Endemic dysfunction in the Philippines’ education system

Class suspensions have once again become a familiar headline, brought by rising cases of illness, relentless rains, and sudden emergencies. In response, the Department of Education (DepEd) urged local government units (LGUs) to exercise balance and prudence in their decisions, emphasizing the need to sustain learning while safeguarding public safety.

“While caution is important, extended suspensions can disrupt learning and affect students’ development. Every decision should reflect both care for safety and commitment to learning continuity,” said DepEd chief media relations officer Dennis Legaspi.

Still, this commitment falters under the strain of recurring crises.

In the face of calamities and surges of emergencies, there lies the fragility of an education system already battling deeper infection. The evident lack of preparation, inequality, and the daily struggle of teachers and students to keep classes going despite constant disruptions. But perhaps these are more than just momentary symptoms.

What if the education system has long caught a flu?

The kind that does not just infect bodies but the very heart of learning itself: compassion and empathy. Like a lingering fever, this ailment has been ignored, managed only with quick fixes and temporary relief.

Breeding ground of symptoms

As the Department of Education continues to progress, reinforce, and revise policies, they seem to ignore the prominent symptoms of failure within the system.

Reports and surveys increasingly show that during crises, students’ mental health takes a backseat. According to the Mental State of the World report by Sapien Labs, the Philippines’ Mental Health Quotient (MHQ) declined from 78.44 in 2023 to 68.76 in 2024, reflecting a significant deterioration in the mental well-being of the population, including students, amid various crises such as natural disasters and public health emergencies. Limited access to counseling, a lack of individualized attention, and an overemphasis on curriculum continuity over well-being highlight a system that struggles to care for the learners themselves. Teachers, too, are stretched thin, navigating unpredictable schedules, inadequate infrastructure, and the emotional toll of trying to reach students who may already feel left behind.

Even when calamities strike, the measures often focus on logistics — rescheduling classes, adjusting syllabus — while the emotional and psychological impact remains largely unaddressed. Students are expected to adapt, but rarely are the limits of adaptation acknowledged. In essence, the system asks much but gives little in return for the human effort it demands.

Win, a 19-year-old student at the University of the Philippines Los Baños (UPLB), experienced these strains firsthand. “It was confusing for me because the administration did not follow the provincial government’s announcement and made its own decision,” he said, referring to UPLB’s declaration to shift learning modalities. While the provincial government had issued guidance on class suspensions and safety measures, the university opted to make an independent decision on which courses would continue online and which would hold face-to-face sessions, leaving students struggling to adjust.

Despite flu outbreaks, earthquakes, floods, typhoons, strikes, and transport disruptions, students and teachers continue their routines. Attendance remains strict, and resilience is often glorified while fatigue is ignored.

“I kind of agreed with the decision to hold face-to-face laboratory classes, since some activities require in-person participation to serve their purpose,” Win explained. “But they should have implemented full face-to-face classes for all courses. Alternating between online lectures and in-person laboratories is frustrating. It is hard to keep up with other courses, especially when not everyone has a stable internet connection, even on campus.”

This alternating setup adds another layer of strain. “After online lectures, I still need to watch the recorded sessions I missed, which should have been my time for a break or studying for other courses. It feels like being taken back to the pandemic era, where keeping up with everything was also a struggle,” he goes on and describes the burden of constantly juggling online and face-to-face classes.

The condition of students really hits more than just a symptom. It is a continuous fight against a virus that seems to have no end, one that affects not only their health but also their ability to focus, adapt, and keep up with the demands of school.

Win emphasized that learning continuity should not rest solely on the university; it is also the government’s responsibility. While the Laguna provincial government considers student safety when suspending classes, its actions sometimes feel more performative than practical. Decisions often lack proper basis, and the plans of action can be disproportionate, such as suspending face-to-face classes for up to three weeks. Instead of acting for appearances, authorities should assess what students are truly experiencing, consult experts, and consider the long-term effects of their decisions.

“Learning continuity cannot be achieved if decisions are made without truly understanding the balance between safety and actual learning,” he added.

Poisoned remedies

What seems to be a shallow administrative dilemma is, in truth, a crisis of empathy, demanding intervention that no memorandum alone can deliver.

An infection that has never been properly diagnosed can never be cured by any number of amendments, especially in a system that refuses to confront the real cause of its sickness. And when empathy is absent, even the most well-written reforms fail to heal what is broken. A sick system can never thrive; it merely learns to survive.

In its attempt at survival, the government continues to prescribe new policies and issue memoranda meant to keep learning afloat. In December 2024, the Department of Education introduced DepEd Order No. 22, s. 2024, revising class suspension and work guidelines. The policy requires every school to prepare a Learning and Service Continuity Plan (LSCP), a blueprint for keeping education running during disasters, health emergencies, and strikes. Schools are now tasked to shift to alternative delivery modes such as modular, blended, and online learning when face-to-face classes are suspended, and to report quarterly on how disruptions are managed.

Other reforms were rolled out in parallel. The ARAL Act (Academic Recovery and Accessible Learning Act) was signed into law, establishing a national learning recovery program that focuses on literacy, numeracy, and science remediation for Grades 1 to 10. DepEd also launched regional efforts such as the deployment of “learning continuity packages”, portable modular classrooms and digital learning kits in disaster-prone provinces, and encouraged the flexible rescheduling of classes, even on weekends, to make up for lost time.

Despite these reforms, learning loss continues to take its toll. A Philippine Institute for Development Studies (PIDS) and EDCOM 2 report revealed that in the 2023-2024 school year alone, students lost up to 53 teaching days, or nearly 30% of the required 180 contact days, due to suspensions and non-instructional tasks. Correspondingly, a recent study showed that frequent disruptions have led to a 12–14% decline in Grade 4 Math and Science scores, an impact equal to losing half to a full year of learning.

While these measures aim to ensure continuity, they remain largely reactive rather than restorative. Many schools in high-risk areas continue to face the same vulnerabilities, including unreliable internet connections, limited access to learning materials, and unsafe facilities that make it difficult to sustain instruction during crises.

And indeed, these shortcomings continue to test students’ endurance in ways that go past academics.

Abi, 18, from a university in Cavite, recalled how last month’s series of typhoons disrupted their classes and exposed the gaps in school preparedness. “It really took a toll on us,” she said. “I remember one time when the rain was pouring so hard, and I kept waiting for an announcement about class suspension, but it never came. I had no choice but to go to school despite the heavy rain. Inside the classroom, some of the jalousies were missing, so the windows were wide open.

The rain kept splashing on us while we tried to continue our lesson. It was frustrating and honestly made me realize how much we need schools to step up and support students better during times like that.”

Situations like these are the consequences of an unjust system that refuses to heal itself. Instead of building immunity through foresight and compassion, it waits until the fever returns before reaching for another instant remedy. Year after year, the same symptoms resurface — reactive policies, unprepared institutions, exhausted students and teachers — because prevention was never part of the cure. In the end, the system survives, but it never truly recovers.

How long must we endure the same affliction before we call it by its name? Perhaps we have become too accustomed to the dysfunction, mistaking survival for progress.

Chronic diagnosis

Before we completely grow immune to the dysfunction, we must confront the sickness we have long mistaken for normalcy. Healing can never begin without the humility to recognize the problems we face annually. These issues can no longer be dismissed as simple administrative lapses, for they have already become chronic symptoms of neglect.

Voices must rise beyond mere criticism; they must persist in identifying what truly ails the system until genuine recovery becomes possible. Real change requires more than just rewriting policies or issuing memoranda. It demands listening to those who live through the consequences every day. Students and teachers, who carry the burden of every suspension, disruption, and failed reform, know best where the pain lies. Their experiences should guide the remedies, for no healing can happen without understanding their reality. After all, a system must be examined not just to name its illness, but to finally understand why it has caught the flu in the first place.

And until then, commitment must endure, until healing is no longer delayed but deliberately pursued.