“When Words from an Educator Betrays the call for Integrity”
In the face of public outrage over the controversial flood control projects, one would expect the leaders of state institutions to speak with clarity, courage, and moral conviction. Instead, Bulacan State University President Teody San Andres recently offered words that raise more questions than they answer. Framed as prudence and deference, his statements reveal a deeper tension between duty and capitulation—a tension that threatens to redefine what it means to “protect the people.” In an era when corruption and mismanagement dominate headlines, silence and submission are no longer neutral; they are choices that carry consequences. This is the moment when a university, tasked with shaping minds and morals, must decide whether it will stand for truth—or stand aside.
In a recent interview with Pacesetter, San Andres spoke at length about the controversial flood control projects now under scrutiny. His words, calm and measured on the surface, betray a deeper inclination—one that leans toward submission to power rather than courage in the pursuit of truth.
“Actually, let us now invest everything to our political leaders in Congress and the Senate about the decisions regarding that anomaly in terms of the flood control… Our task as the president of this university is to protect my people and to improve more on educational capacity of individuals,” San Andres explained. He added that he would “respect whatever the result” of the politicians’ investigation might be.
But one statement that sounds cringy to those who expect that an educator, what more a civil servant should side with the people but turns out to be otherwise: "I really understand the sentiment of the leaders, the students, and the other entities. But of course, we are public servants that we need to protect the government and to protect my people."
To be frank, these statements reflect more than prudence; they reflect capitulation. To entrust “everything” to political leaders—the very same authorities now facing allegations of corruption—is not stewardship of the public; it is submission to a system under scrutiny. To couch that submission in the language of protecting the people transforms noble words into a form of moral compromise. Protecting the people does not mean shielding the government. And yet, that is precisely the message these words convey.
Universities, especially state universities, are not mere appendages of political authority. They are laboratories of civic conscience, training grounds for critical thought, and moral communities where the search for truth is inseparable from the defense of justice. The mission of education extends far beyond course content; it includes the preparation of students to navigate, challenge, and, when necessary, confront real-world injustices. By urging the academic community to defer to political authority and to “respect whatever result” emerges, San Andres risks teaching students to value compliance over conscience, loyalty to power over allegiance to truth.
Not surprisingly, those who side with him and others alike will claim this is a “Manila matter,” or a "matrer that only politicians should address and not everyone else", insisting that local institutions have their own rules and traditions, separate from the so-called standards of Manila-based higher education. It happened tho during the "Red Scare" when institutions had to gave up "radical leaning" books and literature to authorities to show compliance despite assuming to be for academic freedom and progressive instruction as that of Manila-based institutions. This argument, however, only underscores a troubling philosophy: the deliberate separation of school and society.
By “emphasizing academic excellence” at the expense of social consciousness and civic relevance, the university risks becoming an island detached from reality. When words echo those of a paid government employee rather than a civil servant attuned to the call of the people, the institution’s mission is distorted, and its moral authority eroded.
Again, to condone or enable a process tainted by corruption is not protection—it is complicity. To stand back quietly while politicians decide the fate of public resources under scrutiny is to abandon the very citizens the university claims to serve. A state university is meant to cultivate informed, engaged citizens, not passive observers of wrongdoing. Capitulation masquerading as prudence is no protection at all.
Protection of the people requires courage. It demands vigilance, moral clarity, and, when necessary, confrontation of those who betray public trust. Silence in the face of corruption is complicity. Standing idly by, waiting for verdicts from the very system under scrutiny, is an abdication of the university’s mission. Protecting the people sometimes means standing against power, not beside it. Anything less is a betrayal of both conscience and citizenship.
Universities are meant to prepare students for life as informed, responsible citizens, not to groom them for submission. To educate is to illuminate reality, not to hide behind institutional decorum. To defer blindly to authority in the name of protection is to invert that mission. In the end, protecting the people is not about preserving political structures—it is about defending truth, demanding accountability, and refusing to let corruption define the society that the university exists to serve.
In the delicate balance between duty and deference, the scales have tipped. The question now is not what the politicians decide—but whether those entrusted with education will stand for truth or stand aside.