Why We Must Stop Calling It ‘Child Pregnancy’

The statistic is cold and clinical: 103 pregnancies were recorded among 10- to 14-year-olds in Western Visayas in 2023, a 21% surge from 2019. But behind the spreadsheet is a horrifying reality underscored by the anecdotal report of a 9-year-old girl in the region who gave birth and later died.

Some will call it a “reproductive health phenomenon.” But this sounds like a crime wave.

Under Republic Act 11648, signed in 2022, the age of sexual consent in the Philippines was raised from 12 to 16. This legal shift changes everything. A 10-year-old, or even a 14-year-old, cannot legally consent. Therefore, these 103 cases in Western Visayas are not just “young mothers”—they are victims of statutory rape.

The conversation must include law enforcement. If 103 children were shot in Iloilo and neighboring provinces, the region would be under a state of emergency. Yet, when 103 children are sexually abused resulting in pregnancy, we discuss it as a medical statistic.

Where are the 103 police reports? Where are the arrests? The Department of Social Welfare and Development (DSWD) and the Philippine National Police (PNP) must treat every prenatal checkup of a 12-year-old not just as a health event, but as evidence of a felony. We are sanitizing sexual abuse by hiding it under the euphemism of “adolescent pregnancy.”

While predators roam free, the law handcuffs the victims. The Responsible Parenthood and Reproductive Health Act (RA 10354) contains a structural flaw that has become a lethal trap: minors cannot access modern family planning services without parental consent.

This provision ignores a dark reality: often, the abuse happens at home, or the negligence of the parents is the very root of the vulnerability. By requiring a 13-year-old to get permission from potentially negligent or abusive guardians to access reproductive health advice or services, the state effectively blocks the exit for the most at-risk children. The law prioritizes “parental authority” over a child’s right to a future, creating a catch-22 where those who need protection the most are legally barred from getting it.

Accountability also falls squarely on the shoulders of the Sangguniang Kabataan (SK). By law, the SK receives 10% of the barangay’s general fund. In a wealthy barangay, this can amount to PHP 500,000 or even PHP 1,000,000 annually.

Commission and Population Development (CPD)-6 Director Harold Alfred Marshal rightly pointed out that the SK has the “influence and resources” to act. Yet, review the spending of a typical SK council. How much is allocated to reproductive health, gender sensitivity, or child protection? And how much is burned on basketball jerseys, “pa-liga” (leagues), and beauty pageants?

The SK Federation Presidents of Iloilo and Western Visayas must answer for this. Every peso spent on a trophy while a 10-year-old gives birth in the same barangay is a dereliction of duty.

Finally, we must abandon the lazy, box-ticking exercise of the “symposium.” Authorities admit these one-off seminars are outdated. A two-hour lecture in a hot gymnasium cannot compete with the 24/7 influence of internet pornography and social media algorithms.

We need a digital-age overhaul. Local Government Units (LGUs) must stop funding ineffective awareness drives and instead invest in Comprehensive Sexuality Education (CSE) that meets children where they are: online. We need parent-targeted cyber-safety education and consistent, curriculum-based interventions – not just a yearly talk.

Iloilo is the epicenter with 49 cases. The province is bleeding its future. We don’t need more statistics. We need convictions, we need legal amendments, and we need leaders who care more about children’s lives than basketball leagues.