I met a once malnourished five-year old girl who used to dress in rags. She lived with her uncle who forced her to beg for money in the streets. If she failed to bring enough money home, her uncle would beat her, hanging her upside down weeping as pain ripped through her. The girl’s cousin had molested her and her mother was a drug addict and a prostitute. Her father did not want anything to do with her.

I also met a two-year-old boy who used to run and hide when he was hungry. He lived on the streets of Bacolod with his mother and two sisters. When the boy would complain that he was hungry, his alcoholic mother would beat him up. This senseless act brought the boy to associate hunger with punishment. The boy was brought to the orphanage with his four-year old sister. Their elder sister had gotten involved with a gang and was raped and killed in Bacolod.

These are just two stories of children who have been saved but there are thousands that remain on the street without loving homes. It was this reality that made me question my definition of pro-life. For years, I only paid lip service to what was central to my faith. I was hardened to the miserable lives of children living in subhuman conditions in Third World countries while I was fighting for the rights of the unborn within the safe circles of like-minded friends.

It’s easy for us to forget life on the other side, especially when we are raised in an environment where the vast majority of our children are taken care of by government. We become easily detached from the fact that many Third-World countries are anti-life environments for the living because of poverty and corruption. Crime, insurgency, hunger and disease are all anti-life forces. It was this new understanding that provoked me to expand my definition of what it means to be genuinely pro-life. These children are so far from their basic human rights.

In the Philippines, I’ve learned that caring for the less fortunate is the most pro-life thing I could ever do. But the sad reality is that it often takes an outsider to recognize the need these children have. People raised amidst poverty can also be callous and street children are regarded simply as a matter of fact.

If the children at these orphanages had not been rescued off the streets they could end up as future gang members, thieves or killers. Most of the children came from dysfunctional homes. By giving them love and restoring the image of family, the orphanage hopes to break their cycle of pain.

(Wilson, 24, studies tourism management at Camosun College in Victoria. He is currently in the Philippines for a six-month volunteer experience.)