“I’ve reached the end of this great history/And all land will fill with talk of me:/I shall not die, these seeds I’ve sown will save/My name and reputation from the grave,/And men of sense and wisdom will proclaim,/When I have gone, my praises and my fame.”—Abu’l-Qâsem Ferdowsi Tusi, Shahnameh.
My name is Manuel Ortega. I am a foreign correspondent for the New York Times. My country, the United States, believes it has the “manifest destiny” to expand its exceptionalism to the rest of the world. The government of the day is targeting countries that have been under the colonial rule of Spain, like Cuba and the Philippines. Because of my Spanish heritage and fluency of the language, my employer thinks I am the best person to be assigned to the Philippines. A war of independence has erupted on August 23 this year. I arrive in the early week of October. I am just acclimating to the history, conditions and current events of the archipelago when news about the arrest of a prominent writer for sedition, rebellion and conspiracy has caused a buzz of activity among the reporters hanging around the lobby of the Manila Hotel. Immediately, I have decided that this writer would be the focus of my reporting. But first, I must read his two novels which stirred anger and resentment to colonial Spaniards, especially the friars. It’s not easy to get copies but because I’m willing to pay an exorbitant price to get hold of them, a colleague relinquishes his. I have a few weeks to read the novels and gather as many materials I can about the prisoner whose trial is scheduled on December 6. Night and day I spend my waking hours knowing the guy. The more I get to know him, my respect of him as a person and a patriot increases exponentially. The trial is moot though. The Spanish authorities want to make an example of him, that is, only death awaits for those who rebel. The evidence presented in the court against him is flimsy at best. Yet the military tribunal finds him guilty of all counts on December 26. He has been scheduled to be executed by firing squad in the early morning of December 30. I have no time to waste. I secure access to interview him in his cell for an hour each day before his execution. I get to work.
December 27
You do expect that you won’t get a fair trial especially from a military tribunal. You experienced firsthand the unfairness of the court system on how it treated your mother. Yet you submitted willingly instead of taking the escape route offered to you by your own people. Do you regret trusting the Spaniards more than your people?
We all have regrets and I am no exception. My trial is a proof of my loyalty to Spain. I have been advocating that the Philippines should be considered a province of Spain, which means we should obey its laws and institutions, including the right to due process and fair trial. If I escape then my faith in a democratic government is broken. I know I am innocent of these charges and have never participated in the birth and development of the revolutionary movement. As you know, I have been exiled for a while to a remote place with the conditions of not engaging in any form of politics. I have been silent and never wrote anything radical to break that arrangement. I applied to volunteer as a medical doctor in Spain’s war against Cuba. Through all these acts, I have shown not to be in complicit to the destruction of Spain. I am sad, of course, that this military tribunal would still find me guilty of revolutionary crimes.
In your writings, you are very critical of the conditions being inflicted in your people by the Spanish regime. The Propaganda Movement, which you were an active participant, did not sway Mother Spain to institute reforms in the Philippines. Your people have had enough and they feel that their only recourse is to get rid of the Spaniards once and for all. You even said so in your second novel, yet you ended up with a failed revolution. Why do you think that the revolution is not the answer?
As I said all along, it is because the people are not ready. They don’t have guns and cannons. They don’t have military strategies to defeat the Spaniards. They don’t have plans on how to go about running the country. All the best Filipino minds are in Europe and will not participate in the revolution unless they see victory. They cannot risk their comfort and will only make a lot of noise from the distance. Revolution will bring a lot of destruction and cost of lives. I don’t want the country plunge into further darkness. The only light I see is a gradual reform and this can be achieved with a more educated citizenry. Through education, we can show and prove to Mother Spain that we also have the talent and skill that are universally shared by all humankind. It will be a long process. Our patience will be tested. But I think we are half-way there. We already have educated people here and abroad. It is just a matter of time when Mother Spain would realize that it is in her own self-interest to allow reforms in order to avoid any talks of revolution.
December 28
Before I come in today, I saw three priests exiting your cell. You were so relentless in your criticisms of these people. Have you reconciled with them? Do you retract all your words against them and come back to the fold? Do you believe in religion once again?
We are all products of our time. Catholicism has taken roots deeply into our lives and displaces our Muslim heritage. We have been conditioned to believe in God. Religion, like any tradition, is difficult to be dislodged. I believe in a wise and compassionate God. But He is not in this world to rule over us. We have humans, flawed or otherwise, destined to do the job. In the same vein, His so-called messengers are subject to either their better angels or their worst nature. There are good and evil priests. I am making peace to the good ones. My retraction is a signal that there is always a room for compromise in my objection of their faults. We need to come to terms in order to move forward for better times. I had been educated by the Jesuits and owed the development of my critical thinking to them. Since I put too much faith in education in making this country gain traction for a brighter future, I think the good priests can help in this regard.
Well, for the benefit of your country, isn’t it better for you to be alive than dead? The revolution is on regardless of its timing. You can insist it is not the right time. But here we are. I hear your arguments why you don’t want to be associated with it. You took the risk of coming back, although time and time again, your family and friends were telling you of the danger to yourself. You said then that one must have the courage to face the consequences of one’s action. You were, in a way, egging your compatriots in Europe to have courage by your example. Is your death the ultimate sacrifice?
I am a writer and fight only with my pen. I open eyes for enlightenment rather than close them forever. I am not a leader of men who will command them to the path of sure death. In one’s life, you can only play a certain role. I dedicated everything I have to achieve my miniscule part in the story of my country. Through my writings, I have awakened the people of their dismal conditions under Spain and suffered as a consequence. My family paid dearly as well. We lost our home and economic well-being. In two days, I will be executed for a crime I did not commit. Are these not enough? What more can I give? I lay down my life so the others can live.
December 29
Tomorrow, you will be executed. Are you afraid?
I always knew I would not live a long life. When you embarked a life of opposition, chances are you’re putting your safety in danger all the time. Death is something you must prepare because it is part of our being. I accept it at this early stage because I am getting weary of life. After tomorrow, I can rest forever.
Do you think of your legacy? What is your farewell message to your people?
It is interesting you would ask that because when I was a boy my sisters would tease me about my height. I told them that a monument would be erected with me on top, so that I would look down at them while they would strain their necks looking up at me. It’s all for fun, of course. No, I don’t motivate myself to achieve a legacy. You do what you have to do because it is the right thing. If people honour you after your death, that is more for them than me. I wouldn’t see the appreciation, or the celebration. They could sing high praises about me but their voices would not reach me. As to my last message, I have this poem written down. There is this romantic side of me to express my thoughts on paper for posterity. I vainly hope I will not be forgotten.
When you walk to your finish line, what will you be thinking?
I will take a better look at my surroundings. I’ll absorb them in my consciousness one last time before they are ultimately erased. I will think of my slow pace to death just as the dangerous steps my people have taken because of the revolution. I will feel the sorrow in my heart, but like all things in life, the people will move on. They will survive this tragic ordeal, too. I will be calm knowing that my people will be free someday, that my death is not the end of it all.
December 30
It is early morning. The weather is sunny with a breeze of cool air. A beautiful day to walk or run along the park. I have positioned myself close to the path where the prisoner will take his final steps to his execution. The firing squad is ready. The Filipino soldiers are in front to do the shooting. And the Spanish soldiers at the back ready to shoot the Filipino soldiers who will not perform their duty. People, mostly Spaniards, who come to witness the execution, are silent at first. But when the procession starts with the prisoner behind the three priests praying the rosary, they start jeering at him and shouting: TRAITOR, TRAITOR, TRAITOR. They come for blood to spoil the ground. But their scream does not faze the prisoner. His brave demeanour is in full display before their eyes. He is wearing Western suit and hat, telling the Spaniards: I AM YOUR EQUAL. When he reaches the final spot, he seems to be in deep thought. Upon the shout of FIRE, he turns around to face the gunfire without hesitation. He falls down with eyes closed as the chapter of his life ends as well. There goes a patriot, a fine and decent man whose brilliant mind and beautiful words stir consciousness to his people and bring fear to their colonizers. You can either love the man or hate him, but you cannot question his bravery.
[Writer’s note: The story is fictional. The trial and execution, however, are true events. This is my third Balita article about Dr. Jose Rizal, and my last. I hope I did him honour.]
5 December 2024