The essential discord: Why education hearings are crucial, despite flaws

For years, the Philippine Senate and Congress have made their committee hearings publicly accessible—streamed live on television and YouTube—as a symbolic gesture of transparency.

But beyond the pageantry of democratic performance lies a chaotic, sometimes frustrating process of shaping education policy in the country.

These hearings, for all their flaws, expose both the strength and weakness of our system: the interplay between political power and academic expertise.

I have recently participated as a resource person in several of these hearings—once before the Senate Committee on Basic Education, chaired by Sen. Win Gatchalian, on the implementation of the Teacher Education Council (TEC) law (RA 11713), and twice before the House Committee on Higher and Technical Education, led by Congressman Roman Romulo, on strengthening the Senior High School (SHS) program and the proposed shortening of college. Representing the Commission on Higher Education (CHED), I also witnessed the incisive participation of Congresswoman Stella Quimbo.

These engagements were illuminating, not only for the content of the discussions but for what they reveal about how policy is shaped in this country.

What becomes painfully obvious, especially to those of us from the academe, is that education hearings often fail to reflect the complexity and nuance the field demands.

The questions asked by legislators, while grounded in public sentiment, often oversimplify, politicize, or prematurely conclude deeply technical issues. Legislators—driven by the need to perform, to score rhetorical points, and to appease public discontent—can easily overshadow the evidence-based perspectives of researchers and educators. The hearings, at times, resemble political theatre more than serious policy deliberation.

Academics are often reduced to reactive voices in these settings, invited to validate pre-set conclusions or to serve as institutional props. Yet we come with deep knowledge—research, data, long-term perspectives—and are then sidelined when our insights complicate a narrative or resist quick fixes.

Institutions like Philippine Normal University, the country’s designated National Center for Teacher Education under RA 9647, exist precisely to provide the legislative backbone with grounded, technical knowledge. But whether that knowledge is meaningfully integrated into actual policy is an open question.

At times, representing an institution like CHED presents its own set of challenges. There are instances when the official position I am asked to communicate does not fully align with my own scholarly perspectives.

These moments reveal a deeper tension within the policymaking process—where decisions are often influenced not solely by research evidence or pedagogical principles, but also by bureaucratic considerations, political sensitivities and the realities of institutional dynamics. One comes to understand that policymaking, more often than not, involves navigating complex negotiations and crafting positions that are publicly tenable within a delicate political landscape.

Still, these frictions—between academic idealism and institutional realism, between popular sentiment and technical expertise—are not entirely without value. They force confrontation. They compel dialogue. But only if all parties come to the table in good faith.

The hearings are revealing in other ways. They expose how deeply the public distrusts the education system. Parents continue to feel betrayed by the K-12 reform, especially the Senior High School component.

Sen. Gatchalian’s commissioned surveys repeatedly show that parents see no real benefit in the additional two years—no job readiness, no college credit, only additional costs. These sentiments, while not always supported by robust data, are the lived experiences of Filipino families and they cannot be dismissed. They drive the urgency of the legislative response, often forcing the hands of policymakers to propose reforms—however half-baked or reactive.

One vivid example: I was approached at a wake by concerned citizens who, upon learning I was from PNU, immediately launched into concerns about shortening college.

Their frustrations mirrored those aired in Congress. And yet, the solution being explored—shortening degree programs—is neither supported by labor market evidence nor by the realities of global competitiveness. Still, the momentum builds because politicians must be seen to act, and academics are expected to fall in line or risk irrelevance.

We see this again in DepEd’s pilot of a "strengthened SHS" for SY 2025–2026. It includes reduced core subjects and new electives—a concession to public frustration but still a piecemeal, unclear intervention.

It's neither a bold reimagining nor a serious attempt at systemic correction. Instead, it exemplifies the kind of patchwork reform that our education system has been saddled with for decades.

The spectacle of televised hearings also encourages performative behavior—grandstanding, repetition of talking points and a disregard for nuance. Yet, paradoxically, this exposure is what forces accountability.

Citizens can now see how education policy is shaped, who dominates the conversation, who listens, and who does not. It is messy, yes, but transparency—however flawed—remains a precondition for reform.

That said, the danger is that hearings become exercises in self-justification. Lawmakers defend past legislation, experts are trotted out for optics, and real reform is reduced to sloganeering. The deeper crises—poor teacher training, outdated curricula, crumbling public schools—are acknowledged but not substantively addressed. The hearings provide catharsis but rarely resolution.

And this is the core tragedy: education in the Philippines is in a prolonged state of triage. Instead of sustained, systemic transformation, we get reactive reforms aimed at silencing public dissatisfaction.

Legislators, with their eyes on the next election cycle, push for visible changes that promise quick wins. Agencies like CHED and DepEd are left to implement these half-baked reforms, often without adequate consultation, support, or time for real piloting.

For this dynamic to change, a few things must happen. First, lawmakers must recognize the limits of their expertise. Education policy is a technical field, and performative dominance in hearings undermines the very deliberative process they claim to uphold. Policymaking should be grounded in evidence, not applause.

Second, academics must refuse to be passive. We must assert our knowledge not only in journals but in the public arena. We must learn to speak not just in research terms but in ways the public and politicians can understand. We must expose bad policy when we see it, even if it means clashing with institutions we serve.

Third, the public must go beyond outrage. Yes, be angry—but also be informed. Watch these hearings critically. Ask why the same problems resurface every five years. Demand more than slogans.

The essential discord between politicians and academics is uncomfortable, but necessary. It is where real policy change begins—not in consensus, but in conflict that forces clarity.

We must not romanticize the hearings. But we must not abandon them either. They are dysfunctional, often infuriating, but they remain one of the few spaces where the messy reality of Philippine education is laid bare. And that, at least, is a start.

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Levi E. Elipane is associate professor and deputy dean of the College of Advanced Studies of the Philippine Normal University Manila. He may be reached at [email protected]. The views expressed here are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the official position of the University.