BACK in the day, good manners and right conduct were enough. We were taught to say “please,” “thank you,” and not to talk back to elders unless we had a death wish. Today, those basics still matter — and they should be the very foundation of what decency is all about.
Then came the age of political correctness — and now, “wokeness.” It’s no longer about saying the right thing — it’s about knowing the correct terms, keeping abreast of every social issue, and being ready to apologize if your well-meaning comment is one hashtag away from going viral for the wrong reasons.
So, where do we draw the line between being polite, politically correct, and woke?
Let’s start with the foundation: good manners and right conduct — GMRC, for those who still recall their elementary textbooks. These aren't new. Respect, kindness, honesty, and self-restraint are what keeps society running. That last one? Often the hardest. It comes with age, maturity, and learning to choose your battles.
GMRC teaches us not to interrupt, not to judge too quickly, and to treat everyone with dignity. Judging too quickly? Guilty as charged. But these values don’t require a degree in gender studies. Just a decent upbringing and common sense.
Political correctness builds on that respect. It asks us to use inclusive language, be mindful of histories of oppression, and avoid jokes and comments that punch down. And no, this isn't censorship — we’re not MTRCB. It’s about compassion and protecting others from unnecessary harm.
Then there’s “woke.” What started as awareness — especially of racial and social injustice — has become a catch-all basket. For some, it’s about empathy and accountability. For others, it’s hypersensitivity and moral superiority. The line blurs when wokeness is used to cancel, shame, or silence instead of informing and uplifting.
I grew up in the 70s and the 80s. We were taught to be respectful, yes —but never afraid to speak up. Even as a teenager, I had that Gabriela Silang streak. I once confronted a prominent local figure in our town for inappropriate conduct toward a friend during a public event. Fueled by outrage (and teen hormones), I marched up to him, pointed at him, and gave him a piece of my mind. His bodyguards rushed over, but I brushed them off. To my surprise, they backed away and said, “Wala mi labot, Mae.” I knew why. Let’s just say I had leverage they didn't want to mess with.
The next day, during a session among local councilors, that person called me “isog” — the kind of brave that doesn't flinch. My father didn't scold me. My uncle, a lawyer, just grinned and said, “That’s my niece!”
Respect does not mean silence. You can be respectful without being submissive. You can disagree without being disrespectful. What’s dangerous is when fear — of power, backlash, of being “canceled” — prevents us from speaking our truth. That’s not good manners. That’s control.
And the most disturbing thing? When people would rather, quoting my EIC, double down than say, “I’m sorry.” In this world where all are curated, including apologies and PR-managed regret, humility feels like a bygone era. But admitting fault isn't weakness — it’s maturity. It shows character. A person who can’t admit fault is not just stubborn — they’re arrogant.
So, call me isog, if you must. I’ll take that over silence any day.
