Atapang atao

As towering heroes of our nation, Gat Andres Bonifacio and Dr. Jose Rizal have always been a study in contrast: Rizal is almost always depicted with his books and his scholarly demeanor, while the firebrand Bonifacio invariably is holding a raised bolo and the Katipunan’s battle flag

On the grounds of the old town hall of Cainta, Rizal, I’d be playing with the other boys, clambering up one such Bonifacio — in fighting form — statue after taking a peek at those who were in jail in the police precinct near the fire station.

Then we’d chant, no disrespect intended, but just for fun the following lines, laughing, until those old cops in their brown, starched uniforms drove us away, also smiling:

Andres Bonifacio, atapang atao

Aputol a kamay, hindi atakbo

Apugot a ulo, hindi atakbo

Aputol a uten, atakbo atulin

Calvin and Hobbes-like or Dennis the Menace-esque tomfooleries aside, a few places in Metro Manila over the weekend bothered to celebrate Bonifacio’s 161st birthday yesterday.

In Manila, Mayor Honey Lacuna asked her constituents to be like Tondo’s revolutionary son, having the courage to fight all forms of oppression.

In Pinaglabanan, San Juan, where a shrine commemorates the Katipuneros’ courage in attacking the Spaniards’ armory in what would be acknowledged as the first battle of the Philippine Revolution, wreaths were lined up at the foot of Bonifacio’s pedestal.

Bonifacio was born to a life marked by hardship that forged in him not just a fire to address injustices but also resilience. With the early death of both his parents, Bonifacio took myriad jobs to support his younger siblings.

Rizal? Well, he was born, so to speak, with a silver spoon in his mouth, with his family renting vast tracts of agricultural land, while possessing a large two-story house and a horse-drawn carriage (a status symbol at the time, like cars in the 1950s). Rizal also made Europe his playground while studying—something that only those from rich families enjoyed.

An intellectual, Rizal believed in the power of education and peaceful reform. His writings, such as the Noli Me Tángere and El Filibusterismo, exposed the systemic injustices and corruption of Spanish colonial rule. Through his incisive critiques and eloquent prose, Rizal ignited the national consciousness, inspiring a generation of Filipinos to yearn for independence.

True, Rizal’s methods were nuanced, which was why the Katipuneros’ efforts to spring him from exile in Dapitan and from aboard the holding ship before his departure to serve as a war doctor for the Spaniards during the Cuban revolution were all for naught.

Rizal advocated for gradual change rather than outright rebellion, believing that by enlightening the minds of the people and appealing to the conscience of the Spanish authorities, it would be possible to achieve reform without having to resort to violence.

Bonifacio, on the other hand, was a man of action. His vision was clear: independence from Spanish rule could only be achieved through armed revolt. His call to arms (remember the Cry of Pugad Lawin and the cedula-tearing episode?) was not just about seeking political freedom but also about empowering the common tao.

If anything, Gat Andres Bonifacio’s legacy is that of a man who was unafraid to confront powerful adversaries, including his own comrades in the Katipunan, which led to his and his brother’s execution on the orders of Emilio Aguinaldo.

Bonifacio was the impetuous rebel, the man who ignited the spark of revolution. Rizal, on the other hand, was the cautious reformer, the man who believed in the power of the pen. And yet, both men, in their own way, shaped the destiny of a nation.