Each July the island becomes inundated with war stories, but that public remembering is always structured in a certain way, where Liberation Day sits at the center of the story, giving it a final meaning. The experience of Chamorros can easily be reduced to footnotes, as if they lived only to wait for the American return and could only survive through the inkling of hope that a possible American return offered.
Chamorros in the war stories are always trapped in that Americanization. We tell our stories in certain ways to make the present make sense. We pick and choose the stories which are the most patriotic and the most American-making, since we feel that history must logically lead up to the present, and so Chamorros back then must have been as American as we are, or felt as American as we feel today.
But such assumptions have led to the erasing of so many war stories which are just as meaningful, but stick out, and become uncomfortable in the ways this island has often been pushed to become more American.
In my research nowhere did this seem clearer than in the case of the Insular Guard, an all Chamorro militia group who participated in the defense of Guam against the Japanese on Dec. 10, 1941. Their story, like almost all others during the war is one of sacrifice and intense loyalty to the United States.
The Insular Guard was comprised of around 100 Chamorro men who were in a local militia. It had existed in some form since the start of the Naval period, but grew to its largest size during World War I. By 1937, it was closed due to lack of funds. In April 1941, it was reopened and its training taken more seriously since this was one of the meager measures the U.S. instituted to “prepare” for a Japanese attack.
Japanese bombs hit Guam on Dec. 8, but the actual invasion began in the early morning hours of Dec. 10. The Insular Guard and Navy sailors represented the last line of hopeless defense at the Plaza de España in Hagåtña.
The Japanese were invading with battle-hardened troops in the thousands, while the U.S. only had a few hundred troops. The intent was to offer “token” resistance.
Several dozen insular guardsmen were set up in defensive positions in the Hagåtña area. Their training was minimal, limited primarily to drilling, sentry-work and first aid. They were given weapons that morning which they weren’t trained to use, many of which were antiques. They received three machine guns, which none had used before, as well as a set of Springfield rifles upon which the phrases “Do Not Shoot. For Training Only,” were stamped.
Against all odds these brave plaza defenders still fought. According to former Guam Lt. Gov. Frank Blas, “It was just 31 months before the arrival of Liberation forces that Guamanians too fought for the sake of freedom. The Insular Force Guard, despite facing a force of greater numbers that invaded the island, challenged and then confronted the enemy.” And according to Gov. Felix Camacho, despite being outgunned, these men still stood up “in the face of tyranny for the democracy and the country that they so loved.”
Robert Underwood once said to me that when Chamorros are represented to be patriotic beyond belief, especially historically, then something else is going on that you should look at. There were as many as 100 Insular Guardsmen stationed around Hagåtña during that morning, and the first thing I noticed from the history books is that of all their stories, only one or two are ever told. In particular the stories of two guardsmen who refused to take down the American flag and were bayoneted, and the story of Pedro Cruz, who despite being intensely afraid, still fought.
Several years ago I approached Tony Palomo, author of the book “Island in Agony,” to see what he knew about the subject. He told me that he had spoken to many of the Insular Guardsmen who were on duty that morning and that while some did decide to stay and fight, there were many who made a different choice. In contrast to the patriotism of others, these men told Palomo they ran home refusing to fight a losing battle.
I was able to interview one member of the Insular Guard who had chosen to run home with others instead of fighting. That morning in the dark, they discussed how they were paid less than white men, were not trained properly, and how the U.S. had betrayed them by not really preparing the island for war. It was far more important to protect their families than to fight a pointless battle.
In the context of America’s pathetic defense of the island, their refusal to fight was a logical one. Why lay down their lives for the war of a country that did nothing to protect their island? There were so many like him, but after the war when America returned, the logic of their choices became unpatriotic. It looked bad, and so their story became something that people felt they had to hide. This is part of the complexity of our history and our present; it is not something which should be erased in order to tell a more patriotic story. That ambivalence over our unequal status is just as much who we are as the choices some make to be patriotic.
MICHAEL LUJAN BEVACQUA
Mangilao, Guam
