Why did Rizal refuse to escape: The intersection of ideals and sacrifice

A century ago, at the execution ground in Luneta Park, Manila, José Rizal walked steadily toward his death — this was not a forced calmness, but a deliberate decision made after careful reflection. What is truly worth pondering is not this moment itself, but why he chose to face death when given the chance to save himself.

A hero who refused rescue

In 1896, when the Katipunan (the Philippine secret revolutionary society) plotted to rescue Rizal from exile in Dapitan, he refused. Even when Andres Bonifacio personally invited him to lead the revolution, Rizal declined.

This was not cowardice, but strategic judgment. Rizal believed that an unprepared uprising would only lead to needless bloodshed. What did he see? That his compatriots were not yet ready for full-scale resistance.

He and the Katipunan sought the same freedom but took different paths — Rizal chose reform as a means to liberation, while the Katipunan pursued independence through revolution. On December 15, 1896, when the uprising had already erupted, Rizal publicly condemned it in his declaration, stating that he “indeed condemns this uprising.”

This stance may seem contradictory, but it is profoundly insightful.

How words transcend initial intentions

Historian Renato Constantino pointed out a paradox in his 1972 analysis: Rizal’s propaganda did not bring Filipinos closer to Spain; instead, it rooted a sense of separation. His criticisms, though gentle, were like a knife, cutting through Filipino illusions of assimilation.

Rizal once believed that assimilation with Spain was possible and desirable. He admired European art and free thought. But reality continually eroded this belief — in the Calamba land dispute, the harassment by Jesuit priests made him realize: the dream of assimilation was just that — a dream. In 1887, he admitted this in a letter to Blumentritt.

Constantino described Rizal as a “restricted” Filipino — an elite intellectual fighting for national unity but afraid of revolution. Yet, precisely because of this “restriction,” his influence was broader. His initial goal was to elevate the “Indio” to the level of Spanish culture, but his writings instead sowed the seeds of revolution.

“He did not lead a movement, but he enlightened an era,” is the most accurate assessment of Rizal.

How death rewrote history

Without Rizal’s execution, the uprising might still have happened, but in a completely different form — more scattered, lacking spiritual momentum, more easily crushed. What did his death change? Not tactics, but the hearts of the people.

Historian Ambeth Ocampo recorded a detail: when Rizal walked to the execution site, his pulse remained normal. He called him a “conscious hero” — someone fully aware of the consequences, yet still choosing to die for his beliefs.

Rizal himself explained his choice in a 1896 letter: he wanted to show those who denied Filipinos’ patriotism that “we know how to die for our beliefs.” This was not driven by passion, but a carefully crafted moral demonstration.

His execution strengthened the people’s desire for separation, unified a loose movement, and gave moral clarity to the revolution. But more importantly, it affirmed a truth: some things are worth sacrificing for.

What can we still learn from Rizal today

This is the most pressing question. Today, Rizal is often portrayed as a “U.S.-funded hero” — partly due to the narrative shaped during American colonization. Theodore Friend, in his book Between Two Empires, pointed out that Americans admired Rizal because, compared to Bonifacio’s militancy and Mabini’s stubbornness, Rizal appeared gentle and controllable.

Humanizing Rizal, rather than canonizing him, allows Filipinos to ask deeper questions: Which of his ideals still apply today? Which are outdated?

Constantino’s core argument is: as long as corruption and injustice persist, Rizal remains relevant. Once these ideals are truly realized, heroes will no longer be needed. But clearly, the Philippines has not yet reached that stage.

This may be Rizal’s most enduring lesson: to refuse compromise like him, and to steadfastly resist the pressures and temptations of corruption and injustice. This does not require martyrdom, only clarity and perseverance.

The commemoration on December 30 is not just about how Rizal died, but why he chose not to save himself — and how that choice continues to remind each generation that the cost of ideals is proportional to their value.