Not every shade of green belongs to nature. Some are manufactured—polished by algorithms, perfected by prompts, and convincing enough to make us forget what lies beneath. The most dangerous kind of environmentalism is the one that only looks sustainable.

MBHTE-Concepcion National High School launched its Nutrition Month 2026 Nutri-Infographic Contest under the theme, "Nutrisyon at Kalikasan, Ating Pangalagaan!" A timely advocacy and a meaningful cause. Yet buried beneath those words is a contradiction too glaring to be ignored. The school encouraged participants to maximize artificial intelligence in creating their entries, inviting students to advocate for environmental stewardship through a technology whose own environmental footprint was never part of the conversation.

The contradiction is difficult to ignore. How do we ask students to protect the environment while promoting a technology powered by energy-intensive data centers that consume enormous amounts of electricity and freshwater just to remain operational? How do we celebrate sustainability while remaining silent about the resources consumed behind every prompt?

Environmentalism cannot survive on slogans. It cannot be reduced to a theme, a caption, or an infographic polished enough to collect Facebook reactions. Real advocacy begins where convenience ends. It demands that we question not only the message we deliver but also the means by which we deliver it.

Science has already begun answering the questions many refuse to ask.

Researchers from the University of California, Riverside, led by computer engineer Shaolei Ren, found that generative artificial intelligence carries a hidden water footprint because the data centers powering these systems rely heavily on freshwater cooling to prevent servers from overheating. A single AI interaction may appear insignificant, but multiplied by millions—now billions—of prompts every day, that convenience translates into a massive demand for one of the world's most essential resources.

The electricity behind those prompts tells an equally uncomfortable story.

The International Energy Agency warns that artificial intelligence is driving an unprecedented increase in electricity demand from data centers around the world. Those servers do not operate on innovation alone. They operate on electricity that, in many countries, is still generated through fossil fuels. Every AI-generated image, every chatbot response, every polished infographic contributes to an infrastructure that consumes energy, emits carbon, and intensifies pressure on an already fragile environment.

Yet somehow, this became the tool chosen to promote environmental stewardship.

This is not an indictment of artificial intelligence. AI is transformative. It has changed education, communication, and creativity in ways that were unimaginable only a few years ago. But every technological advancement carries responsibilities alongside its benefits. To celebrate one while refusing to discuss the other is not education—it is selective storytelling.

That is where this contest falls short.

Students are taught to reduce waste, conserve water, and protect ecosystems, but they are never encouraged to ask whether the technology they are using carries environmental consequences of its own. The advocacy becomes incomplete; sustainability becomes conditional; environmentalism becomes something to display instead of something to practice.

Schools should never fear technology, yes, but they should fear uncritical acceptance of it.

Environmentalism is not a template, not an algorithm, and not an AI-generated forest glowing on a screen—it is consistency.

If a competition claims to champion sustainability and environmental stewardship, then its standards should reflect those values. Contests about protecting nature should encourage ideas born from human thought, research, and creativity—not outputs generated by technologies that themselves carry environmental costs. Artificial intelligence has its place in education, but a competition whose very purpose is to inspire environmental responsibility should not rely on tools that contradict the advocacy it seeks to promote.

If the goal is to protect the environment, then let the advocacy begin with the process itself. No AI-generated entries. No shortcuts disguised as sustainability. Let students create with their own minds, because the most powerful environmental message is not the one generated in seconds by a machine—it is the one crafted through genuine understanding, responsibility, and conviction.

Otherwise, "Nutrisyon at Kalikasan, Ating Pangalagaan!" becomes exactly what it warns against: a façade that looks green, sounds green, but beneath the surface remains artificially green.

The Frontman