Asian Journal- The Filipino-American Community Newspaper

If Dr. Jose Rizal were alive today, what would he say? How many times have we asked this question, in jest, in exasperation, in drunken stupor, in occasional, if not rare, nationalistic fervor? What, indeed, would our national hero say? And, while we’re at it, what would those other heroes, those many men and women who sacrificed love and life for the sake of a better country, say?

Through the musical satire Rizal is My President, co-presented recently by the Asian Journal and Balikbayan Magazine, we get the delicious, eyeopening, heartwarming treat of an idea. Apolinario Mabini, Andres Bonifacio, Antonio Luna, Marcelo H. Del Pilar, Gabriela Silang, Tandang Sora, and Ninoy Aquino, they’re all in that special place in heaven for the noble, and they are cooking up a campaign to send the noblest of them all back to lead the country they so love, the country they had dreamed and still dream, so much for—the same country that had, arguably, done nothing to lengthen their patriotic stay, their immense sacrifices notwithstanding.

We see The Marangals breaking into song and dance, even as they engage Rizal— dear, Rubik’s cube-addicted, net-savvy, a little-bit-vain Pepe to them—in an impassioned debate on why he should run for president in the upcoming Philippine elections. Reluctant Rizal issues a heartfelt response: I already gave it my all. Isn’t it enough that I gave up my life?

This time around, not even Ninoy can convince him the Filipino is worth dying for all over again. But Rizal’s mother— or that tangible memory of her unconditional, nurturing love—can. And yes, the Filipino—in the body of a poor, wide-eyed boy who has had to do without his own loving OFW mother—can.

Rizal is My President is like the Filipino heart. It is at once desperate and hopeful, hilarious and scornful; there is love and light where others who do not understand would only expect there not to be. It captures the Filipino spirit. It is both fighting and surrendering; often on the verge of dying, but never really dead. There is song and dance and a mournful funeral scene. It laughs a little; it weeps just as much. And, when you least expect it—like a little after Rizal and Ninoy, in their private little mutual admiration society, whip out treasured "pictures" of the other in a one-peso coin and a five hundred-peso bill, and then give rise to a new denomination—a life lesson hits home.

In the midst of his reflections, Rizal is haunted by his mother, the OFW mother, the motherland. All three incarnations have been held hostage at some point—wrongly accused, wrongly treated, wrongly judged—and yet all three just kept on giving, never asking for anything in return, except maybe steadfast love."Tunay nga na maliban sa Diyos, ang ina ang lahat-lahat sa atin," he muses. Indeed, aside from God, it is our mother who is everything to us.