15/08/2026
WE iKALINGAS KNOW BETTER.
I was once that young girl sitting in a journalism workshop in Kalinga. I was in high school then, young, curious, idealistic, and already an editor of our school publication. During those summer workshops, I had the chance listening to people introduced to us as โjournalists from Manila.โ
They taught us malayang pamamahayag.
And I listened.
But somewhere between lessons on writing and conversations about freedom came another kind of education. Words became ideas. Ideas became convictions. And for a young mind still trying to understand the world, activism began to sound noble, even necessary.
For a time, I wanted to become an activist myself.
Years later, I would take a very different road.
I entered the Philippine Military Academy. I became a soldier. I became a military pilot.
And perhaps life has a beautiful way of allowing us to see the same world from different windows.
From the cockpit, I saw the Philippines differently.
I flew from one part of this country to another. And wherever duty brought me, there was something that always made me smile:
There was almost always an iKalinga.
A soldier.
A policeman.
Men and women in uniform.
Someone who would hear where I came from and suddenly say, โMaโam, taga-Kalinga ka metlang gayam nga padak (Maโam, taga-Kalinga ka din pala tulad ko).โ
And just like that, hundreds of kilometers away from home, the mountains did not feel so far away.
That is why the words of Rep. Renee Co struck something deeply personal in me.
She called the AFP a โfake news peddler.โ
She spoke of โingrained, institutional corruption.โ
And I wondered:
When did one disputed Facebook post become enough to condemn an entire institution?
Question the post. Demand an explanation if one is necessary.
That is democracy.
But please, do not reduce an entire institution, and the men and women who have given years, blood, and sometimes their lives to it, to one sweeping insult.
Especially while standing in Kalinga.
Because perhaps there is something about us that visitors should understand.
iKalingas are hospitable people.
We welcome people into our homes even when we have little to put on the table.
We offer coffee and the best chair in the house.
We listen to stories.
We make visitors feel that, for however short a time, they belong.
So when our local officials, university officials, soldiers and policemen extend themselves to a visiting representative, I do not immediately see intimidation.
I recognize something I have known all my life.
Kalinga hospitality.
But there is another thing about an iKalinga that history has taught us:
Our hospitality has never meant submission.
We can welcome you without surrendering our judgment.
We can listen without agreeing.
We can sit peacefully beside you while remaining firm in what we believe.
Our Kalinga warrior/ head hunter ancestors knew how to welcome a visitor.
They also knew how to protect their home.
And today, many of their descendants are doing exactly that not only in the mountains of Kalinga, but across the Philippines.
They wear Army green.
They wear Air Force blue.
They sail with the Navy.
They serve in police stations hundreds of kilometers from home.
Some of them never returned to these mountains alive.
Some iKalinga families have received folded flags instead of sons and daughters.
Some mothers have learned that the uniform hanging inside the house would never again be worn.
Some of our people have fallen in the long conflict against the NPA.
So forgive us if we understand the uniform differently.
To others, perhaps it represents authority.
To many families in Kalinga, it represents a child who left home to serve.
And this is also why I care deeply about what enters the minds of our young people.
Because I remember being one of them.
I remember listening.
I remember believing.
I remember how powerful words could be when spoken to a young person searching for purpose.
That does not mean every activist is an insurgent.
It does not mean criticism of government is wrong.
And it certainly does not mean our students should be taught to obey without questioning.
No.
Teach them to question everything.
Question organizations.
Question ideologies.
Question even the people who tell you that they alone represent freedom.
Because malayang pag-iisip is not freedom when someone has already decided what you are supposed to believe.
That is the academic freedom I want for the youth of Kalinga: not the freedom to be told what to think, but the courage to decide for themselves.
Rep. Renee Co, you came to Kalinga and you were heard.
You were able to speak.
Our young people listened.
That is Kalinga.
We will give you a chair.
We will listen to your story.
We may even pour you another cup of coffee.
But never mistake our hospitality for surrender.
Never mistake our silence for ignorance.
And never assume that the presence of soldiers and policemen means that Kalingaโs youth have lost their freedom.
I have flown across this country and met Kalinga MIUs. From Luzon to Visayas to Mindanao, somehow, somewhere, there was always another iKalinga.
Perhaps someday we should finally count them.
Perhaps then we will understand how extraordinary it is that such a small province has sent so many of its sons and daughters to serve a country much bigger than the mountains that raised them.
So yes, criticize us when we are wrong. Hold us accountable when we fail. We who wear the uniform are not beyond criticism. But neither are you.
You came to our mountains speaking about freedom. Allow us the same freedom to disagree with you. Because Kalinga will always welcome people. But Kalinga will also protect its children.
From violence.
From deception.
From extremism.
And from indoctrinationโwherever it comes from.
We are hospitable.
We are peaceful.
But we are not easily subdued.
Maybe that is why, wherever this country needs someone willing to stand his or her ground, somehow
there is an iKalinga.
And perhaps that is something only those of us raised by these mountains will fully understand.
We know better.
