Escal, Queen Mhaiel M.

BSA 2.1 A

RlZAL AND THE UNDERSIDE OF PHILIPPINE HISTORY

As was pointed out in this, "the prescience of Rizal, in which dreams contributed only
a small part, was extraordinary, verging on the psychic." With no doubt, in the context
of rural life in the Philippines, this quality is practically expected of people like faith
healers, seers, and owners of strong anting-anting. He was forced to think about death,
I believe, not by the average intellectual's romanticization of it but rather by a true
presentiment. In 1890, Rizal wrote to fellow propagandist Marcelo del Pilar, sharing a
rare glimpse into his innermost thoughts: "In my boyhood, it was my ardent belief that
I would not reach the age of thirty, and I do not know why I used to think in that way.
I have been having almost exclusively dead friends and family members in my dreams
for the past two months. Even in a dream, I once descended a road into the bowels of
the ground and encountered a large group of people who were sitting, wearing all
white, remaining silent, and surrounded by white light. There, I encountered two
members of my family, one of whom was already deceased and the others stayed alive.
Even though I don't believe in such things, my body is very robust, and I don't have
any illnesses of any type, I nonetheless get ready for death by organizing what I need
to leave behind and making plans for any scenario. I call by the name Laong Laan. The
amazing thing about this dream is that it shows Rizal's ascension to the rank of
mythology since childhood, not so much his inner self. There are countless tales about
beautifully lit underground tunnels in the southern Tagalog region, especially in the
interiors of sacred mountains where legendary monarchs and ancestors reside.
The cave of Bernardo Carpio and the tomb of Jesus Christ rise to mind as two
instances. After his execution, the Laguna villagers would see Rizal as the ruler of a sort
of paradise in the heart of Mount Makiling, a location that was "as bright as daylight"
without any discernible source of illumination. Rizal is the body through which social
concepts of death are disclosed or are spoken in Rizal's unconscious moments, despite
his ilustrado position ("I do not believe in such things," he declares). Dying is not being
"encircled in white light" is a condition of absolute, bright potency, not the annihilation
of the self. It is a route that leads to the centre of the world, where potency is
extraordinarily concentrated, and the depths of the earth. The significance of this 1890
dream is that it provides Rizal with a counterargument to his desire for his way of dying
to resemble that of Christ. With a bible and a copy of Kempis's On the Imitation of
Christ in his cell when he was imprisoned in Fort Santiago in November 1896, Rizal
made one of the first things he did designing and sending to his family a small sketch of
"The Agony in the Garden," along with the words, "This is but the first station." For a
person who cherished Christ and decried the obscurantism of the church, Rizal's actions
were not out of the ordinary. Rizal was showing hints that the pasyon will soon be
reenacted.
The widely reported trial was a farce, but it perfectly suited the circumstances. Rizal
was referred to as "the soul of this rebellion" by the prosecutor, who undoubtedly
dreamed of power, pomp, and circumstance. His people "pay him liege homage and
look up to him as a superior being whose sovereign commands are obeyed without
question," according to a document from the governor-general's office that was
referred to the court. In support of this portrayal of Rizal, the judge advocate general
stated that the latter was "the idol, in short, of the ignorant rabble and even of more
significant but equally uncultured individuals [i.e., the katipuneros] who saw in this
professional agitator a superhuman being worthy to be called the supremo [a title
actually used by Bonifacio]." In reality, much of what Rizal had done or said before to
1892 contributed to it, at least to the "ignorant rabble" that he referred to. Even the
Spaniards recognised that something extraordinary was happening, but Rizal could only
claim that he was acting in self-defense while keeping his hands crossed, his body
immobile, and outwardly displaying tremendous tranquilly. Naturally, "the words of Rizal
produced no effect at all" as the judge advocate general refused to permit publishing of
Rizal's manifesto and that he had not been involved in political affairs since July 1892,
denouncing the revolt because, in essence, it "stated in substance: 'Let us subordinate
ourselves now, for hereafter I shall lead to the Promised Land.' A Spanish doctor who
was perplexed by his composure examined his pulse and discovered that it was
completely normal. Rizal had his back to the firing squad despite his objections, but he
was ready for a rapid turn in death by adopting a peculiar position and falling face up.
He did, in fact, lay dead facing the breaking dawn after uttering his last words,
Consummatum estl, in a clear, firm voice, followed by a hail of musket fire. The sketch,
the notes, the trial, his lakaran, his composure and composure, his final words, the
dawn breaking in the East—these and many other particulars show that Rizal's
execution was a cruel and unusual punishment.
It was an extraordinary event because it was "true to form," reenacting the trial and
death of Jesus Christ with new details that expanded its range of implications, not
merely because a model Filipino was killed for following his beliefs. In view of this, it is
understandable why Rizal's poem Mi Ultimo Adios (My Last Farewell), which was written
on the night of his passing and translated into Tagalog by Bonifacio and others, rivals or
even tops his novels in terms of popularity. By repeating the lengthy Paalam (Farewell)
scene in the pasyon, it not only makes for excellent poetry but also adds to the death
scenario. On the eve of offering his life in sacrifice for the redemption of this country,
Rizal says a heartfelt goodbye to his parents, loved ones, and, in especially, the Filipino
people.
Rizal's method of dying created a system of symbols that could be understood by all
lowland, Christianized Filipinos for those who could not read Tagalog or Spanish: a
Filipino Christ had been put to death by the authorities under the prompting of the
friars. It was now time for the entire populace to join the revolution and take part in a
"national" pasyon, despite any regional, linguistic, or racial obstacles. Veteran of the
Katipunan, Francisco Laksamana, described it this way in 1911:
The remembrance of Rizal's death in several places is described in the revolutionary
publications La Independencia and El Heraldo de la Revolution from late 1898 and early
1899. In the town of Batangas, the whole populace is described as having gathered,
tearfully wailing, before a portrait of Rizal "which made them recall the desert of
sorrows traversed by the Christ of our pueblo. "When the Spanish philosopher Miguel
de Unamuno calls Rizal "the Tagalog Christ suffering in the garden of Gethsemane," we
begin to wonder whether Rizal, like most things Filipino, is not being assimilated into
the realm of the "familiar." Does the death of Rizal really a scaled-down retelling of the
pasyon tale, the expression of contemporary anti-colonial feelings in the Christian
metaphor of self-giving and salvation? As we previously noted, holy week ceremonies
served as a setting for a number of practises related to the gathering and management
of spiritual power. In the pasyon, there is a facet of Christ that is more like the
Javanese mythological figure known as the halus satria than like Spanish models.