The reclamation of my Filipino identity has naturally led me
to Jose Rizal and his works. I have completed his two novels, Noli Me Tangere
(Touch Me Not) and El Filibusterismo. The words Noli Me Tangere (Touch Me Not) comes
from the Latin version of words spoken, according to John 20:17 (King James
Version), by Jesus to Mary Magdalene when she recognized him after his
resurrection. He said “Touch me not; for I am not yet ascended to my Father.” Historians have also noted that the title is a reference to
cancer of the eyelids as Jose Rizal was also an ophthalmologist.
The novel opens with a letter of a patriot to his country. It is
an awareness that something has gone wrong with the health of the nation. The
patriot viewed it as a cancer and that in his writing, he would attempt to
“lift the veil hiding your ills, and sacrifice everything to truth, even my own
pride, since, as your son, I, too, suffer your defects and shortcomings.”
The main character, Crisóstomo Ibarra is much like its author
having spent some time in Europe to be educated and then returns home to the
Philippines. His hope is to reunite with his childhood sweetheart María Clara
and get to know his country again. The first chapter is a dinner party thrown
by a family friend Captain Tiago, Maria Clara’s father, attended by the upper
echelons of the town which includes Dominican and Franciscan friars described
by Dr. Rizal as “…the
parasites, spongers, and freeloaders that God, in his infinite goodness, has so
lovingly multiplied in Manila.” The party reads as if acted on stage where each
character is posturing as something other than the truth.
The novel progresses with what seems like the veil lifting from
Ibarra’s eyes as his idealism is corrupted by loss. First it was finding out
the circumstances of his father, Don Rafael’s death. Ibarra’s father was
accused of heresy and then after a series of other events is imprisoned. Don
Rafael dies in prison and his body is eventually exhumed and then thrown in a
lake. While Ibarra performs extraordinary acts of beneficence, like building a
school, his intent grows darker with vengeance towards the priest that rendered
Don Rafael’s fate.
In addition to this story, Dr. Rizal includes snippets of the
lives surrounding Ibarra where the absurdity and abuses of the clergy and those
in power are evident. The most important vignette is the intersection of Ibarra
and a man named Elias. At some point Elias forebodes that “Without freedom
there is no light…You don’t see the preparations for struggle, you don’t see
the cloud on the horizon. Combat begins in the sphere of ideas, to descend into
the arena, which will be colored with blood”. In the end, their fates are
intertwined and the reader becomes uncertain which man is the fugitive and
which is the patriot.
The story is continued in El Filibusterismo but 13 years into
the future. Dr. Rizal himself in writing to a friend described the word and any
person named a Filibustero (or subversive) as a “dangerous patriot who will
soon be on the gallows…” The word is often used through the novel when
characters were overheard maligning the clergy. Unlike the “Noli”, there
is a darkness that has fallen on the author. He is no longer hopeful
that his country might be cleansed of its sickness. The “Fili” opens with
marked anger at the injustice committed to 3 priests, none of European decent,
to whom Dr. Rizal dedicates the novel. Here the ills of the Philippines are no
longer perceived as “cancer” but an all pervasive evil that one must struggle
against, even if blood is shed. This notion is carried forward by a Simoun, the
most enigmatic character in the Fili. He is a “tall, lean, wiry man, very
brown, who dressed like an Englishman and wore a tinsin hat. His long, pure –
white hair attracted one’s attention, especially in contrast to his thin, black
beard, which marked him as a mestizo. To avoid sunlight, he wore enormous blue
sunglasses made of wicker, which completely hid his eyes and part of his cheeks
and that made him look a bit blind or even ill”. This seems to me
that the once patriot, Ibarra that described the country’s ills as a cancer
now appears hiding his eyes, like he himself is the unsuspecting
cell that will wreak havoc on the body politic into which he is introduced.
Simoun’s plot is somewhat revealed in conversation with Basilio, also a
character in the Noli. In the Fili, Basilio is a medical student and the only
one who recognizes Simoun‘s true identity when he can finally see his eyes.
The other plot that Rizal outlines is the plight of Filipino
college students. Rizal writes scenes in which the students in a college
physics class are made to recite text from a book in Castilian. The students
are then ridiculed by the instructor because the recitation in Castilian is
less than perfect. Here the Filipino students sought to have a Castilian
academy so they could learn the language and be truly educated rather than
regurgitate from a book in a foreign tongue. The friars, of course, are
against the students learning Castilian in order to maintain their
power. The students are ultimately labeled as filibusteros and arrested. The charges against
them do not hold except against Basilio who had no advocates. He
is eventually released with the help of Simoun but not after the darkness has
taken hold and he is pulled into Simoun’s plot.
In the end, it is a friend of Basilio that saves everyone.
While wounded and waiting for capture, Simoun accepts that his fate was
not the act of a God that had forsaken him but of a God that favored a greater
good. Simoun's friend also talked of justice achieved by a revolution
out of a love for country and not a revolution started under false
pretenses, which Simoun also accepts.
In reading the introduction of El Filibisterismo the translator
describes being a being affected the ghost of José Rizal. He discovered Rizal
by accident and then sought out his works and his life story. The reader should
note that Rizal had an affluent family that was able to afford him an
education and the means to travel the world. This opportunity gave him
access to literature, knowledge of Castilian, in which the two novels were
written, and lastly a medical degree that allowed him to practice ophthalmology
when he returned to the Philippines.
In reading both novels as a whole, Rizal’s ghost has affected me
in ways I did not expect. I thought the text was stained with
the blood of Indios. These innocents could barely fight their European
oppressors because of their poverty, level of education and color of their
skin. In a dialogue between a friar and his man servant, it was the servant
that articulated the need for those that were men before Spaniards to favor
justice over the hypocrisy that has plagued the Philippines. He
said that he preferred “to be overwhelmed by the crushed rights of humanity
than to allow the triumph of the selfish interests of a nation, even though it
might be, or is, Spain.”
I feel compelled more than ever to partake in something that I
have sat and watched for a few years now, comfortable in my anonymity. It seems
unfair that the burden of injustice should continue to fall on the less
privileged and those whom President Obama refers to as the “DREAM Act Kids”
with no country. I thought that maybe learning about Philippine history
and literature would serve to fill the gaps in my identity. I was hoping after
all this time that I would
finally have a country.
I am honestly not there yet. What I did get out of it was an awareness that
even in a different time and space that I have always descended from those that
were persecuted for their brown skin. Actually, I am a mixture of Indio
and Chinese, still a bastard among Filipinos. My grandfather’s family
emigrated China in the early 1900s. He changed his name so that he and my
grandmother could own a business in Manila. In those days, Chinese were not
allowed to operate businesses if they were “too” Chinese. What my bastard
middle name gets me is the inability to trace my grandfather’s line. Our migration
from the Philippines to the United States turned us into English speaking
Indios onto whom economic violence was rendered by a different kind of
coloniality. Alas, as much as I lay claim to the blood of the Indios, I can also lay claim to the blood of the revolutionaries that came after
Dr. Rizal. I must admit that Rizal’s imprint on these novels is urging me
to “come out” and be truly among the undocumented freedom fighters. He
also warned me, in his execution by the colonial powers, what the risk any
filibustero takes in speaking out against injustice. I’d be risking my
professional career. I’m not sure what they would do knowing they have employed
someone un-employable. Not to mention the stigma. I’d also be making the
jump from blogger to activist at the chagrin of my husband, private in
nature. The one benefit is maybe I’d stop ranting to friends (or anyone that
might listen) about immigration policy or the lack thereof. Instead, I’d be a
target. As a filibustero, ICE might come for me in the dead of night as they
have for the more outspoken members of my community. They might take me away
from my American son, just a toddler. I'm not sure having legalized would help
me. Just today I signed another petition in an attempt to delay a deportation
of an already legalized individual for a minor offense. My fate would be as
unknown as the future of our
nation.
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