Ever relevant

Crowned with the words “Republika ng Pilipinas” and accompanied by a large number “1,” Jose Rizal’s unmistakable profile graces the Philippine one-peso coin. This isn’t a coincidence. The one-peso coin is the workhorse of Philippine currency and as such it is fuel that drives everyday Filipino commerce, Rizal being exchanged from one hand to another countless times in a day.

That Rizal has retained his place on the Philippine peso instead of being replaced by another, later heroic figure, speaks to Rizal’s continued popularity—and ultimately his relevance after 150 years. Some might say it is a position Rizal holds by default. After all, are not all Filipino schoolchildren taught the minute details of Rizal’s life and death in our classrooms? Is not an admiration of Rizal basically required by our schools?

The truth is that it is virtually impossible to study Rizal’s life and not be amazed, impossible to look upon the man and not find a hero. School introduced us to Rizal—we did the rest. For, in a country of 7,101 opinions, Rizal is one of the very few topics in which, more often than not, Filipinos will find themselves agreeing heartily.

The numbers bear this out. In the First Quarter 2011 survey conducted by the Social Weather Stations, a staggering 75 percent named Rizal as a genuine Filipino hero.

This is one reason why we find Rizal’s figure standing motionless in almost every public school in the country. With Rizal, we generally agree. But there is another aspect to this general consensus, this idea of heroes. Rizal represents what we to this day consider the ideal in the Filipino.

From Calamba to the world, Rizal represented the best we had to offer. He was well-educated and well-traveled. He was an intellectual first and a romantic always, both a servant and a patriot. Columnist Conrado de Quiros got it right when he wrote: “The guy was the original ‘serve the people’ person. Probably more remarkable than that Rizal was a certifiable genius was that he put that genius to work for his country.”

What made Rizal stand apart from other good men was that he had every opportunity to change his mind, to avoid the harsh fate of a subversive. He could have merely been mediocre, or selfish, or even craven. He could have been just like anyone else. But Rizal chose the difficult path. He understood that his manifold gifts meant a necessary sacrifice, his well-rounded life meant a singular purpose and his many travels meant an eventual, inexorable journey home. He could have chosen to live and flee instead of to love and die.

“Each time Rizal tried to excel—and he did so routinely, writing, painting, treating the sick, philosophizing, loving, becoming the first true-blue Malay Renaissance man—he did not merely raise himself, he swung at the foundations of Spanish rule,” De Quiros wrote. “And it’s not as though Rizal himself was oblivious to the significance of what he was doing.” And knowing the fate that awaited him, Rizal came home anyway.

This then is why Rizal remains our heroic ideal. Here was a Filipino given nearly everything we dream of—comfort, talent, intelligence, achievement—and allowed everything we seek—education, travels, friends and lovers—and instead of staying away and keeping all he had, he chose to essentially give it all up not because of what it did for him but for what it did for all Filipinos everywhere. He could have said “no” when asked to make a fateful choice. Knowing all this, Rizal still said “yes.”

He said it with his actions early on that morning in Bagumbayan—followed by what sounded like a clap of thunder—and in the process taught us to say it as well. We who know of his story say yes as well, because as we grow older, we understand that we make the same choices when we remember him. It is not because he is on our coins or stands vigil in front of our schools. Jose Rizal is ever heroic and always relevant because we say so, then, now and always.