What We Normalize They Will Become
In the quiet spaces where laughter should echo, in school corridors, neighborhood streets, the soft corners of adolescence, silence has fallen heavy once again. The recent shooting incident in Tacloban involving two students is not just another headline. It is a wound. And like many wounds in this country, it did not begin where the blood was spilled.
It began long before the gun was held.
We often ask, “What went wrong?” But perhaps the more uncomfortable question is: “Where did they learn this?”
Children are not born with violence in their hands. They do not enter this world carrying anger sharp enough to wound, nor hearts hardened enough to justify it. They arrive soft, trusting, and unknowing. But they watch. They listen. They absorb everything placed before them. They learn not just from what we say, but from what we do, from what we tolerate, from what we excuse. And more often than not, the lessons that stay are the ones taught by the very people they are told to look up to.
In a society where harsh words are casually thrown like stones, where cursing, insults, and verbal aggression have become normalized in homes, streets, and even public discourse, violence does not always start with weapons. It starts with language. With the way we speak. With the way we treat one another.
And then it escalates.
For years, the Philippines has wrestled with a culture where violence is not just present. It is, at times, tolerated, even glorified. The era of extrajudicial killings (EJKs) left more than bodies in its wake. It left a dangerous narrative that force is justice, that power lies in dominance, and that fear is a tool for order.
What do children see when they grow up in this environment?
They see adults cheering for brutality. They hear leaders justify harm. They watch as wrongdoing is excused when done by those in power.
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And slowly, quietly, something shifts within them.
The wrong becomes right.
When elders curse, children learn that disrespect is acceptable. When adults resolve conflict with aggression, children believe that violence is strength. When society idolizes figures who embody intimidation rather than integrity, children begin to admire the very traits that destroy communities.
So when a young hand pulls a trigger, we are witnessing not just an isolated act but a reflection. A mirror held up to a nation that must confront what it has allowed to take root.
This is not about blaming children. It is about accountability. Ours accountability.
Because every careless word, every normalized act of aggression, every moment we choose silence over correction contributes to the environment that shapes them.
We cannot keep mourning tragedies while nurturing the conditions that create them.
We cannot condemn violence in our youth while excusing it in our leaders, our neighbors, or even ourselves.
The tragedy in Tacloban is not just a call for justice. It is a painful reckoning that demands reflection, accountability, and an honest confrontation with the kind of society we have allowed to take shape. We cannot preach one thing and show them another. We cannot speak of peace while normalizing violence, or demand respect while modeling disregard for life and dignity. Every contradiction we live becomes a lesson they inherit until our words lose meaning, and only our actions remain as truth.
What kind of examples are we setting?
What kind of heroes are we lifting?
What kind of language are we normalizing?
If we want children to choose peace, we must show them what it looks like. If we want them to value life, we must demonstrate that value in our actions, our words, and our systems.
Because at the end of the day, children do not just inherit our world.
They inherit our behavior.
And unless we change what they see, we will continue to see tragedies like this again and again, each one breaking us, each one asking the same question we have yet to answer: When will we finally learn?
