The SK CSC eligibility shortcut

By Herman M. Lagon

There are quiet policies, and there are loud ones that hit people in the gut. The Civil Service Commission’s move to grant eligibility to Sangguniang Kabataan (SK) officials who finish their terms feels like the second kind. On paper, it honors youth service and invites young people into government. Look closer, and you see something else: a slow lowering of the bar.

When CSC Resolution No. 2500752 made the rounds, feeds blew up. Posts said, “Automatic na ang eligibility sa SK,” and the reactions came fast. Teachers, nurses, engineers, and long-time job order staff spoke up. “Baliktad,” they said. “CSE muna bago SK.” Others asked, “Kami nagre-review buwan-buwan; sila, puwede na ba dahil nanalo sa barangay?” The noise was not jealousy. It was a defense of merit.

The CSC says it is implementing Republic Act 11768, which strengthens the SK. The Sangguniang Kabataan Official Eligibility (SKOE) covers members, secretaries, and treasurers who served a full term in good standing, for first-level posts. The intent is noble. But a blanket grant weakens what civil service exams stand for—competence tested fairly for everyone.

Think about it this way. A barangay nutrition scholar with ten years of service must still pass the exam to get a regular slot. A teacher with a master’s degree still needs an 80% rating. Meanwhile, an SK councilor who managed three meetings and one basketball league may now qualify for the same category. This is not to paint all SK officials with one brush. Many are tireless and creative. The problem is not their youth; it is the lack of a performance screen. We end up rewarding position, not work; presence, not proof.

We have seen where lowered standards lead. During Martial Law, the rush to fill ranks with underprepared officers was sold as “efficiency.” It bred abuse. When competence becomes negotiable, the public pays. If eligibility is handed out like a token, mediocrity can slip in disguised as “empowerment.”

Professionals worry about precedent, not only fairness. If SK terms grant eligibility today, who qualifies next because they “served the public”? Tournament organizers? Campaign marshals? Even some SK leaders themselves have urged a performance check before eligibility. If we are going to honor youth service, let us ask for evidence: finished projects, clean liquidation, attendance, training, no ethics cases.

The policy also highlights a painful gap. Contractuals who have kept offices running for years still line up for the exam. Barangay health workers earn stipends and risk their safety. Then a nineteen-year-old SK secretary who barely touched a budget book can skip the test. Many rank-and-file workers read the news and feel invisible. That is not the message we want to send.

Confusion makes it worse. People still ask basic questions: Who is covered—chairs only, or all officials? Are secretaries and treasurers included? What about partial terms, resignations, extended tenures? Is the eligibility sub-professional or professional? The circular says “good standing” and a “full term,” but “performance” is not defined. Without clear metrics—liquidated funds, completed programs, attendance, documented impact—eligibility becomes guesswork.

If the goal is youth empowerment, there are better routes. Research has long noted that many SK projects cluster around short-term events—sports fests, pageants, tree planting—visible, but not always impactful. The better path is training, mentoring, and clear evaluation. Recognize real work with scholarships, internships, fee waivers, priority exam slots, or bonus points—without removing the exam that protects the standard.

To be fair, I have seen SK leaders who show up at dawn to help in relief drives, teach after-school classes, or push mental health workshops. They model service with humility and skill. Even they will say: recognition without accountability spoils the craft. Real empowerment is not a free pass. It is a fair climb.

Other countries keep the line bright. Singapore screens through exams and competency interviews. South Korea invests in youth but does not waive civil tests. The principle is simple: widen access, keep standards. We can do both.

This is not merely paperwork. It is the culture we choose. Do we want a service shaped by effort or by entitlement? The wiser path asks young leaders to examine themselves, measure their impact, and accept feedback. It pairs opportunity with discipline.

The CSC has long symbolized fairness—the idea that anyone, regardless of surname, can serve if qualified. That trust is precious. This eligibility policy, however well-meant, risks chipping at that trust. Lifting the youth should not mean lowering the ladder. If anything, we set the ladder sturdier and teach them to climb it well.

If the CSC hopes to inspire the next generation, it can still refine the policy: spell out clear criteria, tie eligibility to verified performance, and communicate the rules plainly. Listen to the teachers, nurses, rank-and-file staff, and yes, the SK officials who actually did the work. Honor youth leadership without hollowing out merit.

Civil service is not a souvenir for finishing a term. It is a standard you meet, a craft you practice, a promise you keep. Eligibility should confirm that, not replace it.

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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.