Personal Reflections on Historical Memory in the Philippines
In terms of historical memory, I am always intrigued by how a society views and interprets its past. In the Philippines, I became fascinated with the various ways in which people on these islands interpret their long, multifaceted history.
On Historical Nomenclature
I often wondered about the name of the country – the Philippines – named after King Philip II of Spain. One Fulbrighter asked John Ray Ramos, our resident historian, whether there were conversations about changing the name of a country praising a European monarch. The historian gave a short answer stating that the name has essentially been “reclaimed” and its meaning is entirely divorced from its original intention– reminiscent of certain historical terms in the U.S. Taking that name became a symbol of empowerment. Professor Ray stated that this was the consensus among many Filipino historians and activists within the last decade. I quickly contemplated what thoughts emerge when I think of the Philippines, and ultimately saw deep value in what the historian stated. A quick Google search exemplifies this is still an ongoing dialogue – not one an outsider, much less a Westerner hailing from the former colonizing country, should weigh in on.
I stayed in Legazpi during my site visit, named after Miguel López de Legazpi. Legazpi was a brutal conquistador, best known for leading the successful expedition that firmly established Spanish supremacy over the islands in the 16th century. He completely dehumanized and eagerly sought to subjugate the local populations. Yet, there is a city named after him, complete with a statue of him situated at a busy intersection near the coastal night markets. One of our Filipino guides in Legazpi said that classes only teach him so students can get an answer right on a test, and that there is no active celebration of the person. I thought of the Confederate statues that were taken down in New Orleans.
Miguel Lopez De Legazpi Monument, Legazpi, Albay, Philippines
During my first day at Legazpi City Science High, the students welcomed us with Indigenous dances that praised their folk heroes – such a powerful introduction. One of the folk heroes, Baltog, is the first great hero of the Ibalong Epic, a pre-Hispanic traditional folk story from the Bicol region. The people of Bicol know him as the brave pioneer settler who introduced agriculture and skillfully killed a massive wild boar with his bare hands. It is profoundly fascinating that this legend predates Spanish colonization and survived through a vibrant oral tradition, knowing that these traditions are thriving despite centuries of foreign influence designed to suppress culture.
Baltog Statue in Legazpi City, taken by me.
The Legacy of Global Empires
During all of my conversations and tours, it seems that there was a collective sense of anti-Spanish and anti-Japanese sentiment (rightfully so on both ends), but such sentiments did not extend to the U.S., at least not nearly as much. There seemed to be a proclivity to view U.S. imperialism in a much softer light than the Spanish era or under Japanese imperialism. I found this slightly peculiar as historians estimate the U.S. killed over 200,000 Filipino civilians in the Philippine-American War. Such sentiment was most evident during the Intramuros tour, in which the guide revered all of the martyrs for Filipino independence and heavily praised U.S. military efforts during the Battle of Manila.
Could this be due to the U.S.’ educational aims when the Philippines was a U.S. colony? It is difficult to imagine such U.S.-designed curricula instilling an objective take on the vast war crimes during the Philippine-American War. Even today, the curricula in the U.S. do not present an objective take on that war. Most curricula in the States – at least as far as I’ve analyzed – want students to know that the Philippines was simply a colony that the U.S. rightfully earned after easily defeating Spain in 1898. If a student is fortunate, the teacher may even discuss the role the U.S. played in defeating Japanese forces there.
Nowhere was this more evident than on our tour of the U.S. Embassy. The tour guide and the representatives praised U.S. efforts in the Philippines in both the tour and subsequent conversations. No one mentioned the protests against the U.S.-led Pax Silica that just occurred outside the U.S. Embassy. Pax Silica is a U.S.-led international initiative launched in 2025 to secure global supply chains for AI, advanced semiconductors, and critical minerals, functioning as a Western-allied counterweight to Chinese technological dominance. The growing influence of China concerned some of the officials in the embassy, and they made no attempts to hide that concern. The anti-Pax Silica protests, and the accompanying online discourse, are evident that there is a large contingent of Filipinos who reject U.S.’ soft power approach.
During the tour, the Embassy tour guide praised American teachers, dubbed Thompsonite teachers, who moved to the Philippines after the Philippines-American War, as she gestured to framed photos of early 20th-century American teachers. Outside, we saw the physical remnants from the Battle of Manila – the bullet holes on the flagpole displayed like a badge of honor. She also showed us the gravesite of the U.S. flag that fell during the war. Later, we entered the exact location the U.S. charged Japanese army officers for their crimes against humanity. Obviously, holding war criminals accountable is a necessary and just move. However, the tours and representatives should be more objective regarding U.S. imperialism. This tour reaffirmed my obligation to teach U.S.-Filipino history more objectively during my upcoming lessons.
As I spent more time in the Philippines, it grew ever more evident that such pro-U.S. sentiments mostly stemmed from the U.S.-Filipino joint effort during WWII. Many Filipinos discuss the vast horrors Japan inflicted on the country as if it happened yesterday. The profound impact and legacy of WWII on Filipino memory cannot be understated. As Americans, we were fortunate that the unfathomable war never truly hit within our borders (outside of our territories), and thus our view of that conflict is etched differently in our collective memory. No one can say the same about the Philippines.
Manila-American Cemetery and Memorial
In Manila, I used some of my free time to visit the Manila American Cemetery and Memorial, which commemorates over 36,000 soldiers Missing in Action (MIA) and over 17,000 Killed in Action (KIA) – totaling over an estimated 53,000 US soldiers. When I put feelers out in the group chat, three American Fulbrighters accompanied me on the journey. The cemetery was vast and seemingly endless. White crosses and the Jewish stars spread neatly across a finely trimmed grassy knoll while Manila skyscrapers towered in the distance. It was an odd juxtaposition. The latter may not have occurred without the sacrifices made by those buried in the cemetery.
Manila American Cemetery and Memorial, taken by me.
The experience became more personal as we approached the wall of those MIA. Before I left, my mother tasked me to find the name of our relative, Joseph Bruno. Joseph heroically died in Papua New Guinea fighting Japanese forces. I have heard his name and story throughout my life, so I knew how much this visit meant to my mother. However, I failed to realize the grave personal impact it would have on me. After searching in the Marines section of the wall with the help of my new buddies, we spotted Joseph’s name etched into the wall. My heart jumped.
Pointing to my late relative’s name on the MIA wall at the American Manila Cemetery
A local guide approached us after our quick photoshoot and asked to escort me to the Visitor Center. There, one of the curators pulled up information about Joseph and printed an official U.S. government certificate. He told me as much information about Joseph as he could find. To surmise, he died in Papua New Guinea protecting his comrades – the ultimate sacrifice – and those comrades buried him there. I became emotional as I listened. He organized the certificate and information into a neat folder – a custom of the museum for family members who visit. Apparently, I was the first known relative of Joseph to visit the center.
It was an emotional and surreal experience to know that somewhere in the world, a relative of mine is buried, yet he is being memorialized almost a century later in such a beautiful, heartwarming fashion. While I was playing soccer in college when I was his age, he was fighting in foxholes with boys who had just become adults in a brutal war against global totalitarianism. It caused me to reflect on the privileges I’ve had growing up.
The museum at the Manila-American Cemetery and Memorial did quickly emphasize that the U.S. rejected the Filipino nationalists’ desire for independence after the Spanish-American War. After, it was what one might expect a military museum would cover – battle strategies, diary excerpts from soldiers, propaganda posters, photos of complete devastation, and the like. It was indeed an informative museum, especially for military history buffs.
Closing
The historiography of the Philippines is as complex as the history itself, and this reflection by no means seeks to minimize it. Any Westerner, especially a white American, entering these lands must first seek to understand; I truly felt I was mostly successful in accomplishing that goal. In doing so, it is evident that Filipinos have a deep understanding of the history of their homeland. People speak about historical events and people from ancient days as if they experienced or knew them personally. Ancient epics hold just as much weight as pop culture icons. The lands in which various influential leaders, like José Rizal, trekked are sacred. In all of the historical richness woven throughout the Philippines, notions of agency, resistance, and love are consistent throughout.
The history of the Philippines is long and vast, and I have not designed this blog to capture it most effectively; I have merely structured it to help both orient the reader and provide contextualization for the upcoming blogs, and set the tone for my personal reflections as a Western history teacher. Do not associate this blog with a legitimate attempt to give the long, complex history of the archipelago a semblance of the justice it truly deserves. As a U.S. history teacher (primarily) based in Louisiana (again – primarily), I have always been fascinated with Filipino history. This is for many reasons, but mostly due to two significant factors: The history of the Philippines is deeply intertwined with my home state and country, and, secondly, the first known Filipino settlement was in St. Bernard Parish, my home parish. Having connections with many Filipino-Americans, who are passionate about their homeland, is also inspiring.
I appreciated that on our first day, we visited the Philippine-American Educational Foundation (PAEF) headquarters in Manila to listen to various lectures on Filipino education, history, and culture. The first one provided background information about the Fulbright program, followed by a lecture on Filipino history. It was evident that the professor, John Ray Ramos, a lecturer at Ateneo de Manila University, was passionate about the history of his home country.
From Indigeneity to Colonization
To provide this context, I’m going to incorporate information from Professor Ray, the book “The History of the Philippines,” by Luis H. Franca, and from tidbits I gained on three tours: Fulbright-sponsored tours of the Intramuros (Manila’s historic walled area) and the U.S. Embassy, and a self-guided tour of the Manila American Cemetery and Memorial. Professor Ray, Franca, and the Intramous tour all started with Indigenous history, telling us the estimated years of the earliest human evidence on the islands (circa 700,000 BCE). Professor Ray showed us the iconic photo of the Manunggul Jar (890–710 BCE), which consisted of two figures atop its handle, representing the journey of the soul to the afterlife. Prior to colonization, it was evident that the earliest inhabitants maintained a heavy belief in an afterlife – one based primarily on seafaring narratives. Many of the Indigenous peoples, especially the early Malay migrants, traveled to the islands on ancient wooden boats – called “barangays.” Filipinos still employ the term barangay as the smallest village, district, or local government unit – smaller than a parish in Louisiana. Barangay “captains” lead the unit.
Manunggul Jar. Source: Wikipedia Commons
The Franca book, Professor Ray, and the guide for the Intramuros tour dove heavily into the 300-year-long period of Spanish colonization, which inevitably had a profound impact on the archipelago. The Spanish tried multiple colonization attempts after Ferdinand Magellan met his maker. Eventually, Miguel de Legazpi found success. After suppressing numerous resistance campaigns, the Spanish quickly sought to establish a brutal and extractive hierarchical system that, of course, elevated themselves at the pinnacle at the grave expense of the local Indigenous populations. Professor Ray described it as a “vertically and racially segregated society.” They pushed Christianity primarily through imagery – not literacy – as they colonized whom they perceived as “savages” through “the sword and the cross” (Ray, 2026). The Spanish established the Philippines as a trading post and missionary staging ground for the Empire. Chinese attempts to wrestle it away from Spain were ultimately unsuccessful, but a large Chinese population lived on the islands to serve as a cheap labor force, establishing what is widely considered the world’s oldest “Chinatown.” Spanish officials viewed the Chinese population with deep suspicion, especially after a few rebellions, and faced their cannons toward their area, still facing that direction today.
The intricacies of how the Spanish conducted this structure are vast, but I will focus on a few aspects. Spain initiated a colonial resettlement policy – called Reducción. Reducción forced scattered Indigenous communities to centralize into organized town centers, or poblaciones. This system aimed to make tax collection, political rule, and religious conversion much easier; it was a matter of full control. The consequence, of course, was the erasure, or minimization, of Indigenous decentralized organization and culture. Friar corporations and conquistadors (and their descendants) owned vast lands, called haciendas. Much of this is similar to how Spain structured Latin America.
This structure of the Philippines and its distance from Spain led to the friars gaining more power and prestige, even to the point where they would imprison politicians who opposed their reign. This structure, along with other variables, led to the Philippines being more conservative compared to its Latin American counterparts. This political and economic conservatism is why the Philippines did not rebel when Latin America roared against its oppressors in the early 19th century.
The Philippines gained wealth through the famous Galleon trade, which connected the islands to Mexico, where goods were unloaded, and then to other Spanish colonies (like Louisiana for a time) and Spain. For three centuries, the Spanish capitalized on the Indian Ocean Trade, integrating the Philippines into Asian and Pacific trade networks while extracting resources from the archipelago to gain unprecedented wealth. This trade connected Spain to Asia, Latin America, and Europe. The population of Manila boomed. Some of the Filipinos on the Galleon Trade escaped Spanish oppression by jumping ship in New Orleans and settling in the swamps of what became my home parish, St. Bernard Parish. This settlement, named Saint Malo after a legendary maroon, is the first known Filipino settlement within the borders of what we now call the U.S.
“Saint Malo: A Lacustrine Village in Louisiana”. Harper’s Weekly. 27: 204
The wealth gained by the Crown often conflicted with the wealth of the clergy. In 1872, these tensions led to Spanish officials executing three Filipino priests, dubbed the Gomburza Martyrs. This sparked widespread anger and unified Filipino resentment against consistent Spanish abuses, leading to a colossal Filipino nationalist movement. Many leaders emerged during this time; José Rizal became the most notable of them. Rizal was a multifaceted intellectual and a political activist, so much so that his political writings inspired the Philippine revolution and ultimately led to his execution by the Spanish. Although his goals failed, he helped cultivate a national identity separate from Spain. Rizal’s bold stance and martyrdom are why he is one of the most revered figures in Filipino history, embodying the “living soul” of the revolution. On the aforementioned tour, we saw the cell that Rizal spent his last days in before his execution. We also visited the park where Spain executed him.
Motto Stella (“Guiding Star”), is located in Rizal Park (Luneta), Manila, Philippines. Designed by Swiss sculptor Richard Kissling and unveiled in 1913. Photo taken by Yours Truly.
Rizal’s tragic death ignited the KKK (not the US version, of course) – officially known as the Kataas-taasang, Kagalang-galangang Katipunan ng mga Anak ng Bayan – into action. The KKK was a revolutionary society founded by Andres Bonifacio, Deodato Arellano, and Ladislao Diwa, with the goal of complete independence. Rizal’s death mobilized the masses in ways he had envisioned while he was alive. In 1897, 28-year-old Emilio Aguinaldo became the leader of this anti-Spanish movement. Just one year later, Aguinaldo and his followers, with some U.S. assistance, ousted their Spanish oppressors and declared independence, ending a 300-year reign.
Although I read much of this history in Franca’s book, it felt more authentic and meaningful hearing this from an acclaimed public historian. It became even more significant seeing the sites in person. Text from book pages became spoken words, which became physical sites.
A Faraway U.S. Colony
Despite the win for independence, the U.S. did not grant it to the Filipino people. Rather, the U.S. incorporated the country into its burgeoning Empire. The U.S. desired the archipelago’s rich resources and profitable exports, notably timber and other rare materials. The U.S. and Spain negotiated the terms of the Treaty of Paris without the inclusion of Filipino nationalists. This decision would ultimately turn the Filipino movement against its new imperial oppressor – the U.S. The U.S. launched a brutal war to suppress and pacify the Philippines, leading to the Philippine-American War (1899-1902).
Many historians argue that the U.S. committed genocide (as later defined by the UN in 1948) during this campaign. Professor Ray briefly touched on it with the time allotted, but he did not cover it in detail due to time constraints. Regardless, the U.S. committed widespread atrocities during the Philippine-American War, including massacres, mass torture, forced relocations, and policies that caused massive civilian suffering on an unprecedented scale. Whether those actions constitute “genocide” depends on how narrowly one defines genocidal intent, but the historical consensus agrees on the sheer scale of mass brutality of the occupation.
Thanks to another Fulbrighter, Dave, I learned more about the Bud Dajo massacre. He printed out an article titled “The Ghosts of Bud Dajo: How an American Massacre Shaped the Philippines” (Coronel, 2025). After the Philippine-American War concluded, Moro Muslims in Mindanao continued to resist U.S. rule. Many refused to pay new taxes or send their children to U.S. “schools.” U.S. General Leonard Wood decided to use brute force to squash this resistance. In 1906, during the midst of the fighting, many Moros took refuge inside the crater of Bud Dajo, an extinct volcano, on the Philippine island of Jolo. Thousands of U.S. soldiers bombarded the crater with artillery and then stormed those seeking refuge. The Moros tried to fight back, many only with spears. U.S. troops killed as many as ~1,000 people, many women and children. Only six survived.
It was deadlier than the massacres at Wounded Knee and My Lai. One U.S. officer described babies searching through piles of bodies for their mothers. Another soldier admitted they shot “everything in reach… regardless of age or sex.” Mark Twain said that the massacre had “no resemblance to a battle … We cleaned up our four days’ work and made it complete by butchering these helpless people.” Historian Kim Wagner argues that Bud Dajo was not simply an isolated tragedy, but reflected patterns of colonial warfare: overwhelming force against civilians, followed by lackluster investigations. Soldiers went unpunished. President Teddy Roosevelt even congratulated Wood, who later became Governor-General of the Philippines. Today, Bud Dajo remains a powerful memory in Moro communities. Such history explains why tensions continue to persist. Despite the magnitude of the massacre, most Americans, and many Filipinos, have never even heard of it.
After effectively suppressing dissent and pacifying/unifying the islands, the U.S. viewed education in the Philippines as a primary tool for continual pacification and colonial transformation, similar to how Spain had used Catholicism to exert control. Rather than simply increasing literacy, the U.S. education system was designed to create a “good colony” by instilling U.S. political, economic, and cultural ideals. Schools promoted English, U.S. history, “democratic” values (despite an undemocratic Jim Crow system at home), and concepts of citizenship while often subduing Indigenous traditions and pre-colonial Filipino identities. Through Filipinization, the U.S. gradually increased Filipino participation in government and provided opportunities for self-governance, but this process occurred solely within a U.S.-designed political framework. Instead of allowing Filipino nationalism to develop independently, colonial education specifically sought to reshape nationalism into a form that supported U.S. interests and encouraged unwavering loyalty to U.S. institutions.
Beyond education, U.S. colonial rule transformed Filipino society through capitalism, consumerism, and a colonial economy that inextricably connected the Philippines to U.S. markets. This was immediately evident upon arrival. The U.S. promoted mass privatization, expanded trade, and encouraged the consumption of U.S. goods. The economy prioritized U.S. interests by positioning the Philippines as a supplier of raw materials and a market for U.S. products.
In this way, the U.S. attempted to mold the Philippines “in its own image” by reshaping not only government and economics but also language, history, civic attitudes, values, and culture (John Ray Ramos, 2026). In my opinion, this created a form of mis-education (similar to that of minoritized populations within the U.S.) because U.S. schools often taught Filipino students U.S. perspectives while Filipino history, Indigenous knowledge, and nationalist movements were diminished or overlooked. As an unfortunate result, the U.S. employed education as a tool of modernization and a mechanism for “suppressing” and “diluting” Filipino nationalism under colonial rule. I did not want to perpetuate this historical process in any lessons that I gave to Filipino students.
World War II
During WWII, the Philippines became one of the most important battlegrounds in the Pacific because of its strategic location and its status as a U.S. commonwealth. Many Americans, including most of my U.S. students, are often unaware that Japan attacked the Philippines shortly after its 1941 attack on Pearl Harbor. Japanese forces quickly overwhelmed Filipino and U.S. defenders, and by mid-1942, the combined U.S. and Filipino forces surrendered. The fall of the Bataan Peninsula and the surrender of Corregidor easily marked one of the largest military defeats in U.S. history. General Douglas MacArthur famously promised that he “shall return” as he retreated from the islands.
Japan subjected Filipino and U.S. prisoners of war to the brutal Bataan Death March, during which an estimated 10,000 died from starvation, exhaustion, and mistreatment – far higher than the death toll at Pearl Harbor. Under Japanese occupation (1942–1945), Filipinos faced severe hardships, including food shortages, forced labor, censorship, and unprecedented violence. Japan attempted to establish the Philippines as an independent state under its control, creating the Japanese-sponsored Second Philippine Republic. Most Filipinos and the non-Axis world viewed the government as an illegitimate puppet regime.
Despite the brutal Japanese occupation, widespread Filipino resistance movements emerged throughout the country. Guerrilla groups, often composed of former soldiers, civilians, and local leaders, fought Japanese forces, gathered intelligence for the Allies, and protected communities. During our tour of Intramuros, our guide showed us the White Cross Memorial – a solemn white marble memorial in Fort Santiago that marks the mass grave of about 600 civilian and guerrilla prisoners. It felt odd to see such a small symbol and space to honor the memory of hundreds who fought against Japanese imperialism. Despite its size, the space held a power you could feel in your bones.
White Cross (me)
The war also deeply affected Filipino civilians, especially during the brutal Battle of Manila in 1945, after General MacArthur “heroically” returned with U.S. forces. Filipinos today largely celebrate and memorialize him due to his successful efforts against the Japanese. I’ve heard multiple people reference the “shall return” quote during conversations about history.
The battle resulted in the destruction of much of Manila and the deaths of an estimated 100,000 civilians, making it one of the deadliest urban battles of the war. Japanese forces committed deliberate mass murders, torture, and widespread atrocities against non-combatants. Historians dub this the Rape of Manila (Paggahasa ng Maynila). Heavy artillery and intense urban combat firepower deployed by U.S. forces to root out entrenched Japanese soldiers also resulted in massive loss of life. For some reason (classic Eurocentrism?), many overlook this battle compared to others despite its massive death toll.
During our tour of the U.S. Embassy, we saw numerous bullet holes still visible from that fight. In our Intramuros tour, we also saw more damage, including a spot where U.S. tanks pushed through the ancient walls, leaving lasting damage.
Damage from a U.S. tank, Intramuros (me)
After Japan’s defeat and liberation by Allied forces, the Philippines gained full independence from the U.S. on July 4, 1946. The U.S. charged many of the Japanese leaders with war crimes at what is now the U.S. Embassy. During our tour of the Embassy, we stood at the exact place where these trials occurred. We weren’t allowed to take photos within the Embassy, but here’s what it looked like during those trials.
Japanese War Crimes Trials. Manila
During the fight in the Philippines and throughout Southeast Asia, over 100,000 U.S. soldiers died. Many of them, including a close relative of mine (check next blog for reflections), are buried or memorialized in Manila American Cemetery and Memorial.
Manila American Cemetery and Memorial (me)
WWII also left the Philippines devastated economically and socially, but also strengthened Filipino nationalism, as the experience of occupation and resistance reinforced age-old demands for complete sovereignty and self-determination. Still, even after achieving independence and up until today, the U.S. exerts soft power to exercise heavy influence over the country.
As I conclude, I must emphasize that my blog does not capture the essence of the country, as Filipino history is a rich and complex saga of resilience, adaptation, and the ongoing struggle for identity and self-determination – even today. In fact, these words are far from even scratching the surface. From the diverse Indigenous societies that thrived before European contact, to centuries of Spanish and U.S. colonial rule, and through the hardships of WWII, Filipinos continuously shaped their own culture while responding to external, often bad-faith, influences. Although colonial powers attempted to reshape Filipino society, language, economy, and nationalism, it became evident during my duration that Filipinos preserved their deep-seated traditions and developed a strong sense of national identity. By the end of WWII, the Philippines had endured centuries of foreign domination and conflict, yet emerged with a renewed determination to define its own future as an independent, autonomous nation.
Despite centuries of brutalization from occupying forces, it would be a grave mistake for one to view Filipino history solely through the lens of narratives of destitute or victimization. It is a saga of survival and triumph to form arguably one of the most dynamic peoples in the world, with an unparalleled, breathtaking culture and legacy. I am beyond honored to have experienced a mere taste of it, however brief.
See an error or have questions? Contact me: chrisdier3@gmail.com.
Sources & Further Reading:
“Noli Me Tángere,” by José Rizal
“The History of the Philippines,” by Luis H. Franca
“Bayani Biographies: Jose Rizal,” by John Ray Ramos
“Massacre in the Clouds: An American Atrocity and the Erasure of History,” by Kim A. Wagner
“The Ghosts of Bud Dajo: How an American Massacre Shaped the Philippines,” by Sheila S. Coronel
“How to Hide an Empire: A History of the Greater United States,” by Daniel Immerwahr
For the 20th anniversary of Hurricane Katrina, the National Wildlife Federation asked me to reflect on my experiences.
On a late June afternoon, some U.S. educators and I visited a secondary school in Zanzibar as part of a Fulbright. After the formalities, the staff ushered us into a room with Zanzibari students who were passionate about climate change. Students threw around a small ball to indicate whose turn it was to speak. As they discussed their goals to mitigate climate change, I gained a rare sense of optimism, especially considering the dilemmas facing Zanzibar mirror my own state, Louisiana. At one point, a young girl threw the ball at me. The question was simple but piercing:
“How does climate change impact your community?”
My mind immediately leapt from Zanzibar’s vulnerable coast to my own. Stark images of Hurricane Katrina flooded my mind: levees breaking, water rushing in, people scrambling to survive. It feels like an eternity when this happens, which is often, but I probably paused for no more than two seconds.
This year, the National Center for Youth Law (NCYL) invited the Voices for Honest Education (VHE) fellows to participate in the Second Session of the Permanent Forum on People of African Descent hosted by the United Nations (UN) at the UN Headquarters in New York City. As part of the fellowship, the NCYL asked me to prepare a two-minute testimony about the healing impact of learning authentic history for a forum regarding intergenerational trauma. Overall, my rich experience at the UN grounded me in the importance of intentional allyship, better opened my eyes to the inspirational power of authentic history, and highlighted the urgent need for global collaboration to address historical injustices and promote human rights.
Prior to and throughout my week-long journey at the UN, I grappled with conflicting emotions as a white person speaking on issues affecting people of African descent. As I prepared my testimony, I was simultaneously delving into the writings of Steve Biko, a South African anti-apartheid activist murdered by state security officers in 1977. Biko’s perspective on well-intentioned white liberals doing more harm than good resonated and had me questioning my role as a testifier. I wanted to ensure I would be an ally utilizing my platform to amplify and contribute to a cause rather than needlessly taking up space.
Upon arriving at the UN Headquarters, we waited in a long line with people speaking different languages, reflecting vibrant cultures, and representing a vast array of countries. The presence of hundreds of passionate advocates from around the globe ignited a sense of camaraderie and solidarity even before entering the UN building. From the start of my time at the UN, I wrestled with imposter syndrome. I felt a sense of unease about my qualifications compared to the room full of human rights lawyers, ambassadors, diplomats, and others with fancy titles. However, I reminded myself that teachers are vital in inspiring and educating future global leaders. I also felt a sense of ease upon learning that Ambassador Linda Thomas-Greenfield, the US ambassador to the UN, was a former teacher from a small Louisiana town. In every room, the presence of teachers must be emphasized, as they have the power to shape minds and foster positive change. Acknowledging this truism helped me overcome my self-doubt and recognize my place among the advocates for justice and equality.
I am writing to you as a Louisiana teacher and concerned citizen to urge you to veto House Bill 466 and House Bill 81, both of which target educators and pose a significant threat to the safety, privacy, and dignity of transgender youth. These bills, if signed into law, would have far-reaching consequences for both trans students and their teachers.
Gov. Edwards, with the simple stroke of a pen, you have the power to be on the right side of history by upholding the dignity of educators and trans students in this state.
On January 8, 1811, the largest slave insurrection in the history of the United States unfolded. I showed my students a piece of art depicting this when I taught what is now known as the 1811 German Coast Uprising. Despite it happening just outside New Orleans, where I teach, many students were unaware of this event. One kid noted that it was peculiar that this occurred so close to home yet remained relatively unknown. I told her that most textbooks or curricula often exclude the event. Another student raised his hand to ask, “why not?”
[1811 Revolt (Lorraine Gendron, 2000), Courtesy Historic New Orleans Collection]
Folks can speculate on why these events are neglected, but the impact of pushing these stories of resilience to the margins is clear: students suffer. As a history teacher, it’s imperative to teach this country’s history — scars and all. To teach a romanticized, comfortable version of our country’s history does our kids a grave disservice, as it denies both the truth and an opportunity to see examples of empowerment. When we teach how the US has fallen short of its professed ideals, we also highlight those who sought to rectify those shortcomings.
The National Center for Education Statistics (NCES) recently released its annual “Nation’s Report Card,” a congressionally mandated report detailing the nation’s educational progress. The results were dire. Most U.S. states saw disturbing setbacks in math and reading across all demographics. In particular, reading scores declined in most states, with no states showing any considerable improvement. The drop was even more striking among the nation’s most vulnerable student populations.
The AAUP Journal of Academic Freedom published research collectively conducted and written by Alan Singer, Chris Dier, Pablo Muriel, Adeola Tella Williams, and Cynthia Vitere.
Abstract
Because secondary school teachers face intense scrutiny and censorship, either self-censorship or official restrictions, in their teaching about contemporary controversies, preparing preservice teachers and supporting in-service teachers has become a major focus of the Hofstra University teacher education program.This article originated as a panel session at the 2022 American Historical Association Conference. A teacher educator and four secondary school teachers discuss their fears in the current political climate and ways they try to address them.
Building Empathy With Students Isn’t Just One More Thing to Do
In one of my Advanced Placement classes in 2018, a freshman raised his hand to ask about the declining birthrates of white people in the United States. This occurred during a discussion about the demographic-transition model, which contributes to understanding and predicting demographic shifts by analyzing birthrates and death rates. The student had no idea that a conspiracy favored by white supremacists was the foundation for his question. It was only upon understanding that declining birthrates are a product of economic development and not an aberration specific to white America that he realized what he’d read online was false and written to mislead.
Like many students across the country, the student came across the “great replacement theory,” while browsing various internet discussion boards. French author Renaud Camus popularized the racist myth in his 2011 book Le Grand Remplacement, but it’s not new. The xenophobic, racist, anti-Semitic sentiment dates back to 19th-century eugenicists, Ku Klux Klan ideology, and Nazi propaganda. It is based on a distortion of statistics, pseudo-history, and white supremacy and claims that Jews and “global elites” are intentionally “replacing” white people with people of non-European descent.
The theory continues to garner popularity among young white audiences on internet forums, seeping its way into mainstream political discourse. Some of its most ardent adherents claim that direct, violent action is necessary to ensure white people are not “replaced.” Adherence to replacement theory has inspired multiple domestic-terrorist attacks by white nationalists, including the 2018 synagogue shooting in Pittsburgh; the 2019 shooting in El Paso, Texas; and the shooting in May in Buffalo, N.Y.; as well as others abroad. These homegrown terrorists have one similarity: Each espoused in manifestos and online forums that they believed in the great replacement theory, among other racist myths.
White supremacists who commit these terrorist acts like the recent Buffalo massacre collectively believe in the “great replacement theory” (GRT) — a conspiracy that Jews & elites are replacing white people with non-Europeans. This myth is based on a distortion of statistics, pseudohistory, and white supremacism.
Declining birth rates for whites and immigration fears are driving GRT. Let’s look at the demographic transition model. This model assists with understanding and predicting demographics by analyzing birth rates and death rates. The model has five stages.
Stage 1: Before the Industrial Revolution, both birth rates and death rates are high, so the population remains relatively consistent — with the obvious exception of plagues and natural disasters.
Last Friday, I highlighted the activism of high school students in a lesson on the early civil rights movement. In 1951, 450 Black students at Moton High School in Virginia hosted walkouts to protest inequitable conditions stemming from school segregation.
The NAACP attached their cause with existing cases to challenge school segregation, resulting in the landmark Brown v. Board of Education case. After that lesson, a transgender student notified me that students were planning a walkout to oppose Louisiana House Bill 570, one of many anti-transgender bills circulating nationwide.
According to this bill:
“No nurse, counselor, teacher, principal, or other official or staff at a public or private school shall… withhold from a minor’s parent or legal guardian information related to the minor’s perception that his gender is inconsistent with his sex…”
HB 570 and similar legislation are part of a recent wave of both anti-teacher and transphobic legislation. While these bills reflect a broader culture war, they have a real, material impact on our youth. These bills seek to make a teacher’s job more challenging in an already overburdened profession while putting the lives of transgender students in peril.
High school students from New Orleans take part in a rally March 25, 2022, against anti-transgender legislation the Louisiana Legislature has proposed. (Photo by Chris Dier)
Jan. 6, 2021, is a modern lesson plan for the history left out of textbooks
On Jan. 6, 2021, I was teaching a class when I received a news alert notifying me that Vice President Mike Pence was evacuated from the U.S. Capitol because of an attack on the building. As a history teacher, I recognized the severity of the situation, and I also knew that it was vital to address this troubling saga with my students as it unraveled.
This was the most intense attack on the Capitol since the British burned Washington, D.C., during the War of 1812. The classroom discussions that day were tough; students had many pressing questions while they witnessed in real time the storming of the Capitol. As my teacher colleagues and I revisit that anniversary, the conversations are as challenging as they were in 2021—and perhaps even more necessary today.
After multiple hurricanes, severe flooding, staggering death tolls, and expensive rebuilding price tags, the critiques that New Orleans shouldn’t exist, be rebuilt, or similar sentiment, consistently gain traction.
Representative Ray Garofalo, the head of Louisiana’s House Education Committee, recently introduced House Bill 564 to address “training with respect to certain concepts related to race and sex in elementary and secondary schools and postsecondary education institutions.” The bill defines “training” as “the teaching and education of a student or employee by means of lecturing or textbooks, audiovisual materials, or any other kind of reference materials.” Much of HB 564 is plagiarized from Section 2 of Donald Trump’s Executive Order 13950, which was recently revoked.
Louisiana House of Representatives in session in Baton Rouge. Source
Waking up to teach the day after the presidential election of 2016 was one of the most surreal moments of my more than decade-long teaching career. The demographics of the high school where I was teaching four years ago were roughly 50 percent white and 50 percent Black, Indigenous, and students of color. That morning, some of the students were excited; others were visibly upset. And as they walked into class, I handed them a sheet of loose-leaf and asked them to jot down whatever thoughts they had about the election. There was no rubric.
A vintage illustration of ballot counting following the disputed 1876 presidential election between Republican Rutherford B. Hayes and Democrat Samuel J. Tilden. —Keith Lance/Getty
Students eagerly took pen to paper. I noticed one student write something brief and put her pencil down as other students continued to write. Her paper read, “I want to be in this country because I love it. I don’t know if this country wants me back now though.” I’ll never forget those words or the emotions on her face. I still have all of their writings from that day.
Throughout his presidency, Trump has accused teachers, especially history teachers, as “indoctrinating” students to “hate America.” I joined four other state teachers of the year,* who all teach history, to set the record straight about what transpires in our classrooms.
In a somber back-to-school season gripped by the pandemic, President Donald Trump late last month announced a commission to promote a “patriotic education.” He provides a bleak picture of our nation’s classrooms, a radical wasteland where “left wing” teachers indoctrinate children to “hate America.” And despite a growing movement of educators calling for a more culturally diverse curriculum that acknowledges the impact of slavery and systemic racism in our country, Trump decries this push toward truth as “a form of child abuse.”
We, five of our nation’s teachers of the year, are deeply troubled by this.
A “patriotic education,” as we see it, is one where we embrace and value all students’ worth and dignity while creating spaces for them to consider the realities of our country, past and present, to build a better tomorrow. As teachers, we know that in our classrooms, we can hold our national victories, struggles, accomplishments, and missteps close while promising to fight together for a nation “of the people, by the people, for the people.” This is patriotism; this is American.
Takeru “TK” Nagayoshi, the 2020 Massachusetts Teacher of the Year, teaches high school English and research in New Bedford.
Erin McCarthy, the 2020 Wisconsin Teacher of the Year, teaches 8th grade social studies in Greendale.
Cecilia Chung, the 2020 Hawaii State Teacher of the Year, teaches 6th grade English/language arts and social studies on Oahu.
Lynette Stant, a 3rd grade teacher from the Dine’ Nation, is the 2020 Arizona Teacher of the Year. She teaches on the Salt River Indian Reservation in Scottsdale.
On June 5 of 2020, a few friends and I attended a Black Lives Matter rally right outside of Jackson Square, in the heart of New Orleans’ French Quarter. We were fortunate to rendezvous with some of my former students. At the rally, protesters silently sat along the Mississippi River to reflect on the recent killings of Black Americans at the hands of police. After reflection, many of us returned to Jackson Square, named after Andrew Jackson, and joined the calls to remove the iconic Andrew Jackson statue overlooking the square.
Protesters gathered around Jackson Square, New Orleans, on June 5, 2020. (Photo by David Grunfeld, NOLA.com, The Times-Picayune — The Advocate. @DavidGrunfeld)
There we faced a small group of armed counterprotesters, around five or so, wearing bulletproof vests and ready to “defend” the statue. The protesters and counterprotesters angrily exchanged words, which seemed to eerily satisfy the counterprotesters. One of my former students, Leandre Shaw, decided to approach a counterprotester to engage in dialogue. During the conversation, the counterprotester told us he wanted to protect the statues and asked why we were so concerned with them. Aronisha Mickel, another former student, said she’s not just concerned with them; rather, she wants to create a better world for her future children to be safe. Her response caused him to pause.
June 19th was a day of remembrance in Louisiana, specifically in my home community of St. Bernard Parish, almost a century before Juneteenth. It was a day where people celebrated the life of Jean San Malo and what he came to symbolize – freedom and resistance.
In the late eighteenth century in Spanish Louisiana, Jean San Malo and his group of maroons roamed the marshes surrounding New Orleans. The word “maroon” derives from the Spanish word cimarrón, which roughly translates to “fugitive” or “runaway.” San Malo was one of Louisiana’s fiercest and most notable maroons. Little is known about his upbringing. Prior to mutinying, he belonged to a Swiss-born colonial official with a plantation along the German Coast, a region along the Mississippi River above New Orleans. After Malo’s escape, he utilized his carpentry skills to produce furniture to accumulate weapons and gunpowder. His alarming success gained him loyal supporters throughout the maroon community. He established his main camp in Bas du Fleuve, located in modern-day St. Bernard Parish along the banks of Lake Borgne. Bas du Fleuve and surrounding regions were notorious for marronage. The majority of maroons from the area hailed from St. Bernard Parish, considering its geographical features and proximity to New Orleans paved the way for large plantations.
There are quite a few speeches and letters circulating around the internet for the Class of 2020, understandably so. However, this particular one by Lina Abdellatif, a Chalmette High student, hits home and is more important than ever. Lina was one of the Valedictorians at Chalmette High, named Student of the Year, and a Posse scholarship recipient to the Notre Dame.
Lina dedicated her valedictorian speech by calling students to a greater meaning beyond themselves. She did this through one of my favorite historical songs – “Bella Ciao” – an anti-fascist Italian anthem. Coming from Italian immigrants and a legacy of family fighting Nazis during WWII, it struck a cord with me.
Unfortunately, Lina’s message only reached a small audience due to the pandemic. I wanted it to reach a wider audience because she deserves it, and we need to hear it. She granted me permission to post this moving and inspirational ballad.
Below is her address, unedited, for the Class of 2020.
El viernes por la tarde, algunos estudiantes de último año entraron a mi clase después de que sonó la última campana. Estaban molestos porque su viaje de senior a Disneyworld probablemente será cancelado. Me rompió el corazón de maestro al escuchar.
Porque esto es difícil. Se supone que este debería ser el año de ustedes. El año para tu fiesta de graduación, eventos deportivos, competencias de ánimo, viajes de seniors, clubes, y el resto de lo que el último año escolar tiene para ofrecer. Se supone que tú deberías ser el capitán de ese tal equipo, el oficial de ese tal club, o ese estudiante que quería estar con sus amigos por última vez antes de aventurarse en lo desconocido. Este era EL año en que toda tu educación se estaba acumulando. Pero te lo robaron debido a esta pandemia global.Continue reading “Una carta abierta a los estudiantes de último año de secundaria”
On Friday afternoon a few seniors came into my classroom after the last bell rang. They were concerned about prom and their senior trip. It broke my teacher heart to listen. As you’re reading this, you most likely have similar concerns.
This is supposed to be your year. The year for your senior prom, sporting events, cheer competitions, senior trips, clubs, and the rest of what senior year has to offer. You were supposed to be the captain of that team, the officer of that club, or that student who wanted to be with their friends one last year before venturing into the unknown. This was THE year that your entire schooling was building up to. But it was robbed from you because of this global pandemic.
Let’s be abundantly clear – you were robbed, and it’s unfair. If you’re upset, then you should embrace those feelings. Commiserate with one another. Some folks will downplay the situation because they won’t know what it feels like to have their senior year stripped at the last moment. Continue reading “An Open Letter to High School Seniors”
Greetings! I am honored to have been invited to give lectures to discuss my research on the St. Bernard Parish Massacre of 1868 as the 150th anniversary approaches. They are all free and open to the public.
1. Thursday, September 13, 6pm
The New Orleans Jazz Museum At The Old U.S. Mint
400 Esplanade Ave, New Orleans, LA 70116 Click here for more info
2. Monday, October 15, 7pm (come early for complimentary wine and cheese)
Nunez Community College
3710 Paris Rd, Chalmette, LA 70043 Click here for more info
3. Wednesday, November 14th, 6pm
Hermann-Grima House
3416, 820 St. Louis St, New Orleans, LA 70112 Click here for more info
Hope to see you there! Stay tuned for more information regarding the commemoration of the event.
The positive response to my book, The 1868 St. Bernard Parish Massacre: Blood in the Cane Fields, from the local community has been unreal and humbling! There is a clear demand for this era in history. For those still interested in buying a copy and/or getting it signed, here are some upcoming book signings:
Hello all! As you may or may not have noticed, I have been on hiatus from this blog for almost two years. This is for a few reasons. First, I decided to go back to graduate school, which is undauntedly time consuming as I teach high school. However, the main reason is that I have a book deal from the History Press regarding the 1868 St. Bernard Parish Massacre, which was one of the topics of my earliest blogs (don’t judge my writing from that long ago, please).
Well, the book is complete and now available for pre-order via Amazon. It will be officially published on October 16, 2017. Please feel free to get a copy if you’re interested in Black history, Louisiana history, and/or Reconstruction. If not, this book may still appeal to you! I put a lot of time, dedication, and primary research into it.
Book Cover
More details to come for a book release party for those in the New Orleans area!
And hopefully I’m back to delivering content. Feel free to leave comments on where you think I should focus on for my first post back!
I’ve compiled a listicle of my favorite historical photos of New Orleans. Through its complex history, New Orleans experienced a series of issues: slavery, war, riots, segregation, hurricanes, etc. I stopped prior to 1980 to keep it as historical as possible. I kept it at 100 to keep it succinct, but there are many more that should belong here so feel free to add any of your favorite photos in the comments section.
On September 14, 1874, over 5,000 heavily armed members of the White League, a white supremacist paramilitary organization, mobilized to overthrow the Reconstruction government of Louisiana. Under the guidance of John McEnery, a Democrat upset at his recent loss for governorship, they stormed Canal Street to initiate the coup. There they clashed with the Metropolitan Police, a majority African-American force, and the state militia, comprised of ex-Confederates and Union soldiers, Irish and Italian immigrants, and African-Americans. The total force of those defending the city was an estimated 3,500. They were outmanned and outgunned.
In 1933, famed ethnomusicologist John Lomax and his son Alan Lomax pioneered on an arduous journey to capture the sounds of the American South. They wanted to find African-American folk songs in its purest form as close to the days of slavery as possible. Lomax believed prisons provided the best source as its walls created a filter to the perversions of popular music.
Ever wondered why people use “axe” as opposed to “ask”? The linguistic history of the “mispronunciation” is much more intricate than you probably think.
Chris Dier 