LAST Friday, June 19, marked the birth anniversary of José Rizal. Had he lived beyond the bullets that ended his life in Bagumbayan, he would be celebrating his 165th birthday today.
Every year, Filipinos honor Rizal with ceremonies, speeches, wreath-laying rites, and social media tributes. His image appears in classrooms, government offices, monuments, and even in the pockets of ordinary citizens through the peso bills that bear his likeness. He is perhaps the most recognized Filipino in history.
Yet on days like this, the greater question is not whether we remember Rizal. It is whether we remember what he stood for.
Rizal loved his country enough to criticize it. He loved his fellow Filipinos enough to expose the abuses that kept them poor, powerless, and afraid. Through his writings, he challenged corruption, denounced injustice, and demanded accountability from those who wielded power. He believed that a nation could only rise when its people possessed not only intelligence, but also character; not only freedom, but also civic responsibility.
One cannot help but wonder what Rizal would see if he looked upon the Philippines today.
Would he recognize a nation that has become accustomed to political dynasties, corruption scandals, disinformation, and public officials who often place personal interests above public service? Would he be disappointed by a society where loyalty to personalities frequently outweighs loyalty to principles? Would he see a people willing to defend what is right, or a people increasingly hesitant to speak when conviction demands courage?
The signs are difficult to ignore. Public office is too often treated as a pathway to wealth and influence rather than a sacred trust. National issues become spectacles. Truth is bent to suit political convenience. Meanwhile, millions of ordinary Filipinos continue to struggle with the same burdens of poverty, inequality, and limited opportunities that generations before them hoped would have long been overcome.
And yet, to say that Rizal’s dream has completely died would be unfair.
Across the country are teachers who continue to educate despite meager resources, healthcare workers who serve beyond the call of duty, journalists who pursue the truth despite threats, and ordinary citizens who refuse to surrender their hope for a better Philippines. Their quiet sacrifices embody the very values Rizal championed: integrity, courage, and love of country.
Perhaps the tragedy is not that Rizal died in vain. The tragedy is that many of us have become comfortable celebrating the man while neglecting the ideals for which he lived and died.
We admire the hero but ignore his warnings. We praise his patriotism but often fail to practice it. We honor his memory while tolerating the very conditions he fought to change.
As we commemorate Rizal’s 165th birth anniversary, the challenge is not merely to remember him. The challenge is to ask whether our actions would make him proud—or whether they would confirm his deepest fears about the future of the nation he loved.
More than a century after his death, Rizal’s life continues to confront us with an uncomfortable question:
Did Rizal die in vain?
Or has the nation simply forgotten what his sacrifice was meant to teach?
