The echoes of rage and desperation carried across the lush surroundings of Stairway Foundation as five young boys, just 10 to 13 years old, yelled, hurled rocks, and shattered what they could reach. Their voices, raw with frustration, declared one singular demand: to return to Manila and their families. Children often long for the only homes they have ever known, but this time, it came with destruction, defiance, and a more profound revelation of the trauma they carried.
These boys did not erupt into violence out of malice or mere rebellion. Their actions were a manifestation of the pain, neglect, and survival instincts forged in environments where love was often conditional and discipline meant the use of force. In their young lives, they had come to understand authority through fear. They had learned that shouting louder, hitting harder, and showing no weakness protected them in a world that had failed to nurture them.
At Stairway, they encountered something profoundly different—an environment of patience, understanding, and care. There were no harsh beatings for mistakes, retaliatory anger for their outbursts, or cruel punishments to instill submission. But instead of relief, this absence of violence left them unsettled. It was unfamiliar. In their world, where hardship and discipline were often synonymous with cruelty, the gentleness of Stairway seemed almost foreign, even weak.
A Battle Rooted in the Past
The pandemic placed vulnerable children in even greater peril. Lockdowns meant being trapped in unstable or harmful environments, with limited access to school, social services, or safe spaces. In some places, conditions worsened—overcrowding, poor sanitation, and increased risks of physical and sexual abuse became more common. A UNICEF study found that over 13 million Filipino children were pushed deeper into poverty due to the pandemic, limiting access to education and making them more vulnerable to exploitation.
For some, the streets of Manila had been their battleground, where they fought daily for survival. The transition to an environment like Stairway—safe and structured—felt almost unbearable. They were expected to trust and to heal. However, healing is a process filled with resistance, especially for those who have never experienced actual safety.
The Dark Reality of Sexual Abuse
Many children at Stairway carry not only the scars of hardship but also the invisible wounds of sexual abuse. In communities where poverty is widespread and protective systems are strained, children face heightened risks of exploitation. The Philippines has become a global center for online sexual exploitation of children (OSEC), a situation that worsened during the pandemic.
Experiences of abuse can happen at the hands of those in positions of trust—within communities, institutions, or families. Trafficking and exploitation are complex issues rooted not simply in economic hardship but also in systemic vulnerabilities and a lack of protective structures.
At Stairway, children are given the space and support to process their trauma, to voice their experiences without fear of punishment or disbelief. Yet recovery is a slow and painful journey. The violent outbursts and defensive behavior some children display are not signs of defiance but of deep, unresolved wounds. When trust has been repeatedly broken, kindness can feel like a trap.
The Digital Trap: Impact on Mental Well-Being
During the lockdowns, children living in poverty had limited access to formal education but found themselves increasingly exposed to the darker side of the internet. With fewer safeguards in place, online predators took advantage, using social media and gaming platforms to reach vulnerable young people. The consequences have been devastating: as of this writing, reported cases of online sexual abuse and exploitation of children (OSAEC) in the Philippines have soared to approximately 2.7 million, according to a report by the Commission on Human Rights (CHR).
Excessive screen time has also had a profound impact on children’s mental health, driving higher rates of anxiety, depression, and social isolation. For children already burdened by trauma, digital spaces became both an escape and a danger, reinforcing negative behaviors, deepening emotional wounds, and distorting perceptions of trust and relationships.
At Stairway, digital literacy and online safety are central to rehabilitation and learning. Children are taught to navigate the online world responsibly, build healthy digital habits, and recognize potential dangers. However, breaking patterns of digital dependency remains a challenge, especially for those who once turned to screens to numb their pain or seek connection in unsafe ways.
A Different Kind of Strength
When the boys lashed out, the Family Home Program team did not forcefully respond to their aggression. There were no punishments meant to break them, no acts of physical retaliation. Instead, there was patience, conversation, and a determination to show them that strength does not come from domination but from understanding and care. This response was not about permissiveness but modeling a different way of being.
It was a long night. Fueled by adrenaline and desperation, the boys continued their rampage until exhaustion set in. Eventually, they stopped throwing rocks, yelling, and crying. And for the first time in a long while, perhaps ever, someone was there to hear them without judgment or fear.
Breaking the Cycle
What happened at Stairway that night was not simply an isolated incident of defiance. It was a testament to the deeply ingrained effects of trauma and the painful process of unlearning harm. These children were not “bad kids.” They were hurting, lost, and grappling with emotions they did not know how to process. Stairway was, and remains, a place committed to breaking these cycles of violence and neglect—not through force, but through unwavering compassion.
A couple of the boys were sent back to their old center in Manila, where they quickly realized the harsh reality of what they had left behind. After the dust had settled, the remaining boys began to see Stairway in a new light—not as a place of confinement but as a place of refuge and possibility.
Some of those boys eventually embraced this environment, recognizing that it offered more than rules and discipline; it offered hope, healing, and a chance to redefine their futures. Still shackled by mistrust, others found it challenging to accept unfamiliar kindness and chose to leave. But even for those who walked away, a seed had been planted—a glimpse of a life where safety and compassion, not fear, could be the foundation of growth.
A Call to Action
The crisis at Stairway that night was not about five boys trying to escape. It was about the ghosts of their pasts clashing with the possibility of a different future. And though the night ended with broken glass and scattered stones, it also ended with a deeper understanding of why Stairway exists: to be a sanctuary for those who have never known one, to offer love where there was once only pain, and to stand as a beacon of change in a world that desperately needs it.