Philippines Heroes Quotes

Rizal's greatest misfortune is being national hero of the Philippines.

From this time on, my life would be written in headlines, but I am not concerned with them. It was the marginal notations of the heart that were most important to the man within.

This proved to me that no matter how diametrically opposed your views may be from another's if you can succeed in knowing him as a human being you can understand each other.

The presidency of the United Nations was not thrust upon me overnight. I had to grow up to the measurements it demanded of a proponent of peace. This was done session by session, step by step. It entailed trips halfway around the world, again and again. It demanded nights without sleep, studying, writing, poring over documents; days without rest; and always the curb on the temper and the willingness to give and to receive.

In the aftermath of the Edsa Revolution, Thai protesters filled the streets of Bangkok. Another man stood before another tank at Tiananmen Square. The Berlin Wall fell, with Germany thanking the Philippines for showing them the way. Once upon a time, we were heroes.

You might wonder that I who who have served you in the field of diplomacy should set so much store by the power of nationalism. This is because I know from personal experience that in order to become an effective internationalist, one must strive to be a good nationalist. To be a worthy citizen of the world one must first prove himself to be a good Filipino.

One need not bellow to be believed. Ears seal automatically against anger, and unreason takes over when an argument becomes a tirade.

Don Alejandro cut in with advice I have never forgotten. "It is only when a man knows reason is not on his side that he uses his fists.

I knew nothing at all of the art of diplomacy, which I have since diagnosed as the ability to make the nastiest possible comment in the nicest possible way.

Agreements in the organizations of world power are never reached on the floor. They are made in the delegates' lounge and corridors long before the voting begins.

Mine was a good race. Ours was a good country. I loved every foot of it that I knew...I had been reared in a wonderful country among wonderful people and I wanted all the rest of the world to know and respect the Philippines.

For freedom would not be easy. It never is. It would be more difficult for the Philippines than for many countries, because we had to face the fact that the islands, although potentially rich, had not tapped their resources. We were a poor country and a small one, and we could not afford to be hurled unprepared into competition with countries larger and richer and more powerful and far better trained. The Tydings-McDuffie Act means we could prepare.

To do my best, to increase and never lessen my country's pride was the underlying motivation of all I might attempt. ... I had to be outstanding, to make the greatest effort to win, to prove I was capable not in spite of having been born Filipino but because I was a Filipino.

Early naturalists talked often about “deep time”—the perception they had, contemplating the grandeur of this valley or that rock basin, of the profound slowness of nature. But the perspective changes when history accelerates. What lies in store for us is more like what aboriginal Australians, talking with Victorian anthropologists, called “dreamtime,” or “everywhen”: the semi-mythical experience of encountering, in the present moment, an out-of-time past, when ancestors, heroes, and demigods crowded an epic stage. You can find it already by watching footage of an iceberg collapsing into the sea—a feeling of history happening all at once. It is. The summer of 2017, in the Northern Hemisphere, brought unprecedented extreme weather: three major hurricanes arising in quick succession in the Atlantic; the epic “500,000-year” rainfall of Hurricane Harvey, dropping on Houston a million gallons of water for nearly every single person in the entire state of Texas; the wildfires of California, nine thousand of them burning through more than a million acres, and those in icy Greenland, ten times bigger than those in 2014; the floods of South Asia, clearing 45 million from their homes. Then the record-breaking summer of 2018 made 2017 seem positively idyllic. It brought an unheard-of global heat wave, with temperatures hitting 108 in Los Angeles, 122 in Pakistan, and 124 in Algeria. In the world’s oceans, six hurricanes and tropical storms appeared on the radars at once, including one, Typhoon Mangkhut, that hit the Philippines and then Hong Kong, killing nearly a hundred and wreaking a billion dollars in damages, and another, Hurricane Florence, which more than doubled the average annual rainfall in North Carolina, killing more than fifty and inflicting $17 billion worth of damage. There were wildfires in Sweden, all the way in the Arctic Circle, and across so much of the American West that half the continent was fighting through smoke, those fires ultimately burning close to 1.5 million acres. Parts of Yosemite National Park were closed, as were parts of Glacier National Park in Montana, where temperatures also topped 100. In 1850, the area had 150 glaciers; today, all but 26 are melted.

The Pakistani film International Gorillay (International guerillas), produced by Sajjad Gul, told the story of a group of local heroes - of the type that would, in the language of a later age, come to be known as jihadis, or terrorists - who vowed to find and kill an author called "Salman Rushdie" . The quest for "Rushdie" formed the main action of the film and "his" death was the film's version of happy ending. "Rushdie" himself was depicted as a drunk, constantly swigging from a bottle, and a sadist. He lived in what looked very like a palace on what looked very like an island in the Philippines (clearly all novelists had second homes of this kind), being protected by what looked very like the Israeli Army (this presumably being a service offered by Israel to all novelists), and he was plotting the overthrow of Pakistan by the fiendish means of opening chains of discotheques and gambling dens across that pure and virtuous land, a perfidious notion for which, as the British Muslim "leader" Iqbal Sacranie might have said, death was too light a punishment. "Rushdie" was dressed exclusively in a series of hideously coloured safari suits - vermilion safari suits, aubergine safari suits, cerise safari suits - and the camera, whenever it fell upon the figure of this vile personage, invariably started at his feet and then panned [sic] with slow menace up to his face. So the safari suits got a lot of screen time, and when he saw a videotape of the film the fashion insult wounded him deeply. It was, however, oddly satisfying to read that one result of the film's popularity in Pakistan was that the actor playing "Rushdie" became so hated by the film-going public that he had to go into hiding. At a certain point in the film one of the international gorillay was captured by the Israeli Army and tied to a tree in the garden of the palace in the Philippines so that "Rushdie" could have his evil way with him. Once "Rushdie" had finished drinking form his bottle and lashing the poor terrorist with a whip, once he had slaked his filthy lust for violence upon the young man's body, he handed the innocent would-be murderer over to the Israeli soldiers and uttered the only genuinely funny line in the film. "Take him away," he cried, "and read to him from The Satanic Verses all night!" Well, of course, the poor fellow cracked completely. Not that, anything but that, he blubbered as the Israelis led him away. At the end of the film "Rushdie" was indeed killed - not by the international gorillay, but by the Word itself, by thunderbolts unleashed by three large Qurans hanging in the sky over his head, which reduced the monster to ash. Personally fried by the Book of the Almighty: there was dignity in that.

Pierre J. Huss pleased me with his comment: "Thanks to him (Romulo) the United Nations has 'independence' in its Charter, one of the most important contributions for the evolution of humanity to dignity and freedom.

A successful ambassador has to bring the bacon home without spilling the beans.

In Intramuros, and only in Intramuros, does he ever feel at rest. He thinks to himself here are the ancient stones of Manila; here are the secrets whispered by heroes to their paramours; here, they have plotted revolutions by candlelight, in air punctuated by mosquitoes, and harm, and roses

You don’t need to be a hero.” I stiffened. A year ago, when I’d arrived on the decks of the Saratoga to set sail for Manila, I’d lived a small life. I was lonely and knew little about friendship. But since I’d been here in the Philippines, I’d become a part of something bigger than myself. This sprawling group of nurses and doctors and soldiers had become my family, and while serving alongside them, I’d learned I could withstand fear and deprivation and help others. That shy orphaned farm girl was half a world away and in her place was someone I barely recognized—but I liked her a lot. Now I was strong, independent, and resourceful. Though saying no to George hurt like hell, I knew it was the right answer.