In Guam, Tolerating the U.S. as Tensions Rise
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 to core cultural values.
Now, the Chamorro way is again being tested, as fresh encroachment by the U.S. military comes just as new efforts are being made to strengthen Guam’s Indigenous bonds.
The barbecue was in the backyard of a 1950s house that doubles as a cultural center. American F-15 fighter jets roared past every few minutes, a reminder of the dangerous world that continues to make demands on Guam’s people.
Roughly a third of the island has been under U.S. military control for decades. But with China and the United States locked in a bitter contest for strategic advantage, Guam — a volcanic outcrop with 168,000 people — has become an even more vital military launchpad.
Adding to the 22,000 U.S. troops here, 5,000 more Marines will soon move to a new base named after Brigadier General Vicente T. Blaz, the first Chamorro to become a Marine Corps general officer. A pier for nuclear-powered submarines is being upgraded. About a dozen sites have also been identified as locations for missile defense systems.
Surprisingly, perhaps, the buildup has not created much fear. Guam’s inhabitants have known for years that their home could be a target. It is far closer to China and North Korea than Honolulu.
But among Chamorros, 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 influence on what the U.S. government does on the island. Guam remains more garrison than state; the island was handed to the U.S. Navy after the Spanish-American War in 1898.
For Suruhana Rosalia Fejeran Mateo, or Mama Chai, an 87-year-old traditional Chamorro healer, the creep of militarization still brings new 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. 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, 64, a homebuilder, ran his hand along a narrow wooden canoe. 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,” Mr. Acfalle said.
The history of Guam is now in the school curriculum. A new museum, with Chamorro words carved into the facade, opened a few years ago, and paddling in traditional outrigger canoes is popular.
But risk swirls in the air. At the barbecue, three bursts on a conch shell rang out.
A 9-year-old boy in a baseball uniform was asked by his mother to explain why he had blown the three bursts.
“Sky, sea and land,” he said, in Chamorro and English.
It was a call to the ancestors, asking for protection.
Indigenous pride grows at a strategic military outpost.