In the grand theater of Philippine politics, a riveting spectacle is unfolding that has captured the attention of the nation, from the high-profile trial of former President Rodrigo Duterte at the International Criminal Court (ICC) to a rather different yet equally dramatic scene at the University of Santo Tomas (UST).
Picture this: while the world closely scrutinizes the back-and-forth of legal experts dissecting Duterte’s fate, a war of tuition fee increments and labor rights is quietly escalating on the university frontlines. In this academic arena, our educators are donning their metaphorical armor as they prepare for a showdown with the arch-nemesis of their equitable pay—tuition fee increases.
At the heart of this tug-of-war is a seemingly innocuous element known as the Tuition Fee Increase (TFI), which, under the auspices of the Commission on Higher Education (CHED) Memorandum Order No. 8 Series of 2012, mandates that a charitable 70% of incremental proceeds should be allocated for the benefit of teaching and non-teaching personnel. Sounds benevolent enough, doesn’t it? However, one must wonder why the faculties at UST are crying foul, beseeching a fair share of the lucre that comes with those periodic tuition hikes.
The answer, my friends, is steeped in the murky waters of interpretation—specifically, the interpretation of CHED’s motivational memo. UST’s administration appears to interpret this memorandum more rigidly than the aspiring lawyer living in his parents’ basement interprets the Constitution.
While the faculty union insists that their rightful share is non-negotiable, the university’s leadership has hurled the legal equivalence of a “bless you” for every sneeze—it’s all contingent on the existence of a Collective Bargaining Agreement (CBA). Hence, if there’s no CBA, well, good luck, educators! Better luck next tuition hike!
This standoff draws not only UST’s faculty into the crossfire but also a coalition of educators across Higher Education Institutions (HEIs), including Lyceum of the Philippines University and Centro Escolar University, all advocating for a rightful share of tuition revenues. It seems that educational institutions not only compete for the brightest students but also for the ability to financially support their own teaching staffs. A noble endeavor, one would think.
Nonetheless, there lies a crucial catch—the CHED Memorandum Order breeds dissatisfaction among teachers, as it shrouds the TFI shares in the haze of ambiguity. Does the inclusion of TFI make it a bargaining chip or a labor standard? The irony, and indeed the tragedy, is how this legal conundrum has become a debilitating weapon stronger than a sharpened pencil or an educational philosophy crafted from years of academic rigor.
One cannot help but roll their eyes at the apparent bureaucratic hand-wringing that gives room for HEIs to construe these proceedings to their advantage. The memorandum’s original spirit surely invoked an idea of equity, phrased exquisitely for the purpose of distribution. However, in a “monopoly” game that perpetually favors the landlord (or institution) over the tenant (poor, beleaguered teachers), equitable distribution seems more like a jest than a reality.
Despite this labor impasse, CHED’s response to these pressing concerns appears to be about as overwhelming as a damp piece of toast. It’s time for CHED to get back to the drawing board—preferably with an eraser at the ready. The lack of clarity in the implementation of CMO No. 8 has effectively allowed educational institutions like UST to hide behind a loophole large enough to park a jeepney inside. Schools treat the CMO as their “get-out-of-jail-free” card, dampening educators’ demands for their just recompense seen through the tinted lens of potentially hollow rhetoric.
This should concern all of us. If we cannot assure educators a fair share of increased tuition revenues, what kind of society are we shaping? Are we seriously willing to fight tooth-and-nail for our right to an excellent education while ignoring those who literally teach us to think critically? We cannot drag ourselves into an era where we devalue the very people responsible for nurturing future leaders, doctors, engineers, and possibly, a few upright politicians.
Consider the broader implications of this power struggle. If educational institutions treat teachers’ rights and privileges as mere bargaining material—rather than recognizing them as labor standards—when can we expect the academic workforce to rise above mere complacency? As Congress and CHED stare into the infinite abyss of continued tuition increases, it is imperative they emerge with a clearer vision for equitable distribution—right now, it feels more like they’re looking through frosted glass.
The tension boils down to whether CMO No. 8 Series of 2012 should be viewed as a guideline open to interpretation or as a strict mandate. UST’s interpretation leans towards a more stringent reading, taking refuge from accountability in legalese that would make even Kafka proud. Yet, one cannot ignore the argument that a piece of law structured for fairness should not become a tool for exploitation. The teachers, who daily walk the tightrope of passing knowledge and instilling values in students, deserve more than ambiguous clauses to cling to in hopes of recompense.
Let us turn our gaze to the statistics. With tuition fees soaring year after year—or as some might say, “inflating faster than the price of avocados”—the funds raised from TFIs run into the billions. If 70% is earmarked for teaching and non-teaching personnel, it raises the question: where is that money really going? Are we witnessing a rise in compensation for educators, or are these funds disappearing into the abyss? The palpable discontent among educators hints at a case of “financial sleight of hand,” where they are left paying the price for their own education, inconvenienced by the very structures they were meant to uphold.
It’s worth noting that this scuffle over what educators are owed aligns with a broader narrative—a revolution brewing beneath the surface of Philippine academia. The educators are not merely asking for crumbs from the table but for their rightful and just share, circumscribed in policies that are, ironically, supposed to protect them. This isn’t just about TFI; it encapsulates a growing desire among educators to stake a claim on their professional dignity and rights. For what is at stake is not just monetary compensation but the foundational principles of respect and value that should accompany the teaching profession.
In a country where education is often lauded as the ticket to success, we must come to terms with the reality that the ticket has a seller, one perpetually ingrained in an unyielding cycle of bureaucratic ineptitude. To many aspiring educators, this environment breeds disillusionment—a thought that they might be pouring their life’s dedication into a profession that barely sustains them. It is an alarming paradox: we preach to students about pursuing knowledge while marginalizing those tasked with imparting it.
As the saga unfolds at the UST, it serves as a critical illustration of larger systemic flaws in the education sector, particularly within HEIs. The discourse shouldn’t merely resume and fade once resolutions—or lack thereof—are met. Instead, educators, students, parents, and legislators alike should lock arms in solidarity to demand fair treatment and protections within the academic landscape. The time has come to prioritize the teachers who pledge their lives to crafting minds and building futures.
CHED, hold your ears closer to the ground: revival is not for concepts trapped in the pages of outdated regulations but for a living dialogue that espouses fairness and respect. Allowing the battle for educators’ rights to gather dust on dusty legislative shelves would undoubtedly signal a society complacent in its indifference—a society too fractured to recognize the value of its educators.
The UST labor dispute has highlighted the necessity for a radical overhaul—one that dismantles misleading doctrines and replaces them with transparent, proactive measures. Whether through amendments in legislation or through open forums that advocate for change, we must circumvent losing generations of talented educators in the crossfire of bureaucratic negligence.
As at the ICC, the world is watching, and so should we. While elite legal battles captivate the nation, let’s not forget that our teachers’ battles deserve the spotlight too. The markers are in place, the blackboards are ready; all that remains is the understanding that education is a two-way street, where both compensation and dedication must flow seamlessly.
In this politically charged climate, let us support our educators—let’s champion their voices and fight alongside them. They deserve more than just a token acknowledgment in the face of policy changes or deferred tribute during negotiations. They deserve to be steadfast players in shaping legislative discourse rather than bystanders in a system that has historically sidelined them.
So as we watch former President Duterte’s trial unfold, let’s also tune in to the undercurrents of activism and discontent echoing through the walls of UST and beyond. As citizens, it’s our responsibility to amplify the battle cry of educators, challenging the status quo to ensure that their rights are upheld. Because, remember, every nation is judged not only by how it treats its leaders but by how it values its teachers. The question now is, how will we answer?
