107. For the following account of Oonabara I am very grateful to Umemori Naoyuki. He explains that up till about 1900 Meiji-era novelists regularly gave Japanese names to foreign characters and most foreign places, without this implying necessarily any “real” Japanese connection. Translators of favorite European authors, such as Zola, followed the same practice. The idea was to make the texts more accessible to the ordinary Japanese reader.

  108. Though the term soshi in the twentieth century acquired the negative connotation of “political bully,” Suehiro used it in the older, more positive, sense of “defender of people’s rights.” See the discussion in Appendix VII of Saniel’s Japan and the Philippines.

  109. As we have seen, the Katipunan would, two years later, seek just such Japanese assistance.

  110. Lanuza and Zaide, Rizal in Japan, chapter VII.

  111. Ponce, Cartas, pp. 353–4.

  112. In a March 6 letter to Apacible in Hong Kong, Ponce wrote that Sun and Hirata were currently visiting with him. It must have at this meeting that the famous photograph of the two men was taken—Ponce in European clothes, except for some very odd shoes, and with a fine moustache; Sun in Japanese clothes, and an even finer moustache. The photo is included with the letter in Ibid., pp. 292–6.

  113. Ponce published a biography of Sun in 1914, and was on his way to visit when he suddenly fell ill and died in Hong Kong on May 23, 1918. See the entry for Ponce in volume 2 of Filipinos in History, pp. 115–16.

  114. Named after their inventor Murata Tsuneyoshi, a lower samurai from Satsuma, the Murata rifle was a creative mix of up-to-date French and German models. An improved version was a decisive element in Japan’s victory over imperial China in 1895. It was superseded in 1897 by Arisaka Nariakira’s Mauser-based rifle. This is why plenty of obsolete Murata rifles were available on the clandestine arms market. My thanks to Tsuchiya Kenichiro for his expertise on this subject.

  115. Shiraishi Takashi kindly informs me that no less than Japan’s Army Chief of Staff was behind this whole undertaking, and it was at his orders that the unlucky military officers were on board. Nothing in Ponce’s correspondence suggests that he was aware of this.

  116. See the succinct account in Silvino V. Epistola, Hong Kong Junta (Quezon City: University of the Philippines Press, 1996), pp. 123–4, which is based on letters Ponce sent to Apacible on July 25 and 26 (Cartas, pp. 364–81). The Americans had their spies in Japan, and also maintained effective naval patrols of Philippine waters.

  117. See Rebecca Karl, Staging the World (Durham, N.C.: Duke University Press, 2002), especially chapter 4, “Recognizing Colonialism: The Philippines and Revolution.”

  118. Ponce, Cartas, pp. 190–91.

  119. This name was kindly given to me by Carol Hau, reporting on recent research by scholars in China. The account of Pawa that follows is largely based on Teresita Ang See’s article “The Ethnic Chinese in the Filipino-American War and After,” Kasaysayan, 1:4 (December 2001), pp. 83–92.

  120. If this description is accurate, Pawa must have cut off his pigtail on arrival in Hongkong, where Aguinaldo needed him as an interpreter. (He probably spoke only Hokkienese, perhaps a little Cantonese, and Tagalog, which made the caudillo feel very comfortable with him.)

  121. This paragraph is a regrettable condensation of the splendidly detailed material in Dery, “When the World Loved the Filipinos” (see Chapter 3, n. 43).

  122. Filipinas ante Europa ran for thirty-six issues between October 25, 1899 and June 10, 1901. After closing, probably because of trouble with the Madrid police, it reappeared as El Defensor de Filipinas, a monthly which ran from July 1 to October 1, 1901.

  123. See Scott, The Unión Obrera Democrática, p. 13, citing the Epistolario de Marcelo H. del Pilar (Manila: República de Filipinas, Dept. de Educación, Oficina de Bibliotecas Públicas, 1955), vol. 1, p. 20.

  124. Characteristic is the headline “Mac-Kinley, embustero ó criminal? [McKinley, Liar or Criminal?],” Filipinas ante Europa, March 10, 1900.

  125. “Negro Porvenir de los filipinos bajo la dominación imperialista [Black Future for Filipinos under Imperialist Domination],” ibid., November (exact date not given), 1899. “A los negros, les cazan como á fieras en las calles, si tienen la desgracia de enamorarse de una blanca” [As for the blacks, they are hunted down on the streets like wild beasts if they have the misfortune to fall in love with a white woman].

  126. Alas, this group included Pardo de Tavera, who returned to the Philippines to become a member of the Republic’s legislature. Later he justified going over to the Americans on the grounds that caudillism was already rampant, and the Philippines would suffer the fate of South America if it got its independence prematurely. Alas, too, the elderly Basa and Regidor also moved into the American column. Isabelo regularly called these people “Judases.” A good example of the ferocity of his rhetoric is “Contra la traición [Against Treason],” ibid., February 10, 1900.

  127. “Organización del ejército boer [The Organization of the Boer Army],” ibid., September 10, 1900.

  128. Mabini was captured on December 10, 1899, and imprisoned in Manila. From jail he wrote his most powerful articles against American policy, some so fierce that the press refused to publish them. On June 21, 1900 a general amnesty was announced for political prisoners provided they took the oath of allegiance to the new colonial government. But Mabini still refused to do so. On October 3, he was briefly released, but continued his attacks on Filipino collaborators and the American regime’s policies. On January 15, 1901, the man described by future Governor-General William Howard Taft as “the most prominent irreconcilable among the Filipinos” was put on a ship which left for Guam the following day, along with about sixty others, including nationalist militants—and their personal servants (Mabini had none). On July 4, 1902, President Roosevelt issued a further amnesty, which was sent to Guam; all but Mabini and one other man accepted its terms and sailed home. Finally, on February 9, 1903 Mabini was informed that he was no longer a prisoner of war, and could go freely anywhere he wished, but that he would not be allowed back to the Philippines without swearing the oath of allegiance. Feeling he now had no alternative, he agreed to do so on arrival in Manila. He died of cholera three months later, on May 13. His funeral was the largest mass gathering of Filipinos in the capital seen in many years. See the last chapter of Majul’s Mabini.

  129. In “A mi casa [Going Home],” in the final, October 1, 1901 issue of El Defensor de Filipinas, he gave a persuasive and modest account of his reasons.

  130. The following section on what Isabelo did on his return to the Philippines is largely drawn from Scott’s excellent book. Almost the last person Isabelo visited before going home was (the still controversial) Francisco Ferrer Guardia. Ferrer, born in 1859 to a well-off conservative Catalan family, left home at the age of fourteen to escape a “stifling religious atmosphere,” and eventually made his way to Paris where he worked for a long time as the secretary of the veteran republican conspirator Zorrilla. After sixteen years in France, where he became a convinced anarchist, Ferrer returned to Barcelona in 1901 and started the influential anarchist publication La Huelga General, made possible, it is said, by a million-franc legacy from a Frenchwoman who had been his pupil. He also founded a model laicist and progressive Escuela Moderna, which interested Isabelo very much. Later Ferrer was tried, but acquitted, for supposedly masterminding two failed assassination attempts on Alfonso XIII (May 31, 1905 in Paris; May 31, 1906 in Madrid). In July 1909, in response to massive and unruly protests in Barcelona over the dispatch of Spanish troops to Morocco, the conservative government of Antonio Maura declared martial law in the city, closed all leftwing clubs and progressive, non-religious schools, and banned the anarchist and republican groups. Ferrer was again arrested, and this time convicted of sedition by a military court. He was executed on October 13. The Maura regime fell twelve days later. J. Romero Maura, “Terrorism in Barcelona,” pp. 141–2, and 182–3; and Núñez, El terrorismo, p. 66. Núñez adds a disquieting note on Ferrer’s end before a firing squad. On November 12, 1909, a month after the execution, Unamuno wrote to his friend González Trilla: “En efecto, querido amigo, ha sido España, la legítima España, la española, quien ha fusilado á Ferrer. Y ha hecho muy bien en fusilarle. Ferrer era un imbécil y un malvado, y no un inquietador. Sus escuelas, un horror. Pedagógicamente detestables. Su enseñanza, de un vacuidad y una mala fé notorias. Sus libros de lectura horrorizan por lo estúpido. Ferrer, una vez condenado por el Tribunal, no por instigador, sino por partícipe en los incendios, no debió ser indultado. Se trataba de la independencia espiritual de España, de que el gobierno no podía sucumbir á la presión de la ‘golfería europa’—anarquistas, masones, judíos, científicos, y majaderos—que pretendía imponérsele y que ‘antes del juicio’ estaba ya pretendiendo trocarlo. Habían declarado ‘a priori’ inocente á Ferrer.” [In effect, my dear friend, it has been Spain, legitimate Spain, Spanishness, which has shot Ferrer. And by shooting him has acted very well. Ferrer was an imbecile and a malefactor, not an awakener of consciences. His school, a horror. Detestable pedagogically. His teaching (was) of a frightening vacuity and bad faith. His texts make one’s hair stand on end by their stupidity. Once sentenced by the Tribunal, not for being an instigator but for personal participation in arson, he did not deserve any indulgence. It was a question of Spain’s spiritual independence, and of the government being obliged not to succumb to the pressure of the “European wave” (of indignation)—anarchists, freemasons, Jews, scientists and idiots—who had the presumption to impose their will and even before the sentence claimed the right to change it. They declared Ferrer innocent a priori.] Unamuno is said later to have regretted this Daily Telegraphese (Núñez, p. 150).

  131. See the chapter “The Strikes” (pp. 35–41) in Scott’s The Unión Obrera Democrática.

  132. Isabelo called these events, straight-faced, veladas instructivo-recreativas—perhaps “pedagogico-recreational soirées.”

  133. Gómez was also one of the very few Filipinos to go to Cuba. A former medical student in Madrid, he served, as Rizal was supposed to do, with the Medical Corps of the Spanish military forces there. Schumacher, The Propaganda Movement, p. 190, n. 12.

  134. Aglipay was enraged by the Vatican’s unconditional support for Spanish colonial rule, and the local (Peninsular) hierarchy’s ferocious hostility to the revolutionary movement. His efforts were supported by Apolinario Mabini, who wanted to break Rome’s hold over the more traditional sector of the indigenous population. If one goes to Sarrat in northern Ilocos, the site of the uprising of 1815, one will find as neighbors a Spanish-style Catholic church and its Aglipayan competition. In the first the crucified Counter-Reformation Christ is in blood-stained torment and clothed only in a tattered grayish loincloth. In the second, He is serenely bearing His suffering, has a svelte, mostly unbloodied body, and wears an elegant, embroidered, sky-blue satin pair of drawers. Perhaps this was Isabelo’s cheerful doing.

  135. This paragraph is drawn from Llanes’s The Life, pp. 22–32.

  136. The edition I have had access to was printed in 1899, but the front matter indicates that this was already the third printing, so that an original publication late in 1898 is just possible.

  137. See Jovita Castro’s introduction to her translation, N’y touchez pas! at pp. 31–5.

  138. One can have fun considering Rizal’s brief diary of his trip across the United States in the late spring of 1888. After more than a week in quarantine in San Francisco Bay, he spent three days as a tourist in the city, then took the boat to the transcontinental railhead in Oakland. The next day, Monday May 7, he set off, passing through Sacramento and Mormon Salt Lake City, to Denver (May 9). The train reached Chicago on the early morning of the 11th, and left for New York that evening. Rizal’s only comment on Chicago was that “every tobacco-shop has in front of it a statue of an indio [sic], each one different.” He reached Manhattan on May 13, and boarded a ship for Europe on the 16th. He had nothing at all to say about the home of the Statue of Liberty. See his Diarios y Memorias, pp. 217–20.

  139. Ponce, Cartas, pp. 210–11. Ponce adds that he had heard about the translation from Blumentritt, who was surely behind the endeavor.

  140. Ibid., pp. 288–9. This may indicate that Ponce had the manuscripts in his possession or knew where he could lay hands on them. The books were to be in Spanish rather than Japanese.

  141. Ibid., pp. 223–5.

  142. Ibid., pp. 162–4; 232–5, 244–5.

  143. For these notes on Rizal’s early reception in China, I would like to thank Wang Hui.

  144. The first volume was published in Canton in 1983, and the second in Peking in 1991, the year before he died. A complete set of the three volumes, supervised by his widow, appeared only in 2002, in Chuhai. My thanks to Carol Hau for this plangent information.

  Postscript

  In January 2004, I was invited to give a preliminary lecture on some of the themes of this book by the famously radical-nationalist University of the Philippines, where the influence of (Ilocano) José María Sison’s Maoist “new” Communist Party, founded at the end of 1968, remains quite strong. Arriving much too early, I filled in time at an open-air campus coffee-stall. A youngster came by to hand out leaflets to the customers, all of whom casually scrunched them up and threw them away once he had left. I was about to do the same when my eye caught the title of the one-page text. “Organize Without Leaders!” The content proved to be an attack on the hierarchies of the country—boss-ridden party-political, corporate capitalist, and also Maoist Communist—in the name of “horizontal” organized solidarity. The leaflet was unsigned, but a website was appended for further enquiries. This was a serendipity too good to keep to myself. I read it out loud to my audience, and was surprised that almost everyone seemed taken aback. But when I had finished speaking, many hurried up to ask for copies. I cannot be sure if Rizal would have been pleased by the theme park in Amoy, but I feel certain that Isabelo would have been enchanted by the leaflet and rushed to his laptop to explore the website manila.indymedia.org. He would have found that this website is linked to dozens of others of similar stripe around the world. Late Globalization?

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