El Filibusterismo

Chapter 16 furthers the plot by bringing Quiroga into Simoun’s plot. A wealthy foreign merchant, Quiroga provides Simoun the perfect cover for smuggling rifles for his supporters in his revolt. Significantly, Simoun was a driving force behind the laws that removed and limited the weapons the Filipino populace were allowed to possess. He purposefully disarmed the general populace to incite antigovernment sentiments and ensure that his revolt would meet as little resistance as possible. Quiroga himself represents a racial group in the Philippines who are just as abused as Indigenous Filipinos (in Chapter 14, Filipino students bully a local Chinese merchant); while sometimes seen as lesser by Filipino citizens, Chinese citizens could secure a higher standing among Spanish rulers with enough wealth. In other words, Quiroga demonstrates the power of wealth in transcending others’ prejudices.

In Chapter 17, Filipino social hierarchy is again illustrated through the statues being sold at the Kiapo Fair. The newspaper and the Civil Guard are ridiculed through puns (i.e., the Filipino press is no better than news from a housewife, and the Civil Guard is evil). However, the friars are depicted with respect and solemnity—not because this is how the Filipino people see them, but rather because they’re afraid to incite their anger.

Chapter 18 comprises the friars being confronted with Mr. Leeds’s sphinx, an illusion, and shows how these men of high society are just as superstitious as the Indigenous population. Ben Zayb thinks he knows how the illusion works, but is still duped. On the other hand, Father Salví recognizes the symbolic parallels in Mr. Leeds’s story, which confirms his abuse of María Clara (Simoun’s old love) in Noli Me Tángere, as he’s the director and chaplain of her convent. Furthermore, Father Salví’s exclamation that María Clara is still alive speaks to Crisóstomo Ibarra’s fate and desire for revenge.

Chapter 19 continues with the theme of revenge and illustrates Plácido, an otherwise calm young man, being pushed too far by societal abuse—to the point of considering violence. This chapter captures the sentiments and suffering of the Filipino people: “But you had to keep quiet, you had to suffer, you had to endure. There was nothing to be done” (168). Simoun seeks to incite people’s anger and frustration for the sake of his revolt. While his revenge is personal, there is a universal aspect to it as well. Before Simoun recruits Plácido, the latter sees a ship headed to Hong Kong. Plácido considers exile, something several Filipino citizens had chosen, and to an extent, José Rizal himself. Rizal lived in Hong Kong for roughly a year after his studies in Europe, where he opened an ophthalmologist clinic.

Chapter 20 highlights an aspect of Philippine high society that contrasts with its carefully curated image. For example, Don Custodio is portrayed as a somewhat “delusional” individual. Don Custodio’s friend, journalist Ben Zayb, is responsible for his reputation as “indefatigable, distinguished, zealous, energetic, profound, intelligent, well informed, well connected, and so on…” (174-75), which Don Custodio knows but won’t openly admit. He likes to view himself as a man of great ideas, a misunderstood genius, but while he was in Spain for medical reasons, he was forced to realize just how untalented he is:

He was a nobody there [Spain] and he missed his beloved adjectives. He had no relations with the first families, his lack of education afforded him no prominence in the scientific or academic communities, and his backwardness and friary politics came off simplistic in those circles…In short, in Madrid he was just a face in the crowd, despite his diamonds (177).

While not overtly abusive, Don Custodio still speaks to the corruption and incompetence of those in power in the Philippines. No one in Spain would have put Don Custodio in charge of anything of import, and yet in the Philippines, he’s tasked with deciding the fate of the Castilian Academy.