To Run Like Hell: On The Burden of Independence and the Weight of Integrity
After Watching Jerold Tarrog's “Quezon”
By Lualhati Madlangawa-Guererro
In the eyes of the nation, independence is a banner. But in the conscience of the citizen, it is a burden. Those who watch Jerrold Tarog’s Quezon cannot help but see the truth that history has long concealed: that behind the great men and women of the Republic were, in fact, ordinary politicians, human in their ambition, human in their weakness, often clinging to power as if survival itself depended upon it. Their principles were not always strong; their convictions were tempered by pragmatism that too often slipped into opportunism. And the people, left to witness, are forced to ask: is this the inheritance of freedom?
A concerned would have said then, as he might now: that if corruption has become tradition, if shortcuts and compromises define public life, the revolution the Philippines needs cannot be enacted by law, by decree, or by rhetoric alone. Integrity is not something written in statutes; it is something lived—every day, without applause, without witness, with the stubbornness of conscience.
The citizens of the nation must rediscover the meaning of civic virtue. They must speak when silence is convenient; they must vote when apathy tempts them to abstain; they must respect rules not out of fear of penalty but because the common good demands it. And here lies a bitter irony: even Manuel L. Quezon, even in his time, understood this. He issued a code of ethics—not as mere paper, not as ceremonial gesture, but as a mirror to reflect the conscience of every public servant. But, in seeing his code becomes performative as that of the pledge of allegiance, even contradicting to laws such as "Have faith in Divine Providence that guides the destinies of men and nations" when people talk about separation of church and state. So is "Value your honor as you value your life. Poverty with honor is preferable to wealth with dishonor" when one see prominent personalities tiptoeing between how to maintain image and how to upheld integrity- for image and integrity are still way different despite at times overlapped.
History is relentless in its lessons. Heneral Luna warned: “Mayroon tayong mas malaking kaaway kaysa mga Amerikano—ang ating sarili.” (“We have a greater enemy than the Americans—ourselves.”) He mocked the self-deception of the weak: “Para kayong mga birheng naniniwala sa pag-ibig ng isang puta!” (“You are like virgins who believe in the love of a whore!”) And he asked the ultimate question: “Negosyo o Kalayaan? Bayan o Sarili? Mamili ka!” (“Business or Freedom? The Nation or Yourself? Make your choice!”) These lines, though uttered in that movie done years ago, still echo in the halls of the present. For the greatest enemy of the Republic is not foreign power, not the distant hand of influence, but the Filipino himself—indifferent, distracted, morally lazy.
True independence is not the waving of a flag. It is not the ceremonial signing of treaties or the pomp of parades. It is the hard labor of the soul. It demands a maturity of character, a pride that is principled and sustained, a courage to choose what is right when no one is watching. Pinoy Pride, if it is to survive, must be more than a catchphrase or a hollow cheer. It must be the practice of honesty, the exercise of empathy, the devotion to civic responsibility. Without moral grounding, pride is merely noise—a hollow echo of what Lu Xun called the spirit of Ah Q: the cowardice that congratulates itself for small victories, the self-deception that excuses laziness, the opportunism that masquerades as cleverness. Too often, it is a reflection of the Filipino who prefers spiritual victory over true effort, who praises himself while avoiding duty.
The lesson is clear, unyielding, and uncomfortable. To be free, the Filipino must rise not only in protest but in principle. The nation’s fight is not won only in armed struggle or in political maneuvering. It begins, every day, in the hearts of citizens who refuse to look the other way, who insist upon decency even when it is inconvenient, who hold themselves accountable to standards higher than personal gain. As Quezon himself declared, “I would rather have a government run like hell by Filipinos than a government run like heaven by Americans.” At first, one might hate him for the bluntness of this statement. Yet in that bluntness lies understanding of human nature in its rawest form. Quezon knew that Filipinos, flawed though they might be, possessed the potential for self-correction, for growth, for improvement. He added, often forgotten in its entirety: “Because no matter how bad, a Filipino government might be improved.” It is a call to responsibility, a call to engage, a reminder that the work of nation-building begins with the courage to act within one’s own people, one’s own society, and one’s own conscience.
Independence is a burden that tests character. It is a call to courage, to conscience, to moral vigilance. It demands of every Filipino the patience to build, the honesty to endure, and the integrity to persevere. Without these, freedom is no more than a word; without these, the flag flies over a hollow house. Only when citizens choose principle over expedience, duty over convenience, and conscience over comfort, can the Philippines claim the independence it celebrates, the sovereignty it demands, and the dignity it deserves. Otherwise, with all the performativism so often displayed, one cannot help but wonder: is the Filipino truly fit for independence? Perhaps Leonard Wood was right when he said that the Filipino must first learn the very meaning of independence. Yet Quezon and his circle refused to wait. They chose to learn independence the hard way, knowing that since 1896 or 1898, the Filipino people had understood it, and that this understanding now had to be translated into policy—not through an American lens, but through a distinctly Filipino perspective.
To be honest, as an observer, one cannot help but note that Filipinos have often become shallow in their approach to nation-building. It becomes performativism, a display of rhetoric without depth or consequence. In such moments, one might ask: is the Philippines truly a nation, or merely a “cultural community”? The question is sharpened when observing those who wish for the country to become the 51st state of the United States—an idea that would make Puerto Rico’s claim to independence seem both justified and urgent, if not for the leadership of Muñoz-Marín, who, like Quezon, understood that independence is not merely a status, but a hard-won practice of governance, identity, and moral responsibility. The difference was this- Quezon believed in self-determination as a nation and thus deserve the independence even it meant going through hell, Muñoz-Marin quashed the idea and prefers seeing his country a cultural community "under the auspices of the Americans".
Why look back at history? After watching "Quezon", even its ealier ones "Goyo" and "Heneral Luna", and observing at the present situation, one cannot help but see that behind the appearances of order and stability, old problems continue to creep into daily life. These are the problems that many would rather dismiss, forget, or call irrelevant—but they persist, shaping the nation’s reality. Imperialism—whether American, Chinese, or even Filipinos themselves exercising authority over the people—remains a shadow over sovereignty. Bureaucratic capitalism, with personalities past and present alike, still reeks of corruption, often hidden behind layers of performativism. Feudalism lingers, with landlessness continuing to plague the common folk, whose clamor for social justice echoes the very struggles Quezon himself faced. Many would dismiss these socio-political challenges as “passé,” as if the past no longer matters. But in truth, the Philippines’ past is ever present, feeding the hollow performances of the present and shaping the fragility of the future. Until these issues are confronted not in rhetoric but in principle and action, independence remains incomplete—celebrated in word, but not yet realized in deed.
This is the challenge. This is the burden. And in answering it, the Filipino proves not merely that the country is free, but that the country is worthy of freedom.