The Unwavering Path of an Idealist: Why Jose Rizal Did Not Escape Execution

On December 30, 1896, a man with a remarkably calm gaze stepped into death — not because he sought it, but because he refused to betray what he lived for. That December morning over a century ago marked not the end of a person, but the beginning of a legend. Jose Rizal, the Filipino thinker and writer, was executed in Luneta Park in Manila, but his legacy proved to be more enduring than his physical life.

Between Reform and Revolution: A Conflict of Paths

The story of Rizal’s decision does not begin on that December day, but years earlier. Months before his imprisonment, the Katipunan — the revolutionary secret society — offered Rizal the chance to be freed from his exile in Dapitan. Andres Bonifacio, one of the movement’s leaders, personally invited him to participate in leading the revolution. An offer Rizal declined.

His refusal was not out of cowardice, but a sober assessment. Rizal doubted that his people had enough resources for a full-scale armed uprising. He feared that an early revolt would only lead to pointless bloodshed. Instead, he trusted in the power of reform — the possibility of changing the existing system from within.

This created a fundamental contrast: while Rizal sought liberation through reform, the Katipunan aimed for independence through revolution. Both pursued freedom, but through completely different means. In a manifesto dated December 15, 1886, Rizal expressed his opposition to armed uprising unambiguously: “I condemn this uprising — which dishonors us Filipinos and discredits those who could represent our cause.”

The Paradoxical Power of Rizal’s Legacy

But here lies a historical paradox: while Rizal publicly condemned the revolution, it was paradoxically his propaganda movement that fostered a deep national consciousness. Historian Renato Constantino observed that Rizal’s writings, although advocating reform, actually sowed the seeds of separation. “Instead of bringing the Filipino closer to Spain, the propaganda of separation took root. The drive for Hispanization was transformed into the development of a strong national consciousness,” Constantino wrote in his 1972 essay “Veneration Without Understanding.”

Rizal himself underwent a transformation. For a long time, he considered assimilation with Spain desirable. He admired European art forms, culture, and liberal ideas. But repeated experiences with racism and injustice — especially during the land dispute over Calamba, in which his family was involved — gradually eroded this belief. In a letter to Blumentritt in 1887, Rizal confessed: “The Filipino longed for Hispanization, and they were wrong to pursue it.”

Constantino described Rizal as an “awareness without movement” — a thinking mind that did not express itself through revolutionary action. Yet, this awareness was transformative. His writings laid the groundwork for the protest tradition that blossomed into revolution. “As a social commentator, as a critic of oppression, he performed a remarkable task. His original goal, to elevate the indio to the level of Hispanization so that the land could be assimilated, was turned into its opposite,” Constantino explained.

The Man Behind the Myth

What makes a person willing to die for their beliefs? Historian Ambeth Ocampo offered a compelling answer in his work “Rizal Without the Overcoat” (1990). He described Rizal’s “disturbing calm” in his final moments: “Rizal was a calm, peaceful man who deliberately and quietly went to his death for his convictions. Before his execution, his pulse was reportedly normal.”

This was not an impulsive act. Rizal was fully aware of what awaited him. He could have escaped — rescue options existed. He chose not to flee. In a letter from 1882, Rizal explained his choice: “Moreover, I want to show those who deny us patriotism that we know how to die for our duty and our beliefs. What is death if you die for what you love, for your country and for those you love?”

A Legacy Between Sainthood and Humanization

Today, Rizal is often engraved in history as a saintly hero — a figure removed from his humanity through academic reverence. Interestingly, this veneration was partly shaped by American colonial narratives. Theodore Friend observed in his book “Between Two Empires” that America favored Rizal because he was “less militant than Aguinaldo, less radical than Bonifacio, and less uncompromising than Mabini.” The Americans preferred a national hero who would not threaten their own colonial policies.

But to preserve Rizal’s relevance, he must be humanized rather than sainted. Constantino provocatively expressed this in his essay “Our Task: To Make Rizal Obsolete”: “Rizal’s personal goals always aligned with what he considered to be in the best interest of the country.” The point was not to forget Rizal, but to realize his ideals so fully that a symbolic hero would no longer need to inspire.

However, the Filipino people are still far from this. Corruption and injustice remain. Therefore, Rizal’s example remains relevant — not as a rigid saintly figure, but as a living reminder.

The Most Enduring Lesson

On December 30, 1896, Jose Rizal showed something extraordinary: that steadfastness to principles is invaluable. Not because dying is a recipe for patriotism — it is not. But because the refusal to betray one’s ideals is sometimes the only choice left.

Today’s Philippines is called to remain steadfast against temptations of corruption and injustice — just as Rizal remained firm against the pressure to betray his ideals. This lesson should not be drowned in nostalgia but lived through everyday integrity. On December 30, a nation remembers not only how a man died but why he chose not to save himself.