By Dr. Rodolfo John Ortiz Teope
I’ve long believed that the question of population — its
growth, distribution, and implications — is far more complex than the political
soundbites or development slogans we hear every day. As I navigated the
corridors of policy work, community development, and academic study, I often
encountered people and groups so passionate about population — some in fear,
others in hope — and it became clear that each had their own lens, their own
story. It wasn’t enough for me to know what the data said. I had to understand
the philosophies driving the discourse.
I remember coming across the work of Frank Furedi, who
offered a map of the population debate that mirrored much of what I had been
observing quietly. His classification wasn’t just academic — it felt like a
compass for someone like me, who stood at the crossroads of development,
governance, and human rights. Let me share, through my own reflections, what
these perspectives mean to someone who has walked among policymakers, parents,
priests, and the poor.
The Developmentalist: The Optimist Who Measures Growth in
Smaller Families
There was a time in my earlier public service when I heard
“development” and immediately thought of economic statistics — GDP, per capita
income, industrial zones. I didn’t question then why population was always part
of the conversation. Developmentalists argue that rapid population growth is a
barrier — draining state resources and undermining infrastructure. And I
understand why they feel that way. I’ve seen towns where schools are
overcrowded, where clinics run out of medicine, where water can barely meet the
needs of a growing city.
But I also saw something deeper: the belief that if we could
just modernize — bring more jobs, improve healthcare, upgrade lifestyles —
people would voluntarily choose smaller families. I remember meeting a young
mother in Taguig who told me, “Sir, kung may trabaho lang asawa ko, dalawa lang
sana anak ko.” That’s developmentalism in real life.
The Redistributionist: The Advocate for Social Justice
Later in my career, I found myself working more with NGOs
and grassroots organizers. Their views challenged mine. They didn’t see
population as the enemy — they saw poverty as the root. These were the
redistributionists. Their argument was simple but powerful: people have large
families not because they want to, but because they must. It’s a response to
insecurity — economic, social, even existential.
One woman told me, “Hindi ko alam kung ilang anak ko ang
aabot sa high school. Kaya marami ako.” That stayed with me.
Redistributionists call for education, especially for women,
land reform, and access to reproductive health. They don’t think population
growth causes poverty — they believe the reverse. And the moment I opened my
heart to that truth, I started seeing public policy differently.
The Limited Resources Perspective: Counting the Planet’s
Breath
As I worked with environmental advocates and urban planners,
another view became hard to ignore — the limited resources perspective. Here,
the issue wasn’t about poverty or wealth, but about the Earth itself. Clean
air, fresh water, arable land — these aren’t infinite. And even if we could
feed 100 million Filipinos, could we keep our rivers clean? Could we protect
our forests?
In this view, population isn’t just a demographic issue —
it’s ecological. And in a country as naturally rich but politically fragile as
ours, the concern is real. In Palawan, I once spoke to a community leader who
said, “Bago dumami ang tao rito, punong-puno ng isda ang dagat namin. Ngayon,
wala na.”
I don’t see this perspective as alarmist. I see it as a
sobering reminder that sustainability is not optional — it is survival.
The Socio-Biological Lens: When Fear Shapes Policy
This next perspective troubled me deeply. Socio-biological
arguments take environmentalism to a darker place. They start to talk about
people as polluters — as threats. I remember reading policies in some Western
countries that spoke of “controlling fertility in the global South” with a
coldness that reminded me of colonial manuals.
It made me think: Who gets to decide when a population is
“too much”? I’ve seen how such thinking breeds racism, xenophobia, and cruel
immigration policies. It reduces human lives to numbers, and mothers to
liabilities.
This view is dangerous when left unchecked. Because once we
start believing that the poor reproduce “too much,” we start justifying
eugenics. And history tells us where that road leads.
The People-as-Instability Argument: Fear of the Future
In international summits and geopolitical briefings, I
noticed a new language creeping in — one that linked population growth with
global instability. The logic went like this: “If too many poor people feel
disillusioned and powerless, they will rise up. They will migrate. They will
destabilize our order.”
I saw this after the Cold War, when the West began seeing
the Global South not just as aid recipients but as potential threats. And I
couldn’t help but feel the subtle blame: as if the mere existence of
frustrated, poor, young people was the ticking time bomb.
But I have met these young people. I’ve taught them. I’ve
laughed and cried with them. They are not threats. They are potentials
unrealized — hopes waiting to be activated. If the world fears them, the world
must ask why it has failed them.
Women and Human Rights: The Feminist Truth
This perspective speaks the most to my belief in dignity and
choice. High birth rates, some argue, aren’t just economic or cultural — they
are political. They reflect a denial of women’s rights. I’ve seen this
firsthand. I’ve met teenage girls forced into early marriages. Women who bore
seven children without ever being asked if they wanted to.
When women are empowered — through education, healthcare,
and voice — fertility rates decline naturally. And joyfully. They choose fewer
children, not because they’re afraid or poor, but because they have agency.
I remember a workshop in Nueva Ecija where a young woman
said, “Ngayon lang ako tinanong kung gusto ko pa ng anak.” That one question
symbolized centuries of silence being broken.
The People-as-Problem-Solvers: The Hopeful View
Let me tell you about my grandfather. He was born poor, in a
time when families had ten or more children because survival was uncertain. Yet
he became an educator, a leader, and a father who raised us to think
critically. He was proof that population isn’t always a burden—sometimes it’s
a blessing.
That’s the heart of this final perspective. More people
means more minds, more hands, more creativity. I’ve seen this in community
enterprises where innovation didn’t come from millionaires but from farmers
and fisherfolk solving problems with heart.
This approach reminds us that humans are not just mouths to
feed—they are minds to empower. Investing in their potential could expand the limits of nature through human imagination.
A Final Reflection: Beyond the Numbers
In the end, none of these perspectives fully capture the
complexity of population issues in the Philippines — or anywhere. But taken
together, they form a mosaic. Some views focus on scarcity, others on justice.
Some fear growth, others celebrate it.
I learned that the question is not how many we are, but how well we live and care for each other and the Earth that sustains us.
I remain cautious of policies that reduce people to figures
or treat fertility as a crisis. I advocate for policies that provide people—especially women—choices, access, and dignity. I believe in solving problems
by investing in human potential, not erasing it.
Population growth isn’t a threat. The real threat is
inequality, exclusion, and the stubborn refusal to see people — especially the
poor — as part of the solution.
Let’s not forget: every demographic number we discuss is a
life, a story, a soul.
