[10] It appears that the first members he enrolled were friends of his in the masonic lodge, which probably gave rise to the story that La Liga Filipina was a masonic organization. Rizal had been warmly welcomed by his brother masons at Manila and was pleasantly astonished to find the lodge so large and flourishing.
The Constitution of the Liga declared these to be its Ends:
- 1. To unite the whole archipelago into one compact, vigorous, and homogeneous body.
- 2. Mutual protection in every want and necessity.
- 3. Defense against all violence and injustice.
- 4. Encouragement of industry, agriculture, and commerce.
- 5. The study and application of reforms.
The motto was “Unus instar omnium.” (One like all.) [↑]
[11] The idea of such a society originated with José Maria Basa, one of the remarkable Filipinos then refugees in Hong-Kong. He mentioned it to Rizal and suggested a constitution, which Rizal, with his trained intellect, quickly formulated. [↑]
CHAPTER XIV
THE EXILE OF DAPITAN
About this was nothing sinister, illegal, revolutionary, affrighting, or incendiary, but the Spanish colony chose to view it with alarm. If Rizal had organized a prayer meeting or a branch of the Young Men’s Christian Association these nervous folk would have seen in it only treason, stratagems, and spoils. On the Filipinos the effect was different. To the deliberate judgment of the intelligentsia the plan of the league appealed as the first practical suggestion of relief through peaceful agitation. With a novel sensation of hope, they took it to their bosoms.[1] Rapidly the membership increased; at last there was a promise of union and directed effort. And then the powers that stood behind the puppet governor-general and manipulated his movements decided that the ripe time had come to spring the trap; before this dangerous man should have back of him an organization able to realize his dreams he must be put to silence. Despujol sent for Rizal, leaped upon him as if from a machine with the leaflet, “The Poor Friars,” that men said had been found in Lucia’s baggage, and without trial or hearing ordered him to prison. From the spot where he stood in the governor-general’s office a guard [[247]]took him to Fort Santiago and thrust him into a cell. Another generation will not believe that this was done; and even in our own era, in which invasions of personal rights at times of great public excitement are not unknown, an act of such rank and impudent despotism seems improbable. There was not even a pretense of any legal proceeding, no warrant, no magistrate, no commitment. “Take this man to jail!” commands the governor-general. With an obedient start the guard sweeps away the prisoner, helpless in a square of rifles. It is enough to cause us to wonder if democracy and liberty are or can be more than veneer upon any old frame of European monarchy and whether time, in this conception of human society, must not necessarily stand stock-still.
At Santiago guard was mounted[2] upon the mild reformer and man of peace as if he had been some ferocious bandit captured red-handed and likely to burst his bars. Sentinels stood day and night over his cell door; no communication was allowed with his friends; and grown men in the official service went through the theatrics of pretending that there was danger of an attempt to rescue him.