Rizal's life choices: How beliefs can rewrite the course of history

On December 30th, as this anniversary approaches, few remember that morning over a century ago—José Rizal walking with extraordinary resolve toward the execution ground. The scene itself is shocking: a learned elite who refused violent uprising, ultimately ending his life with violence, simply because he refused to abandon his principles.

However, what truly shapes history is not that moment of departure, but the entire trajectory of his life and the writings he left behind. Rizal’s life is essentially a long reflection on perseverance and compromise, reform and revolution.

The Diminished Hero and the Forgotten Lessons

When December 30th becomes just another holiday on the calendar, Rizal has been mythologized, monumentized, and ultimately forgotten. Many Filipinos no longer truly grasp what this national hero represents— for some, it’s merely a day to catch up on sleep and binge-watch shows.

This forgetfulness precisely illustrates why Rizal’s life remains significant. When daily life is heavy enough, it’s easy to overlook the meaning of a figure from the 19th century. But it is this indifference that makes his story more urgent—as a mirror, not just as history.

The Person Who Refused Redemption

In 1896, Catipunan attempted to rescue Rizal from exile in Dapitan. Even Bonifacio himself invited him to join the revolutionary leadership, but Rizal refused.

This refusal was not weakness but a form of rational coldness. Rizal believed that his compatriots, under resource scarcity, were not yet ready for a full uprising; hasty action would only lead to needless bloodshed. It was a tragic judgment: correct but unaccepted, rational but denied by history.

Rizal and Catipunan took different paths. He pursued liberation through reform; they sought independence through revolution. Interestingly, Rizal inspired the revolution, yet he publicly condemned it—stating in his December 15, 1896 declaration: “I indeed condemn this uprising; it brings shame to us Filipinos. I detest its criminal methods and deny any part in it.”

A person who is both the spiritual father and the moral opponent. This is the most tension-filled aspect of Rizal’s life.

The Shattering of the Assimilation Dream and the Awakening of National Consciousness

For a long time, Rizal believed that integration with Spain was possible and worthwhile. He admired European art, culture, and free thought. But repeated experiences of racial discrimination and injustice gradually eroded this belief.

In the land dispute in Calamba, his family’s conflict with the Dominican friars made him painfully aware—assimilation was a fantasy. In a 1887 letter to Blumentritt, he admitted: “The long hope of Filipinos to Spanishize is mistaken.”

Ironically, Rizal’s propaganda movement, though aimed at constructive purposes, inadvertently sowed seeds of separation. Historian Renato Constantino observed that “propaganda did not bring Filipinos closer to Spain but instead rooted in a consciousness of separation. The push for Spanishization turned into the development of national consciousness.”

Rizal was a “limited” Filipino intellectual—writing passionately for national unity but fearing the blade of revolution. He loved his homeland but in the way of his era. He may not have been a revolutionary, but he was a force of awakening. His writings became banners of protest, eventually blossoming into separatist movements. He initially aimed to elevate the Philippines as a province of Spain, but the outcome was the opposite.

How Death Became a Turning Point

In 1896, when Spanish guns rang out in Luneta Park, José Rizal fell, but he did not take anything away—rather, he raised something else—a symbol greater than the individual.

His execution intensified the people’s desire for independence, united the fractured movement, and gave moral legitimacy to the revolution. Without Rizal, the uprising might still have happened, but it would have been more scattered, less cohesive, and less idealistic.

Historian Ambeth Ocampo recorded Rizal’s unsettling calm before death—his pulse reportedly remained normal during execution. He was not seeking martyrdom but deliberately and resolutely walking toward death for his beliefs. In his 1896 letter, Rizal explained why he refused to save himself: “I want to show those who deny our patriotic spirit that we know how to die for our responsibility and our beliefs. If a man dies for everything he loves, for his country, for his people, what does death matter?”

This is a declaration of a “conscious hero”—every decision made with careful thought, fully aware of the consequences.

The Shaped Legacy and the Forgotten Lessons

Today, Rizal is often portrayed as a saintly, officially recognized hero. This image partly stems from the narrative reconstructed during American colonization. The United States favored Rizal not because he was radical, but because he was—relatively—moderate. In contrast, Aguinaldo was too militant, Bonifacio too radical, and Mabini too difficult to control. As Constantino pointed out, “They needed a hero who would not contradict American colonial policies.”

But Rizal does not need this official title to prove his worth. His legacy alone is enough to stand tall.

The key is to humanize Rizal, not to deify him. Only then can Filipinos ask better questions: Which parts of his example still apply? Which are outdated?

Constantino’s argument is interesting—he suggests that “Rizal should be made obsolete.” Not to deny him, but to say that as long as corruption and injustice persist, Rizal’s example remains valid. Once the nation truly realizes the ideals he represented, the heroic symbolic mission will be complete.

Clearly, the Philippines is still far from that state.

Lessons for the Present

Rizal’s refusal to abandon his ideals echoes today’s call for Filipinos to resolutely resist the temptations and pressures of corruption and injustice. This is the most enduring lesson left by Rizal’s Rizal life.

On December 30th, the nation remembers not just how Rizal died, but more importantly, why he did not save himself. He did not escape because to escape would be to betray. In an era filled with compromise and surrender, such steadfastness is especially precious. Perhaps this is the true legacy Rizal wishes to leave us.