A pilgrimage toward the May 12 elections

In a few days, we, the Filipino people, will be summoned once more to the polls. It may seem routine to some, even transactional. But in truth, every vote is an offering, a line drawn in the soil of our nation’s future. This May 12, as we prepare to mark our ballots, we are called not just to choose candidates—but to remember who we are, and how far we have come.

To help us see this moment more clearly, we return to three sacred memories: Tirad Pass, the women of Malolos, and Elias in the final pages of the “Noli Me Tangere.” In these stories, three symbols rise: the staff, the lamp, and the dying wish. They form a kind of trinity—a moral compass—each one offering guidance for the choice we must now make.

The staff of Tirad Pass: Direction. In December 1999, a pilgrimage was organized by the National Historical Institute to commemorate the centennial of the Battle of Tirad Pass. Among those who joined the long ascent was Dr. Consolacion Alaras, who found herself momentarily lost in the fog and thicket. In that solitude, she met an old man who handed her a wooden staff, saying it would guide her forward. She returned to the trail and, shortly after the ceremonies, gave the staff to this author. It has remained with me ever since, standing now like a sentinel by my door.

That staff is more than a keepsake. It is a reminder of Gen. Gregorio del Pilar, who at 24 chose to make a last stand on that narrow ridge in the foothills of the Cordilleras to delay the enemy’s pursuit of President Aguinaldo. Tirad Pass was not just a battle. It was a line drawn with courage, with direction, and with sacrifice.

To vote, then, is to take up the staff. To find one’s footing and direction. To say: This is the way I choose to walk for my country.

The lamp of Malolos: Enlightenment. Before the Revolution of 1896, a small act of defiance lit the early dawn of Filipino nationhood. In 1888, 21 young women from Malolos, Bulacan, led by Alberta Uitangcoy and Basilia Tantoco, requested to open a night school to learn Spanish. Their petition was denied by the friar-curate Felipe Garcia, but the women did not waver. When Governor-General Valeriano Weyler visited Bulacan, they presented their case again—and this time, they were granted permission.

The school opened in January 1889 and Guadalupe Reyes tutored the young ladies under the glow of oil lamps and candles. Imagine, for a moment, that those women gather again this May, holding their lamps and candles high, illuminating the voting booths of a nation still struggling between darkness and dawn. To vote then is to keep the steady glow of that light, the symbol of enlightenment. It must not go out.

The dying wish of Elias: Remembrance. In the final chapters of “Noli Me Tangere,” Elias—wounded and pursued—escapes into the night, helping Crisostomo Ibarra to safety. He reaches the Ibarra family’s forested cemetery, where he collapses near the tomb. There, he beholds a harrowing scene: Sisa, mad with grief, lies lifeless on the ground, and Basilio, her son, sobs beside her in a final embrace.

Elias, deeply moved, calls out to the boy. With his last breath, he whispers:

“I die without seeing the dawn brighten over my native land. You, who will see it, welcome it—and do not forget those who fell in the night.”

That sacred moment—of mother, child, fallen hero—sears itself into the Filipino soul. It is not just a scene. It is a covenant. A dying wish. Not for vengeance, but for remembrance. To rise with gratitude. To walk carrying the names of those who could not continue the journey.

This May 12, we should walk with the staff—seeking direction in integrity.

We should hold up the lamp and candle—choosing enlightenment over ignorance.

We should carry the dying wish—honoring those who gave all so we might choose freely.

Let us vote not for noise, but for nationhood. Not for fear, but for the future. Not because we must—but because others could not.

Each ballot is more than ink on paper. It is a staff we take up, a lamp or candle we light, a promise we keep.

Let us vote as if the heroes are watching. Let us vote as if our children are asking.

“There are no tyrants where there are no slaves.” (José Rizal)

We are not slaves. We are heirs of Tirad Pass, daughters of Malolos, and sons of Elias.

Let the dawn we now behold find us worthy. VOTE.

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Dr. Pablo S. Trillana III was former chair and executive director of the National Historical Institute, now the National Historical Commission of the Philippines. He is a Lucius Littauer fellow awardee and supreme commander (2010-2012) of the Order of the Knights of Rizal.