As someone who has spent three decades advocating for children, I find it deeply troubling that his first instinct is to make younger children criminally liable rather than address the failures that allowed this tragedy to happen in the first place.
Three children are dead.
The question is not why a 10-year-old should be punished.
The question is why minors have access to firearms.
The question is why violence continues to find its way into our schools.
The question is why our education, mental health, social welfare, and law enforcement systems repeatedly fail children before a crime is ever committed.
Real leadership requires more than reacting to headlines.
It requires understanding the problem.
Lowering the age of criminal responsibility may generate applause. It may generate media attention. But there is little evidence that it addresses the root causes of youth violence.
Children who commit serious crimes must be held accountable. But accountability should not become a substitute for prevention.
A senator’s responsibility is not merely to propose the harshest response. It is to propose the most effective one.
I have worked with vulnerable children for most of my adult life. Many have been abused, neglected, abandoned, exploited, or exposed to violence long before they ever entered conflict with the law.
It is easy to appear tough on children.
It is much harder to confront the adult failures that create these tragedies.
Before Senator Padilla asks Congress to treat younger children as criminals, perhaps he should explain why government has failed to protect them as children in the first place.
@marinongmoreno_ i guess di naman 'selfishness' yun.. if di ka na happy, leave.. tell the truth na di ka na happy..
wag na mag-overthink.. stop self sabotaging words or label.
if that's what you feel (na di ka na happy), no reason to invalidate yourself.
Back in 2003, a German film crew filming in the Gobi Desert captured an incredibly moving moment: after a tough two-day birth, a mother camel rejected her newborn.
A nomadic family then performed the ancient Hoos singing ritual passed down for generations.
Once the song ended, the camel shed tears and finally accepted her baby.
This powerful scene became one of the most memorable parts of the Oscar-nominated documentary The Story of the Weeping Camel.
A Gen Z joined the team.
Day 2.
He was added to a work WhatsApp group.
Minutes later, he left.
HR followed up and said,
“WhatsApp is our official communication channel.”
Gen Z replied,
“I prefer email and official platforms.”
“WhatsApp is my personal space.”
“I’ll choose if and when I use it.”
The room went quiet.
- No disrespect.
- No drama.
- Just a boundary.
Someone whispered,
“That’s how we’ve always done it.”
Gen Z didn’t argue.
Later, a senior colleague said,
“You know refusing this can affect your job.”
Gen Z nodded.
Then said,
“I know it’s unhealthy.”
“That’s why I won’t normalize it.”
That’s when the team realized something.
When people say
“Gen Z is difficult,”
what they really mean is:
Gen Z watched the old generation
- stay online 24/7,
- answer messages at midnight,
- confuse availability with loyalty,
- and burn out quietly
because challenging it felt risky.
So Gen Z chose differently.
- They separate work from life.
- They document everything.
- They protect personal space.
They still deliver.
They just refuse silent exploitation.
It’s not rebellion.
It’s awareness.
Boss will see you online at 11.00PM,
Texts you : 'Please check email ASAP'
And the truth is:
Gen Zs are on a different operating system.