By Eliseo Art Silva

A friend once asked me, “How does being more Filipino-centered make us more competitive? Other Asian countries produce opportunists and narcissists too—what’s the difference?”

It’s a fair question. Opportunism and ego—fertile ground for corruption—aren’t exclusive to any nation. What distinguishes countries like Japan, Korea, and Vietnam is not moral superiority, but cultural authorship.

These nations didn’t rise by abandoning who they were. Instead, they absorbed Western influence while exporting their own essence. Japan’s modernization during the Meiji Restoration was strategic, not imitative. Reforms were filtered through Japanese values, guided by a mantra to equal and surpass the West. The Charter Oath of 1868 pledged to seek global knowledge to strengthen imperial rule—signaling openness, but with the intent to master and transcend. They didn’t just adopt modernity—they Japanized it. From minimalism rooted in Zen to anime steeped in Shinto cosmology, Japan transformed global formats into uniquely Japanese expressions.

Korea followed a similar path. BTS didn’t copy Western boy bands—they infused the format with Korean identity, activism, and language. Even companies like Samsung reflect Korean ideals of precision and innovation. Vietnam localized everything, merging French baguettes into bánh mì and blending Catholicism with ancestral worship. Their cities balance tech hubs with communal courtyards. It’s not imitation—it’s choreography. Wealth isn’t just GDP—it’s dignity, creativity, and cultural power. And that begins with remembering who we are.

So, what does it mean to be Filipino-centered in that context? It’s not nostalgia. It’s a strategic compass. It means building systems, stories, and spaces that reflect our cosmology, our values, our strengths. It’s rooted in kapwa, bayanihan, Bathala, the conviction seeded on June 12, 1898, and the wisdom of our ancestors—not in borrowed metrics or aesthetics. It means telling our stories unapologetically, shaping our cities with soul, and forging our future from the inside out. The light we need doesn’t have to come from elsewhere; it can emanate from us. When that happens, we no longer stand in another nation’s shadow—we cast our own.

Why does this matter for competitiveness? Because authenticity is a currency—and the world is buying. Japan exports design. Korea exports pop culture. Vietnam exports urban identity.

These nations don’t dilute themselves to fit global molds—they amplify who they are, and the world responds.

Innovation thrives from within. When we stop trying to be “less Filipino” to appear “more modern,” we unlock solutions rooted in our climate, our communities, and our lived realities. Modernity isn’t a costume—it’s a conversation with our own innate genius.

Civic pride fuels productivity. When people feel seen, heard, and valued, they invest more—in their neighborhoods, their work, and their country. That’s not just emotional resonance—it’s economic momentum.

This change must begin in the classroom. A Filipino-centered education is more than culturally affirming—it is student-centered, moving away from rote memorization and colonial indoctrination toward critical thinking, relevance, and agency. Paulo Freire argued that education must be a practice of freedom, not domination. His idea of problem-posing education, where students co-create knowledge, resonates with indigenous Filipino pedagogies, especially the Cordillera’s Dap-ay, a communal learning circle.

In the Dap-ay, the teacher is a “guide by the student’s side,” not a “sage on a stage.” Learning is relational and grounded in shared humanity. When students see themselves reflected in the curriculum—not as subjects to be shaped, but as authors of meaning—they truly awaken. Research in culturally responsive pedagogy (Gay, 2010; Ladson-Billings, 1995) shows that students perform better when their identity is affirmed. Filipino-centered education leads to deeper engagement, higher retention, and stronger civic participation—not just more humane, but more effective.

Yet a rupture remains: our system still elevates non-Filipinos—especially the United States—as the protagonists, authors, and models of our story. This perpetuates a colonial mindset and erases Filipino authorship. When textbooks glorify George Washington while glossing over Emilio Aguinaldo, we teach students to admire colonizers and doubt their own ancestors. That erasure is a form of cultural violence.

To reclaim our moral compass and rediscover our True North, we must restore Filipino agency in our historical narratives and educational systems. Only then can we become not just modern—but unmistakably and meaningfully our own.

It won’t make us wealthy overnight, but it’s how we stop outsourcing our identity and start exporting our essence. That is true wealth, and the kind built to endure.