The morning of December 30, 1896: José Rizal's conscious decision

When the sun peeked over Manila on the early morning of December 30, 1896, a man walked toward the firing squad without hesitation. It was not cowardice that paralyzed him, but an unbreakable resolve. José Rizal did not stumble to his death; he deliberately chose it, knowing he could have saved himself. His decision that day would forever change the course of Philippine history, not because of the act of dying, but because of what his death represented: an absolute refusal to betray his principles even when life was within reach.

Unlike many historical figures whose legacies fade into oblivion, Rizal remains present in the collective Filipino memory. However, his presence has become dangerously simplified: a symbol stamped in textbooks, a national commemoration, a name carved into monuments. What many Filipinos overlook is that December 30 signifies something far deeper than a date on the calendar. It represents the culmination of a life of internal conflicts, calculated decisions, and ultimately, a conscious choice that very few mortals are willing to make.

A Conscious Choice: Why Rizal Rejected Saving Himself

Months before facing the firing squad, Rizal received an escape opportunity. The Katipunan, the revolutionary organization transforming the Philippines, offered to rescue him from exile in Dapitan. Even Andrés Bonifacio, the charismatic leader of the movement, personally invited him to join as a military commander of the revolution. These were tempting offers that had altered the destinies of others. Rizal rejected them all.

His reasoning was not born of cowardice or naivety, but of ruthless pragmatic analysis. He firmly believed that his compatriots lacked the resources to sustain a widespread violent uprising. A call to arms, in his view, would only lead to unnecessary bloodshed, to the massacre of peasants and students unprepared for war. Rizal and the Katipunan pursued similar goals but through different paths: he sought transformation through gradual reform, while the revolutionary organization opted for violent rupture with Spain.

What further complicates the historical narrative is that Rizal did not simply refuse to participate passively. On December 15, 1896, fifteen days before his death, he wrote a public manifesto explicitly condemning the revolution. His words were forceful: “I condemn this uprising that discredits us before the world and works against our cause. I abhor its methods and reject any participation in it.” It was an uncomfortable stance, almost traitorous in the eyes of many compatriots fighting for independence. Yet Rizal maintained his position even knowing it would cost him his life.

Historian Ambeth Ocampo, one of the most respected scholars of the period, describes this moment with quiet admiration. Rizal was, according to Ocampo, a “conscious hero”: a man who deliberately weighed the consequences of his actions and chose to move forward with eyes wide open. It is said that in the hours before his execution, his heartbeat remained normal. How many people in history have walked toward death with such serenity, knowing they had options?

The Firing That Ignited a Revolution: The Transformative Impact

Paradoxically, although Rizal condemned the revolution, his death transformed it. His body fell in Luneta Park that early morning of December 30, but what emerged was something more powerful than any army. His execution unified fragmented movements, endowed the revolutionary cause with a moral clarity it previously lacked, and exponentially intensified the population’s desire for independence.

Historian Renato Constantino argued in his seminal 1972 essay that Rizal’s life acted as a “conscience without movement”: his writings condemning social injustices and his literary works planted the seeds of national consciousness, but it was others who turned that awareness into revolutionary action. The propaganda movement Rizal led, far from bringing Filipinos closer to Spain as he hoped, had the opposite effect. The “ilustrados”—the educated, cosmopolitan Filipinos like him—began questioning assimilation with the colonial metropole. The process of Hispanization Rizal admired in his youth started to be seen not as opportunity but as oppression.

The irony is that Rizal was shaped by European Enlightenment ideals. He admired European culture, art, and liberal principles. But his repeated encounters with racial discrimination and injustice forced him to confront an uncomfortable truth: assimilation was an illusion. In a letter to Ferdinand Blumentritt in 1887, amid the dispute in Calamba where his family faced the Dominican friars, Rizal wrote: “The Filipino has long desired Hispanization and erred in aspiring to it.” That internal shift, though personal, was seismic.

Without Rizal, the revolution probably would have happened anyway. The Katipunan existed, Bonifacio existed, the conditions of oppression were undeniable. But it would have been different: more fragmented, less coherent, perhaps less rooted in a shared national narrative. Rizal’s death on December 30, 1896, provided the unifying symbol the revolution needed.

Humanizing Rizal: Lessons for Contemporary Philippines

It is important to recognize that Rizal’s legacy was significantly shaped by later narrators, especially American historians during the colonial period. Theodore Friend noted that Rizal was elevated to hero precisely because he did not pose an ideological threat to the new colonial power. Unlike Aguinaldo, too militant, or Bonifacio, too radical, Rizal could be domesticated as a symbol of ordered progress and moderate reform. Constantino was even more direct: “They favored a hero who was not against American colonial policy.”

This context does not invalidate Rizal’s legacy but humanizes it. He ceases to be an untouchable icon and becomes a man who faced genuine dilemmas, changed his mind when facts justified it, and made mistakes in judgment. That is precisely what makes him relevant to today’s Philippines.

Constantino suggests in his work “Our Task: Making Rizal Obsolete” that the true goal is not perpetual veneration but the realization of the ideals Rizal sacrificed for. As long as corruption persists, as long as injustice remains, Rizal’s example continues to be necessary. His refusal to compromise, his insistence on integrity even at the cost of death, his critical analysis of oppression—all keep his instructive power alive.

In the decades following that morning of December 30, 1896, the Philippines achieved independence that Rizal did not live to see. But the nation that emerged did not fully realize the social reform and justice ideals Rizal envisioned. Corruption took on new forms. Injustice adapted. In this context, Rizal’s most pertinent lesson is not his death but his life: his refusal to betray his convictions even when all political forces pressured him to yield.

For contemporary Filipinos, this means one thing: just as Rizal remained steadfast against the temptations and pressures of his time, today’s society is called to resist the corruptions that rot from within. Rizal’s true obsolescence will occur when a symbol of integrity is no longer needed to inspire a nation. That day has not yet arrived.