SHE WAS not late, but her whole vibe said she wished she were anywhere else. Once the class star in SHS, now a quiet figure at the back of a college classroom, notebook hugged to her chest like it could explain everything. Her eyes bounced from the professor, to the projector, to classmates who all seemed to get it — except her. The pace was faster. The tone was sharper. There were no weekly reminders, no gentle recaps, no checklists. It was not high school anymore.
A post recently shared by retired University Professor and presently a Member of the CHED Technical Panel for Teacher Education, Dr. Luis Sorolla Jr., quoting a University of Houston professor, resurfaced this perennial debate: “I am your professor, not your teacher… My job is to lead you to the fountain of knowledge. Whether you drink deeply or only gargle is entirely up to you.”
It sounds poetic and powerful — until one sits in front of a disoriented 19-year-old student wrestling with Foucault, academic citations, and mental fatigue, barely making sense of what it even means to “drink deeply.” To some, this statement rings true. To others, especially in the Philippine context, it raises a few brows and even more questions.
I get it. Professors profess. Teachers teach. It used to be a neat way to draw the line between basic and higher education. But in today’s evolving learning spaces, that line is smudging. Luis Sorolla was right to note that teachers follow a set curriculum laid out by DepEd, while professors have the room to chart their own course.
That freedom — to choose what and how to teach — is, after all, what defines much of the college experience. But is it enough to claim, “I am not here to make you learn”? Is it not also a professor’s job to at least care if the student finds the path — or trips at the first step?
In a Jesuit school where I previously served as principal, we challenged this binary. We invited SHS students to co-author their learning — especially in Philosophy, Research, and Literature. We trained them to challenge texts, not just memorize them. We gave them agency not as a reward, but as a responsibility. These students engaged in dialogue with their teachers, but they were also held to high standards of grit, originality, and growth. The process was messy. But it was transformative.
That said, Sorolla’s shared piece is not to be dismissed. It reminds us that senior high, college, and graduate students — and their parents — must accept a painful truth: not all educators will hold your hand. Nor should they. University professors are not hired to handhold. They are deep into research, writing, and service work, on top of teaching. Their expertise lies in the discipline. Their task is to invite students into that discipline — not dilute it to make it more palatable.
But inviting is not the same as abandoning. Paulo Freire, the Brazilian philosopher who redefined critical pedagogy, once warned of the “banking model” of education where students are treated as empty containers to be filled. Yet he also cautioned against neglecting structure. Dialogue, he insisted, requires commitment from both sides. A professor who simply opens the fountain and leaves the student thirsty has not fulfilled the duty of facilitating deep learning.
Here, where the transition from senior high school to college is still a relatively new system, these distinctions become more urgent. Many SHS students enter college unequipped — not because they are unintelligent—but because the leap in expectations is vast. They go from formative assessments to blue-book essays. From weekly reflections to capstone defenses. From being guided step-by-step to navigating entire readings on their own. Without proper scaffolding, with others still functionally illiterate due to the learning crisis we now face, many drown. (To be continued)/PN
