Tomorrow, 30 December, is Rizal Day, commemorating the execution in 1896 of José Rizal, an event whose impact on the American ousting of the Spaniards from our land two years later remains highly debatable.

With the United States affording Spain the benefit of a face-saving “acoustic war” at Manila Bay — triggered by a Yankee naval commander’s order to “commence firing when ready” — the Philippines transitioned from one colonizer to another in 1898.

Weathering what the Americans tried to dismiss as a mere “Philippine insurrection,” Filipino patriots maintained that it was a battle between two sovereign nations — rightly calling it the Philippine-American War. By 1902, the US found itself badly in need of a public relations masterstroke to stabilize its control over the islands.

José Rizal, exhumed from an unmarked grave in Paco, became the perfect candidate. At the time, his skull was reportedly kept in a box by his mother, Teodora Alonso, in their Manila home.

In their campaign to pacify the “war-mongering” Filipinos, the Americans sought a hero who would inspire loyalty rather than rebellion. Andrés Bonifacio, founder of the Katipunan and a symbol of revolutionary fervor, was out. Rizal, with his reformist ideals, was in.

Still, the veneer of Rizal as the ideal hero was thin. On a personal level, he had twice declined the Katipunan’s pleas for him to join the revolution against Spain. Despite American efforts to gloss over disputes within Rizal’s family, the salacious details of the legal battles involving his “wife” Josephine Bracken and his mother, Teodora, continued to draw public attention.

At a time when there was no internet or social media, “l’affaire Bracken” captivated the public’s imagination. In open legal conflict with Teodora Alonso, Bracken — whom Rizal had begged his mother to love as a daughter — demanded possession of whatever money, books, and Juan Luna paintings Pepe had left behind.

Bracken even wrote to Rizal’s Austrian friend, Dr. Ferdinand Blumentritt, pleading with him to intercede with José María Basa, who was holding Rizal’s books. She implored Blumentritt to convince Basa to release the books, which were valued at $3,000 (or was it P3,000?).

Basa stood firm, asking Bracken to prove her legal marriage to Rizal — a claim she could not substantiate. For the romantics, there was the account of Rizal and Bracken exchanging vows on a beach in Dapitan after being denied a Catholic Church wedding.

Bracken had come to Dapitan with her blind stepfather, George Taufer, to ask Rizal to treat Taufer’s worsening eye condition. Depending on the source, Taufer reportedly attempted to take his own life, unable to cope with his blindness and Bracken’s decision to stay with Rizal.

He would live though to make a liar of his adopted child, badmouthing her before the Hong Kong press.

If Rizal and Bracken were indeed married a few hours before his execution — as claimed by a Spanish newspaper to suggest that he had recanted his anti-Catholic positions — the grieving widow never secured a marriage document. Rizal’s defenders argue this “event” likely never occurred, as a retraction would have diminished his stature as a national hero.

The story of Rizal, Bracken, and his family shows us that even the greatest figures in history are shaped by personal struggles and complexities. Far from diminishing his legacy, these humanizing details remind us that heroes are not infallible, and their lives, like ours, are marked by love, conflict and imperfection.