On June 19, Filipinos around the world will celebrate the 150th birthday of Jose Rizal, the martyred hero from the town of Calamba, Laguna who was executed by the Spanish authorities in colonial Manila, the eastern capital of the Spanish empire from 1565-1899. Accused of fomenting a revolution that his contemporaries Andres Bonifacio and Emilio Aguinaldo will later fulfill, Rizal’s martyrdom captured the imagination of an emerging Filipino nation and the first republic in Asia. His legacy however, was not by the sword but with the pen. A prolific and ardent propagandist who spoke against the neglect of Spain over its eastern dominion and whose population was being left behind by the march of progress sweeping 19th century Europe, his words in print and those carried over by word of mouth, provided the founders of Filipino nationhood, high ideals of governance, ethical behavior, and love for country, language and culture. Rizal’s work, epitomized by the novels, Noli Me Tangere and El Filibusterismo, remain as a high standard of cultural production. He, after all, died for what he wrote. Words, however, do not die off quickly, for there are those who firmly believe Rizal is alive –his spirit, that is.

I spent many years, as an anthropology student, in the hinterlands of the Southern Tagalog provinces (Laguna, Quezon, Batangas) among groups of people who believed that Rizal is not dead. They are school teachers, faith healers, herbal medicine men and women, in general, simple folk who belong to little churches and associations that honor Rizal and other heroes. Every June 19th, they flock to the Rizal Calamba Shrine – Rizal’s home, or the Luneta monument (now Rizal Park), or in some town square where Rizal’s statue has been erected. Their adulation is similar all around, extolling the virtues and character of Jose Rizal, the good son, brother, and husband, the honorable man, the generous physician, the intellectual genius, and everything else that Rizal might stand for in society so much in need of approbation, integrity, and progress after many years of mismanagement by self-interested public officials. These people who honor Rizal, commonly known as “Rizalista” understood the death of the physical and material body of Rizal. But they also believed, in the deep tradition long held by our ancestors but swept aside by material progress and colonialism, that human existence has a duality – the material and the spiritual. Yes they say, the material body of Rizal died, as all humans will, albeit more dramatically for Rizal, but the spiritual lives on. Because it is spiritual, and, as our ancestors will say, spirits tend to linger and seek ways to be made known of their existence. Hence, the Rizalista churches and chapels that dot the countryside where Rizalistas make offerings, aspire for a better life, and quietly pray and wait for Rizal’s return. That return will be heralded by a renaissance in humanity, of Filipino humanity, of good governance, honesty and material progress and it will be marked by the rise of a giant golden bamboo from the womb of Mount Banahaw. Apparently, the country is not ready and Rizal is biding his time. Some say he roams the subterranean world of Mt. Banahaw, Mt. Makiling and Mt. Arayat, checking on its resources and protecting what is left. Others say, he remains beneath the Philippine waters, presiding over a water world of beings. I am told that Rizal has been enticed to reveal himself, to surface to the contemporary world but he relented, claiming that the country is not ready. One hundred fifty years is a long time, but a few more years may not matter for the promise of great rewards.