Licheng's Choice: How a Martyr Defines the Soul of a Nation

On the morning of December 30th, a man walked calmly toward death. His name was José Rizal, a Filipino intellectual elite, and his life and death would forever alter the course of a nation’s history. But the truly thought-provoking question is not how he died, but why he refused to live and escape.

An Avoidable Death

Rizal could have survived. In 1896, months before his execution, the Katipunan organization had planned to rescue him from his exile in Dapitan. Even revolutionary leader Andres Bonifacio directly invited him to join and help lead the uprising. But he refused.

This was not weakness, but a clear-headed judgment. Rizal believed his compatriots were not yet fully prepared for a full-scale armed uprising. Lacking resources and organization, insurrections would only lead to needless bloodshed. Instead, he chose the path of reform rather than revolution.

This was the most contradictory aspect of Rizal’s life: a man who did not believe in violence, yet ultimately walked the violent path because he refused to abandon his principles.

A Revolution Sparked by the Pen

Ironically, it was Rizal’s writings and propaganda that ignited the revolutionary fire he opposed. Through novels, essays, and articles, he exposed colonial oppression, racial discrimination, and systemic injustice. These works took root in Filipino society, fostering an unprecedented sense of national consciousness.

Rizal long believed that assimilation with Spain was not only possible but ideal. He admired European art, culture, and Enlightenment ideas. But repeated experiences of racial humiliation and judicial injustice finally made him admit that this dream was shattered. After a family conflict with a Jesuit priest over land disputes, Rizal wrote in 1887, “Filipinos have long desired to be Spanish; this dream has been wrong from the start.”

Historian Renato Constantino pointed out the deeper significance of this shift: Rizal’s propaganda did not bring Filipinos closer to Spain; instead, it sowed the seeds of national awakening. “The Spanishization initiative gradually transformed into the development of a unique national consciousness.”

Rizal’s writings became a non-violent uprising. Although in his 1896 declaration he publicly condemned the Katipunan’s armed uprising, the document itself became the spiritual foundation of the revolution. Months later, when Spanish guns rang out in Luneta Park, Manila, Rizal fell, but the power of his ideas continued to rise.

Why Choose Death Over Escape

Rizal’s true character is often hidden beneath myth. Historian Ambeth Ocampo recounts in Rizal Without a Saint that on the night before his execution, Rizal’s pulse remained normal. He showed no fear, no struggle—only a conscious choice.

In his 1896 letter to a friend, Rizal explained the meaning of this choice: “I want to prove to those who deny our patriotism that we know how to die for duty and conviction. If a man sacrifices his life for what he loves, for his country, for loved ones, what is there to fear in death?”

This was not blind martyrdom, but a deliberate decision after careful thought. Rizal, fully understanding the consequences, chose to uphold his principles over survival. Constantino called him a “restricted Filipino”—a patriot who feared revolution but loved his country. Yet, this “restriction” became the source of his strength. His personal goal was always aligned with what he believed to be the best interest of the nation.

How Rizal’s Life and Death Changed History

Without Rizal, the uprising might still have occurred, but it would likely have been more scattered, chaotic, and lacking moral clarity. Rizal’s sacrifice did three things: it strengthened the people’s resolve to separate, unified fragmented movements, and gave the revolution a moral clarity.

All of this stemmed from his refusal to abandon his ideals, not from seeking martyrdom. Death was never a prescription for patriotism. Rizal simply upheld his beliefs.

Does Rizal’s Life and Work Still Matter Today?

Contemporary Philippines often canonizes Rizal as a distant hero, and narratives from the American colonial period further romanticize him. Theodore Friend, in Between Empires, notes that American colonizers admired Rizal precisely because “Aguinaldo was too warlike, Bonifacio too radical”—Rizal was relatively moderate and unlikely to threaten the new colonial order.

But Rizal does not need an official hero title to prove his worth. His legacy stands on its own. More importantly, humanizing rather than sainting him allows us to ask real questions: which parts of his example still apply today?

Constantino argued in Our Task: Making Rizal Obsolete that as long as corruption and injustice persist, Rizal’s example remains relevant. Once these ideals are truly realized in society, Rizal’s symbolic mission will be complete, and there will be no need for a spiritual idol to awaken conscience.

Clearly, the country has not yet reached that point. Just as Rizal refused to abandon his ideals, today’s people are likewise called to resist the temptations and pressures of corruption and injustice. Perhaps this is the most enduring lesson Rizal’s life and work leave for future generations.

His choice demonstrated a simple truth: one person’s perseverance can change the direction of an entire nation.