I expected it to say that the annual Battle of Surigao Strait commemoration took place last week, but with a minor difference; instead of viewing it from the stands as usual, I viewed it from my house across the street.
Then came a knock on the door.
Major Eric Richards, Ground Programs Chief for the Joint US Military Assistance Group at the American Embassy in Manila, couldn’t make it. Would I, local organizers implored, please stand in for him to represent my country? The rehearsal, they said, was 4 p.m. followed by the ceremony at 6 the next morning.
And that’s how it came to pass that, instead of relaxing in my underwear over coffee, I spent the morning of October 25 standing at black-tied attention next to the mayor of Surigao City.
Perhaps a little background is in order.
I’d been involved in the yearly remembrance of history’s last major naval battle almost since arriving in the Philippines. That’s mostly because my house overlooks the spot in Northern Mindanao where that conflict took place; the deceptively placid piece of ocean in which America and its allies beat back the forces of Imperial Japan in 1944 as Gen. Douglas MacArthur staged his promised return. It’s also where, three years ago, the city dedicated its magnificent Battle of Surigao Strait Memorial and Museum to host remembrances of that historic event. So it’s not surprising that I joined the memorial’s oversight council, for which I’d attended the annual commemorations regularly as an observer, though not a participant.
But recent events altered the landscape.
First, the pandemic put everything on a two-year hold. Then the horrific Typhoon Odette tore off the museum’s roof and scattered its contents to the wind. And, finally, a recent change in local leadership put the memorial’s future in doubt.
Initially, word was that the new mayor considered it part of the old mayor’s agenda, which he was disinclined to promote. But then, suddenly, like a bolt of lightning from heaven, a bulldozer showed up unannounced one day to make the needed restorations. And in a development both disheartening and encouraging, the mayor dissolved our oversight council to appoint a new task force of his own.
So it was with mixed emotions I prepared to watch this year’s proceedings from my veranda instead of the stands. Then came the knock that changed all those plans.
It rained mightily on the morning of the event. A young woman bearing an enormous umbrella met me at the memorial’s entrance and escorted me to my seat. Later I stood with a hand over my heart watching the American flag hoisted to the strains of the Star-Spangled Banner. And then—along with those representing the Philippines, Australia, and Japan—thrust a blazing torch forward to help light an eternal flame.
At a welcoming dinner the night before, I’d sat with Mayor Pablo Dumlao and chatted. “What do you think of the new administration so far?” he asked at one point.
“Well,” I said, “I certainly like what you’re doing with the memorial.”
In the end, my participation was rewarded with a majestic green ribbon adorned by golden beads, a lovely basket of exotic local delicacies, and an impressive wooden plaque honoring “his invaluable presence.”
I don’t even mind that the name it bears isn’t mine.
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David Haldane’s latest book, “A Tooth in My Popsicle and Other Ebullient Essays on Becoming Filipino,” is due out in January. A former staff writer for the Los Angeles Times, where he helped write two Pulitzer Prize-winning stories, Haldane is an award-winning journalist, author, and radio broadcaster with homes in Joshua Tree, California, and Northern Mindanao, Philippines, where this column appears weekly in the Mindanao Gold Star Daily.
