Graduation day is more than a ceremony that features medals, speeches, and photo opportunities.
It’s a celebration of years of effort and dreams fulfilled. For many students, especially children of overseas Filipino workers, it’s a tribute to parents who chose distance and hardship so their children could have better opportunities.
But this year’s graduation season in the Philippines has been marked by controversy, sparked by a now-viral “principal toga” incident in Laua-an, Antique.
A video showed a principal from Col. Ruperto Abellon National High School berating senior high school students for wearing togas during their graduation ceremony. She claimed the students had violated a policy of the Department of Education, ordered them to remove their togas, and instructed class advisers to list down their names.
The video drew nationwide criticism. Students were visibly distressed and robbed of the simple joy of graduating in dignity.
In response, President Ferdinand Marcos Jr. directed DepEd Secretary Sonny Angara to act swiftly. As confirmed by Presidential Communications Undersecretary Claire Castro, the principal was removed from her post.
“She was only dismissed as principal of the school. The (order to cancel) license will not come from the President or the DepEd secretary,” Castro explained during a Palace briefing. “She is still allowed to teach and we will still look at what kind of behavior she has. That is necessary, especially since she is a teacher.”
DepEd later clarified that while the official attire for end-of-school-year rites is the school uniform, the wearing of togas is not prohibited.
This incident hit close to home for many Filipinos, especially for families who scraped and sacrificed to give their children a proper send-off after years of sacrifice in school. For Filipino migrant workers, it was especially painful to witness a student stripped of that moment.
The incident also raises a powerful question: what does it really mean to celebrate success?
It’s not the fabric of the toga that matters. It’s the sacrifice each student endured it represents.
For children of OFWs who were able to walk the stage, receive their diplomas, and pose for photos, this moment was paid for in ways many people never see—through 12-hour shifts, missed milestones, and tears quietly shed overseas.
So if you had a toga, a celebration, or even just a quiet moment of recognition—be grateful. Not every student gets that. Some watch from the sidelines. Some graduate without applause. Some have parents who couldn’t be there, but who were with them in every sacrifice made.
And to the students who stood firm despite being shamed that day in Antique—know that you did nothing wrong. You wore that toga with pride, and you reminded the country why respect and compassion must always have a place in our schools.
This graduation season, let’s wear our achievements not just with pride—but with gratitude.