‘This month, as we celebrate both youth and history, we are reminded of a difficult truth: reform is fragile, democracy is unfinished, and trust is perishable.’
THE recent controversy involving Pasig City Mayor Vico Sotto, Sara Discaya and seasoned journalists has stirred intense debates online, but beneath the noise lies a deeper question: how fragile is reform in a country still struggling to believe in change? This is not simply about defending reputations or settling accusations; it is about confronting the uneasy reality that trust, once fractured, is painfully difficult to restore.
August gives us an opportunity to reflect on this, for it carries a symbolic weight: it is both History Month and Youth Month. At first glance, the overlap seems coincidental, but perhaps it is not. There is wisdom in binding the two together, for youth and history are inseparably linked. The young inherit the past, but they also reshape it. Every generation takes what it receives, its stories, its scars, its unfulfilled dreams and decides whether to repeat it, reject it, or redefine it. This is what makes the current moment significant.
The events unfolding in Pasig are not isolated. They are part of a larger narrative: the enduring tension between reform and resistance.
Real reform is rarely linear. It is fragile, complicated, and messy.
It begins with vision but collides with systems designed to resist change. It thrives on trust but can be undone by suspicion, whether warranted or not. Mayor Vico represents a promise of new governance, but promises exist within ecosystems vulnerable to forces beyond one person’s control: longstanding networks, hidden industries, and the powerful interests that operate quietly behind the scenes. And that is where the controversy becomes instructive.
Even when allegations remain unproven, they expose something essential about our institutions: that corruption or the perception of it often lives in the places we least expect. It hides not just in government offices but in contracts, industries, and business interests that appear distant from politics but are deeply intertwined with it. In this way, reform is like our flood control systems: its weaknesses remain invisible until the storm arrives, and suddenly the cracks widen, exposing what we failed to see.
But this column is not merely about distrust; it is also about responsibility. And in this moment, no one carries more of it than the youth.
For young Filipinos, social media is both a weapon and a battlefield.
Information spreads instantly, but so do half-truths, misinterpretations, and deliberate manipulations. Narratives evolve in real-time, often long before facts are verified. In such a climate, the youth cannot afford to be passive consumers of outrage. They must learn to navigate complexity, to question, to verify, to resist being swept away by orchestrated narratives designed to divide rather than enlighten.
History reminds us that youth movements have always shaped turning points. Bonifacio, Jacinto, and the Katipuneros were barely in their twenties when they reimagined freedom. Rizal himself was around 26 when Noli Me Tangere awakened a nation. The First Quarter Storm protesters were students when they demanded justice. The EDSA generation, too, was young when they toppled a dictatorship. Time and again, it has been the youth who carried the weight of transformation.
Yet today’s challenge is different.
This generation wields unprecedented power through its digital voice, but power without discernment can become chaos. Passion is no longer enough; clarity, restraint, and critical thinking are equally vital.
The youth must refuse to become pawns in narratives engineered by vested interests. At the same time, they must guard against cynicism, the quiet surrender that believes nothing can ever change and thus excuses inaction. And here is where history and youth converge: history is not meant to be worshiped; it is meant to be interrogated.
It is a mirror, showing us where we’ve stumbled and where we’ve risen.
It reminds us that systems are not permanent, that power is not absolute, and that progress is rarely comfortable. But history also warns us: when we fail to learn its lessons, we are condemned to repeat them, dressed in different names, different scandals, and different headlines.
This month, as we celebrate both youth and history, we are reminded of a difficult truth: reform is fragile, democracy is unfinished, and trust is perishable. This is why controversies, whether in Pasig or elsewhere, matter. They are not only about the individuals involved but about the systems we allow, the accountability we demand, and the narratives we choose to believe.
For the youth, this is not a passive inheritance. It is an active responsibility. To shape the future, they must confront the present with courage and clarity. They must read beyond headlines, question beyond accusations, and remember that institutions endure only when trust is guarded with vigilance. Because history will remember more than the controversies. It will remember how this generation responded, with division or dialogue, with apathy or action, with cynicism or hope. And when the future asks who we were in these uncertain times, may the youth stand and answer: we were the generation that refused to inherit history blindly, because we chose, instead, to write it. And perhaps, most urgently, it is about reminding ourselves that change, no matter how celebrated, is always fragile. It must be protected not only by those who lead, but by those who watch, question, and hold power accountable, even when it is uncomfortable.
