“Ang tao’y inianak na parisparis”

In 1889, some time between February 17 and February 22, Rizal wrote his long letter in Tagalog to the valiant women of Malolos. He concluded his letter with seven principles, the sixth of which reads as follows:

“Ang tao’y inianak na parisparis, hubad at walang tali. Di linalang ng Dios upang maalipin, di binigyan ng isip para pabulag, at di hiniyasan ng katuiran at ng maulol ng iba. Hindi kapalaloan ang di pag samba sa tao, ang pag papaliwanag ng isip at ang paggamit ng matuid sa anomang bagay. Ang palalo’y ang napasasamba, ang bumubulag sa iba, at ang ibig papanigin ang kaniyang ibig sa matuid at katampatan.”

(The text is taken from the copy Teodoro Kalaw included in his Epistolario Rizalino, specifically Volume II. Scroll to page 153 of the PDF file.)

In 2013, I tried my hand at translating the seven principles. This was how I rendered the sixth:

“Man is born equal, naked and without chains. Not created by God to be enslaved, not gifted with intelligence to be deceived, and not endowed with reason to be fooled by others. It is not vanity to refuse to worship a fellow human, to enlighten intelligence, and to use reason in all things. What is vanity is making one’s self an object of worship, keeping others in ignorance, and imposing one’s will on what is right and just.”

(This piece is included in Radical: Readings in Rizal and History.)

For 2024, I hope to complete an English translation of the entire letter, as part of an exciting pamphlet series to be published by San Anselmo Press. This is how I would translate the sixth principle now:

“Humans are born equal, naked and without chains. Not created by God to be enslaved, not gifted with intelligence to be deceived, and not graced with reason to be fooled by others. It is not pride to refuse to worship any man, to enlighten the mind and to use reason in all things. What is pride is wanting to be worshipped, deceiving others, and willing one’s desires above reason and justice.”

Column: Leni and the power to convene

Published on June 22, 2021.

With the political class now focused on next year’s elections, it is even more important for us as voters and as citizens to distinguish signal from noise.

“Laong Laan is my true name” (a translation)

Rizal’s letter of June 11, 1890, written mostly in Tagalog and addressed to Del Pilar, is part of a short exchange between the two leaders of the Propaganda Movement about Rizal’s role in La Solidaridad, the newspaper the reformists published to influence Spanish public opinion. It was a skirmish that prefigured their parting of ways the following year. That it was written in Tagalog, instead of the usual Spanish in which both were adept, is significant; I argue in “Rizal’s open secrets” that what we would today call authenticity was one of the driving forces behind their occasional letter-writing in Tagalog. But the letter is also significant for other reasons, including something deeply personal to Rizal: A few days before he turned 29, he confessed (not for the first time) his fears of an early death. What follows is my attempt at a new English translation.

Brussels, 11 June 1890

Chosen friend: I have just received your letter which I will answer immediately in consideration of your feelings.

How far [from the truth] is your speculation that I am separating from Sol [La Solidaridad] because of hurt feelings; it seems you do not know me yet: I am not impulsive, and even if my feelings were hurt, I will say so and will not stop helping and fighting.

My wish is for others to emerge and the ears of others to become familiar with other names. I am assailed by sorrowful thoughts, even though I don’t entirely believe them. In my childhood I fully believed that I would not reach the age of 30, I don’t know why I thought so. It has been almost two months now that almost every night I have no other dreams but that of my dead friends and relatives. Once, I even dreamt that I travelled to a place below the earth, and there I saw nothing but many people seated, wearing white, with white faces, silent, and surrounded by white lights; there I saw two of my siblings, one who is already dead and one who is still alive. Even though I don’t really believe in these things, even though my body is truly healthy, I don’t have any ailment, I have no fears, however, I am also preparing for death, I am preparing what I will leave behind, and I am ready for anything: Laong Laan [Ever Prepared] is my true name. That is why I want to try hard to finish the second volume of the Noli [El Filibusterismo], just in case, I don’t want what I started to come to an end without someone able to continue it. And that is why my wish is for the new [writers] to be known and to shine. Do not think that I am down or sad; every other day I do gymnastics and fencing, practice shooting, but who can predict the coming misfortune?

Every now and then I will also send you useful articles. 

May our countrymen there [that is, in Spain] obey the voice of their heart and dedicate the precious time of their youth to something greater that is worthy of them. We do not have the good luck of other young men who can have their time and their future; we have upon us a duty: to rescue our mother from captivity: our mother has been ransomed; we need to redeem her, before we can entertain ourselves. 

This is all.

RIZAL

“Laong Laan is my true name”

Most of us read Rizal in translation, either in English or in Filipino. But one reason I think his letters are the best introduction to his life and work lies in this still-little-known fact, that he wrote a good number of letters in Tagalog. To mark his 160th birthday, allow me to post an important letter that he wrote, mostly in Tagalog, to his only true equal among the reformists: Marcelo H. del Pilar. (From the third volume of Epistolario Rizalino, edited by Teodoro M. Kalaw; the copy likely contains OCR errors, but I think we get both gist and genius.) My attempt at a new English translation, here.

• 

• 

“Higit tayong dakila”

A Filipino translation of an important passage in a letter from Rizal to Del Pilar.

Rizal, writing to Marcelo del Pilar on May 28, 1890:

Apelo al patriotismo de todos los filipinos para dar el pueblo español una prueba de que somos superiores a nuestra desgracia, y de que ni somos embrutecibles ni se pueden adormecer nuestros nobles sentimientos con la corrupción de las costumbres.

Encarnacion Alzona’s familiar English translation, published in 1963:

I appeal to the patriotism of all Filipinos to give the Spanish people proof that we are superior to our misfortune, and that we are neither brutalizable nor can our noble sentiments be lulled by the corruption of customs.

Last February, I asked Fr. Albert Alejo SJ, the poet-priest better known as Paring Bert, if he could kindly translate the passage into Filipino. He replied to me late on February 25, 2021, with this moving, powerful translation:

Nais kong gisingin ang pagkamakabayan ng tanang Pilipino. Patunayan natin sa bayang Kastila na higit tayong dakila kaysa ating kasawiang-palad, at di tayo malulupig sa lupit, ni mapamamanhid ng nakaugaliang katiwalian ang ating mga damdaming marangal. 

Column: Martyr Leila, convenor Leni

In today’s column, I pay tribute to Sen. Leila de Lima, who marks four years in unjust detention next week; I also call on Vice President Leni Robredo to convene, at the soonest possible time, all political forces who want to “take our country back” from the Duterte/Marcos regime. Published in all Inquirer platforms on February 16, 2021.

Last week, for the first time since the pandemic collapsed like a straightjacket on an unprepared country, Sen. Leila de Lima attended her ongoing trial for alleged conspiracy to commit drug trading. It was the first time she was seen in public in almost a year, and I must admit that seeing the images of the opposition senator that filled social media on Feb. 9—wearing a mask and a face shield, extending her right arm for the remote thermometer, waving at her physically distanced supporters—moved me deeply.

In a personal way, it reminded me of the Nelson Mandela moment many in my generation remember best. When the great South African dissident was released in 1990 after 27 years in prison, I was struck by how imposing, how regal, he looked. Like many others, I guess, I expected him to look like a broken man, diminished by injustice, but instead he radiated strength. When he emerged, dapper in his suit and dignified in his bearing, he looked like he had mastered fate itself.

It has been a year or so since I last visited Senator De Lima in her detention quarters in Camp Crame; having seen her graciously receive her visitors, speak forthrightly after Mass, display a lively sense of humor, keep up to date with the latest news affecting her beloved country, and write her notes and letters in bright blue ink, I knew that the rank injustice she has suffered had not broken her. Many of those who visit her to comfort her in her time of need leave feeling comforted instead, by her air of serenity, and at the same time strengthened by the unmistakable steel in her soul.

Column: Carpio’s enduring legacy

Originally I thought I’d speak extemporaneously at the tribute to Justice Carpio. But I eventually decided to put something in writing; it was the least he deserved. The result: Some mighty furious scribbling in the car, after parking, followed by bouts of editing over dinner. The column (No. 570, as it turns out) was published on November 5, 2019.

On Tuesday, Oct. 29, the Asian Institute of Journalism and Communication hosted a testimonial dinner in honor of retired Justice Antonio Carpio and his extraordinary two decades in the Supreme Court. I was one of four journalists (the others were Ellen Tordesillas, Vergel Santos and Solita Monsod, the iconic Inquirer columnist known to millions of TV viewers as Mareng Winnie) who gave or read testimonials. Allow me to post mine; I began with an impromptu attempt at what only the generous can describe as topical humor, and then I said the following:

Let me continue, perhaps unwisely, with some comments on a decision of Justice Carpio’s that I disagree with—because even when I think he is making a mistake, it is still an instructive, foundational one.

Did I just say Justice Carpio made a mistake? I think we can remove any doubt about the lack of wisdom on my part; fools rush in where legal luminaries fear to tread.

Column: The truths I learned at the Ateneo

Published on June 4, 2019.

I would like to speak about the larger truths worth defending.

As a journalist, as an editor, I work mostly behind a desk, but on occasion I go out on field. I remember, for instance, when I interviewed two confessed assassins.

When dangerous men are in fear of their lives, they make themselves difficult to find. To interview Edgar Matobato, who confessed to being a hired killer of the Davao Death Squad, and then, months later, his handler, the former Davao policeman Arturo Lascañas, we needed to do the cloak-and-dagger stuff we see in the movies, only without cloaks and definitely without daggers…

But when dangerous men are in fear of their lives, they also speak plainly. The prospect of a hanging truly clears the mind. Expecting to hear them speak obliquely, circuitously, with a lot of strategic hesitation, we heard them speak calmly, candidly.

For instance, when I asked Matobato how many times he personally saw Mayor Duterte kill a man, he gave a straight answer.

“The truths I learned at the Ateneo”

Commencement Address before the John Gokongwei School of Management and the School of Science and Engineering of the Ateneo de Manila University, on June 1, 2019.

Good afternoon.

Yesterday, I received a gift—and like all true gifts, it was entirely undeserved. I had the honor of serving as commencement speaker in my beloved alma mater. If you knew me back in college, and remembered that I spent far too much time outside the classroom and in the streets, you too would have been struck by God’s mysterious ways. As the eloquent young man Elihu reminded the old and self-righteous Job: “God’s voice thunders in marvelous ways; he does great things beyond our understanding.”

Today I receive the gift again, and on behalf of all those who just barely made it, or made it only after second chances, or made it mostly because long-suffering teachers took one more leap of faith, I welcome the inexplicability, the irony, the sheer grace of it all. God truly does great things beyond our understanding.

Now I am faced with a choice: To repeat yesterday’s speech, or read another one. The ancient Greeks respected the power of repetition. But on reflection, I realized that while I drew the necessary connection between the continuing assault on the institutions of truth and the erosion of Philippine democracy, I fell short in explaining what truths are worth defending in the first place.

So, a new speech then, but with many elements of the old.

“To tame the beast, we must first name it”

Commencement Address before the School of Humanities and the School of Social Sciences of the Ateneo de Manila University, on May 31, 2019.

 

[[[Passages in brackets were left unread, to save on time.]]]

I. BETWEEN EARTH AND SKY

WE STAND ON A HILL—literally. Loyola Heights is approximately 54 meters above mean sea level. The highest point on campus has an elevation of 70 meters, and that’s where the Manila Observatory was built. In contrast, the city of Marikina, sprawled right there behind you like a cat sunning itself, has an estimated elevation of 13 meters above mean sea level. That means that the original Godzilla, just under 50 meters tall, can stand right there on the floor of the valley, and if we’re not looking for it, we wouldn’t even see it.

But ours is a hill in a figurative sense too. Our beautiful, beloved campus is an aerie of academic, artistic, athletic achievement. Our university is a sanctuary, for spiritual activity and social activists. Our home is a laboratory for the liberal arts, a retreat for research, a safe zone for the sciences. And 142 years after Jose Rizal was graduated from the Ateneo with the highest honors, his formative role in our history, and his fate and fame as First Filipino, continue to add not only borrowed luster to our name, but borrowed height to our hill.

“Conquer Ignorance and Injustice, Defend the Beauty and Dignity of Our Own Language”

Commencement speech at the Southern Philippines College, read on April 8, 2019 at The Atrium at Limketkai Center, Cagayan de Oro City. MindaNews was kind enough to publish a copy of the speech on the same day. 

Good afternoon.

I am both happy to be here and honored to be invited. Cagayan de Oro is my hometown, and it is always good to visit. For many of us who have moved elsewhere, or stayed away, or strayed, it is a sure source of joy to know that, yes, you can go home again.

At this commencement ceremony, we can perhaps commence with that thought. You can go home again. Some of you in grade school and in senior high school will be moving to other places of learning; most of you in college or post-graduate study will be leaving the campus, its suddenly empty halls and corridors, its classrooms layered with memories, to create a name and earn a living for yourselves. You will be saying goodbye to some of the most formative influences of your young lives; you will be leaving behind bits and pieces of yourselves.

But the good news is, You can go home again. When you want to renew your sense of purpose, or recharge your spiritual or emotional batteries, or remember what it was like to be you, you can go home to your school again, and it will be there, your memories in its safekeeping.

Column: Fight back against ‘bakak’

Published on April 9, 2019.

I am a journalist. I have a habit of asking questions, of being skeptical when met with official pieties. The question I most want to ask you today is: What does it mean to graduate from school at a time like this—in an age of disinformation, in an era where Filipino values are being twisted out of shape, at a time when the culture and language of the Bisaya, our culture and language, are used to justify serious sins and grievous crimes?

Is it painful for you, too, as it is for me, to hear Bisaya culture and especially the Bisaya language used to justify foul words, filthy speech, uncivil discourse, illiberal tendencies, murderous thoughts, even blasphemy?

We should not take this abuse of our culture, these assaults on our language, sitting down.

Column: ‘Patapangin ang puso sa ano mang panganib’

“Make the heart brave.” The first column of 2019, published on January 1.

This line seized me, reading over the holidays. “At dahil ang buhay ay puno ng pighati’t sakuna, patibayin ang loob sa ano mang hirap, patapangin ang puso sa ano mang panganib.” Rizal wrote that almost 130 years ago, to the women of Malolos, but it speaks to me and perhaps many others too at this difficult time. “And because life is full of pain and suffering, strengthen the will against any difficulty, steel the heart against any danger.”

On second thought, “steel the heart” does not fully capture the act of encouragement that is Rizal’s appeal. “Patapangin ang puso” quite literally means “make the heart brave.” Or, since the context is Rizal’s notion of women’s responsibility to raise the next generation right, perhaps the better translation is “form brave hearts.”

“Fighting the Logic of the Snake”

Updating this blog has its advantages. I learned, for instance, that I had not yet posted the keynote speech I read at the 2018 Cardinal Sin Catholic Book Awards, held on September 12, 2018. Let me do that now; let me also tell you a story. An American priest was in the audience, and when he heard me say the phrase “the idiot Donald Trump” he walked out on me. I did not know this at the time (the Catholic Book Awards rites are held during the annual Manila International Book Fair, and it’s a busy place), but he emailed me twice afterwards: First, to tell me what he did, and second to apologize for his language. 

When Father JK asked me to speak in this year’s Cardinal Sin Catholic Book Awards, I said yes immediately, in part for personal reasons. Many years ago, Cardinal Sin officiated at my wedding; I thought that speaking at a ceremony and in a publishing tradition that was named after him, to pay tribute to his expansive vision of a truly catholic media and communications culture, would be a chance to give back in return.

I would like to thank Father JK and the Asian Catholic Communicators, then, for giving me this opportunity. I’ve read only a couple of the books in the list of finalists, but the procession of titles, by some of the industry’s most distinguished publishing houses, tells me that Cardinal Sin’s ideal of a book culture that promotes human development, Filipino culture, and Catholic values has taken root, and is bearing fruit.

I was asked to speak on a very specific topic today, and I can’t help but think that it is in fact a topic very specific to today: “The truth will set you free (John 8:32). Fake news and journalism for peace”—the same theme that animates Pope Francis’ Message for World Communications Day this year. In a couple of earlier forums, I had the opportunity to think, in public, about the Pope’s teaching, on a serious problem that bedevils not only journalism, the profession I call my own, but society itself, in which of course journalism is only one of many vocations. I am grateful for the chance to continue the discussion today.

Column: Rizal, Pope Francis – and the logic of the snake

Invited to keynote the 2018 Cardinal Sin Catholic Book Awards, I sought to connect three areas of interest—Rizal, disinformation, Catholic social teaching— in one speech. The awarding rites were held on September 12; the column which ran excerpts from the speech was published on October 23, 2018.

In Chapter 36 of Rizal’s second, subversive novel, “El Filibusterismo,” we meet the ridiculous figure of Ben Zayb again, the Spanish journalist. He has just written a long article “reporting” the commotion at the wedding; when he is told by the Spanish censor that the article cannot be published, he says: “If only another crime is committed tomorrow or the day after!”

Soon after, he gets news of a robbery at a retreat for priests in a villa on the Pasig. [When he finds out what really happened, that it was a small-scale crime, not a dramatic skirmish with rebels, Rizal quotes him thus: “‘This can not be!’ Ben Zayb was saying; ‘be quiet… you don’t know what you are talking about!’”]

Here is a man, whose real job is to spread propaganda for the Spanish colonial authorities, telling the victim of a small felony: “You don’t know what you are talking about!” Because truth does not accord or align or ally itself with his version of reality.

Column: Digong has taken over the bus

Playing catch-up with my columns again. This one was published on February 20, 2018. It offers a metaphor for understanding President Duterte’s assaults on press freedom. It also refers to this keynote speech I gave at the 2018 National Schools Press Conference, held in Dumaguete City, where I revisited Rizal’s letter to the women of Malolos—and suggested three new tasks for the campus press.

Some readers, not all of them ill-intentioned, ask a common question: If you can still write whatever you want in your column, or the news sections and the op-ed pages can still run stories or opinion critical of President Duterte, what assault on press freedom are you talking about?

But attacks on press freedom are not a one-time, either-or event, like a car crash. The readers who ask the question think attacking press freedom is like a serious road accident: It happens once, and there’s blood on the street. But in reality, assaults on the free press are like riding a bus headed for, say, Naga (because that’s where Mayon Volcano apparently is), and in the middle of the route a new crew, including a new driver, takes over—and then the bus suddenly, violently, changes direction. Do the passengers need to wait until the bus stops in Imperial Manila or arrives in Paoay, Ilocos Norte, before demanding an explanation or correcting the course?

This metaphor sums up the state of press freedom in the Philippines today: A new driver has taken over the bus and is going the wrong way (he even calls press freedom a mere privilege, instead of a guaranteed right). Do the passengers wait until he loses his brakes or threatens to drive the bus off a cliff before they take action to protect themselves?

“A full life, serving a higher purpose”

In early 2016, I was interviewed by a young group of filmmakers commissioned by the National Historical Commission of the Philippines to produce a new documentary on Jose Rizal. It was a blast—but I did not know until yesterday that the documentary (or perhaps the more accurate term is drama-documentary) had already been released, and was available on YouTube.

Very happy to see this particular interpretation of the Rizal narrative out in the wild; it gave me the opportunity, in company with the two (genuine!) historians the filmmakers also interviewed, to contribute what I hope is a fuller sense of the true Rizal.

The “first rough draft” AND history

Happy to present a lecture on the relationship (or at least one kind of relationship) between journalism and history to core history students (that is, non-history majors enrolled in history subjects that are part of the core curriculum) at the Ateneo de Manila University yesterday. I thought the questions from the audience were the real highlight; unfortunately, this copy of the lecture is all I got!

The “first rough draft” AND history
Journalism as source and resource

LET ME START AT THE BEGINNING—at the beginning, that is, of Jose Rizal’s public career, as leader of the Filipino nationalists.

On June 25, 1884, a banquet was held in a Madrid restaurant to honor the pioneering achievement of two Filipino painters. Juan Luna had just won a gold medal at the Exposicion de Bellas Artes; Felix Resurreccion Hidalgo completed the triumph with a silver medal. Luna was only 26, Hidalgo 29. The previous Thursday, Rizal had just turned 23.

The day after the dinner, a newspaper with moderate leanings, El Imparcial—perhaps today we can render that idiomatically as The Independent—published a lengthy news story about the event. It was 24 paragraphs long, and ran on the front page.

Rizal’s theory of “intellectual tradition”

Another speech I thought I had already posted here. This one was from December 6, 2012, for that year’s Philippine PEN Congress. I ran excerpts in my column of December 11. 

“Condensados en un libro”
Fr. Vicente Garcia, the Noli, and Rizal’s Theory of ‘Intellectual Tradition’

It is something, when you come to think of it: how many, and how often, priests and friars figure in Rizal’s life and work. The early champions, the first tormentors, the iconic characters, the dedicated enemies, the secret supporters; even, at the end of his life, the eager revisionists.

To discuss one aspect of our session’s theme, of the writer and the Philippine intellectual tradition, I would like to call attention to, or invoke the example of, one of Rizal’s secret supporters: the priest who was among the first to defend the Noli.

I would like to do so because, in Rizal’s extensive correspondence, the letter he wrote the priest seems to me to best sum up his theory of a Philippine intellectual tradition. The basic elements of the general idea weren’t new; they can be found in many of his other letters. But in this particular letter, from the beginning of 1891, we find the most felicitous phrasing of his theory.

First, though, I need to set the context of the correspondence; please bear with me.

ON OCTOBER 6, 1888, writing from Barcelona, Mariano Ponce brought Rizal some needed good news. He told the thrilling tale of “an illustrious fellow countryman, recognized in Manila as a profound theologian and great philosopher,” who had taken a stand against the hated Fr. Jose Rodriguez and parried the Augustinian friar’s attacks on the Noli. (It was well over a year since the first copies of Rizal’s first novel reached the Philippines.)

Column: Not rule of law but caprice of power

This column, published on November 28, 2017, ran the introductory parts of my keynote at the closing rites of the second Political Management Training for Young Progressives program conducted by SocDem Asia. The full speech, “The role of the youth in fighting populist authoritarianism,” is here.

Earlier this month, I had the privilege of addressing a new class of graduates of a unique political management training program: Young progressives from Southeast Asia who meet twice in a given year for a series of executive classes on both the form of politics (such as “election management and progressive campaigning”) and its substance (“climate change,” “feminism,” “migration”). The program is run under the auspices of the Friedrich Ebert Stiftung and the Network of Social Democracy in Asia. Allow me to publish the introductory parts:

I read your program of training, and was impressed by its breadth (16 topics!) and by its rigor. It is a privilege for me to meet you, the political advocates and activists gifted, as your class valedictorian said, with “energy, belief, thoughts, dreams,” who will help shape our region’s future.

“The role of the youth in fighting populist authoritarianism”

Detail, from the SocDem Asia website.

I had the privilege of speaking at the closing rites of the second Political Management Training for Young Progressives program, conducted by the Network for Social Democracy in Asia (SocDem Asia), on November 3, 2017. The program—a partnership with Friedrich Ebert Stiftung, Olaf Palme International Center, and the Australian Labour Party—hosted “young progressives” from six countries: Malaysia, Indonesia, East Timor, Myanmar, Thailand, and the Philippines. (Coming in last, I had the chance to reference the remarks of the Thai class valedictorian, the SocDem Asia coordinator Machris, and Aemon of the ALP, who spoke of his party’s ideal, codified in a famous speech as “the light on the hill.”) I tried to present a cogent argument, and ended with a list of five responses we might all learn from Rizal.

I am very happy to be invited to speak at your graduation ceremony—not only because it gave me the opportunity to stand on the beautiful Taal lakeshore for the first time (yes, it really is my first time) and to see the famous Taal volcano this close, but also and more importantly because I believe we are all standing on the slopes of a social volcano, and you are the volcanologists who can study the problem and save the lives of our people at risk.

I read your program of training, and was impressed by its breadth (16 topics!) and by its rigor. It is a privilege for me to meet you, the political advocates and activists gifted, as your class valedictorian Golf said, with “energy, belief, thoughts, dreams,” who will help shape our region’s future.

The world you have chosen to become politically active in is different from the era which politicized me. In some respects, it is the opposite of the 1980s. In other respects, it is the culmination of the historic shifts that started in that decade.

Let me begin in earnest by reading an extended passage from a piece of political analysis.

“In the real world”

It was my privilege to serve—on February 19, in Dumaguete City—as this year’s keynote speaker at the National Schools Press Conference, the annual and massive enterprise an education official called the “Olympics of campus journalism.” Channeling Rizal, I had a few things to say:

Maayong buntag sa inyong tanan.

Secretary Briones, Governor Degamo, Mayor Remollo; education officials, distinguished guests, teachers and coaches and parents; not least, the 5,000 student delegates to the National Schools Press Conference: Good morning. It is my privilege to join you at the largest annual journalism-related conference in the Philippines, the “Olympics of campus journalism.”

As a journalist who believes in the necessity of journalism, in the role of a free press in a developing democracy, I am happy to see so many young campus journalists here, with the proverbial pen in their hand and idealism in their eyes. As a newspaper and online editor who has had the opportunity to serve as a judge in division-level press conferences, I am—like you—thrilled to finally take part in the national finals.

I had the chance yesterday to tell someone that I was at this year’s National Schools Press Conference. My friend, who is now a lawyer working at the Senate, immediately replied: “Wow I remember back in high school I joined that and made it to editorial writing nationals. Didn’t win though haha. Very good training ground!”

There was no mistaking the enthusiasm in my friend’s voice, or the joy he felt in reliving happy memories of press conferences past. I am moved to say to all of you: Stop. Take a deep breath. Look around you. Remember the details of color and sound and scent. Enjoy the moment. You are making a memory that will last a long time, and for most of you, that memory, win or lose, will be a happy one.

Congratulations!

Column: What would Rizal say (to Duterte)?

The 2nd In the Shadow of the Dragon forum, held at the auditorium of the De La Salle University Rufino Campus, in BGC.

Published on June 20, 2017.

At an Inquirer forum on Philippine independence and the rise of China, the young historian Leloy Claudio said something in passing which generated some Twitter attention. “If Rizal were alive today, he’d be ‘dilawan,’” Claudio said. He was referencing Rizal’s struggle for civil liberties as an indication that he would be, in today’s reductionist, polarized setting, not a Duterte supporter but an Aquino reformist—that is, a “Yellow.”

We mark Rizal’s 156th birthday at a time when the incumbent President is seeking to overhaul Philippine society itself; as Claudio’s remarks suggest, Rizal today seems more indispensable than ever. I think I know why: He reminds us what it means to be Filipino.

Imagining Independence

Rooting through my files yesterday, I found the presentation deck I prepared for the first of my two lectures at the Yuchengco Museum in 2011. I remember the thrill of the moment — it was among the first public lectures I gave after I had written my book on Jose Rizal’s influence on Southeast Asian nationalism — but I had all but forgotten the slides.

I started with a famous painting, zoomed in on a much less famous but illuminating illustration, and discussed three episodes tracing Rizal’s influence. (I included possibly the most celebrated example of all.)

I’ve attached a PDF version of the slides — all 48 of them!

imagining-independence

Column: Rizal as Catholic

Published on December 30, 2014.

The mature form of Rizal’s thinking on the Catholic religion can be found in his correspondence with a former Jesuit teacher. Written in his Dapitan exile between September 1892 and the middle of 1893, the five letters addressed to Fr. Pablo Pastells, SJ, are Rizal’s attempt to examine “what little has been left to me by the shipwreck of faith”—that last phrase an allusion to a remark from yet another Jesuit mentor.

What exactly was left? Not enough by the standards of his day; a surprisingly robust amount, by today’s measure. He was no longer a practicing Catholic, but remained very much a cultural one. (I believe this is why he ridiculed the notion, repeated by Pastells in one letter, that he had become a Protestant. Part of this cultural Catholicism was precisely the religion’s embrace of reason. To appropriate a quote from a third Jesuit writing two generations after Rizal: Catholicism “was a reasonable faith.”)

The following excerpts (from Dr. Robert Yoder’s excellent online resource, now maintained by the National Historical Commission of the Philippines) paint a vivid picture: