[Congressional Record (Bound Edition), Volume 155 (2009), Part 15]
[Extensions of Remarks]
[Page 20559]
[From the U.S. Government Publishing Office, www.gpo.gov]




  NIHI TA HASSO, UNHAPPY LABOR--A HISTORY OF THE TIYAN AIRFIELD, GUAM

                                 ______
                                 

                       HON. MADELEINE Z. BORDALLO

                                of guam

                    in the house of representatives

                         Friday, July 31, 2009

  Ms. BORDALLO. Madam Speaker, on July 21, 2009, our community on Guam 
marked the 65th anniversary of our liberation from enemy occupation. It 
was a day of commemoration and celebration as we recalled the 
sacrifices made for our freedom by our elders who survived this brutal 
occupation and of the servicemembers who landed on our beaches to 
liberate us from the oppression of the enemy during war. My 
predecessor, General Ben Blaz, penned a narrative about the history of 
the Tiyan airfield on this occasion. Today, the Tiyan airfield is the 
site of the Antonio B. Won Pat Guam International Airport and General 
Blaz' narrative was printed in this year's Liberation Day Special 
Edition of the Pacific Daily News. I submit this narrative for print in 
the Congressional Record. It helps us connect the past with the 
present. It also helps us gain an appreciation for the history of the 
landscape that continues to serve today as an important transportation 
link for our island. This is one story of many through which we can 
understand and interpret the period of occupation, and the trials 
experienced and endured by the Chamorro people.


                          nihi ta tasso . . .

       Time and tide have eroded and buried remnants of the 
     barricades and trenches on the beaches of our island. The 
     verdant jungle has reclaimed the old concentration camp sites 
     over the past six and a half decades. Heavy foliage and 
     buildings now camouflage pillboxes and fortifications 
     anchored along expected landing sites to obstruct the advance 
     of liberating forces.
       In contrast, a modest landing strip, built at Tiyan under 
     extreme duress and a pervasive sense of personal insecurity 
     by the Chamorros during the occupation in World War II, has 
     risen from the ashes of war, a la the legendary Phoenix. It 
     continues to grow with each passing year and now accommodates 
     millions of visitors and handles thousands of tons of food 
     and cargo so vital to the island's economy. Remarkably, Tiyan 
     is the Chamorro word for stomach and the airfield there 
     serves as Guam's breadbasket. Visitors from Asia, North 
     America, and elsewhere as well as local citizens routinely 
     arrive and depart from the airport, seemingly oblivious to 
     how dearly we paid, with blood and tears, to carve its 
     foundation out of a jungle for the enemy.
       The latte stones of antiquity enjoy a special place in our 
     history. Considering the circumstances under which the 
     original landing strip was built and its indispensability to 
     the island's future, it has attained memorial stature at 
     least among those who wielded the primitive tools to build 
     it. It makes a worthy companion to the latte stone which, 
     interestingly enough, was also used as foundation stone, 
     among others, by our ancestors.
       The airport today dwarfs what we achieved during the 
     occupation but it was built with earth movers, bulldozers, 
     backhoe, and steamrollers. If, during the occupation, we had 
     known the wonders that modern technology could perform, we 
     might have said that what was being asked of us was 
     impossible. And, having decided that, we might never have 
     completed the airstrip. We would never have been able to 
     overcome the psychological barrier that we would have created 
     between us and the job's completion. There would have been 
     nothing that the Japanese could do to make us get the project 
     done. It would not be that we would have worked more slowly. 
     In the actual construction, our lack of enthusiasm translated 
     to a snail's pace in any event. Rather, we would have been so 
     daunted by our perception of the enormity of the task that we 
     simply wouldn't have been able to do it. Our naivete then 
     worked to the Japanese's advantage. We got the job done 
     simply because we didn't know that we couldn't!
       As we were finishing the airstrip, it was not possible to 
     simply dismiss it as something we were forced to do. 
     Surprisingly, most of us looked at it with a kind of pride of 
     proprietorship. It was ours. We made it--not only the 
     construction but survived the incredibly taxing ordeal. This 
     was possible because of the older men in our forced labor 
     groups who rose to lead us. There were many such men but I 
     remember two of them in particular because they were my 
     immediate leaders--Frank D. Perez and Nito Cristobal. We 
     worked together, we prayed together and, on occasion, we 
     laughed together. It was 1944 and I was 16.
       Evidently, American reconnaissance planes noticed that the 
     airstrip was nearing completion and it became a daily target 
     for bombing. Seeing the American planes bomb the airstrip in 
     daylight was a tonic beyond description even though we knew 
     we had to repair the runway that same night guarded by 
     soldiers angered similarly beyond description. One of the 
     ironies of our forced labor was how it played against one of 
     the most cherished of Chamorro traditions, adalak, whereby 
     neighbors helped one another build houses or prepare fields 
     for crops. We participated in adalak willingly and from our 
     hearts in keeping with our custom and tradition. The closest 
     English translation of the word is ``happy labor.'' This was 
     not so when we were digging caves, constructing barricades 
     and felling the jungle to build an airstrip.
       In an incredible twist of fate, on June 20, 1944, during 
     the Battle of the Philippine Sea, the Japanese lost more than 
     400 planes in a resounding defeat in air combat which U.S. 
     Naval aviators referred to as the Great Marianas Turkey 
     Shoot. A month later, Guam was liberated by U.S. Marines, 
     soldiers, sailors and airmen. Following the capture of the 
     Tiyan airstrip, we watched with astonishment and great 
     delight as U.S. Navy Seabees widened, extended, and surfaced 
     the runway with remarkable efficiency in but a few days. 
     Seeing U.S. planes land and take off from ``our'' airstrip to 
     continue the war against Japan made grown men cry. And 
     teenagers, too.
       Poetic justice comes to mind.

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