What to know
- More than 137,000 children in Lanao del Sur, Philippines, lack birth certificates—blocking access to education and basic rights.
- The film follows two mothers, Asliah and Noraima, who struggle to secure documentation for their children amid poverty and displacement.
- The Marawi siege and ongoing conflict have deepened barriers, making travel for official paperwork nearly impossible for many families.
- ‘I Have A Name’ was released on International Day of the Girl to highlight the global issue of official invisibility for girls and inspire action.
Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ / ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
This review contains spoilers for the film ‘I Have A Name’.
For most Canadians, a birth certificate is paperwork tucked away until someone asks for it.
In I Have a Name, it can determine whether a child gets to walk into a classroom.
Released for International Day of the Girl, Filipino filmmaker Ditsi Carolino’s documentary follows two mothers in Lanao del Sur, Philippines, as they try to secure birth certificates for children who exist in every meaningful sense — but remain invisible to many of the systems meant to recognize them.
Plan International Canada is a non-profit, international humanitarian organization that works to advance children’s rights and equality for girls.
Today, Oct. 11, marks the International Day of the Girl; a day meant to highlight the unique challenges and systemic discrimination young women face worldwide, including lack of access to education, nutrition, legal rights, healthcare, child marriage, and gender-based violence.
In honour of this annual celebration, Plan International and Ditsi Carolino joined forces to create a documentary that spotlights girls’ resilience in Lanao del Sur, Philippines, who live without birth certificates and the fundamental rights they bring.
I Have A Name aims to show the reality of more than 137,000 children living without a birth certificate in Lanao del Sur and create a global moment to listen to girls’ voices, celebrate their potential, and push back against the barriers that stand in their way.
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I grew up with my parents emphasizing the importance of education. I always studied hard at school, and as soon as I got home, I studied more.
With my parents’ support, I always dreamed big, moved over 300 kilometres away from home to study in Toronto, and now work as a journalist.
But after seeing this film, I can’t even begin to imagine that a document that may seem as simple and “easy” to get as a birth certificate can keep these children from attending school.
The film gives viewers a sneak peek into the lives of two different families: 36-year-old mother Asliah and her family, and 25-year-old mother Noraima and her family.
Asliah wishing her children a better life
Asliah said in the film that she was so in love she married at 14 and later gave birth to eight children—only her first four received birth certificates at a hospital in Manila.
The other four were born at home in Lanao del Sur. The family faced many financial struggles, with Asliah’s husband struggling to find work in their lakeside community and having to move to the capital in search of opportunities. Some days, the family could barely afford rice.
Hearing her story pained me, but one quote that stuck with me was Asliah wishing her children a better life through education.
“I wasn’t able to finish my education and couldn’t find a good job,” Asliah said. “I told myself that education is important for my children. They need to finish school so they can stand on their own and get good jobs.”
But to do that, they need a birth certificate—something she feels is key to one’s identity.
“When a child has no birth certificate, it feels like something is missing. It’s like she still has no name,” Asliah said.
Noraima can’t afford transport to the hospital
Noraima faced a similar situation, struggling to feed her children, and two out of her four children were without a birth certificate.
Noraima’s story shone a light on the 2017 Marawi siege, when fighting between government forces and ISIS-linked armed groups displaced hundreds of thousands of people across the region.
Home births are common in her community, as the cost alone to go to the hospital was very steep.
Despite wanting her children to be educated, Noraima faced a difficult choice: rice or a birth certificate.
“When you only have enough money for rice, that’s what you spend it on,” she said in the film.
As much as she wanted them to have an education, her family’s immediate needs came first.
That’s what made the film’s reality even sadder: how many times do we casually order Uber Eats without thinking twice? Or an Uber when it gets too cold to commute.
For Noraima, a taxi to the hospital to give birth isn’t even a cost she can afford.
I know Toronto’s high cost of living makes it difficult, but I’m thankful many of us don’t struggle the way these two families do: trying to survive without official documentation such as a birth certificate.
If I had to rate this film, I’d give I Have A Name 5/5 stars for visually showing struggles many Canadians might not understand—and take for granted—for something that may seem as simple as a birth certificate.
I Have A Name’s full-length documentary came out today, Oct. 11, available to view here.
