SOME years ago, during my years in public service broadcasting, I visited a remote community where malnutrition was widespread. A mother proudly introduced me to her young son. He was small for his age, quiet and shy. As we spoke, she gently rested her hand on his shoulder and said, "Matalino po siya."
I believed her.
Parents often know things about their children that no survey, census or government report can capture. What stayed with me was not the boy's appearance but the unmistakable hope in his mother's voice. Like parents everywhere, she dreamed of a future larger than the circumstances that surrounded them. She wanted her son to enjoy opportunities that had been beyond her reach.
I have often wondered what became of that boy. Whether he finished school, found meaningful work, and fulfilled the promise his mother saw in him. Or whether forces beyond his and his parents’ control quietly narrowed the horizon of possibilities before he was old enough to even choose his own path.
That memory returned to me recently as the nation celebrated the latest achievements of our sports heroes.
Nothing stirs Filipino pride quite like seeing one of our own prevail against foreign competitors who appear bigger, stronger and better equipped. We witnessed it during the remarkable career of Manny Pacquiao. We continue to witness it through the accomplishments of both Yulo brothers and EJ Obiena. And today, many Filipinos are following with admiration the rise of Alex Eala on the world tennis stage — a sport many of us weren’t too familiar with before.
These victories remind us that Filipinos can compete with the best in the world. They affirm our belief that talent exists in every corner of this country, and that an Olympian possibly lurks in every child.
Yet behind the celebrations lies a troubling reality. While a handful of exceptional young Filipinos are reaching extraordinary heights, millions of others are struggling to reach their full potential.
The truth is, more than one in four Filipino children under the age of five suffers from chronic malnutrition, resulting in stunting that impairs their growth and development. For many years, we’ve comforted ourselves with the notion that Filipinos are “naturally” shorter than other populations. However, science is telling us otherwise.
Countries such as Japan and South Korea have seen dramatic increases in average height within only a few generations. Their genetic makeup did not change, but their nutrition, healthcare systems, sanitation and standards of living did improve. It may be proof that height, in many respects, is not merely a biological characteristic, but also a reflection of how successfully a society cares for its people.
The causes of stunting are well understood. Poverty remains the principal driver, compounded by poor maternal nutrition, inadequate healthcare, unsafe water, poor sanitation, recurrent childhood illness and improper feeding practices.
What should concern us even more, however, is what cannot be readily seen.
Health Secretary Teodoro Herbosa has drawn attention to what he calls "brain stunting." The phrase is unsettling because it describes a loss that may never be fully recovered.
During the first 1,000 days of life — from conception until a child's second birthday — the brain develops at an extraordinary pace. Proper nutrition during this period helps shape the neural foundations upon which future learning, reasoning and productivity depend. When development is impaired, the consequences often extend far beyond childhood.
A malnourished child may enter school already at a disadvantage. Concentration becomes more difficult. Learning takes longer. Academic gaps widen. What begins as a health problem gradually becomes an educational challenge, then an employment challenge and ultimately a development challenge for the nation itself.
The tragedy is not merely that some children become shorter adults. The deeper tragedy is that some may never become the people they had the capacity to be.
Among them could be future scientists, engineers, entrepreneurs, teachers, artists, or athletes, people who could put the Philippines on the map in various fields. Talent is distributed widely. Opportunity, however, is not.
This concern takes on even greater urgency as the global economy becomes increasingly dependent on knowledge, innovation, and adaptability. In the decades ahead, nations will compete less through natural resources and more through the quality of their human capital. A country cannot expect to prosper if a substantial portion of its future workforce is disadvantaged before reaching kindergarten.
The frustrating reality is that we already know what works. Improving maternal health, strengthening nutrition programs during the first 1,000 days, promoting breastfeeding, expanding access to clean water and sanitation, improving primary healthcare, and supporting parents are hardly revolutionary ideas. They have been recommended for years.
To be fair, the country is not starting from scratch. The Philippine Plan of Action for Nutrition, the First 1,000 Days Program, the Philippine Multisectoral Nutrition Project, the Pantawid Pamilyang Pilipino Program, and school feeding initiatives all seek to address the roots of malnutrition and stunting. The issue is not the absence of programs; it is whether these efforts are sustained, adequately funded, effectively coordinated, and able to reach every child who needs them most.
Yet stunting rarely commands sustained political attention. Its victories are invisible. There are no ribbon-cutting ceremonies for a well-nourished child. No groundbreaking events. No immediate political rewards. The benefits emerge years later, often under a different administration.
Perhaps that explains why the problem persists.
But if we are serious about building a stronger Philippines, then the fight against stunting deserves the same sense of urgency we devote to infrastructure, energy and economic growth. After all, the most important infrastructure project any nation undertakes is the development of its human capital.
When we celebrate Alex Eala's victories, we are celebrating what can happen when talent is nurtured, supported, and given every opportunity to flourish.
The more difficult question now becomes: How many future Filipino champions, innovators and leaders never received that chance?
I often return to that boy and his mother.
I can no longer recall his name, only the certainty in her voice when she said he was intelligent. Perhaps he found his way despite the odds. Perhaps he did not. There is no way of knowing, but I’m hopeful that he has succeeded.
But what is more certain is that there are countless children like him today, born with promise, yet shaped early by limits they cannot escape from. We rarely see them as statistics alone, but as individual lives still in formation, still open to possibility.
In the end, the measure of a nation is not how it celebrates the success of a few who break through, but whether it allows many others to try in the first place. The quiet failure is not in the children who struggle, but in the society that allows potential to fade before it is ever tested.
No nation can afford to leave the potential of its next generation to chance. As President Franklin D. Roosevelt said, “We cannot always build the future for our youth, but we can build our youth for the future."
