The Philippines in Uniform: Studying under the system that fails us

At the Polytechnic University of the Philippines (PUP), brownouts are no longer treated as disruptions—they’re part of the routine. Professors raise their voices over dead microphones, students fan themselves with notebooks, and another day of learning ends not with a conclusion but a compromise.

What happens inside PUP is a reflection of what happens outside it. Crumbling infrastructure, lack of resources, and bureaucratic process that leads to delayed responses to urgent needs define both the campus and the country. For over 90,000 students, free tuition comes with hidden costs: daily expenses, mental strain, and a system that asks them to persist in conditions that barely support survival.

Yet beyond the struggles lies a community that continues to resist. Student activism is not a trend at PUP—it is a norm. From protest walls to walkouts, students have long embraced the role of critic and catalyst, confronting the same political and bureaucratic failures seen nationwide.

In many ways, PUP is more than just a university. It is the Philippines in microcosm—where issues of power, poverty, and perseverance intersect. As students endure these challenges, they raise a broader question: if this is the best we can offer our future, what does that say about the present?

Education in the shadows of a rotting system

The electric fan slows to a stop. Lights flicker, then turn off. The projector goes blank mid-discussion. In a packed classroom at the university, students let out a quiet groan—not out of surprise, but a part of their routine.

Another brownout.

Professors scramble to improvise. Some shout over the heat, trying to finish lectures without microphones. Others dismiss the class—powerless in more ways than one. Meanwhile, students wipe off sweat, open their notebooks, and wait. Because in PUP, interruptions like these are part of the daily grind.

Another lesson cut short.

This isn’t just about electricity. It’s about a deeper kind of failure—one that reflects how the country treats its young, its future, and its public education.

PUP, with its massive student population, has grown accustomed to these sudden interruptions. It’s a system that feels broken, where students—the “iskolar ng bayan”—are expected to be excellent despite the constant battle with the very tools that should be helping them learn.

Another day adjusting to a system that never adjusts for them.

Free tuition, but at what cost?

They say education is free. But students know that’s not the whole truth.

No tuition, yes. But what about the daily expenses? Transportation fee, food cost, group projects, internet connectivity, and the rental fee for the school’s facilities, projector, speakers, and other equipment used on a daily basis. The pressure to survive grows every day, and “free education” starts to feel like a lie, especially now that the university is facing tremendous budget cuts.

While tuition might have been waived, many students still find themselves in debt just trying to stay afloat in a system that doesn't provide them with the proper tools to succeed.

Classrooms that aren’t enough to accommodate the hundreds of Iskolars wanting to learn. There are few working electric fans inside the classroom with poor air ventilation. Laboratories lack equipment. The internet is weak. Professors try their best, but they’re tired, too. They share the same frustrations, the same struggles as their students.

“If gantong treatment, paghihirap, at sistema lang pala yung matatanggap ko, worth it pa ba mag-aral ako for the free tuition? Pero wala eh, nangangailangan ako,” saidys Clarissa, a freshman Journalism student.

Despite the claim that the government supports public education, PUP’s budget paints a different picture. With a huge student population but a shrinking budget, students are left to sustain themselves with whatever they can.

Not just students but soldiers for justice

PUP students don’t just talk about politics—they live in it.

They protest, write their calls on placards, they organize forums and walkouts– it is when your basic needs aren’t being met, staying silent isn’t an option.

In PUP, politics isn’t just something students read about in textbooks — it’s something they breathe every day. They are compelled to the art of advocacy and activism, not out of desire, but because it’s often the only way to get the administration to acknowledge their concerns.

Mural arts on the campus walls speak louder than textbooks—messages about injustice, calls to action, slogans for workers' rights, and outcries against red-tagging. Every rally at Mendiola, every protest against tuition hikes, every demonstration against government negligence—PUP is always present.

“Kung hindi tayo mag-iingay, walang mangyayari. PUP taught me that,” says Jean, a 3rd-year student who joined her first rally during her freshman year.

Even the Student Council Elections feel like a mini version of Philippine politics—alliances, arguments, accusations. But beyond that, students are learning how to fight for their rights, to lead, to demand more, to do checks and balances, and to demand accountability. Iskolars ask, and most importantly, value their voices because they know that the power lies in their hands. PUP is not just producing graduates, it’s building future leaders, fighters, and citizens who won’t stay quiet under an administration that refuses to meet its constituents.

The distance between plea and power

Students push for better facilities, clearer processes, and mental health support. But decisions are made by people who don’t always listen. Some changes take forever. Some don’t happen at all.

This frustration is not just a PUP problem. It’s the same story across the Philippines. People in power move slowly—while ordinary citizens suffer fast. The disconnect between the decision-makers and those affected is real. Politicians in government offices make promises about improving education, but in schools like PUP, the reality doesn’t match those promises.

Just like the brownouts, the apathy is widespread. Students feel like their voices are only heard when they’re loud enough to shake the system — but that’s not the way it should be. Change should come from listening, from understanding the struggles, not waiting for the next protest to push for it.

The Philippines in one campus

Look around the PUP campus and you’ll see it all:

Long lines. Broken chairs. Tired workers. Resilient students. The noise of activism. The silence of neglect. The hope. The fight. The waiting.

Everything that’s happening in the country—you’ll find it here.

PUP is not just a school. It’s the Philippines in miniature. A place full of promise, but weighed down by bureaucracy, neglect, and mismanagement. A place where young minds dare to dream, even when the system dares them not to.

And its students? They are the people.Fighting. Waiting. Hoping. Holding on.

A Nation that survives, but never thrives

The sad part? We’ve gotten used to this. We laugh at the chaos. We call it “normal.” But it’s not. And it shouldn’t be.

We shouldn’t accept hunger as part of the college experience. We shouldn’t glorify suffering and call it “hard work.” We shouldn’t be proud of surviving a system that’s supposed to support us.

PUP students, like the rest of the Filipino people, are resilient—too resilient. They face one obstacle after another, and still keep pushing forward. But resilience should never be the requirement. It should never be the standard for success. It should never be the reason we say, “Okay na ’yan.”

They deserve more than just survival. They deserve a system that works. Leaders who listen. A future they don’t have to fight so hard for. PUP is a mirror. It reflects a nation where the loudest must scream to be heard and where “free” comes at a cost. 

If this is the best that our “Iskolar ng Bayan” can get, —then what does that say about the country? And if we truly want change, we need to stop romanticizing the struggle and start demanding answers because the real question isn’t, “Why are PUP students struggling?” 

It is, “Why does this country keep letting it happen?”