The polished weapon: A mother’s take on civility

If you’ve raised children, you know the exhausting, repetitive labor of teaching decorum. Say please. Wait your turn. Don’t interrupt. We spend years drilling basic civility into our kids, hoping that by the time we release them into the world – whether they’re entering a corporate boardroom, a tennis court or a courtroom – they’ll know how to act with composure and treat people with respect.

In classical rhetoric and drama, decorum meant matching style and tone to the dignity of the subject and the needs of the audience. In modern public life, it serves the exact same purpose: it establishes a shared social protocol so we can navigate volatile disputes without collapsing into chaos.

Yet watching how adults interact across sports, politics and everyday personal conversations, I notice a troubling pattern. We frequently forget why we taught those lessons in the first place. Adults have converted good manners into a tactical weapon, crossing a thin line between true decorum and self-righteousness the moment protocol takes precedence over genuine human respect.

When I taught my children decorum, the goal wasn’t to raise performers who knew how to smile politely while being mistreated, nor was it to raise tattletales. The goal was self-restraint, firm boundaries and composure under pressure. We saw what real, grounded decorum looks like in action when tennis star Alex Eala dealt with an overzealous fan who tossed a cap at her for an autograph following her match. Rather than putting on a grand display of public indignation or throwing a tantrum, Eala stopped, picked up the cap and calmly set a clear boundary: she didn’t humiliate the fan or perform outrage for the cameras – she established a firm standard of mutual respect and then quietly signed the cap anyway. That is decorum backed by dignity, not self-righteousness. Conversely, decorum is meant to protect the integrity of institutions, not undermine them through cheap spectacle.

Consider the recent clash between defense counsel Michael Poa and fellow spox Paolo Panelo. When Panelo publicly dismissed legal proceedings as a farce and claimed Poa agreed with him, Poa pushed back directly to set the record straight: “I will not allow my name to be dragged.” Poa emphasized that legal objections belong in formal petitions before the Supreme Court, not in public “bardagulan” or casual media commentary. Here, Poa demonstrated that true professional decorum isn’t about passive agreement or polite silence – it’s about protecting process, truth and institutional dignity over sensationalism.

Decorum is stewardship. It asks, “How do we navigate disagreement without destroying respect?” Self-righteousness is vanity. It asks, “How can I use this moment to prove I am morally superior?”

Every mother recognizes the difference between a child setting a clean boundary and a sibling who weaponizes “the rules” to punish others. In the adult world, that same instinct plays out in different areas considered as major arenas in life.

For those in the public sphere and sports, real civility, like Eala’s, balances firmness with grace. Self-righteousness, on the other hand, seizes minor missteps to publicly humiliate others or demand harsh punishments to prove a point.

In legal and political discourse, decorum in formal channels – exemplified by Poa’s insistence on formal remedies – serves to protect the rule of law. When decorum is degraded into sensationalism, it forfeits its purpose.

In personal or digital spaces, confusing righteousness with civility creates environments where private vulnerability is punished and arrogant “talking down” is disguised as authority or correctness. Such can be attributed to the severe youth issues we see happening today.

The difference between genuine civility and self-righteousness is most evident in how each handles human interaction. I always saw this through the example of my grandfather Peping Roces, who valued human interest over ego. He chose to listen in order to preserve dialogue. Even the most sensitive matters were often resolved simply because he was not after his own personal interest. My grandfather did his best to take into consideration how others expressed themselves, enabling him to work around any issue that might arise. This to me was a perfect example of how, in our adult life, flawless performance will never outdo basic human dignity.

Civility remains vital. I still advocate for decorum, professional standards and self-restraint. But politeness without empathy is merely cruelty with good posture. If our insistence on “decorum” is used to talk down to others rather than protect human dignity, we aren’t practicing civility – we are simply demonstrating how to be comfortably, politely heartless.

In a world quick to condemn, we do better by choosing to be the person who offers a little extra grace. Just like my grandfather, who chose human interests over ego, it was not the sharpest reprimands that mended a broken space, but the gentle strength of our understanding.

When we lead with compassion, rather than the desire to conquer, we create a real sanctuary where true connection and lasting peace can once and for all take root. True understanding requires stepping off the pedestal and putting aside the urge to scold. The moment you decide you are inherently more righteous than your neighbor, you forfeit the ability to understand them. As mothers, we remind our children that being right is never an excuse for being unkind.

The lessons we learn from the Bible are lessons rooted in timeless wisdom – recall James 1:19, to be “quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger” and Proverbs 15:1, reminding us that “a soft answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger.” Civility does not begin in grand halls; it begins in the quiet humility of daily life.

In the end,righteousness may win the argument, but only grace wins a heart.