Where Compassion Begins

 

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Malakip an iban!

Lately, social media has become a cacophony of voices talking about mental health, sparked by the tragic news of Emman Atienza’s passing. Timelines are flooded with messages of sympathy, calls for kindness, and campaigns urging compassion for those battling anxiety and depression. Yet, amid this chorus of empathy, quiet contradictions drift beneath the surface: voices that speak of compassion, but hearts that falter when it is most needed.

You see, mental health is not confined to cases of depression that lead to self-harm. It also encompasses other conditions, often overlooked, where individuals struggle with psychological disorders that may cause them to harm others.

When we talk about mental health, we often picture depression or self-harm, but the reality is broader and more complex. Some psychological conditions, such as untreated personality disorders, unresolved trauma, or chronic stress, can manifest in behaviors that hurt others, not always through physical aggression but through emotional harm, manipulation, or insensitivity. Research shows that disorders like narcissistic, borderline, or antisocial personality patterns can lead individuals to act in ways that damage relationships and emotional well-being (American Psychiatric Association, 2022; Campbell & Miller, 2011). Still, it is essential to remember that most people with mental health conditions are not violent; harmful behaviors arise when psychological issues remain unacknowledged or untreated.

Yes, we often extend compassion to those who suffer in silence, but what about those who choose to inflict pain loudly and deliberately? What about the people who insult others in public spaces, or the leaders who oppress because they’re intoxicated by their own power? What about those who refuse to listen, who dismiss feedback, and continue to wound others just to satisfy their pride? How do we respond to them? What kind of compassion do they deserve?

When someone is told they exhibit such behaviors and simply shrug it off with, “That’s just who I am,” it shows a lack of self-reflection and perhaps even self-awareness. Denial, when left unchecked, becomes a cycle; and when that cycle persists, so does the madness.

According to Goleman (2006), self-awareness is the foundation of emotional growth, it allows individuals to recognize how their actions affect others. When people remain in denial, they create a psychological barrier that prevents change and reinforces dysfunctional patterns (Vaillant, 1992). Without reflection, this cycle of denial and defensiveness can harden into behavior that harms both themselves and those around them.

A superiority complex is, in many ways, a mental health concern, but it’s rarely talked about. Society often normalizes it, especially when displayed by those in positions of power. This mindset often evolves into something more systemic, seen not just in individuals but in institutions where authority feeds delusion. We tend to accept that some leaders or government officials are entitled to act that way, as if arrogance were part of authority. Recent studies even suggest that corruption among some congressmen, contractors, and officials within agencies like the DPWH persists not merely because of greed, but because people have learned to tolerate it (Acemoglu & Robinson, 2019). When entitlement goes unchallenged, it becomes a cycle sustained by silence.

Yes, we extend compassion to those who are struggling with depression, but accountability must also be part of the conversation. We must not remain silent toward those who misuse their power and cause harm to others, individuals whose unresolved psychological issues manifest as oppression or emotional abuse. Those in authority (like those with excessive greed) bear an even greater responsibility for their own mental wellness, for their actions affect not only themselves but the people they lead. When they refuse to acknowledge their behavior or seek help, society’s role is to raise awareness, not to ridicule, but to confront such dysfunction so they may regain clarity and seek professional intervention.

In the end, we also have the right to protect our own peace: to guard our mental well-being from those who threaten it, don’t we?

When Will We Ever Learn?

 

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Unoy pa gajod mahitabo para maleksyon…

There’s a saying that goes, learn from your mistakes. It sounds simple enough, but not everyone is wired to take that route. It takes a certain level of self-awareness, and perhaps a measure of humility, to pause and say, maybe I was wrong.

But that’s not how it works for everyone. Take those who often struggle with self-reflection, for instance. They seldom consider that the mistake might be their own, finding it easier to place the blame elsewhere. Such a mindset makes learning more difficult, and the repetition of the same lesson almost inevitable.

Research suggests that self-reflection and emotional regulation are key components in learning from failure, yet not all personalities are inclined toward such introspection. Some individuals with a heightened sense of self-focus, for example, tend to externalize blame and struggle to acknowledge their own faults, making it difficult for them to benefit from personal setbacks (Miller, Campbell, & Pilkonis, 2007). This resistance to accountability can hinder growth and perpetuate the same errors over time.

When a person does not acknowledge a higher or divine presence, much like those who rely solely on their perceived control, they often fail to grasp the idea of divine or external interventions. Instead of recognizing a force greater than themselves, they anchor their confidence on their own superiority. Even in cultures steeped in beliefs of karma or moral balance, such individuals may still dismiss these concepts. Their sense of entitlement and self-righteousness overrides any openness to the idea that consequences may stem from forces beyond their own making.

As a result, they fail to see their mistakes or negative experiences as potential signs: whether divine warnings or the universe’s quiet response to the energy they project. Instead of viewing setbacks as meaningful reflections of their actions, they often dismiss them as mere coincidences or the fault of others.

So, when does a person ever truly learn? Must one encounter even more disastrous experiences before pausing to reflect, questioning whether these events are warnings or consequences? Or will they continue to dwell in the illusion of being all-knowing, resistant to insight and untouched by humility?

Ultimately, growth depends on a person’s ability to step back and question their own assumptions. When someone consistently dismisses their role in setbacks or avoids the idea that there might be something to learn from difficult experiences, change becomes unlikely. It’s not always about divine warnings or cosmic balance, but sometimes, paying attention to patterns and outcomes is what quietly pushes a person forward.

The true test is not in what happens around us, but in whether we choose to notice, or must we again await something grander, harsher, or more devastating to remind us of the quiet wisdom humility has always sought to impart?

Perhaps humility has never been absent, only unheard beneath the noise of our own pride. When we finally choose to listen, not through grand events or painful reckonings but through the quiet rhythm of everyday life, we rediscover what it means to be human: to see, to feel, and to be grateful for even the smallest truths that call us back to grace.

 

When We Are Shaken

 

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Hujong pati an kayag!

When the earth shook, we were reminded of how fragile our sense of control truly is. In that fleeting moment, all that seemed certain was swept away, and we found ourselves clinging to the divine. Some called out to God in fear, others in quiet surrender, but all were united by the same yearning for safety and grace.

Cristina Chi of The Philippine Star reported that a magnitude 7.5 earthquake struck off the coast of Davao Oriental at around 9:43 a.m. on October 10, triggering tsunami warnings and widespread alarm across Mindanao. Initially recorded at magnitude 7.6 before being later revised, the powerful tremor’s epicenter was located offshore near the municipality of Manay and was strongly felt in several parts of Mindanao and neighboring regions.

We were on the fourth floor of a hotel for an educational engagement when the tremor struck. I calmly instructed the participants to follow the safety procedures we had long practiced during earthquake drills, yet many instinctively ran for safety in panic. As I took cover under a table, I silently prayed for the shaking to stop. The thirty seconds felt much longer: intense, disorienting, and deeply unsettling. When it was over, several of my companions were visibly shaken, some even traumatized by the experience.

Later, as emotions poured out on social media, mixed with humor, fear, and even a flood of memes, I found myself reflecting on our collective response. Have we become so desensitized that even calamity becomes a subject of entertainment? In moments like this, I wonder if we are gradually losing our empathy and evolving into an indifferent species.

Natural disasters often expose both our vulnerability and our humanity. In moments of crisis, such as during an earthquake, individuals respond with instinctive fear or calm composure depending on their sense of preparedness and meaning making (Becker et al., 2017; Lindell & Perry, 2012). Yet, as emotions spill over into social media, reactions can shift from empathy to detachment, where humor and memes blur the line between coping and desensitization (Vasterman et al., 2005). This raises moral questions about our collective sensitivity and compassion in a digital age that easily turns tragedy into spectacle (Bloom, 2016; Zaki, 2020).

The calamities we experience in the Philippines continually remind us of our shared vulnerability and our enduring humanity. They compel us to take precautions and to care not only for ourselves but also for those around us. In moments like these, our priorities are realigned toward what truly matters. Material possessions may fade or be lost, but the kindness we extend and the relationships we nurture endure. Ultimately, the meaning of our existence is not measured by what we accumulate, but by how deeply and selflessly we serve others.

Those who fear the most are often those deeply attached to their possessions. Their anxiety stems from the thought that everything they have worked hard for, their homes, cars, and material investments, could vanish in an instant, reduced to rubble. The greater the attachment, the deeper the fear. When our sense of security is anchored on what we own, we become vulnerable to losing peace of mind the moment these things are threatened.

The tremors we experienced remind us to remain humble and grounded. They teach us to focus on what truly matters, rather than investing our emotions in things that are fleeting. In the face of uncertainty, we are called to place greater value on what endures: genuine relationships, acts of kindness, love for the environment, and respect for others. These are the foundations that sustain us when everything else begins to shake.

In the end, every tremor reminds us that nothing in this world is permanent, except the strength of a humble heart and the goodness we share with others.

When One Ignores Resistance

 

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Magbantay lamang kay bas mahitukyod!

Resistance exists everywhere, especially when individuals are placed in uncomfortable situations brought about by natural phenomena, imposed by leaders, or enforced by institutions.

At its core, resistance is a human response to power and control. Foucault (1978) argues that where there is power, there is also resistance, suggesting that opposition is a natural counterbalance within any social system. Similarly, Scott (1985) explains that even ordinary individuals find ways to resist authority, whether through open protest or subtle acts of defiance. Institutions, such as schools or governments, often establish rules that may not always align with the values or comfort of the people, which in turn can spark resistance (Giroux, 2011).

Leaders of institutions or even small organizations must recognize this phenomenon, not to simply yield to the whims and demands of their members, but to genuinely consider the well-being of the people they serve. Neglecting this responsibility may drive individuals to express their discontent in various forms of resistance, ultimately placing leaders at risk of being displaced.

Recent national events reveal visible forms of resistance, such as rallies, protests, and walkouts from schools and government offices. These actions stem from widespread frustration over blatant corruption, systemic oppression, and the deep social inequalities perpetuated by politicians, political dynasties, and even contractors and engineers who allegedly misuse public funds for personal comfort.

Such collective actions reflect how citizens challenge systems of power that appear to favor the elite while disregarding the needs of ordinary people. Tarrow (2011) notes that collective action often arises when inequalities become too visible to ignore, while Scott (1990) emphasizes that resistance can be both overt, like protests, and covert, through everyday acts of defiance. In the Philippine context, Abinales and Amoroso (2017) highlight how corruption and patronage politics have long fueled public dissent, showing that resistance is deeply rooted in the struggle for fairness and accountability.

The lesson for any individual, especially those in management and leadership roles, is to embrace a leadership style rooted in genuine care rather than being driven by selfish intentions born of unchecked desires or psychological deficits. Leaders must cultivate self-awareness and ensure that equality and fairness are consistently upheld within their organizations, creating environments where people feel valued and respected.

Otherwise, resistance will become increasingly difficult to address and may manifest in ways that undermine organizational stability and harmony.

Ultimately, resistance is not merely an obstacle but a signal, a reminder for leaders to ground their actions in care, fairness, and self-awareness. When leadership fails to honor the dignity and well-being of people, resistance becomes inevitable; but when it succeeds, it transforms potential conflict into collective strength.

The Garbage of Madmen

 

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Sila an malipa!

“Garbage.” This was the chilling term the bagman used to describe the millions of people’s money stuffed into luggage: funds intended for public welfare but instead funneled into the pockets of greedy politicians who shamelessly demanded their cuts from government projects, as though the nation’s coffers were their personal property.

Marc Jayson Cayabyab of The Philippine Star reported that a Senate Blue Ribbon hearing saw former Marine Master Sergeant Orly Regala Guteza testify he had delivered 46 Rimowa suitcases, each containing ₱48 million, to the residences of Ako Bicol Rep. Zaldy Co and then House Speaker Martin Romualdez. Introduced by Sen. Rodante Marcoleta, who at times seemed to guide him through his affidavit, Guteza described the cash as “basura,” or contraband, alleging it came from illegal kickbacks in flood control projects.

The Rimowa suitcase, a symbol of luxury and affluence, became the unlikely vessel for illicit millions. Its polished image stood in stark contrast to the contents it carried, cash dismissed as “garbage.” This jarring juxtaposition exposes the moral bankruptcy of corruption, where public wealth is both flaunted through luxury and demeaned as worthless contraband.

From here, the contrast becomes even more painful: the haunting images of the poor, submerged in floodwaters, some losing their lives to the calamity itself, others to the diseases it inevitably brings. And yet, to greedy politicians and complicit government workers, such suffering seems to mean nothing. Do they see these people too as mere “garbage,” collateral damage in the service of their insatiable greed?

Psychology offers a disturbing lens for such behavior. Psychopathy is recognized as a personality disorder marked by a lack of empathy, remorse, and concern for the suffering of others (Hare, 1999). In the context of systemic corruption, where greed overpowers moral responsibility and the well-being of others is disregarded, one cannot help but ask: what form of collective insanity does such behavior reveal?

Bandura’s (1999) theory of moral disengagement provides one answer, explaining how individuals rationalize unethical conduct by minimizing harm, displacing responsibility, or dehumanizing victims. When such mechanisms are normalized within institutions, corruption becomes embedded in organizational culture, numbing moral sensibilities on a societal scale.

Similarly, Sykes and Matza’s (1957) techniques of neutralization shed light on how perpetrators of corruption justify their actions: through denial of injury (“everyone does it”), denial of victim (“the government has plenty of money”), or appeal to higher loyalties (“I must serve my political allies”). These rationalizations allow systemic greed to thrive while silencing guilt.

Taken together, these perspectives suggest that the “collective insanity” of corruption is not necessarily a psychiatric disorder but rather a social pathology, an entrenched moral dysfunction that operates through shared rationalizations, structural impunity, and the normalization of greed. It demonstrates how systemic corruption corrodes not only governance but also the ethical foundations of society.

Thus, when those in authority begin to see others as mere “garbage,” their moral decay deepens into a kind of collective insanity, where humanity is stripped away, and greed becomes the only logic that governs their actions.

Systemic corruption, then, reflects a kind of collective derangement: a pathological fixation on greed that legitimizes harm to others as collateral. This normalization of harm, carried out in the name of power and wealth, makes corruption resemble a society-wide form of madness.

Look closely at the actions of some of our leaders: they vehemently deny their own greed, shift blame onto scapegoats, and strip themselves of any sense of guilt. In doing so, they exhibit a dangerous form of insanity, one that not only corrodes the moral fabric of society but also carries within it the seeds of their own eventual destruction.

In the end, it is they who embody the real garbage: the corrupt and the greedy, not the people whose lives they exploit and demean.

Of Greed, Insanity and Upheaval

 

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Maniid lamang ta.

What becomes of an organization when its leader struggles with mental challenges? If psychological issues remain unaddressed, how might they cascade downward, influencing the very people under their management? Such a scenario poses a profound difficulty—one that can disrupt not only team dynamics but also the overall performance and well-being of the organization.

In the same way, what becomes of a nation when its leaders are consumed by a sickness of the mind—where greed corrodes their values and integrity? Even when their corruption is laid bare, they persist, striving to normalize greed as though it were an acceptable standard. Such moral decay not only undermines governance but also erodes the ethical foundations upon which a country’s future depends.

This concern is not merely theoretical. Cristina Chi of The Philippine Star reported that thousands are expected to gather on Sunday, September 21, at Luneta and the EDSA People Power Monument for rallies denouncing corruption in flood-control projects. These demonstrations coincide with the 53rd anniversary of Ferdinand Marcos Sr.’s 1972 declaration of martial law, a date long remembered by activists as a time of dictatorship abuses and resistance against authoritarian rule. Organizers of the “Baha Sa Luneta” protest — composed of students and groups such as the Campaign Against the Return of the Marcoses and Martial Law — emphasize that their call is not only to condemn present-day corruption but also to prevent the repetition of past deceptions, abuses, and plunder.

To a discerning observer, such developments may evoke parallels with Nepal, where members of Generation Z, disillusioned by systemic corruption, resorted to violence and stripped public officials of their dignity. The unchecked greed of leaders appeared to seep into the consciousness of the youth, who, overwhelmed by a government they could no longer endure, erupted in fury and chaos.

This raises a critical question: Why do leaders succumb to excessive greed? Is it the intoxication of power, the erosion of moral restraint, or the false belief that wealth and influence can shield them from accountability? Whatever the cause, unchecked avarice not only corrodes their integrity but also imperils the very society they are sworn to serve.

Research supports this concern. When accountability mechanisms are fragile, leaders are more likely to rationalize self-serving behaviors at the expense of public welfare (Kipnis, 2013). Moreover, systemic corruption perpetuates greed by normalizing unethical conduct, creating a cycle difficult to break (Transparency International, 2023). As Collier (2017) argues, unchecked greed in governance erodes public trust and undermines democratic institutions, paving the way for political instability.

The youth, in particular, often respond when they perceive that the social contract has been broken—when corruption, greed, or abuse of power makes the future appear bleak and unlivable. History demonstrates that younger generations, driven by justice and idealism, are quick to challenge oppressive systems once they conclude that institutions no longer serve the public good (Inglehart & Welzel, 2005). Their dissent emerges not merely from anger, but also from frustration at being silenced and from the urgency to reclaim a future stolen by systemic failures (Feixa et al., 2019). In this sense, youthful revolt becomes both a cry of protest and an act of hope.

Against this backdrop, the Philippine situation cannot be taken lightly. Amid corruption controversies, where public officials are increasingly scrutinized for exploiting resources at the expense of citizens, the possibility of mass outrage cannot be discounted. Comparable incidents have already unfolded in Nepal, where Finance Minister Bishnu Prasad Paudel was forcibly stripped and driven into a river by protesters during youth-led demonstrations against government misconduct (Gulf News, 2025).

Such episodes illustrate how deep frustration with systemic corruption can escalate into acts of public humiliation and unrest, underscoring the urgency of addressing governance failures before they ignite social upheaval.

The president, whose father was once toppled by a People Power uprising, must therefore reflect more deeply. History has a way of repeating itself when its lessons are ignored, and when leaders allow greed and corruption to poison the foundations of governance, the people will inevitably reclaim their voice.

Like Hitler

 

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Mabuang tungod sa kahakog.

The Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines (CBCP) issued a pastoral letter that was read in churches during the celebration of the Feast of the Exaltation of the Cross. The message directly confronted the pervasive corruption in flood-control projects, framing it not only as a political and economic scandal but also as a profound moral crisis.

Among the bishops’ urgent appeals was the need to guide the youth toward integrity and ethical discernment, reminding the faithful that the moral compass must be nurtured early. The letter even referenced the well-known book All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten by Robert Fulghum, underscoring a timeless lesson: Do not take what is not yours.

Yet how can this lesson take root when many adults themselves are preoccupied with amassing wealth, not merely to flaunt it, but to compensate for unmet childhood needs? Research in developmental psychology suggests that early deprivation or unfulfilled emotional experiences can manifest in adulthood as compulsive accumulation of material possessions, often mistaken for success or self-worth (Kasser, 2016). This dynamic reinforces a culture where unethical practices, including corruption, become normalized, as adults rationalize their actions as pursuits of security or validation (Deci & Ryan, 2017). When the older generation models such distorted values, the moral formation of the young is inevitably compromised, making education in integrity and responsibility even more urgent.

But beyond the wounds of deprivation, how do we explain the persistence of corruption among leaders who were born into privilege and abundance? Is it sheer greed, an insatiable hunger for power, or the intoxication of dominance that no amount of wealth can satisfy? Left unchecked, these impulses and unprocessed appetites for control can spiral into a form of madness: akin to what ultimately consumed Hitler.

Unresolved childhood needs, when carried into adulthood without proper integration, can give rise to maladaptive behaviors that border on irrationality. From a psychodynamic perspective, Freud (1920) argued that repressed frustrations often resurface through destructive drives, distorting an individual’s relationship with reality. Similarly, Adler’s theory of inferiority and compensation suggests that unaddressed feelings of inadequacy may propel individuals toward excessive displays of dominance and control, sometimes escalating into pathological expressions of power (Adler, 1956). When such needs remain unprocessed, they may manifest as compulsive greed or authoritarian tendencies, paralleling the psychological descent into instability, or even insanity.

What is needed, therefore, is for adults to cultivate deeper self-awareness and a sense of alignment with the greater good. Without such grounding, destructive behaviors may appear as mere indulgence, when in truth they reveal an unrecognized struggle within.

The bishops’ call to awaken the younger generation to the evils of corruption may otherwise prove ineffective if societal patterns remain unchanged. Their plea resounds with urgency: unless adults themselves embody integrity, any effort to teach the youth will falter.

As Robert Fulghum reminded us in All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten, the most enduring moral lesson is strikingly simple: do not take what is not yours. The future of the next generation may well depend on whether we finally live by that truth.