Exposing modern society, the Rizal way: A Review of Noli Me Tangere 2

by David Ernman Lim

Once in every generation, there arises a great talent who, in his zeal to uproot the common scheme of things, would attempt to fulfill the promise of becoming something great. There are many common examples of this all throughout history; there were great conquerors who felt the need to bring the world to unity through force of arms, such as Alexander the Great or Julius Caesar. There were men who evolved from the common ape and brought about tremendous change through invention, like Edison and Einstein. Then there are fruitful pens who shaped literature, and thus, the minds of tomorrow, such as Shakespeare and Cervantes.


While he may not be as well-known as these personages around the world, for his native country, Jose Rizal is no less ideal and no less sacred. He was not only a once-in-a-generation prodigy, he was the very embodiment of the nation, the greatest Filipino who ever lived. From the power of his pen, he sought to be the first to awaken a sleeping titan; by his written word and his fiery works he brought the fire of national pride to the Filipino. 


In the century following his death, very few have earned the right to be so acclaimed, and so universally loved. Men such as Quezon, Recto and Ninoy have come and gone throughout the decades, dominating the national scene as the foremost Filipinos of their respective generations. For each successive generation, the admirers have increased, but the quality to be admired has vastly diminished. Very few even bother to try to achieve what Rizal had done, and perhaps even less have the actual power to so.


When Roger Olivares published his book Noli Me Tangere 2: Where to now, my country?, he harbored no pretenses that his “sequel” to Rizal's Noli would ever earn him the right to ascend the panthenon of Filipino greats. But just like Rizal, who worked for work and love's sake, he wrote it down to do what so few would dare to nowadays: he wrote not to earn, but to “awaken.”


Truth be told, there is very little of the original Noli to be found in this “sequel,” aside from the handful of names which might sound familiar to the Noli's readers. The quality of writing is there, but it is somewhat deprived of the fabulous--and superfluous--plot lines which engross the equally fickle minds of today. His protagonist is a young man with the same name as Rizal's famed character, possessing the same zeal, courage, the same love for country, whose life comes spiralling down towards an uncontrollable chasm of pain and dishonor. It is a story which offers no flash, no pomp, and portrays little to none of the classic elegance to be found in the original Noli.

One might say that there is no nostalgia to be had within these pages, since all you find within can readily be seen outside the window, or on television. Gone are the banquets of honor, as well as most of the superstitions and traditions of our native past. Vanished also is the medieval ambience which sucks the reader into the vortex of a richer, bygone world. There are no elegant bahay na bato with wide balustrades and regal stone staircases; no calesas plying their trade on cobblestoned (or otherwise unmasoned, muddy) streets; and no desensitized guardia civil, with their ominous dark blue uniforms and merciless Mauser rifles. Instead there are posh modern mansions with gates and security guards; sleek luxury cars worth hundreds of thousands of pesos; and stereotypical cops wielding the powers of good and evil in each hand, with an automatic machine gun for added effect.


In all fairness to Mr. Oliveros, perhaps -and this “perhaps” is highly likely- the damnable situation of our present is even worse than the archaic troubles which inhabited Jose Rizal's sacred, beloved Filipinas. There may be no more whips and garrotes to enforce brutal laws imposed by trespassers on our own land, but we suffer nonetheless with the comedic, tragic, and ironic nonchalance of our own countrymen. Worst of all, there is too little love for our poor country to turn the wheels around; men like Oliveros are even rarer today than Rizal-like minds were during his own time.


This book reveals the mortifying darkness resting in the back of our minds; the things we'd like to see resolved, and the things we turn a blind eye to because we all believe that there is nothing we can do. Here is the unsolvable plight of the urban poor, residing in squatter colonies around dumpsites, under bridges, on the streets and along railroad tracks, living side by side with death, decay and hopelessness. Present here is the maddening inconsistency of our police force, deeply and irretrievably immersed in the very crimes they have sworn to suppress. Then there are the drug pushers and drug lords who are left free to bloat the minds of our countrymen with their dangerous wares, secretly protected by people in “high places.” The elite universities of the country are pictured as bastions of intellectual development, but accursed with a nonexistent hold on their students once they leave the halls of education. Lastly, there is the pitiful visage of our tired and abused overseas workers, intoxicated with the thought of going abroad so they can: a) afford a better life for their families; and b) help keep our ever-capsizing economy afloat by sending their foreign currency home.


Last, but not least comes the great counterweight to all these: an undercurrent of hope. This is where Mr. Olivares makes his stand, facing the gigantic moral, spiritual, economic and political problems that blight our society with the very belief which Rizal wielded a hundred years prior. After shifting through several big chapters filled to the brim with cliché (but undeniably and horribly factual) examples of human drama, the reader will find how Mr. Olivares gradually expands and details his own sincere hope for the betterment of all. All of this, of course is characterized by the ideals and actions of a balikbayan NBI agent who dared raise his trumpet against the evil around him, even when he had to confront the unwitting evil that his own father had become.


“I have a vision of a country with a soul … graceful people with fear and love of God. I have a vision of a country where men will be strong and women will be lovely and morally upright, and will stand by their men. I have a vision of a country where people are respectful and are respected, not bound by feudal ties. I have a vision of leaders mindful of the people. I wonder if it ever will be. We have a beautiful country, Maria. It is worth dying for.” -Crisostomo “Cris” Ibarra

One might say that at the very least, Mr. Olivares, much like Dr. Rizal, was able to portray his immediate world with both clarity and honesty. While he may not have Rizal's supreme talent in inflicting harm to the sources of our society's ills, he was able to lash out at the conventions of our modern world by portraying them as they truly are: despicable and unfortunate. Perhaps the character stereotyping was even a weapon of choice, all for the purpose of opening the Filipino's eyes to the degrading straits which he has come to. It is a wise choice if it is truly the case.


Alas, in the end there is too little of the Great Malayan's writing on the surface to consider it a proper sequel. Rather, it is more like a White Forest cake which was sprinkled with little chocolate specks, then labelled as a Black Forest. Even though there is little glamour to find beyond the grind of its polarizing balance, it is what readers might worthily dub “an honest and sincere piece of writing,” and is, in a way, a modern tribute to Rizal's greatest creation. 


This is a book which portrays the best and the worst of the Filipino in the most subtle way possible, employing the common aspects of depravity, suffering and injustice we see everyday in a mighty effort to humble, educate, and eventually awaken us, as Rizal had tried to do more than a century ago. This book does the job fairly well.