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Last week's film on the Philippines deeply disturbed me; so much so that I volunteered to write this
essay about it. As it turns out, I had just finished reading an account of the PhilippineAmerican war in
Howard Zinn's book, A People's History of the United States: 1492 – Present that same afternoon.
In the first chapter of the book, Zinn describes how a particular historian treats the genocide of the
Arawak Indians in his biography of Christopher Columbus. Despite the biographer's admiration for
Columbus, he refuses to omit or lie about the subject. But he does something else too – he mentions
the truth and quickly moves on to other things more important to him. Zinn explains the significance of
this trick:
“Outright lying or quiet omission takes the risk of discovery which, when made, might arouse the reader to
rebel against the writer. To state the facts, however, and then bury them in a mass of other information is to
say to the reader with a certain infectious calm: yes, mass murder took place, but it's not that important – it
should weigh very little in our final judgments; it should affect very little what we do in the world.”
Using this same trick, the film obscures the true racist, inhumane and deplorable nature of US
involvement in the Philippines. It indeed hints at US military misconduct, but it spends no more than
two minutes of the hourlong feature discussing it. It mentions how one general ordered his men to
murder every villager over the age of ten, but before the information can sink in, we are suddenly
bombarded with images of grinning Filipinos singing and dancing with their newfangled “American
educations.”
Of course, we cannot expect any single historical account to cover everything. Every historian has to
decide what information is most important and which details to leave out. So you might be wondering
then, which details did these historians deem unworthy of mention?
For one, they left out all statistics concerning Filipino casualties. As many as 1.4 million Filipinos died
as a result of the war between 1899 and 1905. In response to overwhelmingly popular Filipino
opposition to America's presence, US soldiers burned down entire villages, poisoned water supplies and
indiscriminately murdered hundreds of thousands of civilian men, women and children. In the province
of Batangas, the head secretary estimated that of the population of 300,000, one third had been killed
by combat, famine or disease. Another figure estimates 600,000 dead in Luzon, alone.
The film mentions none of this.
First hand accounts from Americans add depth to these numbers. A captain from Kansas wrote,
“Caloocan was supposed to contain 17,000 inhabitants. The Twentieth Kansas swept through it,
and now Caloocan contains not one living native.” A private from the same outfit said he had “with my
own hands set fire to over fifty houses of Filipinos after the victory of Caloocan. Women and Children
were wounded by our fire.” As one Washington volunteer put it: “Our fighting blood was up, and
we all wanted to kill 'niggers'... This shooting human beings beats rabbit hunting all to pieces!”
Were these voices less relevant than that of the old Filipino man who, during his interview, could barely
contain his excitement over “American chocolate”? For the one Filipino in the film who spoke
badly of America, there were five or six who spoke nothing but praise. Does this mean that, after
so much devastation, only a small fraction of the Filipino population opposed American rule? The film
includes several interviews with nostalgic white colonialists. Was their experience more relevant than
those of “their little brown brothers,” whom they colonized?
As for that last quote, did anyone else's jaw drop in disbelief when they heard it? For the sake of
brevity, I would end this essay right now had I not been so offended by the racism that so saturated the
film's commentary.
The film infantilizes the Filipinos and portrays the white Americans as protective fatherly figures. The
Filipino interviewees repeatedly praise the Americans for lifting their countrymen out from the depths
of barbarism and bestowing upon them the gifts of civilization. When the Japanese came, the Filipinos,
who were apparently too childlike to resist themselves, patiently waited for Papa MacArthur to come
back and save them. When he eventually did, the entire nation jumped in joy; finally, Daddy was home
to take care of them again.
Racism is a universal trait of imperialism. And yes, I do mean “racism,” for paternalism is indeed a
form of racism. In fact, the subtlety of paternalism makes it a more sinister species of racism than any
other. The subtlety is what allows the oppressors to justify their destruction of cultures and lives. The
subtlety is what allows historians to hide the ugly truth from their audience with a clear conscience.
They all share an unspoken conviction: “I admit – a lot of bad things happened. But in the end they
became more civilized, and that is what's most important.”
I do not accept this. The evils of imperialism always far outweigh any positive byproduct. No benefit
of Americanization can justify the death of over a million people. No economic gain from slavery can
justify its centurieslong existence in America. No fact of our modern existence here in North
America can justify the total annihilation of the people who occupied these lands before us.
But all these things did occur, and there is no way to change the past. So why should we care?
We should care because our knowledge of the past determines our actions in the present. As a nation,
we seem to have cyclical bouts of collective amnesia. First it was the Philippines, then Vietnam, now
the Middle East. From “spreading civilization” to “spreading democracy,” the policy has only grown
in its subtlety. The language may change, but the themes remain the same: exploitation,
dehumanization, racism, murder....
I refuse to be a part of this, and I refuse to let anyone shape my values for me. That is why I always
approach my formal education with skepticism and try my best to draw my own conclusions. If you too
value your intellectual independence, let this film stand as a warning – If you close your critical eye,
you won't see it when they slip you the pill.
Harry Ness
December 7, 2009