"This pandemic will pass but our desire to educate will not."
By Kristine Rose F. Estropigan
Education in the Philippines has always been on a face-to-face basis. Educators traversed mountains and hills and crossed bodies of water. They were hailed heroes for their efforts to teach kids in far-flung places most Filipinos never even heard of. Meanwhile, kids walked long distances to school, not minding the heat of the sun or their growling stomachs, just to get an education.
Teenagers left their secure homes to get college degrees in universities miles away from home.
Indeed, we Filipinos put so much value on education.
It has always been this way—until the COVID-19 pandemic came to our shores.
Home schooling has been associated by many to parents with better economic standing. They are often thought to have more than sufficient resources to have a room dedicated to online classes, buy books and school supplies, do arts and crafts as well as experiments, and enrol their kids in other extra curricular activities.
Distance learning, on the other hand, was more prevalent among working professionals seeking to attain higher education with the aim to boost their competence in their particular field.
But the pandemic came, and all of a sudden many images of school are now gone: Jampacked classrooms. Blackboards. Canteen. Teacher on the platform. Students on their seats. Backpacks with books. Homework. Group project. Flag ceremony. School uniforms.
No one was prepared. Not the student. Not the parents. Not the teachers. Not the country’s educational system.
The solution was to educate the children at home. This sounds easy, but in reality, it is not.
Distance is no longer an issue now. Students could learn anywhere in the country without the need to go to classrooms. Teachers need not go to barrios to conduct classes. Right? Wrong.
Not everyone could ace this “new normal” way of learning. One, because people learn differently. Some learn through reading, others through listening, others through doing, etc. To emphasize it further we have seven learning styles: Visual, aural, verbal, physical, logical, social and solitary. A cookie-cutter approach may not be for everyone.
Two, not every parent or elder at home may be fully equipped to teach a student. Some parents may have several kids to teach at one time. Some parents may lack the knowledge on the subject matter. Most are working to provide for their families.
Three, not everyone has access to technology. Not everyone can afford a computer, a tablet nor an internet connection. Some may be in remote areas where these technologies may be even unheard of. Food on the table would be the top priority.
This is why, despite our struggles in this “new normal,” it is with a grateful heart that we honor the student’s parents and elders who are doing their best to teach them patiently. We also honor the students who, though they may have different learning styles, are trying their best to accomplish modules and/or learn online. It is with a grateful yet heavy heart that we acknowledge that as educators, we can only do so much. We can assist parents and students—but not on a daily basis as this pandemic still lurks.
Surely this pandemic will pass but our desire to educate, our aspirations for our dear students, will not.
Someday, these empty classrooms will be full and lively again. Someday, we will be singing our national anthem with our students again. And when that day comes, we will all look back and say we have overcome this crisis together—parents, elders, students and teachers.
For now, though the road to learning is tough, let us fight together for our youth’s education. Fighting for their education means fighting for our future.
Kristine Rose F. Estropigan is an elementary school teacher from Gubat, Sorsogon..