The off-campus dilemma

A few signatures can sometimes take longer than the activity itself. A faculty adviser proposes bringing 25 students to the next barangay for a leadership workshop or community outreach. The venue is nearby, the students are eager, and the program makes sense. Then comes the paperwork: approvals, consent forms, notarial proofs, risk assessments, personnel assignments, transportation documents, certifications, reports, and deadlines. Somewhere between “This will be good for the students” and “Kulang pa ang attachment,” enthusiasm begins packing its bags.

I understand why the Commission on Higher Education issued CMO No. 63, series of 2017. Student safety is not something universities should improvise. The memorandum strengthened institutional accountability for local off-campus activities, including supervision, transportation, consent, insurance, emergency preparation, and other safeguards. Some requirements may look bureaucratic until the day something goes terribly wrong. The Bestlink College controversies, among other incidents, remind us that poor planning can have consequences far more serious than a delayed field trip. Caution has a history behind it.

Still, after nearly a decade, it is fair to ask whether the policy can be made safer without being so administratively heavy that schools gradually learn the safest solution of all: do nothing outside campus. CHED itself convened a workshop in 2025 on the proposed revision of CMO 63, suggesting that the framework is not beyond improvement. Good regulation should protect worthwhile activities, not quietly make them too troublesome to organize.

That matters because holistic formation does not fit neatly inside four walls. Research on off-campus participation has linked such experiences with practical application, social interaction, time management, and broader student development (Wang, 2024). We know this from campus life itself. Fisheries students need shorelines and fishing communities. Education majors need actual classrooms. Engineering students should eventually see structures beyond textbook diagrams. Student leaders learn leadership differently when the microphone fails, the budget is short, and three committee members suddenly become unreachable.

The same is true of formation. A peer facilitator may learn the definition of empathy in a lecture, but sitting beside another student who is struggling teaches a different lesson. A student volunteer discovers during community work that people are partners, not “beneficiaries” waiting to be rescued. A campus journalist learns courage when the question is uncomfortable. An athlete learns discipline at 5:30 in the morning. These experiences develop communication, judgment, teamwork, resilience, accountability, and sometimes humility. Some of the most important things students learn will never appear on their transcript. But they may eventually show in how they work, lead, serve, decide, and treat other people.

CMO 63 therefore deserves refinement around proportionality. Taking 300 students on a three-day trip across several provinces is plainly different from taking 20 student leaders to a training center 15 minutes from campus. A coastal field exercise carries different risks from attending a seminar at the municipal hall. Yet when modest activities trigger an intimidating administrative process, faculty members and student advisers may understandably conclude, “Sa campus na lang.” The students are safe, certainly. They may also miss something worth learning. The logic is straightforward: activities involving greater distance, longer duration, larger groups, more complicated logistics, or greater risk should warrant stronger safeguards.

This does not call for weaker protection. It calls for risk-based regulation. Keep non-negotiables for transportation, competent supervision, emergency readiness, insurance where applicable, informed consent, accessibility, and clear accountability. But calibrate documentary requirements according to actual risk. A two-hour extension visit in the neighboring barangay should not necessarily travel through the same bureaucratic obstacle course as an overnight excursion hundreds of kilometers away. The rule should make responsible activities easier and irresponsible ones harder.

There is also a student-equity problem. Safety requirements cost money, and those costs can eventually land on families. For some households, even an additional ₱500 or ₱1,000 is grocery money, boarding-house payment, or a week of transportation. An educational tour costing ₱15,000 may be manageable for one student and impossible for another. If participation affects grades, a student should not be academically disadvantaged simply because the family cannot afford the activity. Alternatives, when educationally possible, should be genuine equivalents rather than punishment with bibliography: “Hindi ka sasama? Sige, 100-page paper.”

CHED has already shown that regulation can evolve. CMO No. 1, s. 2023 restored wider off-campus activity after pandemic restrictions while retaining compliance with CMO 63. More recently, the student-athlete framework reflected an important direction: place students, rather than competitions, at the center, while assigning affirmative responsibilities to institutions, associations, coaches, and administrators. That philosophy can guide the next version of off-campus regulation as well.

Students also have responsibilities. Being pro-student does not mean turning every rule into an optional suggestion. Students must follow legitimate safety instructions, respect host communities, observe schedules, disclose relevant needs when appropriate, and avoid reckless behavior. Formation includes learning that freedom carries responsibility. The institution plans responsibly; students participate responsibly. That sounds more like education than either extreme of reckless freedom or administrative paralysis.

CMO 63 was born from a legitimate concern: bring our students home safely. We should never lose that. But higher education has another obligation: send students into the wider world prepared to encounter it. Somewhere between reckless field trips and keeping everyone permanently inside the gate is the sensible ground we should occupy.

Keep the safeguards. Simplify what can be simplified. Match requirements to risk. Protect the student who cannot afford the trip. Give faculty enough room to teach creatively. Let student organizations form people beyond classrooms.

Because holistic formation needs classrooms, yes. It also needs shorelines, communities, laboratories, competitions, service, mistakes, conversations, unfamiliar places, and occasionally a bus.

The safest university may be one that never lets students leave the gate. But that cannot be our definition of the best university.

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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.