We don’t need better Youth Leaders. We need higher expectations.
Every time the nation watches the ongoing impeachment proceedings unfold, we are reminded of a fundamental principle of democracy: no public office is too high to escape scrutiny.
The presidency. The vice presidency. The Senate. The Supreme Court.
We debate them. We criticize them. We demand transparency. We ask whether they deserve the public’s trust because public office demands public accountability.
So why do we suddenly shrug our shoulders and soften when it comes to the youngest elected officials in government?
As August begins and communities across the country mark Linggo ng Kabataan with programs, ceremonies, and celebrations, perhaps this year’s conversation should move beyond celebrating youth leadership. We have long settled the question of whether young people are capable of leading.
Across the country, young Filipinos are building startups before graduation, publishing research, organizing national conferences, leading disaster response initiatives, mobilizing volunteers, and founding nonprofits that deliver measurable impact despite operating with limited resources. Student organizations execute projects with little more than determination, partnerships, and a vision larger than themselves.
The Philippines has never lacked capable young leaders.
What we seem to lack is the courage to demand the same level of excellence from the young leaders we actually elect.
There are over 42,000 barangays in the Philippines. That means there are more than 42,000 Sangguniang Kabataan councils, arguably the largest youth governance network in the country, each entrusted with public resources and a legal mandate to advance youth development.
Pause and think about that.
No youth organization has that reach.
No university council has that infrastructure.
No nonprofit has that institutional access.
If every SK council implemented just one transformative, evidence-based initiative each year—one that measurably improved literacy, employability, mental health, climate resilience, civic participation, or digital inclusion—we would not merely have successful barangays. We would have one of the most extensive youth development ecosystems in Asia.
That potential already exists.
The question is whether we are demanding enough for it to be realized.
Too often, conversations about SK governance become polarized. One side dismisses the institution entirely. The other treats every criticism as an attack on youth leadership.
Both miss the point.
Holding our SK officials to higher standards is not anti-youth.
It is precisely because we believe in the capacity of young leaders that we refuse to settle for mediocrity.
This also means moving beyond a culture that celebrates activity without asking about impact.
There is nothing inherently wrong with organizing basketball leagues, volleyball tournaments, or sports festivals. In many communities, these create safe spaces, strengthen social bonds, and encourage young people to participate in public life. Sports can absolutely be legitimate youth development programs.
But governance begins where assumptions end.
Did the SK consult the youth before deciding that a basketball league was the priority?
Did it identify the most pressing issues in the community?
Did it evaluate whether the program achieved its intended outcomes?
Was the project designed because it addressed an actual need, or because it was the easiest activity to organize, the most visible, or simply what had always been done?
Public funds deserve public questions. The issue has never been basketball.
The issue is whether every peso entrusted to the youth is creating measurable value for the youth.
This is why the National Youth Commission’s recent issuance of SK Advisory No. 2026-P007, which clarifies the legal framework governing disciplinary actions against elected Sangguniang Kabataan officials, matters beyond its legal implications. It reinforces a principle that should have been obvious all along: SK officials are not merely youth volunteers. They are elected public officials entrusted with public office, public funds, and public confidence. Accountability is not an exception to youth leadership—it is part of it.
And increasingly, the public is beginning to recognize that.
In recent months, SK officials have found themselves under the same public microscope that accompanies every elected office. Allegations of misconduct, investigations, suspensions, and disputes over governance have made headlines, not because the standards for SKs have become harsher, but because citizens are beginning to expect from them what democracy expects from every public servant: transparency, integrity, and accountability.
Some have interpreted these incidents as evidence that the Sangguniang Kabataan is broken.
But I refuse to see it that way. What I see is a generation beginning to reject the idea that youth leadership should be immune from criticism simply because it is young.
That shift is worth protecting.
If we are willing to scrutinize senators during impeachment proceedings, question cabinet secretaries over public spending, and demand accountability from governors and mayors, then we should have no hesitation in asking difficult questions of the only elected institution created specifically to represent young Filipinos.
Not because we expect less from young leaders.
But because we finally expect enough.
To hold the Sangguniang Kabataan accountable is not to diminish youth leadership. It is to affirm that the institution matters. It is to recognize that SK officials are not event organizers or extracurricular coordinators, they are elected representatives entrusted with public resources and empowered to shape local governance.
The Sangguniang Kabataan was never intended to exist simply to organize activities. It was created to ensure that young Filipinos have a permanent seat in government, a seat that identifies community needs, influences local priorities, and proves that youth representation can produce better governance.
And that changes the questions we should be asking every Linggo ng Kabataan.
Not, How many events were held?
But, Who decided these were the right events?
How were young people consulted before this program was planned?
What problem was identified? What evidence suggests that this initiative improved the lives of the youth it was meant to serve?
If this project did not receive a single Facebook post, a single tarpaulin, or a single certificate, would it still have been worth doing?
And as Linggo ng Kabataan unfolds across more than 42,000 barangays this August, perhaps the most important question is also the simplest:
Whose celebration is it?
Is it a celebration designed with young people grounded in their needs, aspirations, and ideas?
Or merely a celebration designed for them because it is required?
Because youth governance was never meant to be measured by how many events filled a calendar.
It should be measured by whether young people were heard before those events were planned, whether their lives became better after they ended, and whether public trust was earned, not merely assumed.
We often say that the youth are the leaders of today.
If we truly believe that, then we must stop treating accountability as a burden imposed on young leaders and start recognizing it as the highest form of confidence we can place in them.
The question this Linggo ng Kabataan is not whether our SKs are doing enough.
It is whether we are asking enough of them.
