Sensitivity without a surname

It was an ugly thing to say. On Machong Chismisan, one of the hosts called Josh Aquino “walang kwenta.” The others laughed. The clip eventually found its way around social media, and from there everything became much bigger. People got angry. Disability groups spoke up. Government agencies issued statements. Politicians joined the condemnation. The podcast apologized, removed the episode, and later apologized again, this time to Josh, Kris Aquino, their family, and the wider PWD community.

I do not blame people for getting angry. Imagine hearing somebody describe your son, brother, classmate, or friend that way. Josh happens to be on the autism spectrum, which made the laughter especially difficult to watch. He was not part of the conversation. He was simply being talked about, judged, and turned into material for a show.

Then I saw one comment that made me stop: What if the person were poor and unknown? Would anybody care?

That question stayed with me longer than many of the angrier comments did.

Because Josh is not unknown. He is Kris Aquino’s son. Say something cruel about him publicly and, sooner or later, somebody with a large enough microphone will hear it. There will be news reports. Friends of the family will react. Advocates will speak. Government officials may issue statements. Lawyers may enter the picture. Again, I see nothing wrong with that. If somebody is treated badly, having people defend him is a good thing.

I just wish everybody had that kind of backup.

Most people who get laughed at do not.

In school, the slower learner gets called bobo. The classmate who seems different gets imitated. At work, someone struggling becomes maarte or mahina. At home, one relative has been the family joke for years.

They seem like little things. That may be why they last.

Joke lang.

Biro lang naman.

Huwag kang sensitive.

Then everybody moves on. The person laughed at is supposed to move on, too.

We have become good at the language of mental wellness and inclusion: safe spaces, neurodiversity, PWD rights, sensitivity. Schools hold seminars. Offices run programs. We post our support online. These things matter, and I have been part of them myself.

But a seminar is one thing. Tuesday afternoon is another.

Tuesday afternoon is when somebody at work makes a joke about an officemate who is not in the room. It is when students decide whom not to include in the group chat. It is when the line at a counter is moving slowly and somebody becomes irritated with the PWD in front. It is when an uncle makes the same joke about a nephew during dinner and everyone laughs because everyone has always laughed.

Nobody is holding a sensitivity seminar then.

There was another part of the Josh Aquino controversy that I found strange. Some people became so angry at the hosts for insulting someone that they began insulting the hosts. Their faces were mocked. Their intelligence was attacked. Politics and sexuality entered the comments. Families were dragged in. Somewhere along the way, “Do not bully people” started sounding a lot like “Here, let me show you how bullying is properly done.”

I understand the anger behind it. Accountability matters. Saying sorry does not automatically settle everything, especially when the hurt was public. The hosts themselves later acknowledged that deleting the episode did not erase what had happened. They said they were willing to listen and learn from groups working with children with special needs and persons with disabilities. What comes of that, I do not know.

I am less interested, though, in watching people destroy the hosts than in what the whole mess says about the rest of us.

Politicians have spoken strongly about the issue as well. Some of what they said needed saying. I only hope the concern does not disappear together with the trending topic. The ordinary cases are harder to notice. There is no camera when a student is quietly left out because classmates think he is strange. No reporter when an applicant with a disability is underestimated before the interview has even started. No congressional statement when someone at home hears wala ka gid pulos often enough that one day she begins to wonder whether it might be true.

Those moments will never have the reach of a viral podcast.

Maybe that is what bothers me most about this story. Josh Aquino was called something no person deserves to be called. Fortunately, thousands heard it and said, in one way or another, that it was wrong.

Tomorrow, the same words—or something close to them—will probably be said to somebody whose mother is not Kris Aquino.

No statement will be issued.

No politician will know.

No hashtag will trend.

But that person will hear every word.

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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.