UP and us

By Herman M. Lagon

There is something oddly predictable about how people talk about the University of the Philippines online. The moment students protest, question government policy, or hold a rally, somebody quickly says, “Ah, UP. Puro aktibista.” For many Filipinos, hearing “UP” almost automatically brings up stereotypes. Yet beyond the placards and politics, the university continues to teach something increasingly rare: the courage to think critically and independently. Perhaps that is what makes others uneasy.

Dr. Edsel Salvana recently wrote a thoughtful defense of UP after renewed accusations linking the university to extremism. What made his piece stand out was its balance. He spoke not only as a UP professor and alumnus, but also as someone raised in a military family. That mattered. In a time when conversations quickly become black-and-white, his reminder was simple: reality is more complicated than social media wants it to be.

UP does change people. Anyone who has lingered long enough in UP’s classrooms, tambayans, libraries, or endless discussions eventually feels it. I say this not as an outsider romanticizing the university, but as someone who came into UP later on. I officially became part of UP at 42. But long before that, I had already worked with UP graduates, professors, researchers, and students. One thing stood out: they ask questions. Constantly. Sometimes exhausting questions. But important ones.

In Ateneo de Iloilo, where I used to teach, some colleagues and students who later entered UP were among the sharpest minds I encountered. In ISUFST today, I work with graduates from different UP campuses who may disagree politically but share the same habit of examining things closely. They rarely settle for easy answers. They ask why systems fail, why inequalities persist, why some policies help while others quietly harm.

Sadly, in a culture where silence is sometimes mistaken for discipline, questioning can easily be mistaken for rebellion. But asking difficult questions is not the same as destabilizing society. A teacher asking why many children still struggle to read is not anti-government. A student demanding accountability is not automatically dangerous. A researcher asking why coastal communities remain poor despite massive projects is not a threat to democracy. Sometimes they are simply doing what universities are supposed to teach: critical thinking and social awareness with strong commitment to social justice.

This is why reducing UP into a stereotype completely misses its larger role. UP Manila trains doctors and public health experts. UP Los Baños contributes heavily to agriculture and environmental science. UP Visayas strengthens fisheries and marine research. UP Mindanao advances indigenous and biodiversity studies. UP Open University gives working Filipinos access to education despite distance and schedules. Even UP Diliman, often mocked online as a “rally school,” continues to produce some of the country’s strongest work in engineering, literature, public policy, science, and the arts.

Most UP graduates are not walking around carrying placards forever anyway. Many quietly become teachers, doctors, scientists, researchers, civil servants, entrepreneurs, or community workers. Nation-building usually looks ordinary. Sometimes it is a doctor enduring another sleepless hospital shift. Sometimes it is a teacher adjusting lessons because students have weak internet. Sometimes it is a marine scientist standing in muddy mangroves trying to protect coastal communities.

Of course, UP is not perfect. Even its own graduates admit that. The university has its own politics, egos, ideological fights, bureaucracy, and contradictions. Some days it feels brilliant; other days exhausting. But maybe that is also why it matters. UP reflects the country itself—messy, divided, hopeful, imperfect, but still trying.

People also forget that activism is not automatically bad. A lot of the rights and freedoms Filipinos now enjoy were shaped by people brave enough to challenge authority. These changes did not happen because everyone quietly obeyed. Even Rizal was once feared for encouraging critical thinking.

Ironically, many who criticize UP still trust its experts during national crises. During the pandemic, people listened to UP scientists and health experts. During disasters, UP researchers and engineers are consulted. Parents still proudly celebrate when their children pass the UPCAT. Politicians still mention their UP degrees during campaigns. UP gets attacked online until suddenly someone needs a UP doctor, lawyer, scientist, economist, or teacher.

Perhaps what UP protects most is not any single ideology, but the freedom to examine ideas openly. That matters deeply in an age filled with fake news, blind loyalty, and outrage designed for clicks. Universities are supposed to make people think harder. They are supposed to create spaces where difficult conversations can happen without fear.

I still remember one long coffee conversation with friends from different UP campuses. One leaned progressive. Another was a bit conservative. One worked in government. Another organized communities. The discussion became loud, funny, tiring, and strangely meaningful all at once. Nobody fully won. Nobody completely agreed. But everybody listened. That, to me, feels closer to the real UP spirit than any slogan ever could.

The real danger is not that students ask hard questions. The real danger begins when people stop asking questions altogether. That is when ignorance spreads more easily, corruption becomes easier to excuse, and mediocrity slowly starts to feel normal.

UP matters not because it is perfect, but because it reminds us that education should form more than workers earning salaries. It should also form citizens who can think, question, care, and serve beyond themselves.

***

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 that is grounded in social justice and the pursuit of happiness. His views herewith do not necessarily reflect those of the institutions he is employed or connected with.