down-to-earth peer sessions. Picture Friday tambayans where teachers tinker with AI tools over coffee, laugh at errors, and learn without shame.

Still, let us be real. Our public school teachers are already juggling modules, crowded classrooms, and low pay. Telling teachers to “upskill” means little if it comes without empathy. Back when I was a principal, I learned that fear of change cannot be brushed aside. Like students, teachers need safe spaces—to try, to stumble, and to ask without shame. Without that, even the best training will not land.

Then there is the equity gap. Those who can afford AI tools will surge ahead, while many fall behind. It is already happening—students with faster Wi-Fi learn better; professionals with premium AI accounts work faster. It is not just tech. It is privilege. And if left unchecked, it becomes digital classism. But we are not helpless. Many groups and school networks can step in—mentoring, sharing tools, and pushing for tech policies that welcome, not leave people behind.

Look closer at what Gates is saying. It is not just about surviving the AI wave. It is about making sure no one gets swept away. He is nudging us to focus on what makes us irreplaceable. Not speed or precision, but our capacity for compassion, humor, and human connection. No algorithm can detect the heartbreak behind a student’s silence or the joy in a breakthrough. Our edge is not in beating machines—it is in being more fully human. What we often dismiss as “soft skills”—pakikipagkapwa, malasakit, pinanilagan, patience—are precisely what AI cannot replicate.

Of course, we also need to let go of old comforts. Some jobs will fade, like the typewriter. But history shows that every loss brings new openings. According to the World Economic Forum (2023), around 97 million new roles may emerge in areas like AI ethics, digital care, and human-AI interaction. These are not far-fetched futures. They are our children’s career paths.

As a father of two daughters—one in medicine, the other in graduate studies—I see their worlds shifting rapidly. Both are learning to navigate an AI world with skill and discernment. But what grounds them is not technical prowess. It is purpose. It is asking: How do I use this tool to serve others? That mindset—that quiet inner compass—may just be the most valuable inheritance we can pass on.

Gates is not trying to scare us. He is pushing us to prepare. AI is not here to replace our humanity, but to challenge it. To call us into deeper reflection, sharper judgment, and stronger values. The future will not be a showdown between man and machine. It will be a test of whether we can build partnerships—where we do what only we can do: listen, guide, imagine, care.

So maybe the real questions we should be asking are not “Will I lose my job?” or “What can AI do?” but rather, “What can only we—as humans—truly do?” The answers, I believe, live not in cold algorithms or flawless speed, but in the warmth of things that machines still cannot replicate. They’re found in the work that heals with empathy, creates with soul, and connects with sincerity. In being present, not just productive. In making meaning, not just measuring outputs.

Because while AI can crunch data, generate content, and mimic conversation, it cannot sit silently with someone in grief. It cannot look into a child’s eyes and spark hope. It cannot carry the quiet weight of human experience, nor offer the unspoken comfort of shared understanding. Only we can do that. And maybe, just maybe, that is the kind of irreplaceable work that will matter most in the years to come.

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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.