Youth, Justice, and the Cost of Machismo:
Why Criminalizing Ten-Year-Olds is a Folly Robin Padilla Forgot
In recent months, a controversial proposal has ignited public debate: lowering the age of criminal liability to ten years old. At the forefront of this push is Senator Robin Padilla, a figure whose own past brushes with the law are well-known. While many see this as a call for discipline, it raises profound questions about justice, youth development, and the responsibilities of society to guide its youngest members. Before applauding or condemning such a measure, it is worth examining the man advocating for it—and the lessons his own life might offer about second chances, privilege, and the very purpose of the law.
In 1994, Robin Padilla was twenty-five years old when the Regional Trial Court convicted him for possession of high-powered firearms, a crime carrying a maximum sentence of twenty-one years. By 1997, public lobbying, media attention, and legal advocacy led to an amendment of the law—now known as the “Robin Padilla Law”—and a conditional pardon from President Ramos, commuting his sentence after only four years. Raised in relative privilege and already twenty-three when he committed his offenses, Padilla benefited from interventions that countless other youths, born into poverty or violence, are never afforded.
It is therefore jarring, if not outright hypocritical, that Padilla now pushes to lower the age of criminal liability to ten years old. He, of all people, knows that young people sometimes make poor choices, but it is precisely during this formative stage that guidance, opportunity, and rehabilitation are most critical. Punishing children—many of whom grow up in squalor or under abuse—is not justice; it is a double punishment: first by circumstance, then by the law.
Padilla’s perception seems narrow, rooted in a brand of machismo that mirrors his political ally, Dela Rosa, who openly claims that “hazing creates warriors.” Lowering the age of criminal liability in the name of discipline reflects a mindset that forgets the essential principles of nurturing, education, and moral guidance. Worse, it risks casting children as part of a prison-industrial complex reminiscent of earlier eras, when agencies like the Bureau of Jail Management and Penology were bluntly known as the “Bureau of Prisons.” This is not discipline—it is institutionalized punishment.
If granted that Padilla’s idea is adopted, so be it—but society must also invest in a deeper understanding of human behavior. Schools and communities should cultivate knowledge in psychology and behavioral science to guide the youth properly. Children must be made aware of the consequences of actions and provided with the proper moral, emotional, and intellectual guidance.
Greater attention must be paid to mental health, behavioral patterns, and the early signs of character or psychological disorders that, if unaddressed, may drive individuals toward crime. In a world growing ever more complex and progressive, young minds are exposed to knowledge and influences without sufficient guidance or direction. It is therefore imperative that government officials, academics, and parents alike gain literacy in behavioral science, to identify and address hidden risks before they develop into criminal behavior.
The proposed law, however well-intentioned, focuses on punishing the symptom rather than curing the disease. Syndicates exploit children, yet the response should be to target the exploiters, not the exploited. Lowering the criminal age is like bailing water from a flood without turning off the tap: the problem persists while innocent lives are needlessly burdened.
Robin Padilla’s own story demonstrates the value of intervention, support, and second chances. If society truly wants to break the cycle of crime, it must treat children as potential, not criminals-in-waiting. Give them guidance, education, and hope. Do not make them prisoners of a system that has already failed them.