*Rodolfo John Ortiz Teope, Ph.D, EdD, DM, DES
We often hear it said: Filipinos are among the toughest
people on Earth. We can laugh when things are at their worst, find humor in the
most dire situations, and still manage a smile when everything goes wrong. It's
true. Even though we live in one of the most disaster-prone countries with
constant economic struggles, we were once named among the happiest nations by
TIME Magazine and other international news agencies. You've seen the photos:
people affected by floods, smiling as they wade through chest-deep water, or
sharing a beer amidst their destroyed homes. We admire this "cheerful
disobedience," even romanticize it. But for a long time now, I've been
asking myself, what are we really going through?
Back in 2009, I wrote an essay, “My Mindset Thru My Mindscape,”
about being able to feel both happiness and pain at the same time. Then, I was
looking at it as a scholar, a social observer. But my views have changed a lot
over the years. My work as an educator with multiple doctorates, a public
servant, an international development official, and an advocate for mental
health and national transformation has given me a different perspective.
My own life shows this struggle between strength and hidden
pain. I didn't grow up rich, but our family cannot be considered poor, having a
retired general-ranked father and a businesswoman mother. My early years were
shaped by instability, rejection, and bullying. Constantly changing elementary schools
meant many kids either didn't understand me or made fun of me. But I chose to
rise above my circumstances, not give in. With the help of my education, my
faith, and a purpose bigger than myself, I pushed forward. I started as a
student activist and a community organizer and became an educator, a municipal
councilor, a radical media commentator, a national policymaker, a political
strategist, intelligence analyst, a public safety specialist, and eventually an
academic leader. Each step not only proved my resilience but also forced me to
face the suffering I had buried for so long.
As I served our communities, I saw the same patterns in our
people. The tiis (endurance), kimkim (suppression), and pagpapanggap na masaya
(pretending to be joyful) I experienced, I found echoing in the communities I
worked with. Even if it's part of our culture, this cheerful mask takes a toll.
At wakes, grief is often turned into laughter. Broken hearts
are drowned out by videoke. "Bahala na" becomes an easy "don't
worry about it." Children who've lived through floods and wars are told to
"be brave," but rarely taught how to deal with their emotions. Women
are more likely to stay silent in the face of abuse, men choose to drink away
their shame, and older folks only speak in metaphors when discussing loss. When
someone finally breaks down and hurts others, society calls it
"madness," not "accumulated silence."
Working as a policy consultant for national government agencies and organizations, and later as a presidential consultant and special envoy, I saw countless times
how people tried to hide their mental and emotional struggles behind a brave
front. Poverty isn't just about not having enough money; it's also the
exhaustion of trying to keep smiling through intense stress, unhealed trauma, and
deep social inequality.
And there's even a language for this internalization. Words
like dalamhati (deep anguish), bangungot (fatal nightmares), and nerbyos
(nervous breakdowns) are uniquely Filipino and show just how much we try to
hide our feelings. Not talking about your loss can even lead to physical
symptoms like fatigue, insomnia, and stomach pain. Doctors might call it
"functional illness," but in reality, it's emotional weight showing
itself physically.
It's crucial that we stop creating this perception of silent
suffering.
I want to see more comprehensive public policies that
connect mental health, poverty, and violence. I've studied law enforcement at
the Federal Bureau of Investigation and helped shape our national peace and
order frameworks. I developed PROSAFE in 2001 (Promotion of Safety Against Fire
Emergencies), the SET Approach in 2003 (Scanning the Environment Tool Approach, foundational for public safety doctrines and police procedures), and
in March 2022, ADORE (Anti-Drugs Operation through Reinforcement and
Education), my plan to end illegal drug use through the 8 E’s, which the
President praised in his 2024 State of the Nation Address. The core idea behind
this approach is that healing starts in the mind, not just on the streets—and
more frameworks in my brain are still in progress.
We need to redefine "real resilience." It doesn't
mean pretending everything is okay or smiling despite your misery. True
resilience is about facing suffering, being honest about your sorrow, grieving
authentically, and then getting back up again—not with a fake smile, but with
genuine strength.
Our government needs to offer more than just financial aid.
They should help people recover from trauma, get therapy, feel proud of their
culture, and regain their dignity. Our nation needs leaders who understand that
public policy must touch both the mind and the heart. And we need educators who
don't just teach kids to pass tests but also how to cope with loss, worry, and
uncertainty in a way that builds emotional resilience.
As a policy consultant of public and private institutions as
well as president of an international university based in Delaware, USA, and
director-general of an international non-profit organization for sustainable
development supported by the United Nations, I'm committed to bringing about
these fundamental shifts in human development, education, government, and
international policy. I firmly believe that a progressive, responsible, and organized democracy can emerge when individuals receive not just sustenance but also hearing and healing. This can happen.
I believe that every Filipino has the same potential to find their voice and change their path, just as I, a shy and timid child from a complicated home, found mine.
It is essential that we ensure the next generation understands that it is acceptable to express their emotions, engage in conversation, and seek assistance. True strength doesn't originate from toughness but rather from the process of healing. Being tough doesn't necessarily make you stronger.
Healing does. We have the power to turn our suffering into purpose.
And only when we learn to confront our buried scars will
the smile on a Filipino's face truly be complete. It won't be a mask; it will
be a reflection of our authentic, winning spirit.
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*About the author:
Dr. Rodolfo “John” Ortiz Teope is a distinguished Filipino academic, public intellectual, and advocate for civic education and public safety, whose work spans local academies and international security circles. With a career rooted in teaching, research, policy, and public engagement, he bridges theory and practice by making meaningful contributions to academic discourse, civic education, and public policy. Dr. Teope is widely respected for his critical scholarship in education, management, economics, doctrine development, and public safety; his grassroots involvement in government and non-government organizations; his influential media presence promoting democratic values and civic consciousness; and his ethical leadership grounded in Filipino nationalism and public service. As a true public intellectual, he exemplifies how research, advocacy, governance, and education can work together in pursuit of the nation’s moral and civic mission
