My countrymen:
On my return from Spain I learned that my name had been in use, among some who were in arms, as a war-cry. The news came as a painful surprise, but, believing the incident to be closed, I kept silence over what seemed to be irremediable. I now notice indications that the disturbances are continuing, and lest any persons, in good faith or bad, should avail themselves of the use of my name, to stop such an abuse and to undeceive the unwary I hasten to address you these lines and make known the truth.
From the very beginning, when I first had notice of what was being planned, I opposed it, fought it, and demonstrated its absolute impossibility. This is the fact, and witnesses to my words are still living. I was convinced that the scheme was utterly absurd, and, what was worse, would bring great suffering.
I did even more. When later, against my advice, the movement materialized, of my own accord I offered not alone my good offices, but my very life, and even my name, to be used in whatever way might seem best, toward stifling the rebellion; for, convinced of the ills which it would bring, I considered myself fortunate if, at any sacrifice, I could prevent such useless misfortunes. This is equally of record. My countrymen, I have given proofs that I am one most anxious for liberties for our country, and I am still desirous of them. But I place as a prior condition the education of the people, that by means of instruction and industry our country may have an individuality of its own and make itself worthy of these liberties. I have recommended in my writings the study of the civic virtues, without which there is no redemption. I have written also (and I repeat my words) that reforms, to be beneficial, must come from above, that those which come from below are irregularly gained and uncertain.
Holding these ideas, I cannot do less than condemn, and I [[292]]do condemn this uprising—as absurd, savage, and plotted behind my back—which dishonors us Filipinos and discredits those that could plead our cause. I abhor its criminal methods and disclaim all part in it, pitying from the bottom of my heart the unwary that have been deceived into taking part in it.
Return then to your homes, and may God pardon those that have wrought in bad faith![2]
José Rizal.
Fort Santiago, December 15, 1896.
Still remained for his enemies the necessity of a semblance of charges upon which might be based the semblance of a trial. As a move of obvious desperation they now fell back upon the fantasy that La Liga Filipina was an illegal body and upon the precarious assertion that even if he had no connection with the Katipunan it had been formed as a result of his teachings. Upon these grounds and only these his life was to be sought; the first wholly untrue, the other tenuous and fraught with grave danger to the existence of any system of justice. As for La Liga Filipina, that was as seditious as an average board of trade, and as secret; it had no purposes but economic improvement and Filipino union. But the other charge was a different matter. If it could be held that Rizal’s teachings were such that they instigated an uprising he had always opposed, then any but a paralyzed dumb man could be held responsible for anything that happened anywhere. Suppose, for instance, a British newspaper to criticize severely the British prime minister, and the next day a man attempt the assassination of [[293]]that minister. Who is to say, if this doctrine be sound, that the newspaper did not instigate the murderous attempt? It is apparent that if such a view were ever deemed valid an end would come to all free discussion or the pretense of a free press; no journal would dare to have an opinion about anything but the weather.
The inhibition would never stop with the press; the most ordinary and the most useful activities of organized society would be put into jeopardy. Suppose, for instance, Rizal had opposed and denounced vivisection, and a weak-minded man anywhere, maddened by the loss of his pet dog, should assault the physician that had cut it to pieces. Who could say that Rizal under this doctrine was not the guilty assailant? Even supposing the man that did the deed never to have read Rizal nor heard of him, Rizal’s influence might have been transmitted through many persons and still be his. It is evident that at once we plunge into limitless possibilities for oppression and wrong. Suppose an American reformer to denounce some official grafter and a fanatic to shoot that grafter. The reformer might be hanged, and the assassin go free.
Of all places in the civilized circuit the Philippine Islands were then the most perilous in which to introduce such a theory. In the Philippines an evil oligarchy maintained itself by terrorizing the population. Before its need and greed, justice was at best farcical. To admit that any man that criticized its methods might be held responsible for the acts of any revolutionist, murderer, or lunatic whatsoever was to place in the hands of the oligarchy the last and worst of weapons. It would need nothing else to render [[294]]unassailable and unlimited its already despotic power. The courts would be a hangman’s noose.
Yet on such preposterous grounds and none other the terrible travesty of justice was now urged along. It is likely that since the days of Caiaphas has been no such desperate hunting for testimony against innocence. “This man spake blasphemy,” cried the high priests, and, when they could find no confirmation of the charge, twisted to a desired meaning the most casual utterance, the cross being made ready in advance. The proceedings were as illegal as unjust. Supposing the offenses charged to have been committed, they were under the civil law of the Islands. The civil law and the civil courts were brushed aside lest even in the Philippines they might fail of legalized murder, or halt it; and the proceedings were held by court martial.
Before this tribunal, organized to slay, Rizal was brought bound, his elbows drawn back with cords so as almost to touch. Thus he must sit throughout each session, though the notion that he might try to escape or to assault any one was obviously fantastic, for he was heavily guarded and the room was filled with soldiery. To a gratuitous malice all this must be ascribed, the malice of immature or perverted minds. The torments he endured from aching muscles and constricted arteries as thus he sat grew almost intolerable while the long sessions dragged on, but it is not recorded that the victim made complaint. He was not allowed an attorney, but a list of army officers was spread before him from among whom he might select counsel—so called. He found in the list a name that [[295]]had a friendly sound in his ear. It was de Andrade, and proved to be borne by a brother of the young army officer that had been assigned to watch him and had ended by becoming his warm admirer and charmed companion on so many walks in 1887. But the choice of a counsel was mere formality. Luis de Andrade did all he could to win justice for the prisoner, but before such a court he might as well have used question with a wolf.[3]
There was no taking of testimony in any sense that civilized nations have of that term. A few terrified Filipinos were put upon the stand, and answers were extracted from their lips to carefully prepared questions; but cross-examination was not allowed, and the value of their admissions was nothing. The judge-advocate denounced Rizal as a traitor and an enemy to Spain. Extracts were read from his writings that it was pretended had encouraged the existing revolt. The Christmas holidays intervened while the ghastly processes of slaughter were still incomplete. On December 29 the court found him guilty and sentenced him to be shot within twenty-four hours.
To this and nothing else he had looked forward from the beginning of the hearing. Some nights before the verdict, knowing well what it would be, he had written in his cell by the light of his little alcohol lamp his farewell to his country, his family, and his friends. It is that poem now become the national classic of the Philippines, the beautiful and tender elegy that he called “My Last Farewell.” On the last night he folded the manuscript and hid it in the bowl of the lamp. [[296]]
Of this marvelous production, almost unequaled in literature for its pathetic sincerity and noble feeling, there exist in English two versions.[4] That which seems the more adequately to express the thought of the original we offer here, and his must be a strangely indurated heart that can read it without emotion:
Land I adore, farewell! thou land of the southern sun’s choosing.