The universal struggle for
Independence
My ten-year-old fifth grade son came home one day
and announced that he is going to be Nathan Hale for his class’ Wax Museum
Social Studies project. They were learning about the patriots and the people
who did heroic acts at the beginning of the 1700s. First off, I asked him
“What’s a Wax Museum?” He quickly replied in his all knowing manner “Duh, Mom,
a Wax Museum is when you pretend to be a wax replica of someone important!” I
should have quit while I was ahead. However, for a true-blooded relentless
mother, keeping my mouth shut was truly an ordeal. Naturally, I pursued the
issue. So I asked again, “Who is Nathan Hale anyway?” My question was answered
by another question rather quickly, “Mom, don’t you know anything?”
Utter Annoyance would be an
understatement in describing the expression that this gifted child tried so
hard to conceal. So again, I asked “Who
is Nathan Hale and why did you pick him?” “Well, he answered, “I had to pick
three names from a hat, I got Wyatt Earp, Ethan Allen and Nathan Hale.” “I
didn’t know any of them but the teacher said that Nathan Hale was a spy, so I
thought it would be interesting to study him.”
I started making mental notes about
these people. It would have been easier
if he picked Wyatt Earp. Kevin Costner
made a movie about him. I was convinced at that point, the research on this
particular project would have only entailed watching a rather lengthy movie. Compared to the extensive researching that my
son has done in his previous projects, he could have just breezed through this
one!
With regards
to Ethan Allen, a nationwide furniture retail chain was named after him.
Although I wasn’t really familiar with his personal contributions, he had what
retailers called “name brand recognition”. Consequently, the level of
difficulty in gathering information regarding this guy would probably be on the
low side.
On the other
hand, I have lived in America for over 20 years, not once have I ever heard of
the name of Nathan Hale. I was a bit concerned about this and I then expressed
my thoughts to this thirty five-year-old man caught in a ten-year-old body. As
always, his reply came swiftly. “Who is Kevin Costner anyway?” “Honestly
Mother, don’t you know anything?” I wasn’t quite sure about which thought
bothered me more, the fact that I obviously didn't have any idea who Nathan
Hale was or the fact that the actors that defined my generation are now
considered obsolete!
Reluctantly, I conceded, I really didn't know anything about these people. In fact, I really didn’t know anything
much about the American History. Except for two college credit courses and
occasionally viewing the History Channel, my exposure to the history of what we
now call the United States of America is slightly over nil. I had to admit that
my knowledge level is lower than that of a novice! The only logical explanation
must be the “Immigrant excuse”. So I told my formidable “opponent”, to make a
mental note that I was indeed an immigrant and any expectations of me knowing
all the historic details of this adopted country of mine is just beyond the
realm of possibility.
“Well then”,
he said, “do you know who the Filipino patriots are?” Amazingly, that question
stumped me more that the Nathan Hale one. The mental pages went blank. Did I
know who the patriots of my birth country were? I kept the competitive juices
running. In my attempt to come up with an intelligent answer, an overwhelming
sense of humility suddenly came rushing through my brain, for how could I go on
arguing with this brilliant child if in my heart I knew that the only truthful
answer was NO!
I started a mental roll call. “Well”, I said, “there is Jose Rizal, he is the Philippine
National Hero.” “So how did he become a hero?” my son asked. Dr. Jose Rizal was a doctor who studied in
Spain and wrote two popular novels that gave inspiration to the revolutionaries
who were fighting for independence. The Spaniards eventually executed him and
he has a monument in Luneta Park in Manila. Then there was Andres Bonifacio, he
was the leader of the revolutionaries, and he tore his “cedula” (tax
identification card) and armed with a mere “bolo” (locally crafted machete), he
led the fight against the gun trotting Spaniards. There was even this man named
Apolinario Mabini, he was known to be the “Dakilang Lumpo”, literally meaning
the “Noble Lame”. Then there was also this formidable woman named Gabriela
Silang who fought side by side along with her husband and the rest of the men
in the fight of the Filipinos to be independent from Spanish occupation.
The only thing this eloquently opinionated boy could
say was, “Interesting!” Then he added, “Why would the Filipinos call one of
their heroes the “Lame”?”. “That term seems inappropriate don’t you think?”
Indeed, I agreed, nowadays, that would be termed politically incorrect. To honor someone’s greatness at the same time
tag on a harsh judgement seems like the ultimate oxymoron!
My son spent next week researching the life and
times of the man named Nathan Hale. Apparently, Nathan Hale was a scholar and
the greatest volunteer spy in America’s fight for independence from the
British. Before the week was over, my son was half way through writing his
report. He came to me and said that it was quite interesting that Nathan Hale
and Jose Rizal had a lot of things on common. Nathan Hale too was executed. His
life was commemorated with had a bronze statue monument built in New York City.
“Isn’t it strange”, he said, “ that these heroes from different countries were
both fighting for independence and they both died the same way?” “People aren’t so different after all!” he
added. Indeed, I thought. For although there might not have been a lot of commonality between these two men
given their background and cultures, their conviction, their passion and their
tremendous desire to stand for what they believed in, were essentially
identical! Their struggle for freedom eventually lead them to making the most
precious of all sacrifices, giving up their own mortality.
By the 4th of July weekend, my son
finished writing his report on Nathan Hale. I on the other hand had spent many
a days surfing through the Internet for information regarding the Filipino
Patriots I was not so familiar with. I turned off the Internet connection and
started reading through my son’s patriot’s biography. I was pretty impressed
with how my son presented the facts regarding young Nathan Hale. Suddenly, it
dawned on me, if my son had existed during the time of the American Revolution
or even before it, my son would have never known the greatness that Nathan Hale
had done for his country’s fight for freedom. The thoughts started streaming
through my mind. If I had lived during the Philippine Revolution, given the
same set of convictions as Gabriela Silang, I would have willingly fought
beside her. Perhaps, that would have been a lifetime so greatly lived. However,
like my son, I wouldn’t have known the incredible spirit that drove such a
courageous woman to fight with the men as an equal.
But for a
glitch in the universal time continuum, my ten-year-old son and I are right now
looking at each other’s eyes. Our individual lifelines have brought us here, at
this very moment, in the most modern of times! We had both gotten to know the
patriots who have come before us. We have learned what drove their spirits and
the precious gift they have all given us both, the opportunity to live a life
in freedom.
For if it
were not for the Nathan Hales, the Jose Rizals and the Gabriela Silangs of this
world, there wouldn’t be a lot of liberties my son and I would be allowed to
do. Like being able to speak out own minds, believe in our own spirituality and
pledge our allegiance to the country of our choice.
Spanning lifetimes and class structures, people’s biographies
seem to exist in parallels. Given various periods in history, people fought for
the same ideals, sacrificed their lives for the same principles. A patriot’s
battle had freed enslaved souls through the centuries, in all of the corners of
this earth.
A certain Filipina’s love for her husband and
country drove her to muster all the strength that she had, not only to fight
her captors but more importantly to break the stereotypical gender limitations
and judgement that her culture and religion had so unjustly bestowed upon her.
Gabriela’s story could very well have been any woman’s story! Ask any woman!
After perusing through thousands of pages of
self-help books and years of customizing my own spirituality, I had a great
defining moment! I realized that as a
person, I had always struggled with the search for the answer to the
penultimate question, “What is it that I came here to this universe to do?”
In my life’s journey neither the pride of completing
a formal education nor the satisfaction of having a successful career seem to
have completely put that question to rest. Alas, even motherhood did not seem
to quell the need for searching. However, from this experience I realized that
perhaps, a lifetime’s worth is not measured for the definition that was given
to it, but the effort that was given to making someone else’s passage more
meaningful.
Perhaps that the essence of one’s lifetime doesn’t
lie on whether you find what it is that you came here to do, but merely to know
that you are paving the way for someone to be able to live their lifetime in a
much less restrictive set of rules!
Perhaps, what the patriot’s were fighting for was not for his or her own
liberties but for the freedom of those who would come after them. Perhaps, the
quest for meaning isn’t as important as the willingness and generosity to lead
the way for some other soul to find their way. Such a liberating concept
indeed!
I suddenly
had an overwhelming feeling of reverence for all those who have come before me.
For how would certain people named Nathan Hale, Jose Rizal or Gabriela Silang
have known that in another realm of reality, in a different time of existence,
there will be two people in the 21st century, finding inspiration
from the struggles that defined their biographies.
For someone who has been obsessing about the finding
the real meaning of life, I couldn't help but appreciate the irony of how this
gigantic realization has been presented to me. Who would have known that the
source of the greatest cathartic experience in my life would be derived from be
a discussion about a fifth grade social studies project!
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