By Herman M. Lagon
Walk into any classroom or office and the air will likely hum with a familiar tune: “Good morning, Ma’am!” “Magandang araw po, Sir!” These greetings are not just protocol; they are instinct. We say them without thinking, like second nature passed down through generations. Our words bow before our bodies do. “Po” and “opo” are not just respectful fillers; they are stitched into how we talk to our elders, teachers and even strangers. We picked them up from the way our grandparents scolded us without raising their voices and how our parents answered the phone with an automatic “Opo.” But now, in this time of shifting identities and growing conversations, that age-old courtesy is starting to bump up against a new and urgent question: What if “Sir” no longer fits? What if “Ma’am” is not quite right?
For many in the LGBTQIA+ community, being called by their chosen pronoun is not about seeking special treatment. It is about not having to explain themselves in every room. It is the quiet dignity of being addressed as who you are, not who others assume you to be. A non-binary friend of mine who works in a call center told me about the first time a manager referred to them as “they” in front of the team. “It was just one word,” they said, “but I stopped feeling invisible.” Still, there are many — especially those raised in homes where the body defines the label — who quietly wonder, “Kung lalaki siya, bakit ‘she’?” Not with judgment, but with real confusion. Usually, they are not being difficult, stubborn, or rude. Sometimes, they just do not know how to navigate this new landscape.
And that is the heart of it: a sincere longing to be seen on one side, and a sincere desire to understand on the other. It is not a war of right versus wrong. It is a table where two truths are learning to sit beside each other. The veteran comedian Jon Santos recently asked, “Kung ikaliligaya at makakatulong sa inyong relasyon, bakit hindi mo ibigay?” That kind of generosity — that impulse to give joy when it costs so little — is very Pinoy. But even generosity needs understanding, or else it risks feeling like pressure. Giving from a place of confusion can feel like surrender, not solidarity. And that’s not fair to anyone.
There was an instance I remember vividly, shared by a local government employee in Iloilo. He greeted a visitor with a warm, “Magandang hapon po, Sir.” The visitor immediately retorted, “I am not a Sir!” The greeting, once well-meant, turned sour. The employee stood up, clearly embarrassed, and apologized. But the awkwardness lingered. Neither party walked away feeling good. One felt misidentified. The other, humiliated. This kind of scenario is not rare anymore. Good faith errors are being misread as bad faith transgressions. When that occurs, individuals give up — not out of lack of concern, but out of fear of being wrong in the wrong space.
In this space of shifting identities, it helps to remember that our language is already equipped with tools that many Western cultures are still searching for. We have “siya,” which does not assume gender. We have “po” and “ho,” “kayo,” “kamo,” “kita,” and “sila,” which are cues for respect irrespective of who is in front of us. Perhaps the future is to not replicate the pronoun controversies in other nations but to use what we already understand to be effective. Our culture has long made room for gentleness and ambiguity in language. Perhaps it is time we remember that.
I spoke to a private school teacher recently who shared that when group of curious pupils asked and she tried explaining “they/them” pronouns to her Grade 2 class, the children thought she was describing a new group activity. “Akala nila group project na naman,” she chuckled. But behind her joke was a real concern. “How do we teach grammar, science and faith alongside gender identity? I want to be inclusive, but I also want to be clear.” This tension is not unique to her. According to a 2023 Social Weather Stations report, while a large majority of Filipinos — around 75 percent — support anti-discrimination in principle, only 21 percent, including LGBTQIA+ individuals, report truly understanding what gender fluidity means. The compassion is there. What is missing is shared comprehension.
One must also admit, however, that some object to the increasing emphasis on pronouns less out of malice than out of an anxiety to see language being transformed too abruptly and confusingly. They look to biology, scripture, or tradition to clarify. Others object to the demand for instant compliance sounding like coercion rather than conversation. Most of us, however — myself included — fall in between. We wish to be compassionate, but not to be shamed for stumbling while we are in the process of learning. LGBT advocate and actress KaladKaren, ever candid, once remarked, “This is not politics. This is personal. You can choose to honor it or not, but please do not turn it into a battleground.” That kind of honest appeal deserves to be heard.
And while kindness is a worthy starting point, so is realism or pragmatism. Mutual respect cannot be reduced to demands. It needs to be offered, nurtured and grown. A teacher who grew up hearing “bakla” and “tomboy” as a punchline in TV sitcoms will not wake up fluent in gender-inclusive language. But if that teacher listens, asks questions, and starts trying, should we not respond with patience instead of ridicule? Respect is not automatic. It grows in the space where humility meets consistency.
The peril, maybe, is in minimizing a profoundly individual journey to a laundry list of proper grammar. The Filipino LGBTQIA+ movement for some time now has advocated for something bigger than pronoun awareness: the right to love, to live in safety, to be safe in school and in the workplace, to not be harmed for the mere fact of being. If the allies are disenchanted because the emphasis is too great on what to say rather than how to care, then the movement, some call it the SOGIE advocacy, will sputter. Pronouns are important, yes. But more meaningful still is how we make people feel — safe, supported, respected.
Some comments will cross the line — not always out of malice, but often out of discomfort or not knowing better. It is easy to shut down or snap back, but sometimes the better choice is to stay in the conversation. Not to win, but to understand. Because respect is not perfection. It is sometimes keeping judgment to yourself, giving room for error and never forgetting that being human means being imperfect — even when it is not easy.