Meet Jose Rizal, the fifth-generation taipan
It’s hard to think of the Jose Rizal we all know and love—and named “The First Filipino” by his biographer, Leon Ma. Guerrero—as anything else but Pinoy.
But the truth of the matter is that like many of the scions of the 19th century, Rizal traced his roots to a village in Southern China, perilously close to our favorite hotspot, the South China Sea. The name of the village was Sionque in Chin-Chew in Fujian. An enterprising man from Sionque, with the name of Lam-Co, would travel to Manila and in 1697, the records of the National Archives showed that he was baptized with the name “Domingo” in Binondo Church, making his name officially “Domingo Lam, Esquire.”
He would marry a Chinese mestiza, also from Binondo, named Ines de la Rosa.
Domingo Lam-Co would impress two friars, head-hunters for the fat-cat Dominican corporation—think the 19th equivalent of Ayala Land or MegaWorld—who were looking for someone to be their “business development manager” for their properties in San Isidro Labrador in Biñan, Laguna.
Lam-Co would be wildly successful, part of it because he built irrigation works on the property—this conjures up the vision of Manila Water— converting it into one of the richest farmlands in the province. (Interestingly, Jose Rizal, his great-great-grandson, would also build the area’s first dam and waterworks while exiled in Dapitan.)
In 1731, Lam-Co cleverly decided to re-invent his family with the name “Mercado,” a nod not just to his merchant interests but also the better to blend in with the ruling Spanish officialdom. His son would be named Francisco Mercado, the first of that name, to use House of the Dragon-speak.
Francisco reputedly owned the largest herd of carabaos in all of Biñan. Would that make him the millennium’s equivalent of the biggest Toyota dealership in the province—or the guy with the most Jollibee franchises? Whatever it was, then as now, it opened the pathway for him to be a political force, winding up as “capitan del pueblo” or town mayor. His son, Juan, also succeeded him as town mayor in an early dynastic twist. The National Historical Commission research department says that Capitan Juan became so influential that he was even given a seat in the Spanish Cortes in 1812, but died unexpectedly.
Francisco II, orphaned at age eight, would eventually grow up to run the family business, change his name one more time to “Rizal” —and move his family to Calamba to another Dominican estate.
His second son—and seventh child—would be our beloved National Hero, Jose Rizal.
Rizal would remember very little of his Chinese roots—by then, he was five generations away from Fujian.
He would actually live in Hong Kong in 1891 and practice his profession as eye doctor in various addresses. (His calling cards still survive and the locations have been marked dutifully by the Philippine government—worth a trip in between tramping around the store around Central. He would live in the Mid-Levels at No. 2 Rednaxela Terrace. (Alexander spelled backwards, a British curiosity.) Rizal’s clinic would be at No. 5 D’Aguilar Street.
He would actually, however, spend a Chinese New Year—for the Year of the Rat in 1888—in the Crown Colony which he would write about with some fascination. Rizal would watch a Chinese opera and marvel at the heat and noise of the firecrackers.
His Chinese New Year dinner, as reported by historian Ambeth Ocampo, would begin with a “a cup of U-long tea, the superior tea.”
“They begin dinner with tea,” wrote Rizal, “then dried fruits.” This was followed by Goose—Shrimp—[Century] Eggs—Meat—Sharks’ fins— [Bird’s] Nest—Tender duck—Chicken with champignon—Ray (fish)—Chicken with ham—Shark’s belly. Tea with 4 saucers—Chicken with ginger—Fish head—Mushroom and pork with two plates of rolls and tea.”
It’s a lauriat that the Binondo and Greenhills food palaces may wish to consider re-creating to toast one of their best-known sons.
