El Filibusterismo

José Rizal’s duology of Noli Me Tángere and El Filibusterismo is a national epic of adventure and revenge that outlines governmental, clerical, and social abuses within colonial Filipino society—a culture on the cusp of revolution. More so than the first novel, El Filibusterismo focuses on these abuses.

The overall narrative arc of the story contains many similarities with Alexandre Dumas père’s The Count of Monte Cristo, of which José Rizal was a fan, and on which he based his novel. Thus, Simoun/Crisóstomo Ibarra is the archetypal revenge character who suffers a betrayal, is imprisoned or exiled, and returns wealthier and more powerful than before—and who goes about seeking the destruction of those who betrayed him. In Simoun’s case, his betrayal is grounded in a colonial system that gives characters the power to abuse. Simoun was betrayed by Father Dámaso, who dies at the end of the first novel. Father Dámaso coveted Ibarra’s father’s wealth and feared his power among the people. Thus, Father Dámaso had him falsely accused and imprisoned, which led to his death before Ibarra returned from Europe.

Clerical abuse of power and uncharitable behavior, specifically those of the Spanish clergy, are Rizal’s main criticisms in both novels. Nevertheless, there are compassionate Catholic characters in the novels. In El Filibusterismo, the pious Father Florentino is a Filipino character who offers sanctuary and wisdom. This distinction between the Spanish and Filipino clergy is important because Rizal mirrors the sentiments of many Filipino citizens in their criticism of the clergy but not the Catholic Church. Those in power argued that Indigenous Filipinos were unfit for the clergy, and thus, Rizal’s juxtaposition of abusive Spanish friars and compassionate Filipino friars contradicts this argument.

Another important element introduced in Chapters 1-2 is the social hierarchy in the Colonial Philippines. The steamship is used as a microcosm for Philippine society as a whole: Firstly, the upper deck is populated by government officials, the clergy, important foreigners (Simoun), and Filipino citizens useful to the government and clergy. The “useful” are not the captain and crew, but instead the wealthy and influential, mostly of mestizo heritage—like Doña Victorina who is from the Philippines but acts like a Spanish woman. These people are few in number, but take up the entire upper deck of the boat and sit in luxury while the majority, Filipino (Indigenous and mestizo) and Chinese passengers, are “crammed among parcels and trunks” below deck (30). The subsequent events in the novel portray this hierarchy, its inherent abuses, and the suffering of the lower classes.

It isn’t necessarily requisite to read Noli Me Tángere to understand El Filibusterismo, because Rizal recounts the former’s major plot points. Thus, in Chapter 3, the story of Crisóstomo Ibarra (Simoun) is introduced to readers unfamiliar with him. For readers who have read the first novel, the mention of Ibarra not only connects the two novels, but frames him as part of the local folklore. This is significant because many Indigenous religions featured the worship of ancestors and local spirits before the spread of Catholicism. Thus, Ibarra is firmly established as an integral part of the physical and spiritual composition of the Philippines. When Ibarra is reintroduced as Simoun, it is as both a protagonist and antagonist. Because Ibarra suffered so much in the first novel, and continues to suffer in the second, his alter ego Simoun instigates as many evils as possible in order to antagonize the Philippine population into revolt against the Spanish.

Among the abuses perpetrated by the clergy under Spanish rule is the story of Cabesang Tales (Telesforo). His story works on several levels. Firstly, Tales’s struggle to earn a living from the soil, wherein he lost his wife and eldest daughter, not only dispels the stereotype of the “lazy Filipino,” but illustrates how closely tied a local farmer is to his family’s land. This makes the local friary’s claim of ownership all the more villainous; subsequently, Tales and his father’s (Tandang Selo) patience reinforces the image of the downtrodden Filipino who suffers silently and is willing to compromise with the clergy. Had the friary’s greed ended with an inexpensive tribute, Tales’s tale would have been different. However, this greed knows no bounds in the narrative, and as Tales works hard to gain wealth and prestige, the clergy demand more from him, trying his patience. The abuses he endures lead him to become a bandit leader and catches Simoun’s attention, as the latter enlists him in his revenge plot. Thus, the introduction of Tales as an important secondary character adds not only social criticism and suspense, but provides an opportunity for Rizal to highlight the consequences of Spanish and clerical abuse—namely banditry, and through banditry, armed resistance to a government that is recalcitrant to social and political reform.

While Cabesang Tales’s story provides an extreme example of abuse and corruption, Chapter 5 allows Rizal to illustrate the everyday abuses that many Filipinos endure, especially those at the mercy of the Civil Guard, whose members are mostly drawn from the Filipino population. The Civil Guard offers an interesting inspection of abuse and corruption inherent to Spanish rule. Civil Guard members were often the poorest of Filipino society. Many were reluctant to join, but those who did join enjoyed more power over their fellow Filipinos. Under Spanish law, the Civil Guard (la Guardia Civil) had certain powers ripe for abuse. For example, the Civil Guard could arrest anyone under suspicion alone; no proof was necessary. They could torture without fear of government reprisal, and could even kill a suspect if they attempted to resist arrest. The coachman’s encounters with the Civil Guard are mild in comparison to what some characters experienced in Noli Me Tángere. In later chapters of El Filibusterismo, the Civil Guard plays an important role in Rizal’s criticism of its role in suppressing Filipino rights.

Chapter 6 introduces the novel’s second protagonist, Basilio, who was a young boy in the first novel. He returns educated, and with a bright future ahead of him. In many ways, Basilio mirrors the Ibarra from Noli Me Tángere, in that both have their futures taken from them because of the corrupt political and religious systems in their country. Moreover, both characters share hardships with author José Rizal, especially Ibarra. Chapter 7 brings the two men back together, 13 years after the events in Noli Me Tángere.

For readers who read the first novel, it’s clear that Simoun and Basilio’s destinies are intertwined. Moreover, Chapter 7 confirms that Simoun and Ibarra are the same person. Chapter 3 foreshadows Chapter 7 when Simoun pensively looks out at the lake as the captain tells the story of how Ibarra supposedly died. With Basilio’s recognition of Simoun as the man he met 13 years earlier, Simoun is unmasked and some of the novel’s tension is relieved. New readers learn that both men experienced death at roughly the same time: Basilio lost his mother, and Ibarra lost a friend. They buried Basilio’s mother and cremated Ibarra’s friend, moments grounded in compassion. However, after their proper reunion, Simoun attempts to enlist a shocked Basilio in revenge. Basilio’s reaction is important because Rizal uses Basilio’s hope for betterment to condemn those of Philippine society who think similarly. While hope in itself isn’t negative, Basilio has forgotten his history in lieu of hope, a history well-known to returning readers. In the first novel, Basilio and his younger brother, Crispín, were regularly beaten by sextons. Their father has an addiction to gambling, and their mother lived solely for her sons. At one point, the brothers were accused of stealing church money. Crispín disappeared (he was probably beaten to death) and Basilio escaped, but rumors surrounding their demise drove their mother mad. In Chapter 7, Basilio doesn’t seem to have suffered adverse effects from these events, something Simoun condemns. He foreshadows Basilio’s hope being taken away, as the same happened to him.

The novel’s namesake, the word filibustero, is mentioned in Chapter 3. The Spanish word means pirate; however, in the context of the novel and its usage, it means “a dangerous patriot who will soon be on the gallows, or else a conceited fellow” (15). In other words, a filibustero is an agitator. It’s important to understand the word’s connotation rather than its denotation. This is especially helpful for readers using the older translation by Charles Derbyshire because he uses filibuster (which can also signify someone who speaks for a long time to obstruct legislative reforms) instead of filibustero, which Harold Augenbraum maintains. Derbyshire isn’t wrong in using filibuster because the word also signifies a person engaged in unauthorized warfare against a foreign power—however, the word choice may be confusing to English readers. The word comes from the French filibustier which was specifically used for French and English raiders who attacked Spanish ships in their wars against the rising Spanish Empire in the 16th-17th centuries.