Madam Speaker, on July 21, 2009, our community on Guam marked the 65th anniversary of our liberation from enemy occupation. It was a day of commemoration and celebration as we recalled the sacrifices made for our freedom by our elders who…
Madam Speaker, on July 21, 2009, our community on Guam marked the 65th anniversary of our liberation from enemy occupation. It was a day of commemoration and celebration as we recalled the sacrifices made for our freedom by our elders who survived this brutal occupation and of the servicemembers who landed on our beaches to liberate us from the oppression of the
enemy during war. My predecessor, General Ben Blaz, penned a narrative about the history of the Tiyan airfield on this occasion. Today, the Tiyan airfield is the site of the Antonio B. Won Pat Guam International Airport and General Blaz' narrative was printed in this year's Liberation Day Special Edition of the Pacific Daily News. I submit this narrative for print in the Congressional Record. It helps us connect the past with the present. It also helps us gain an appreciation for the history of the landscape that continues to serve today as an important transportation link for our island. This is one story of many through which we can understand and interpret the period of occupation, and the trials experienced and endured by the Chamorro people.
nihi ta tasso . . .
Time and tide have eroded and buried remnants of the
barricades and trenches on the beaches of our island. The
verdant jungle has reclaimed the old concentration camp sites
over the past six and a half decades. Heavy foliage and
buildings now camouflage pillboxes and fortifications
anchored along expected landing sites to obstruct the advance
of liberating forces.
In contrast, a modest landing strip, built at Tiyan under
extreme duress and a pervasive sense of personal insecurity
by the Chamorros during the occupation in World War II, has
risen from the ashes of war, a la the legendary Phoenix. It
continues to grow with each passing year and now accommodates
millions of visitors and handles thousands of tons of food
and cargo so vital to the island's economy. Remarkably, Tiyan
is the Chamorro word for stomach and the airfield there
serves as Guam's breadbasket. Visitors from Asia, North
America, and elsewhere as well as local citizens routinely
arrive and depart from the airport, seemingly oblivious to
how dearly we paid, with blood and tears, to carve its
foundation out of a jungle for the enemy.
The latte stones of antiquity enjoy a special place in our
history. Considering the circumstances under which the
original landing strip was built and its indispensability to
the island's future, it has attained memorial stature at
least among those who wielded the primitive tools to build
it. It makes a worthy companion to the latte stone which,
interestingly enough, was also used as foundation stone,
among others, by our ancestors.
The airport today dwarfs what we achieved during the
occupation but it was built with earth movers, bulldozers,
backhoe, and steamrollers. If, during the occupation, we had
known the wonders that modern technology could perform, we
might have said that what was being asked of us was
impossible. And, having decided that, we might never have
completed the airstrip. We would never have been able to
overcome the psychological barrier that we would have created
between us and the job's completion. There would have been
nothing that the Japanese could do to make us get the project
done. It would not be that we would have worked more slowly.
In the actual construction, our lack of enthusiasm translated
to a snail's pace in any event. Rather, we would have been so
daunted by our perception of the enormity of the task that we
simply wouldn't have been able to do it. Our naivete then
worked to the Japanese's advantage. We got the job done
simply because we didn't know that we couldn't!
As we were finishing the airstrip, it was not possible to
simply dismiss it as something we were forced to do.
Surprisingly, most of us looked at it with a kind of pride of
proprietorship. It was ours. We made it--not only the
construction but survived the incredibly taxing ordeal. This
was possible because of the older men in our forced labor
groups who rose to lead us. There were many such men but I
remember two of them in particular because they were my
immediate leaders--Frank D. Perez and Nito Cristobal. We
worked together, we prayed together and, on occasion, we
laughed together. It was 1944 and I was 16.
Evidently, American reconnaissance planes noticed that the
airstrip was nearing completion and it became a daily target
for bombing. Seeing the American planes bomb the airstrip in
daylight was a tonic beyond description even though we knew
we had to repair the runway that same night guarded by
soldiers angered similarly beyond description. One of the
ironies of our forced labor was how it played against one of
the most cherished of Chamorro traditions, adalak, whereby
neighbors helped one another build houses or prepare fields
for crops. We participated in adalak willingly and from our
hearts in keeping with our custom and tradition. The closest
English translation of the word is ``happy labor.'' This was
not so when we were digging caves, constructing barricades
and felling the jungle to build an airstrip.
In an incredible twist of fate, on June 20, 1944, during
the Battle of the Philippine Sea, the Japanese lost more than
400 planes in a resounding defeat in air combat which U.S.
Naval aviators referred to as the Great Marianas Turkey
Shoot. A month later, Guam was liberated by U.S. Marines,
soldiers, sailors and airmen. Following the capture of the
Tiyan airstrip, we watched with astonishment and great
delight as U.S. Navy Seabees widened, extended, and surfaced
the runway with remarkable efficiency in but a few days.
Seeing U.S. planes land and take off from ``our'' airstrip to
continue the war against Japan made grown men cry. And
teenagers, too.
Poetic justice comes to mind.