A Call to Die?

Tributes to fallen members of the New People’s Army have once again appeared on social media and on the platforms of open National Democratic organizations. They are called “martyrs,” “true heroes of the Filipino people,” and “revolutionary heroes.” Their lives are portrayed not simply as losses, but as noble sacrifices filled with love, art, and dedication to the masses. This kind of tribute is not simple mourning. It is a deliberate political act with a clear message: death for the revolution is not merely something to be remembered. It is something that must be emulated.

Calling the dead “martyrs” serves a specific function. It elevates death to the highest form of service. Once a leader or cadre is declared a martyr, the logic follows: their path is one that must be followed. The hardships they endured, their separation from family, and the sacrifice of their personal lives are all deliberately romanticized to make the same path appear attractive, noble, and morally obligatory—a categorical imperative within the movement. Romanticization is not mere decoration. It is the means by which the idea of offering one’s life is made acceptable, a fundamental element of radicalization.

This pattern is clear in the two types of tributes now circulating. In one, fallen top leaders are declared by the Central Committee itself as “martyrs and true heroes” who gave “all their bodies and minds” to the protracted people’s war. In the other, the love of a revolutionary couple is described through the phrase “to love is to struggle,” a love that endures great distance because of “political tasks” and ends in the sacrifice of their lives for the peasants. The personal is fused with the political. Art and emotion are turned into pathways toward armed sacrifice. In both cases, death is not presented as a tragedy. It is presented as the culmination of true love for the cause.

These two framings work together. The first is direct elevation: they are martyrs. The second is emotional seduction: their love and art are made beautiful through sacrifice. When combined, the effect is that death no longer appears frightening. It becomes romantic, noble, and even beautiful.

This framing is not accidental. Throughout the history of revolutionary movements—from the Narodniks of nineteenth-century Russia to the Maoist traditions in China, India, and Nepal—the cult of the martyr has often served two purposes. First, it strengthens morale within the organization. Second, and more importantly, it issues a call to those outside, especially the idealistic and compassionate youth, to walk the same path. Romanticization softens and emotionalizes that call. The word “martyr” sets its direction.

Inside the movement, martyr-making functions as a tool of discipline. It maintains moral pressure: if they were willing to die, why should you not be ready to do the same? Outside the movement, particularly among the youth and artistic audiences, it operates as recruitment through aestheticization. It makes violence appear poetic and self-destruction appear romantic. Narratives of “suffering love,” “art for the masses,” and “sacrifice” serve as soft entry points. Once emotional identification is secured, it becomes easier to advance the harder conclusion: that true commitment means placing one’s life on the line.

If these tributes were purely expressions of appreciation, it would be enough to say, “We remember them,” or “We salute their dedication.” But when the word “martyr” is used repeatedly and death is deliberately romanticized, the message is no longer mere recognition. It becomes a summons. It is a call for the youth to walk the same path and, if necessary, to offer their own lives for the so-called revolution. It is, in essence, recruitment sloganeering.

Within the ideology of protracted people’s war, death is not merely a side effect. It is part of the expected path. When open National Democratic organizations and progressive media reproduce this framing, they play a significant role in amplifying the underground narrative through legal and public platforms. They do not need to issue direct orders to “go and die.” It is enough to repeatedly elevate the dead as martyrs, present their lives as romantic and noble, and issue the quiet call to “emulate them.” The effect remains the same: the youth are challenged to prepare themselves for the ultimate sacrifice.

In the end, the romanticization of martyrdom is not an innocent tribute. It is a call to die. It is a summons to the youth to walk the path of death for the so-called revolution. History and the language of these tributes point in only one direction. Yet we must also question the very people from whom this propaganda comes. Do they walk the same path toward which they direct others? Or are they positioned close enough to the struggle to appear committed, while remaining within the comforts of performative activism?