I have been teaching the subject on Rizal’s Life, Work, and Writings to undergraduate students for more than a decade now. Recently, I was invited by the Knights of Rizal, a chivalric civil organization created in honor of our National Hero’s ideals. (Disclaimer: I finally decided to join the group as knight commander.)
There is no doubt that Jose Rizal played a big role in how I think, in my career as an academic, and in my life in general.
There are many ways in which we teach Rizal to undergraduates, but the most important thing to do is to instill in their minds – as I always asseverate in the first few meetings in my classes – important lessons or ideas they can learn from Rizal.
These lessons, it is hoped, should be applied in their respective lives outside the classrooms; doing so will not only be helpful to them, but also, by and large, will be for the greater good of the Filipino nation.
In my previous columns, I wrote about Rizal’s fight against corruption – wanting more reforms in government, not to mention his advocacy for education, which he believed was the pre-requisite for a person’s – and concomitantly, the nation’s – improvement.
I’ve also written about – and spoken about in occasions like Independence Day or Rizal Day – how Rizal encouraged, if not epitomized, speaking truth to power; something that we Filipinos at present are afraid to do, or simply refuse to do.
Nonetheless, there are ideas or lessons that he has written – from his essays, novels, and even letters to friends and family – that continue to make so much sense if applied at present.
One of these writings was his letter to the Propaganda Movement on Jan. 28, 1889, which can be found in the compilation of letters on Marcelo H. Del Pilar, his friend and fellow reformist popularly known for his sobriquet, Plaridel.
In this letter, Rizal thanked the reformists belonging to their newspaper La Solidaridad, tand eventually their group, from Barcelona for appointing him as honorary president. Typical of Rizal, he wrote that he really did not feel like his advice was needed as, according to him, “each member of the Solidaridad is as valuable as I am.” But he continued to write some of his observations on how “new societies can prosper” and his vision of a better society for the Philippines.
“In young societies,” Rizal continued, “the spirit of tolerance should prevail in dealing with small matters that do not affect essential issues.” He then went on: “During discussions, a conciliatory attitude ought to be adopted instead of a contentious manner. No one should be resentful in defeat; when an opinion is rejected, instead of despairing and withdrawing, its author should wait for another occasion to justifiably defend his opinion. The individual should give way for the welfare of society.”
These words of Rizal would show his proclivity for civil discourse – for a “conciliatory attitude” in dealing with things or issues among ourselves. Ideas should be communicated and defended as much as possible, while listening to the other side of the story is also equally important to understand the entirety of the issue. Only then can one judge whether who is right or wrong.
This should be practiced by Filipinos since Rizal continued to write, we are “very sensitive” and have “fragile self-esteem.” We easily believe in stories that are made up by others who live for the drama. Reacting negatively almost immediately, without proper verification, to these issues would lead to further damage among our relations with others.
This advice from Rizal, it must be emphasized, was directed towards his fellow reformists thinking that some of them were guilty of being too sensitive and having fragile self-esteem.
However, the irony here is that Rizal, too, was a sensitive and insecure man. This was shown when he walked out from the meeting for election of a new leader in La Solidaridad. Thereafter, he never returned to the group, and opted to return to the Philippines to “bring the medicine nearer to the sick man” as he said.
As public historian Prof. Ambeth Ocampo wrote, “Rizal won the election but walked out on the group” – seeing how disunited the group was becoming, and seeing how fighting for reforms in the Philippines outside the archipelago proved futile as they were not being heard or listened to by Spanish officials.
Digging deeper, however, Rizal walked out because he demanded unanimous support from all the reformists – one which he did not get right away, given the divide between his supporters [called the Rizalistas and that of Del Pilar’s [called the Pilaristas].
Suffice it to say, this is just an example of Rizal’s inconsistency as a person; a common foible among humans, for there are times when we really do not practice what we preach.
In this case, Rizal wasn’t practicing the “conciliatory attitude” that he wrote about to his fellow reformists.
He also told the reformists to practice “a great deal of honesty, and much goodwill” — something that is not surprising coming from Rizal as he had been taught by his parents at a young age to respect the truth, or to invariably be honest.
Lastly, he went on to write that “no one should expect awards and honors for his efforts; he who does his duty in expectation of rewards is usually disappointed, because no one usually believes he has been sufficiently compensated. Therefore, so that there may not be discontented members, or those who feel unfairly compensated, it would be good if each one would do his duty solely because it his duty…”
The duty Rizal is referring to here in his letter is the reformists’ responsibility to “fight against Spanish injustice and to fight for equality between Filipinos and Spaniards” back in the Philippines. “Equal justice for all” was his last line, and this would show his intent in his letter – to tell his fellow reformists that they are fighting for a greater cause; one that they should not expect compensation for, or any form of honor or rewards.
It is possible, indeed probable, that he wrote this to remind his fellow reformists that what they were doing, or what they were about to do, was not for themselves, but for the “greater good” of their fellow Filipinos back in the Philippines; the people who did not have the capacity, let alone the power, to speak up against the injustices done by the Spaniards.
This sense of duty is rarely found among Filipinos nowadays. More often than not, we always, if wrongly, tend to expect something in return when we perform our duties and responsibilities.
I’ll give two examples: One, when a politician or “public servant” (as they would sugarcoat themselves especially during the campaign period) decides to help some of his constituents, loyalty is expected from the recipient to do something [perhaps in the form of votes] in return for the politico.
As they say: “You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours. ”Serving the public, therefore, becomes conditional, instead of it being an unconditional duty of public servants.
Two, I have observed in the academic community that some faculty members write and publish research papers mainly for promotion purposes.
Ideally, however, doing research is a duty for us academics; we should do it not only for promotion purposes, but also for our university, to improve its ranking among other universities [nationally and globally]. In fact, the main point of research is really for knowledge production, to fill the gaps in our respective fields of study.
That said, Rizal’s ideal society might still seem ideal today given how we have not fully learned from his writings and teachings. Sadly it seems, we have only learned what we don’t wish to learn from Rizal.
What is the use, therefore, of continuing to study our National Hero’s life, works, and writing if we do not apply his relevant ideas to this day?
The bigger question now is: For what is the study of history if we do not intend to learn from it?
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