‘Hayop! Malansang isda!’ by Ambeth Ocampo

EVERY SEMESTER, after going over the syllabus and setting deadlines, I begin the course with a diagnostic test. Naturally everyone does not want to be tested on “stock knowledge” only to be declared “out of stock.” (I don’t know why people think they have to review for a diagnostic test, when the exercise is meant to help the professor size up the class and know what difficulty level to set.) But an audible sigh of relief is heard when the instructions are given out: Draw Andres Bonifacio and Jose Rizal. Many people complain that they cannot draw, so they are instructed to make a simple stick figure but to attach certain symbols that will let the viewer know that the figure is either the Great Malayan or the Great Plebeian. Everyone gets to work happily, and when the processing starts, that’s when they learn Lesson 1 in an Ambeth Ocampo class: when something looks simple, it is actually difficult, and when something is complex, it should be broken down to its simplest form.

That many college students (and teachers too!) cannot draw is a given. The drawings of the two major National Heroes are similar to those of kindergarten students for the celebration of Buwan ng Wika. The drawings are not at issue here, but their content because it shows that the history students have taken to adulthood has not progressed very much since kindergarten. Thus, Rizal is always in his black outfit, Bonifacio in white camisa de chino and red pants. Rizal always holds two books and a quill, Bonifacio always holds a bolo and a flag. Rizal is quiet, serene and brooding, Bonifacio always shouting, aggressive and inciting to rebellion. Is this the way we should remember our heroes—as caricatures?

When you go to kindergarten and elementary schools in August you will see that the children have made posters to commemorate Buwan ng Wika. They should be drawing Manuel Luis Quezon who gave us our Wikang Pambansa, the Tagalog-based language we now call Filipino. Yet the children draw Rizal and Bonifacio who may be related to Philippine history but not to the National Language.

Did Rizal really use a quill? No, he used a wooden pen with a metal nib. Did Rizal only write two books held aloft like the tablets containing the Ten Commandments? Aren’t these books considered by some as prophetic books, the Filipino Bible, with “Noli me tangere” being the Old Testament and El “Filibusterismo” being the New Testament? But Rizal actually published three books, the forgotten one, published between “Noli” (1887) and “Fili” (1891), being his annotated edition of Antonio de Morga’s “Sucesos de las islas Filipinas” (1890).

Did Bonifacio wave a flag? Perhaps. Did Bonifacio fight with a bolo? No, he probably used a gun.

All these images of our heroes we learn in school through formal classes and textbooks. We also learn of these outside school through monuments, coins, banknotes, stamps and other images.

While children should learn tales about their heroes, these stories should develop into more complex lessons in citizenship and nationhood as they grow older. Unfortunately, the drawings show that many Filipinos remember the children’s stories. Americans learn about George Washington and the cherry tree. Filipinos learn about Rizal throwing his chinelas downstream in a river. Americans learn about Benjamin Franklin, the kite, key and lightning. Filipinos learn about the orphaned Bonifacio children supported by Andres who sold canes and fans.

History can be engaging if we show the complexity of the lives and times of our Founding Fathers and Mothers. History can come alive if we flesh out our heroes instead of oversimplifying their lives into dates, names, places and events to memorize for a quiz.

Every Filipino child is reared on the most quoted line from Rizal: “Ang hindi magmahal sa sariling salita [wika]/ masahol sa hayop at malansang isda.” (One who does not love his own language is worse than a beast or a stinking fish.) These immortal lines from the poem “Sa Aking mga Kababata,” allegedly written when Rizal was 8 years old in 1869, are brought out each time we talk of the need for a National Language. Everyone knows the excerpt, but few have read this short poem where the young boy from Calamba compares Tagalog with Latin, English, Spanish and the angelic tongues (“Salitang anghel”). Tagalog is a language with its own alphabet and writing washed away. After reading this poem, we should feel awe in the face of genius, or maybe we should ask whether this poem is even by Rizal in the first place.

After having gone through many Rizal manuscripts in both private and public collections, I believe that “Sa Aking Kababata” is, at most, a poem attributed to Rizal. Unlike other writings of Rizal whose manuscripts are extant, or whose manuscripts once existed and can be verified, the poem appeared posthumously in 1902 in a book by Herminigildo Cruz. It cannot be traced directly back to Rizal, which is quite strange because almost all of Rizal’s writings were accounted for even in his lifetime. Perhaps Rizal’s name and this poem were invoked when Tagalog was chosen as the basis for the National Language?

When we rethink what we think we already know, that is the beginning of knowledge and wisdom.