Too much bravery is weakness!
What Antonio Luna would tell us from his grave
Many people say the general’s ghost has come back to life recently. Maybe. The film looks like an omen, since its release came a year before that historic election. You might even say it caused politics to go Antonio’s way. But honestly, there’s no way to find out.
What we CAN see is that it does a good job of showing why Antonio Luna is worth emulating as a national leader.
Ok, he used strong, threatening language too many times. But he never killed any Filipino. He also wasn’t afraid to sacrifice, unlike his more refined, polished contemporaries (Aguinaldo, Paterno, and Buencamino). In fact, even with his brashness, he risked a lot for an immensely noble cause.
The film makes it clear that Antonio was the bigger man, the more genuine leader, who was willing to get his hands dirty. He was the admirable patriot who stood beside his soldiers, sometimes in front of them, even if that reckless move could’ve claimed his life. The film makes it easy to see that Antonio Luna was someone who knew why risking all to pursue the captivating risk of an ideal was worth it.
Aguinaldo, in contrast, was the coward. He was prissy, proper, and scheming. Never outdoors or with the people. He always led from spaces that were far too safe to showcase any courage: the head seat of cabinet meetings, behind his desk, in snooty social gatherings, or his cushy residence. And even when he had his enemies killed, he hid. Antonio Luna eventually became one of these victims.
But was Antonio’s death entirely Aguinaldo’s fault?
This question came to mind as I watched the film a second time, imagining what the Kawit generals and soldiers felt as Luna berated them with gusto. Being called coward, traitor, weak in words that would make grandmothers whip a child hard is always scarring. What more in a culture that equates shaming with sacrilege?
You would think Luna would be more careful. But he wasn’t. He fired insults with generosity when he felt he needed to whip someone into shape. It didn’t worry him that this ugly ‘generosity’ would come back to him. And eventually, it did.
So if we turn Antonio’s virtue on its head, we begin to see that his murder carries tinges of indirect suicide. He believed so strongly in national unity that he had no qualms offending his contemporaries. His passion for independence was so fierce, he grew blind to the deathly consequences of stinging those who stood in his way.
With fiery conviction, he stained their reputations which, in the Southeast Asian psyche, is as close to one’s self as one’s life. So, when they killed him, they might have seen it as just retribution.
I’m not saying they were right. I’m only saying I understand why they did it.
The murder though was not the only tragedy.
The bigger loss was our sovereignty and national freedom.
Thanks to his uncaring leadership, we lost the only general who could’ve defeated the Americans. Thanks to his refusal to respect those who disagreed with him, he lost his life, and with it, the freedom of his people.
He may have fought with heroic bravery. But how his life ended tells us that too much bravery can be a dangerous thing. Brave men fight hardier and pursue goals with a headstrong fervor, but their lack of concern for diplomacy and compassion can yield bigger losses. In this case, tragic ones.
In an earlier essay on Rizal, I argued that we need leaders who are willing to take risks to pursue ideals. But Antonio Luna’s story offers a key qualifier to this insight:
Strong leaders should take risks to pursue ideals, but the pursuit is only as strong as a leader’s ability to show respect towards those who disagree with him/ her.
Even while Antonio Luna was a heartfelt patriot who sacrificed admirably for the ideals he served, his disrespect was a huge chink in his armor.
Our country will only be better if we fill in this chink.
Our future will only brighten if we form leaders who understand that political strength means knowing how to balance effective action with genuine respect for another’s difference.
I bring this up because as a teacher, I have serious doubts that we’re producing this sort of leader in our schools. In our classrooms, we train our students to prize theory and concept, as well as professional brilliance, but say too little about treating human beings with compassion and empathy.
Worse, we often treat our students in a way that makes them think respect for difference and kindness don’t matter much. We talk down to them, rather than with them. We impose our beliefs and penalize them when they don’t agree. We stunt and stifle their own discovery of truth and meaning, instead of walking beside them as they develop their own ideas and dreams.
If this is how they experience authority when they’re young, how can we expect them to lead with respect as adults?
We may not realize it but the current curriculum’s technocratic biases coupled with our domineering teaching style will yield more Antonios than we’d like. Sorry to say it. The state of our education today portends an equally dim future.
To avoid this outcome, we really should revisit our schools’ goals. We should shouldn’t just aim for expertise. We should also train students in ethics and empathy so that chances of having better leaders increase — leaders with Antonio’s brilliance and idealism, but who know and live out the power of respect.
This new set will harness a deeper kind of strength.
The strength that emerges when leaders’ influence stem from a people’s trust. The strength that emerges when what glues a political community together is no longer fear, but loyalty. And with that loyalty, a widespread, sacrificing, and infectious patriotism that will transform our country from corrupt-ridden to a flourishing and unified community.
