My October Reflections, part 1
We Are Here Because You Went There: Reframing Filipino American History Month Through Empire, Resistance, and the Politics of Memory
Filipino American History Month (FAHM), officially commemorated in October, anchors its origin story in the 1587 landing of Luzones Indios in Morro Bay, California. While this maritime moment is often celebrated as the beginning of Filipino presence in the continental United States, it lacks historical continuity and risks romanticizing colonial violence. As Filipino Americans deepen their kamalayang pangkasaysayan (historical consciousness), it becomes imperative to reframe FAHM around May—a month that marks not only the birth of U.S. empire in the Philippines, but also the beginning of a long arc of resistance, betrayal, and diaspora.
October’s Disputed Terrain: Between Columbus and Indigenous Peoples
The choice of October for FAHM places it in direct proximity to one of the most contested commemorations in the United States: Columbus Day. Long celebrated as a symbol of “discovery,” Columbus Day has come under fire for glorifying conquest, genocide, and the erasure of Indigenous peoples. In response, many communities now observe Indigenous Peoples’ Day—a counter-memory movement that honors Native resistance and survival.
This tension between colonial celebration and Indigenous remembrance mirrors the dilemma of Filipino American history itself. To anchor FAHM in October, tethered to a fleeting 1587 landing under Spanish command, risks aligning Filipino memory with the very logic of imperial arrival. It echoes the myth of discovery rather than the truth of displacement. It situates Filipino Americans as passive participants in colonial history rather than active agents of resistance and survival.
From Manila Bay to Morro Bay: The True Genesis of Filipino American History
The more historically coherent origin of Filipino American history begins not in Morro Bay but in Manila Bay. On May 1, 1898, the U.S. Navy launched its imperial conquest of the Philippines, defeating the Spanish fleet and initiating a new era of colonization. This was not liberation—it was choreography. The Mock Battle of Manila on August 13, 1898, staged between Spanish and American forces, deliberately excluded Filipino revolutionaries who had already surrounded the city. It was a performance of conquest, designed to transfer colonial power from one empire to another without acknowledging Filipino agency.
The Treaty of Paris, signed on December 10, 1898, and ratified on February 6, 1899, formalized the sale of the Philippines to the United States for $20 million. But even before its ratification, on January 21, 1899, the First Philippine Republic declared independence. Just two weeks later, on February 4, 1899, the Philippine-American War erupted—triggered by a shot fired in the dark by an American soldier. What followed was a brutal campaign of suppression, torture, and racialized violence that claimed hundreds of thousands of Filipino lives.
This is the true beginning of Filipino American history—not a maritime footnote in 1587, but a sustained encounter with empire that forced migration, shaped identity, and seeded resistance. We are here, because you went there.
Rizal’s Witness: Racism, Democracy, and the American Contradiction
José Rizal’s 1888 visit to the United States foreshadowed this imperial entanglement. Traveling across the country in April and May, Rizal observed the contradictions of American democracy. He was disturbed by the treatment of Black Americans and Indigenous peoples, noting that “America is the land of freedom—but only for whites.” His reflections expose the racial foundations of U.S. society—foundations that would later justify the colonization of the Philippines under the guise of “benevolent assimilation.”
In the era of Trumpism and MAGA, Rizal’s warnings remain painfully relevant. Anti-immigrant rhetoric, racial scapegoating, and the resurgence of white nationalism echo the same logic that denied Filipino sovereignty in 1898. The Filipino American experience—marked by exclusion, labor exploitation, and cultural erasure—is not an accident of history. It is the legacy of conquest.
Why May Matters: Mourning, Mobilization, and Memory
Celebrating FAHM in May is not just a calendrical correction—it is a political intervention. May marks the beginning of U.S. empire in the Philippines, the month of Rizal’s American journey, and the season of imperial betrayal. It invites us to mourn the silenced victories and mobilize against ongoing erasure. It aligns with Asian American and Pacific Islander Heritage Month, allowing Filipino Americans to assert both solidarity and specificity within broader coalitions.
It also centers kapwa nationalism—a diasporic ethic rooted in shared identity, historical consciousness, and collective liberation. In the face of MAGA-era exclusion, May becomes a month of radical belonging, where Filipino Americans assert their place not as perpetual foreigners but as co-authors of American history.
Conclusion: From Myth to Memory, From October to May
Filipino American History Month deserves a foundation rooted in truth, resistance, and relational memory. October’s maritime myth, while symbolically evocative, lacks the coherence and continuity necessary for meaningful commemoration. Worse, it risks being overshadowed by the imperial legacy of Columbus Day, even as Indigenous Peoples’ Day fights to reclaim October as a space of decolonial remembrance.
May, anchored in the birth of U.S. empire, Rizal’s witness, and the Filipino struggle for sovereignty, offers a more accurate and activist framework—one that honors the complexity of Filipino American identity and the enduring fight for justice.
We are here, because you went there. And we remember, resist, and reframe—together.
Check the next reflection... my tribute to FANHS
Facebook Series 10/2/2025