“Ta honra yan recognisa i ManChamorro ni manmasapet yan manmatai guini na lugat, iya Manenggon, duranten i guerra. Inasi’i fumafunas i lagu guerra. Munga hit na ta fanmaleffa.”

These words, etched into the monument that stands in the area of the Manenggon Memorial in Yo’ña, Guam, site of the largest concentration camp during the World War II Japanese occupation of the island, will ring true for nearly all. Each July, we retell the stories of Japanese massacres across the island, organize memorials, marches, parades, all to hold true to the promise that we honor those who died. That we forgive the tears or war, but never forget what happened during the 32 months of Japanese occupation, or “I Tiempon Chapones.”

But as someone who has interviewed, at this point, over the past 25 years, more than 400 CHamoru war survivors, most of whom have passed away already, the lesson of the wartime experience is something that changes. Is it one of hope, strength, loyalty, faith, culture, patriotism, or suffering? Are there lessons to be learned from issues such as decolonization or the military buildup?

One reason why this question is important to me, is that if one takes the study of history seriously enough, then it is common and normal, that while the facts of the past might remain the same, our understanding, how we assign meaning and value, what we might consider to be the lessons that the past offers today, will no doubt change as one generation replaces the next, and our circumstances of life change.

Reflecting on this, I recall attending a panel discussion with CHamoru war survivors more than 15 years ago. The survivors who shared their stories ranged in age from the oldest being in his 20s when the war broke out, to the youngest being just a few weeks old on Liberation Day, 1944. Most of those who spoke were children during the war, still less than 10 years old by its end.

All acknowledged that the war was difficult and that everyone suffered and struggled, but beyond that, the lessons learned or the moral (if any) to be gleaned from their experience changed. One elder who was 4 years old when the war began focused on the atrocities that she and her family endured, and that patriotism to the US had been born from her experience. It seemed to be the lesson she was suggesting.

Another war survivor, just a few years older than her, offered a very different perspective, sharing that while she knew others suffered, she could not take that position on the war, because for her, the war was a time of “tåya’ eskuela yan puru ha’ familia” no school and all family. There were times when she feared for her life, when the family was hungry, of course, but most of her memories were not tragic.

This panel took place soon after the Department of Defense had concluded its Draft Environmental Impact Statement comment period for its planned buildup, and more than 10,000 comments, most of which were critical, had been submitted. In her statements, this elder minced no words about her displeasure at the US bringing more military to Guam, after all that the Chamoru people had sacrificed for Uncle Sam in the war and since. Her lesson seemed very different from the patriotism and loyalty the elder who spoke before her had mentioned.

The oldest speaker had a very different wartime experience from the other panelists. He had children, parents, and siblings to take care of. Afterward, he spoke to me and expressed some frustration at how the stories of the war were now being told by those who were children during the war. And like his fellow panelists, they either offered a portrait of the war that was too carefree and simple or one that was overly focused on victimization and suffering. The important story in his mind was that the people survived and lived. Don’t focus on the suffering, focus on the surviving.

It was intriguing to see how the story of the war and liberation has evolved in recent decades, as those who tell the story have changed in age during the war, becoming younger and younger. The way the story of the war is recounted and recreated for us each July must naturally change as well. 

Attending the panel was historian Malia Ramirez, who, after hearing everyone’s stories, shared some thoughts of her own with me. There was another generation that experienced the war, whose feelings and impressions were almost entirely lost, namely the parents and grandparents of the war survivors on the panel. Those who could already be considered manåmko’ at the start of the war.

They were the generation that had lived during the Spanish period, seen the arrival of the United States, the invasion by the Japanese, and then the return of the Americans. They had watched the colonial flag change over the island multiple times in their lives. In contrast to the patriotic bombast that often accompanies Liberation Day, this generation would have scarcely offered anything related to the U.S. or patriotism, but instead spoke about how things like flags, government, and militaries are ephemeral and change so quickly. Many of them expressed their opinions through CHamoru sayings such as “tåya’ båston San Jose” and that the lesson, if any, from their war experience was faith in God, Santa Marian Kamalen, and prayer.

As I remember this panel discussion, I cannot help but be filled with sadness, as every participant, including Malia Ramirez, who was not a war survivor herself, has passed away.

To me, this is a sobering reminder that within the next decade, nearly all of the war survivor generation will be gone. Once those who experienced the hardship of war have passed away, the duty of remembering and retelling this history falls upon their children and grandchildren. Not those who marched to Manenggon with bombs falling around us, but instead those who marched to Manenggon during memorials along the Ylig River during threats from North Korea.

Are we ready for that responsibility?