Staying grounded in the scrolling world

By Herman M. Lagon

There are talks you politely sit through, and then there are those that quietly follow you home. UP Visayas Chancellor Dr. Clement Camposano’s message during the recent 93rd Charter Anniversary of the Rotary Club of Iloilo belonged to the second kind. No grandstanding, no overworked lines—just a steady question that kept nudging: what does citizenship look like now, when much of our life happens on a screen we keep within arm’s reach? It lingered even after the photos and handshakes. In my case, it lingered while I was holding a certificate instead of delivering the response I had prepared. Funny how that worked out. The message had more room to breathe.

Ninety-three years isn’t just something you mark with applause. It makes you pause. You think about the people who carried the club through different times—from handwritten letters to today’s scrolling screens. RC Iloilo has seen more versions of this country than most of us have lived through. So when Dr. Camposano spoke, it didn’t feel like just another speech. It felt more like someone quietly saying, “Let’s be honest about where we are.”

He took us back to that hopeful time after the Cold War, when many believed the big left-vs-right debates were already over. Then the internet came in with its own promise—open, borderless, liberating. We’ve all seen how that turned out. Somewhere along the way, that promise got complicated. Information travels faster, yes—but so do half-truths. Conversations, peppered with virtual identities, happen more often—but not always better. The room didn’t need convincing; we’ve all seen it play out.

What made the talk land were the small, familiar moments. At one point, he talked about rereading old journals. You know that feeling—opening a notebook from years ago and cringing a little at what you wrote, half amused, half embarrassed. The room laughed right away. It wasn’t just nostalgia. It was recognition. We’ve always been changing. The difference now is that change is on display, archived, searchable.

Then came the OOTD example—posting your outfit, feeling good about it, and then getting a not-so-kind comment from someone you knew decades ago. What do you do? Unfriend? Ignore? Reply? The laughter was louder this time because it felt too close to real life. We move between online and offline spaces every day, and the rules don’t always match. You can “mute” someone online and still nod at them across a room. It’s awkward. It’s human.

The room really cracked up at the story about a professor complaining about the ads popping up on his feed—men’s products, of all things. A younger teacher, without meaning to embarrass him, said the algorithm probably just reflects what he’s been browsing. People laughed, but it stuck. The internet isn’t just something we use—it pays attention. Stay on a cat video for a few seconds, and suddenly your feed is all cats. No harm there. But if you apply that to opinions or politics, it starts to feel different.

That’s where the conversation slowed down a bit. Algorithms show us what we already agree with. It feels easy at first, until you notice how small your world gets. Same views, same tone, same silos, same assumptions. Step outside it, and everything feels louder. We’ve all seen it—group chats, apps, and pages that get out of hand, comment sections that turn messy quickly. It’s not distant. It’s everyday.

Still, the talk didn’t drift into blaming technology for everything. That would’ve been too lazy. The more honest take was this: technology shapes us, yes, but we also shape how it’s used. We’re not just passengers. There are moments when the online world has done real good—the Trash Tag Challenge and the Ice Bucket Challenge, for instance, where people cleaned up spaces and dumped iced water over one’s head to fund drive, turning attention into action. They remind us that the digital space doesn’t have to be shallow. It can point us back to the ground.

And that’s where Rotary comes in. Strip away the formalities, and what remains is a simple idea: show up and do the work. Not the kind that trends for a day, but the kind that quietly adds up. The meetings that don’t make headlines. The fellowships that quietly build fraternity and trust over time. The mentoring that isn’t posted. The projects and grants that take time, patience, and resources. In a culture that measures impact by visibility, that kind of work can feel invisible. But it’s the reason organizations last.

Somewhere in the middle of it all, the Rotary Four-Way Test came to mind. It’s something we know well, but it feels different beside a scrolling feed. Is it the truth? Not as clear anymore. Is it fair? Not always. Does it build goodwill? You don’t see much of that online. Will it benefit all? That one still matters. The test hasn’t changed; everything else has.

What stayed with me wasn’t a single line from Dr. Camposano, but a quiet shift in perspective. Maybe the point isn’t to keep up with how fast everything moves. Maybe it’s to stay grounded while moving through it. To remember that not everything important needs to be posted, and not everything posted is important.

After 93 years, Rotary doesn’t need to prove that it can adapt. It already has. The better question is whether we, as individuals, can keep choosing the kind of service that lasts. Not louder. Not flashier. Just steady. The kind that doesn’t need an audience to matter.

Because in the end, what holds anything together—an organization, a community, even a conversation—isn’t how often it’s seen. It’s how consistently it’s done.

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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.