From Morro Bay to Manila Bay: The Choreography of Maritime Superpower in the Pacific

My October Reflections, part 5

From Morro Bay to Manila Bay: The Choreography of Maritime Superpower in the Pacific

Today (10/13/2025) provides an opportunity for reflection.

I am not working today because it is one of the paid holidays granted by our company to its employees. Although this is a federal holiday, our company recognizes it as "Indigenous People’s Day" on the official calendar of holidays.

Columbus Day has been observed federally since 1937, originally established to honor Italian explorer Christopher Columbus and to celebrate Italian heritage. In contrast, Indigenous People’s Day, though not a federal holiday, is increasingly acknowledged as a counter-observance that commemorates Native American history and resilience.

Currently, I am synthesizing previous posts for my "October Reflections" series with the goal of contributing to ongoing discussions about Filipino American history and the evolving concept of “Kapwa Nationalism” within the diaspora.

Additionally, I am revising and expanding my August 13 lecture-presentation at YBCA, titled “13th August (1898) Scripted War, Silenced Victory,” into a broader subject, “From Morro Bay to Manila: The Choreography of Maritime Superpower in the Pacific,” which will be presented at upcoming lectures.

As the United States wrestles with the meaning of Columbus Day and Indigenous Peoples Day, the Pacific offers its own choreography of conquest—one less discussed yet deeply entangled with the global currents of empire. From Morro Bay to Manila Bay, the ocean was not merely a route—it was a stage. And the dancers were galleons, gunboats, and ghosted revolutions.

First our very own discourse as Filipinos in the United States of America. We are celebrating Filipino American History Month in October based on an erroneous premise.

On October 18,1587, Filipino sailors aboard the Spanish galleon Nuestra Señora de Buena Esperanza landed in Morro Bay—long before the United States existed. California at that time was part of Nueva España, governed from Mexico City, and deeply integrated into the Spanish American Empire. The Philippines, colonized in 1565, was administered through this same imperial structure, making Manila and Acapulco twin nodes in a transpacific choreography of power.

The Manila Galleon Trade was the first globalization: silver from the mines of Zacatecas and Potosí flowed through Acapulco to Manila, exchanged for Chinese silk, porcelain, and spices. These galleons were not just ships—they were imperial arteries, pulsing with the lifeblood of mercantilist ambition. Filipino labor powered this circuit, conscripted into a maritime empire that stretched from the Americas to Asia.

Pedro de Unamuno, the Spanish captain who documented the 1587 landing, referred to the Filipino crew as “Luzones Indios.” This term, while geographically descriptive, was also deeply denigrating. It collapsed complex ethnic identities into a colonial category that rendered them lowly, undignified, and interchangeable. In Unamuno’s account, the Luzones Indios were not named, not individualized, not honored—they were imperial subjects stripped of character, reduced to laboring bodies in service of Spain’s maritime choreography.

To commemorate this moment without reckoning with its colonial context is to echo the logic of Columbus Day: celebrating arrival while silencing the cost.

The United States entered the scene via the Spanish American War. Although the spark plug was in Cuba in Atlantic, Manila Bay and the Philippines was seen as the gateway to Asia and the Pacific maritime power for the United States.

By 1898, Spain’s maritime dominance had waned. The British, Dutch, and Germans had carved their own routes into Asia. The United States, a late-blooming empire with industrial muscle, saw its chance.

The Dewey Monument was installed in Union Square, San Francisco to honor Admiral George Dewey’s victory at the Battle of Manila Bay on May 1, 1898, during the Spanish American War. But its placement in San Francisco wasn’t just about naval glory—it reflected the city’s pivotal role in America’s imperial expansion.

San Francisco was a major naval port and the primary departure point for U.S. troops heading to the Philippines. The city’s Presidio served as a training and embarkation center for over 10,000 volunteers bound for the war. Installing the monument in Union Square symbolized San Francisco’s central role in projecting American power across the Pacific.

The August 13,1898, Mock Battle of Manila was not a clash—it was a handoff. Spain exited stage left, the U.S. entered stage right, and Filipino revolutionaries were barred from the spotlight.

The U.S. did not liberate the Philippines—it acquired it. With steel hulls and expansionist ambition, it joined the choreography of conquest. The Pacific was no longer Spain’s theater—it was America’s proving ground. The Philippines was under Spanish rule for 330 years, under American rule for 43 years, and Japanese rule for 4 years.

Currently, maritime activity continues in the South China Sea—referred to by Filipinos as the West Philippine Sea—where China has increased its presence in Philippine waters through the deployment of coast guard vessels, maritime militias, and water cannons to enforce control over disputed reefs and shoals.

The United States' maritime role is being tested. Citing a Mutual Defense Treaty, the U.S. government has stated its support for the Philippines. Naval exercises, joint patrols, and strategic deployments demonstrate ongoing military cooperation. Historically dominated by Spanish galleons, the Pacific is now an area of competing Chinese and American interests.

These developments represent evolving maritime dynamics in the region.

Facebook series post 10/13/2025