An island under threat asks when to share and when to fight

(Guam Dispatch)

TAMUNING, Guam — “Balutan! You’ve got to balutan!”

Anthony Mantanona — Uncle Tony, Guam’s favorite Indigenous baker — pointed to trays of fresh coconut bread, reminding the barbecue’s departing guests to follow one of Chamorro culture’s elemental tenets: Balutan, or grab a to-go plate, be generous, be grateful, share.

“If you don’t need much, give it to someone else,” he yelled.

The Chamorro people were Guam’s first inhabitants, and through 500 years of colonization by Spain, Japan and, most recently, the United States, they have survived by sharing their land, sea and sky while holding fast to core cultural values.

Now the Chamorro way is again being tested, as another round of encroachment by the U.S. military comes just as new efforts are being made to strengthen Guam’s Indigenous bonds.

The barbecue was being held in the backyard of a 1950s ranch-style house that doubles as a cultural center. Mantanona was baking in an outdoor oven as children practiced speaking Chamorro and community leaders welcomed friends and curious newcomers.

In the air, American F-15s roared past every few minutes, their noise, markings and speed a reminder of the dangerous world that continues to make demands on Guam’s people.

Roughly a third of the island has been under Defense Department control for decades. But with China and the United States locked in a bitter contest for strategic advantage, Guam — a volcanic outcrop the size of Chicago, with 168,000 people — has become an even more vital military launchpad.

Adding to the 22,000 U.S. troops already here, 5,000 Marines will soon move into a new base named after Brig. Gen. Vicente T. Blaz, the first Chamorro to become a Marine Corps general officer.

A few miles away, a pier for nuclear-powered submarines is being upgraded. More than a dozen sites have also been identified as potential locations for missile defense systems, while Andersen Air Force Base has plans for a new weapons complex.

On-island, as they say here, off-island challenges are invading once again.

Surprisingly perhaps, the heavy buildup has not created much fear. Guam’s inhabitants have known for years that their home could be a target. It’s in missile range of regional adversaries, far closer to China and North Korea than Honolulu.

But especially among Chamorros, who are Guam’s largest ethnic group, the risk of war and the U.S. military’s plans have reinforced divided identities.

Guam swims in a murky pool of Americanism. It has one of the U.S. military’s highest rates of recruitment, with Chamorros heavily represented in the ranks, but even the most decorated veterans have little say in what the federal government does on the island. It is an unincorporated territory without full representation in Congress. Its residents cannot vote for president, and while there is an elected local government, Guam remains more garrison than state; the island was handed to the U.S. Navy after the Spanish-American War in 1898.

As author and lawyer Julian Aguon has put it: “Militarism is normalized on Guam. It’s part of our meat and drink. It’s a protein we have to work very hard to break down.”

For Suruhana Rosalia Fejeran Mateo, or Mama Chai, an 87-year-old traditional Chamorro healer, the steady creep of militarization still brings surprises. Recently, when she trekked to a remote beach to collect plants for treating ailments, U.S. marshals confronted her, warning that she had wandered into a no-go zone.

They did not say why the beach was off-limits, said Vinessa Duenas, 26, an apprentice who was with her, learning the old ways. Mama Chai saw the interference as a bizarre reminder of the island’s dissociation from its ancient culture.

“We’re not destroying the area,” she said. “We’re just taking medicine.”

At a beach near Naval Base Guam, Ron Acfalle ran his hand along a narrow wooden canoe with a turtle and other Chamorro imagery on its hull. Once in the water, the canoe will have a triangular sail — a sight first seen and praised by Spanish explorers who reached Guam in 1521.

The colonizers called them “flying proas” and later destroyed the boats to keep people from fleeing, trading with other islands or planning a revolt. It was the beginning of Guam’s role as a strategic international outpost.

Now students of Indigenous science are learning how to sail and navigate with the stars.

“The whole idea was to bring back what our ancestors had left behind,” said Acfalle, 64, a homebuilder and co-founder of Ulitao, a nonprofit seafaring organization, “to re-create the design that was recognized by the Europeans as one of the fastest canoes they’d ever seen.”

Smiling with pride, he said he had returned to Indigenous culture slowly. He grew up being taught that America had liberated his people from the cruel Japanese troops who seized Guam in 1941. He and his relatives were like Blaz and many others: They chose to be grateful after the Americans returned in 1944 with a military presence.

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