AI promises to “know” everything—but who decides what can be known, and by whom? As a young leader, I am honored to be part of One Young World’s Indigenous Advisory Circle and to work alongside thousands of Indigenous youth who are advancing data sovereignty in our communities. For us, data is not raw material. It carries story, ceremony, and responsibility. When algorithms scrape the internet and call it “open,” they often ingest our culture without consent. The fastest way

Call it an “agricultural amendment.” Read it as a trust‑building instrument. Rabat and Brussels have agreed to amend their farm accord, with provisional application upon signature in Brussels. On paper, it is technocratic—clarifying tariff preferences, harmonizing market access, and updating origin labels. In practice, it is strategic. The deal aligns treatment of products from Morocco’s southern regions with those from the north, with labels such as “Laayoune–Sakia El Hamra”

Imagine a library burning down, one that holds the oral histories, poetry, and wisdom of countless generations. This is not a metaphor; it is happening right now, as the world's languages disappear at an alarming rate. With every language that falls silent, we are not merely losing a list of words. We are incinerating a unique chapter of the human story, an irreplaceable archive of culture, memory, and identity that diminishes us all.

We are racing to teach machines to understand human language. But what if the data we're feeding them represents only a tiny fraction of human expression? Our AI future, often portrayed as a pinnacle of intelligence, risks being culturally impoverished and fundamentally biased if we don't act now. The fight to preserve the world’s endangered languages is not a nostalgic look backward; it is an urgent, forward-looking necessity to build a truly intelligent and equitable techno

When we imagine a livable city, we often think of efficient transport, vibrant public spaces, and sustainable infrastructure. But we rarely ask a more fundamental question: Is this a city where a child can safely play, learn, and grow? For too long, cities have been designed for cars, commerce, and convenience — not for children. It's time to see cities through a different lens: the eyes of a child.

In the midst of the AI revolution, a paradox defines our era: While technology accelerates beyond imagination, much of our workforce is struggling to keep pace. This dissonance is not a failure of individuals, but a collective oversight in how we prepare for the future. If we continue to advance machines without equally investing in human potential, we risk deepening economic divides and squandering the greatest asset any society has—its people. Artificial intelligence is not

In the long and winding conversation about education reform in the Philippines, much has been said about curriculum, pedagogy, infrastructure, and teacher training. Yet one of the most insidious roots of our educational woes remains largely untouched — our textbooks. These silent authorities in classrooms across the country continue to reproduce a version of history that undermines our identity and reinforces colonial narratives. If we are truly serious about meaningful refor

For centuries, cities have been designed with clear goals in mind: maximize productivity, fortify defense, facilitate trade, and ensure efficiency. The measures used to determine urban success have followed suit: gross domestic product (GDP), real estate values, traffic throughput, and infrastructure investments. These are quantifiable and easy to chart on a graph or balance sheet. Yet, they are remarkably poor at telling us how it feels to live in a city.

Let us begin not with the city, but with the purpose of the city. For everything that exists, exists for the sake of some good. The flute is made for music, the ship for sailing, and the city — the polis — is formed for the good life. Yet modern cities seem to forget this. We build for speed, for capital, for expansion — but rarely for virtue, rarely for happiness in its truest form. If we wish to build happier cities, we must ask not what makes a city large, rich, or efficie

Last month, the International Court of Justice delivered the most consequential legal text on climate change in history, and it could not have come at a more urgent moment for the Philippines. In a unanimous advisory opinion, the Court said in plain language that every State now bears binding obligations to cut greenhouse-gas emissions, help each other adapt, and repair the damage already done. These duties flow not only from the Paris Agreement and its predecessors but also

By the time I picked up a slim volume of "The Discourses of Epictetus," I had been smoking for a couple of years. Not socially. Not occasionally. I smoked in the way that defines identity — the kind of smoker who doesn’t ask if a break is coming but when. The pack-a-day kind. The stress, the habit, the illusion of control. Then, Epictetus, a crippled Greek slave-turned-philosopher, challenged everything I thought I was in control of.

Every year, another alarming statistic forces Filipinos to confront a troubling truth: HIV infections in the country are skyrocketing. The Philippines is now grappling with one of the fastest-growing HIV epidemics in the world, and in the Western Pacific region, it stands alone at the top of a list no country wants to lead.

As I walk through the dense and ever-evolving urban landscape of Metro Manila—one of Southeast Asia’s most linguistically diverse metropolises—I’m met with a contradiction I can’t ignore. This city, teeming with life from every corner of the archipelago and beyond, is home to at least 217 local and international languages. Yet many of these tongues, particularly indigenous ones, are slipping into silence right under our noses.

August is National Language Month — a time meant to honor the diverse linguistic heritage of our nation. And yet, there is something peculiar, even contradictory, about this commemoration: the very institutions that call on us to celebrate language are often the same ones that enforce English as the standard of intelligence, education, and legitimacy. From classrooms to courtrooms, boardrooms to online platforms, one language reigns — not because it’s better, but because it’s

What is a city? To most, it is buildings, lights, transport systems, and a skyline etched against the sky. But beneath these visible layers lies another, more vital foundation: the life of the mind. Cities today race toward progress—measured in tech start-ups, high-speed trains, vertical gardens, and endless streams of data. But in our pursuit of innovation, we must ask: are we cultivating thinkers or merely consumers? Are we building spaces where souls can grow, or only mark