China and the Philippines: A Connected History, c. 1900–50 (Asian Connections) 100935924X, 9781009359245

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China Philippines and the

A Connected History, c. 1900–50

Phillip B. Guingona

China and the Philippines

Foregrounding the entangled history of China and the Philippines, Guingona brings to life an array of understudied but influential characters, such as Filipino jazz musicians, magnetic Chinese swimmers, expert Filipino marksmen, leading Chinese educators, PhilippineChinese bankers, Filipina Carnival Queens, and many others. Through archival research in multiple languages, this innovative study advances a more nuanced reading of world history, reframing our understanding of the first half of the twentieth century by bringing interactions between Asian people to the fore and minimizing the role of those who historically dominated global history narratives. Through methodologically distinct case studies, Guingona presents a critique of Eurocentric approaches to world/global history, shedding light on the interconnected history of China and the Philippines in a transformative period. This title is part of the Flip It Open Programme and may also be available Open Access. Check our website, Cambridge Core, for details. Phillip B. Guingona teaches Asian and world history at Nazareth University.

ASIAN CONNECTIONS Edited by Timothy Brook, Engseng Ho and Iza Hussin 1

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MARIEKE BLOEMBERGEN AND MARTIJN EICKHOFF The Politics of Heritage in Indonesia A Cultural History HB 9781108499026

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HYUNHEE PARK Soju A Global History HB 9781108842013

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MAGNUS MARSDEN Beyond the Silk Roads Trade, Mobility and Geopolitics across Eurasia HB 9781108838313

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YIWEN LI Networks of Faith and Profit Monks, Merchants, and Exchanges between China and Japan, 839–1403 CE HB 9781009303101

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RISHAD CHOUDHURY Hajj across Empires Pilgrimage and Political Culture after the Mughals, 1739–1857 HB 9781009253703

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PHILLIP B. GUINGONA China and the Philippines A Connected History, c. 1900–50 HB 9781009359245

China and the Philippines A Connected History, c. 1900–50 Phillip B. Guingona Nazareth University

Shaftesbury Road, Cambridge CB2 8EA, United Kingdom One Liberty Plaza, 20th Floor, New York, NY 10006, USA 477 Williamstown Road, Port Melbourne, VIC 3207, Australia 314–321, 3rd Floor, Plot 3, Splendor Forum, Jasola District Centre, New Delhi – 110025, India 103 Penang Road, #05–06/07, Visioncrest Commercial, Singapore 238467 Cambridge University Press is part of Cambridge University Press & Assessment, a department of the University of Cambridge. We share the University’s mission to contribute to society through the pursuit of education, learning and research at the highest international levels of excellence. www.cambridge.org Information on this title: www.cambridge.org/9781009359245 DOI: 10.1017/9781009359207 © Phillip B. Guingona 2024 This publication is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception and to the provisions of relevant collective licensing agreements, no reproduction of any part may take place without the written permission of Cambridge University Press & Assessment. First published 2024 A catalogue record for this publication is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Guingona, Phillip, author. Title: China and the Philippines : a connected history, c. 1900–50 /Phillip Guingona. Other titles: Connected history, c. 1900–50 Description: Cambridge ; New York, NY : Cambridge University Press, 2024. | Series: Asian connections ; 15 | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2023027028 (print) | LCCN 2023027029 (ebook) | ISBN 9781009359245 (hardback) | ISBN 9781009359214 (paperback) | ISBN 9781009359207 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: China – Relations – China. | Philippines – Relations – China. | China – History – 20th century. | Philippines – History – 1898– Classification: LCC DS740.5.P5 G85 2024 (print) | LCC DS740.5.P5 (ebook) | DDC 327.51099/2100904–dc23/eng/20230701 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2023027028 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2023027029 ISBN 978-1-009-35924-5 Hardback Cambridge University Press & Assessment has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party internet websites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

To Ida and Ling

Contents

List of Figures Acknowledgments A Note on Translation and Rendering of Names A Note on What Is Missing Introduction: Before a Vast Ocean Part I Mirrored Diasporas

page xi xii xiv xv 1 21

1 Shanghai’s Filipinos and Manila’s Chinese

29

2 Trumpets and Ledgers

44

Part II

The Philippine Model

69

3 Achieving Modernity by Studying the Philippines

77

4 Achieving Modernity by Studying in the Philippines

92

Part III

Nationalisms of the Founders

119

5 Capital Heroes and a Hokkien Nation

125

6 Seeking Salvation and a Chinese Nation

148

Part IV

The Pivot

165

7 Coalescence: 1921, a Year of Promise

171

8 Possibilities: Meeting at Springfield’s Fields

187

9 Disintegration: The Triangle Offense

199

Conclusions: The Ghosts of the Present

214

ix

x

Contents

Appendix: Glossary of Names Bibliography Index

218 226 271

Figures

0.1 Captain Honorio C. Evangelista, Shanghai Volunteer Corps page 22 1.1 Members of the Philippine Company, Shanghai Volunteer Corps 30 1.2 Route of the world-famous president liners 38 3.1 Huang Yanpei and other tour members to the Philippines, 1917 78 6.1 Unchong Sycip, Alfonso Z. Sycip, Albino Z. Sycip, and Felisa S. Godinez 158 8.1 Foreign student group, Springfield College, 1920 188 9.1 Springfield reunion at the Japan Far Eastern Championship Games, 1931 207

xi

Acknowledgments

It is certainly a challenge to acknowledge the countless individuals who have supported me and guided my intellectual growth over the years. I owe a debt of gratitude to so many people, and I know I cannot fit them all in this brief section. First, I would like to thank Kristin Stapleton and Richard T. Chu, who have cheered me on from the get-go, offering sage-like advice time and again. My colleagues from the various departments to which I belonged, including Michael E. Groth, Jesse Spohnholz, Isabel Cordova, Matt Young, Timothy Kneeland, and many others, have provided many valuable insights on teaching, research, and work–life balance. Many other talented individuals have helped me grow. Jennifer Gaynor, Roger Des Forges, Ramya Sreenivasan, Gail Radford, Susan Cahn, and others at the University at Buffalo introduced me to a more intricate world of history. Leander Seah, Shelly Chan, Desmond Cummins, Miriam Parnes, Huei-Ying Kuo, Kat Gutierrez, Liu Qiong, Lisandro Claudio, Erik Esselstrom, Chris Frondoso, Brendan Mold, Teresita Ang See, Patricia Welch, Jeremy Taylor, Steven Pieragastini, and Dan Shearer each in their own way provided timely support and valuable feedback, for which I am beyond grateful. Archivists and librarians at the Bentley Historical Library in Ann Arbor, the Shanghai Municipal Archives, the United States National Archives, the National Library of the Philippines in Manila, the Bancroft Library in Berkeley, the Tianjin Municipal Archives, the National Library of China in Beijing, and the Shanghai Library answered many research questions and helped me locate hard-to-find sources. Meah Ang See at the Kaisa Para Sa Kaunlaran Heritage Center and Library and Jeffrey Monseau at Springfield College were especially helpful. Generous funding from the University at Buffalo Humanities Institute, the Nila T. Gnamm Research Fund, the Plesur Lockwood Dissertation Travel Award, and ASIANetwork-Luce helped launch this project in its initial stages. I would also like to acknowledge the Freeman-ASIA xii

Acknowledgments

xiii

Foundation and Foreign Language and Area Studies Program for supporting my language training, and the World History Association and the New York Conference on Asian Studies for providing forums to share my work. Lucy Rhymer, Emily Plater, and Rosa Martin at Cambridge University Press have been generous with their time and wisdom, patiently answering numerous questions throughout the editing process. I am also grateful to the editors of the Asian Connections series, Timothy Brook, Engseng Ho, and Iza Hussin, for supporting the project, and two anonymous reviewers for their thoughtful feedback. Thank you also to all the students who took my classes at Nazareth University, Wells College, Washington State University, and Marietta College. On an everyday basis you helped me flesh out ideas on topics ranging from anarcho-feminism to the Far Eastern Championship Games. You helped me keep my mind fresh through global catastrophes and everyday crises, and I always appreciate your energy and curiosity. I would also like to acknowledge my family for, you know, everything. Papa and Laura, Mom and Karen, thank you for raising me and being genuine to yourselves and others. Vince and Sonya, thanks for being so caring in your own subtle ways. I am also grateful to Ba and Ma for welcoming me into the family, and Tito Joe and Tita Tina for lending a hand in the Philippines. And, finally, I would like to thank Ida and Ling, to whom this book is dedicated. I appreciate everything, but mostly the small things, that you have done to challenge me and show me love over the years.

A Note on Translation and Rendering of Names

Unless otherwise specified, the translations are mine. The only recurring exception to this rule comes with Chinese or Spanish periodicals that included their own English title. The Jinan University journal China and Malaysia (中國與南洋), for instance, might be translated as “China and Southeast Asia,” or “China and the South Seas,” but the editors chose their translation partially because the term “Southeast Asia” had yet to enter popular parlance. While Chinese pinyin romanization has proven to be a useful tool for standardizing pronunciations and promoting language learning in the People’s Republic of China, its widespread adoption postdates most of the events in this book. Furthermore, many Chinese people created and used unique romanized names that drew from regional, dialectical, and personal preferences. For these reasons, this book defers to the romanizations that people used at the time, but the first time new names appear, it also includes the Chinese characters and pinyin. For example, the first time you encounter Albino Z. Sycip (Xue Minlao 薛敏老), this is how his name will appear. The book adopts traditional characters (繁體字) when referencing an original publication that used traditional characters and simplified characters (简体字) when the original publication used simplified characters. For all other Chinese terms that appear in the text, this book uses traditional characters because that was the predominant form for the place and period under study.

xiv

A Note on What Is Missing

This book deliberately reduces the presence of some figures in the history of Sino–Philippine interaction to counterbalance a historiographical abundance that has granted them outsized agency and influence. The legacies of imperialism and white supremacy live on in archives that abundantly preserve the perspective of the colonizers, in history books that privilege Americans, Japanese, and Europeans as agenda-setters, and in public discourses, which are steeped in the knowledge produced by said history books and archives. Seeking to challenge imperial, orientalist, and globalizing ideas and narratives that continue to seep into our histories, this book highlights the roles of Filipino and Chinese figures in forming and fostering not just personal collaborations but also the institutions that allowed for those connections. For other, predominantly colonial actors from the so-called global north, it adopts a policy of purposive restraint. For instance, Chapter 7, instead of centering American Elwood S. Brown and his role in promoting the Far Eastern Championship Games, which has been the tendency in existing scholarship, centers Camilo Osias, John Mo (Ma Yuehan 馬約翰), Hoh Gunsun (Hao Gengsheng 郝更生), Regino Ylanan, and Chengting Thomas Wang (Wang Zhengting 王正廷).1 Although none was a founding member of the Far Eastern Athletic Association, each played a critical role in directing and shaping the institution, and this book is designed to present their history. This is not to say that Americans, Japanese, and Europeans do not belong in the history of Sino–Philippine interaction. Imperial, evangelical, educational, and other types of American, Japanese, and European interventions in Asia were undeniable. This book simply recognizes the reality that, for the most part, their story has already been told, often at the expense of Filipino, Chinese, and other actors. 1

For more on Elwood S. Brown and his role in the Far Eastern Championship Games, see Stefan Hübner, “Muscular Christianity and the Western Civilizing Mission: Elwood S. Brown, the YMCA, and the Idea of the Far Eastern Championship Games,” Diplomatic History 39, no. 3 (2015): 532–557.

xv

Introduction: Before a Vast Ocean

Navigating world history is an ambitious but limited goal, one quite distinct from the unattainable aim of “mastering” the topic. No one can learn all of world history. Anyone who pursues such a goal is sure to become lost.1 – Patrick Manning, 2003

It is now high time for us, Filipinos, to be convinced that in the years to come it is not American and European influence emanating from the other side of the globe ten thousand and more miles away that is destined to play in important role in the development of our national independent life; it is the conduct of and the contact with our neighbors of the Orient that will ultimately be the decisive factor in shaping the future national policies of the Philippine Islands.2 – Pio Duran, 1935

Getting Lost In some ways, the goal of this book, drawing subversive inspiration from the epigraph from famous world historian Patrick Manning above, is to become lost. Not in a vain or vein effort to find mastery, mind you, but in an effort to uncover new veins of inquiry and contact as well as new vanes that might point the way.3 This book mostly takes place in the spaces now widely considered China and the Philippines in the era now widely recognized as the early twentieth century under the Gregorian calendar, but when historians or historical figures wander elsewhere, it follows them for a spell.4 1 2 3

4

Patrick Manning, Navigating World History: Historians Create a Global Past (London: Palgrave MacMillan, 2003), x. Pio Duran, “Philippine Independence and Asiatic Monroeism,” The Far Eastern Review 31 (February 1935): 50. David A. Bell cautions against “turning” endlessly and thoughtlessly like weathervanes. See David A. Bell, “Questioning the Global Turn: The Case of the French Revolution,” French Historical Studies 37, no. 1 (2014): 1. This book follows scholar Dipesh Chakrabarty’s lead in treating “China” and “the Philippines” as “hyperreal terms” that refer to “figures of imagination whose geographical referents remain somewhat indeterminate.” See Dipesh Chakrabarty, “Postcoloniality and the Artifice of History: Who Speaks for ‘Indian’ Pasts?” Representations no. 37 (1992): 1.

1

2

Introduction

However, as much as possible, this monograph observes Pio Duran’s prescriptions by privileging interactions within and actors from Asia. This book explores an understudied nexus of interaction. It shows how, in the first half of the twentieth century, leading Chinese educators toured the Philippines to learn about and replicate its vocational education system, Chinese pundits debated the ideal feminine form at Manila Carnival pageants, and Chinese merchants navigated innovative exclusionist legislation in the Philippines. At the same time, it shows how Filipino musicians populated jazz cabarets and exemplified classical music in Shanghai, Chinese from the Philippines fashioned themselves as superheroes destined to save their ailing hometowns and China, and Filipino athletes put their bodies on display, competing with Chinese peers in regional athletic competitions. These intrepid travelers and thinkers weaved extensive and durable connections across Asia, exemplifying a rich but nearly unknown history of Sino–Philippine entanglement. Yet this history has largely lived in obscurity despite its depth and significance. The aim of this book, therefore, is twofold. In addition to uncovering and restoring the entangled history of an important subregion of Asia, this book explores how methodological and disciplinary blinders have limited such research in the past, and how new ideas and approaches can help readjust research agendas for the future. The title of the introduction, “Before a Vast Ocean (曾经沧海),” which comes from a liberal translation of a famous Tang dynasty poem-turned-idiom by Yuan Zhen (元稹), invokes a nostalgic vision of a past trip to the “blue sea,” or vast ocean. In the same way that Filipinos and Chinese stood before and navigated this literal vast ocean, creating improbable new lives for themselves and their families in the early twentieth century, this monograph stands before the metaphorical vast ocean of historiography, charting a course through the seas of world, global, and transnational history to craft a connected history of the Philippines and China. This introduction starts with a brief visit to the historical ocean in an introductory scene-setting anecdote and a walk-through of the Sino– Philippine link. It then steers toward the oceans of historiography, first observing world, global, and transnational methodologies from a distance before approaching and untangling those methodologies. It concludes by casting a new framework that helps brings the Sino–Philippine link into focus. Act 1, Scene 1 The following is a brief introductory anecdote designed to bring our attention to key themes in this monograph. It is the year 1936 and we find ourselves in the middle of two commemorative volumes celebrating the anniversaries of important

Before a Vast Ocean

3

Chinese institutions in the Philippines. Standing at center stage is a statement from the former Chinese Consul General to the Philippines, K. L. Kwong (Kuang Guanglin 鄺光林). In the background stands a contrasting statement from Lin Yu (Lin You 林幽), lead editor for the China Critic, who carries a grim look on his face. k. l. kwong: Today the Philippines stands on the threshold of a new era – ready to play its important role in the drama of the Far East. And China, her nearest neighbor, cannot but look upon her aims and aspirations with understanding and sympathy.5 lin yu: Facts tell us that the Sino–Filipino relationship has been excellent in the past, but lately there appear some disturbing signs, which, like “a little cloud out of the sea like a man’s hand,” if not checked in time, will develop into storms.6

Visibly flustered, the short statement of the Consul General to the Philippines exits on the left as a new, extended statement by Dr. Candido M. Africa, head of the Department of Parasitology at the University of the Philippines, flips onto the stage from the right. Lin Yu remains behind Dr. Africa. The lights focus on the third-person anecdote of the spectacled professor, as his words leap off the page, but Lin Yu’s remarks remain on guard. dr. africa: While attending the London School of Tropical Medicine he was once mistaken for a Chinese by a friend. Desiring to rectify his true nationality, he immediately corrected that he was a Filipino and not a Chinese. “What the hell is the difference anyway,” retorted his friend in a twinkle . . . . While it is good and honorable to be a Filipino, it is just as good and honorable to be a Chinese for theirs is a great and admirable race that has built up a civilization which reaches far back to the earliest historical record. The writer would be pleased if he were mistaken again for a Chinese abroad.7 lin yu: I am aware that many of your public men, with the best of intentions, are saying that there is no such thing as an anti-Chinese movement . . . . [But] as you look around, you see the Chinese carrying on the greater part of the retail and wholesale business in your land. You want to control your own business just as you like to take the political destiny of your country into your own hands.8 5

6

7

8

K. L. Kwong (Kuang Guanglin), in Feilübin Minlila Zhonghua shanghui sanshi zhounian jiniankan 菲律濱岷里拉中華商會三十周年紀念刊 [Philippine Chinese Chamber of Commerce Thirty Year Anniversary Publication], ed. Zhonghua shanghui chuban weiyuanhui 中華商會 出版委員會 (Manila: Minli yinshuguan 馬尼拉 : 民立印書館, 1936), 20. Lin You (林幽), “An Open Letter to the Filipino People,” in The Fookien Times Tenth Anniversary Number: 1926–1936 [Xinmin ribao 新閩日報] (Manila: Fookien Times Co., 1936), 55. Candido M. Africa, “Future Sino–Philippine Relationship,” in Feilübin Minlila Zhonghua shanghui sanshi zhounian jiniankan 菲律濱岷里拉中華商會三十周年紀念刊 [Philippine Chinese Chamber of Commerce Thirty Year Anniversary Publication], ed. Zhonghua shanghui chuban weiyuanhui 中華商會出版委員會 (Manila: Minli yinshuguan 馬尼拉 : 民立印書 館, 1936), 29. Lin You, “An Open Letter,” 55–56.

4

Introduction

The professor pauses before striking a different tone. dr. africa: Before closing the writer who is without doubt voicing also the sentiments of his many colleagues in the Philippines, wishes to take this rare opportunity of extending to their many Chinese friends their sincere greetings and good wishes. May they succeed in their very laudable common ambition of ultimately rescuing their Motherland from so many forces that tend to cause her disintegration.9 lin yu: I have been unusually frank in the above, I hope you will not take it as an offence, for I am speaking from the very bottom of my heart. I hope I am not mistaken in pleading for a frank discussion of the Sino–Filipino relations, for a true understanding and genuine cooperations [sic] between our peoples.10

The lights fade as the narrator closes the two commemorative volumes and turns to his keyboard in quiet contemplation. End scene. Some documents read like the scene of a play. The drama seeps through the letters from the past, bringing to life the animosities, anxieties, and anticipations of historical actors.11 In this instance, the passages come from two commemorative volumes published in 1936. The first, which featured Consul General K. L. Kwong and Dr. Candido M. Africa, commemorated the thirtieth anniversary of the Philippine Chinese Chamber of Commerce – a critical organizational and advocatory institution for Chinese in the Philippines. The latter, which featured Shanghai-based editor Lin Yu, who stood in the background to represent his distance from Manila, commemorated the tenth anniversary of the Fookien Times – a leading Chinese newspaper in the Philippines. Dr. Africa adopted an optimistic tone, overlooking recent violent events and discriminatory legislation targeting Chinese residents in the Philippines, as well as the underlying racial tensions, while Lin Yu kept those issues front and center. Together, they help us set the scene for the “drama of the Far East,” as the Consul General called it, that unfolds in the chapters that follow. They channel the complicated relationship between China and the Philippines, which was fraught with racialized animosities and legislative gatekeeping, yet filled with camaraderie, modeling, collaborations, and even romances. These figures help open our eyes to the complexity of and contradictions within the Sino–Philippine link.

9 10 11

Africa, “Future Sino–Philippine Relationship,” 29. Lin You, “An Open Letter,” 56. For an instructive conversation on the “theatricality” of history, see Greg Dening, Performances (Melbourne: Melbourne University Press, 1996), 104–105.

Before a Vast Ocean

5

A Walk-Through of the Sino–Philippine Link This book started from a simplistic notion that geographical proximity implied close collaboration and intense interaction, but it became clear in the early stages of research that histories of Asia tended to point in a different direction. It is a common adage in Southeast Asian studies, for instance, that colonialism disrupted many long-standing local networks as imperial imperatives redirected the economic, educational, and religious routes of Southeast Asians away from close neighbors toward the imperial metropole and other colonies of the empire.12 In other words, according to the standard formula, this era of international business conglomerations and global empires featured connections mostly between and within those businesses and empires. This formulation only tells part of the story, however, as it turns out that empires, in the end, “were never fully self-contained or hermetically sealed systems.”13 New steamship networks might have encouraged intraimperial travel, but unexpected connections also formed between close neighbors.14 In other words, despite changing historical circumstances and a historiography that suggests otherwise, China and the Philippines remained intertwined in the twentieth century. This book takes us to this rich and largely unexplored theater of interaction that starred athletes and educators, carnival queens and pundits, jazz musicians and lawyers, and politicians and poets. It brings to life a colorful and dynamic world full of passion and hubris, engagement and disintegration, and cooperation and catastrophe. The Sino–Philippine link of the twentieth century built on a long history. Some of the islands now collectively recognized as the Philippines appeared in Chinese written records as early as the Tang dynasty (618–907).15 Later, during the Spanish colonial period (1571– 1898), traders from southeastern China, leveraging kinship, hometown, and business networks, began to move to the Philippines in large numbers, filling crucial roles in the colonial society. The Chinese population 12

13 14

15

For one summary of this imperial division of Southeast Asia, see Norman G. Owen, ed., The Emergence of Modern Southeast Asia: A New History (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2004), 78. Tony Ballantyne and Antoinette Burton, Empires and the Reach of the Global, 1870–1945 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2012), 12. In my dissertation, I called these “Accidental Connections of Empires.” See Phillip B. Guingona, “Crafted Links and Accidental Connections of Empires: A History of Early Twentieth Century Sino–Philippine Interaction” (PhD diss., University at Buffalo, 2015). For early Chinese references to the Philippines, see Ching-hong Wu, “A Study of References to the Philippines in Chinese Sources from Earliest Times to the Ming Dynasty,” Philippine Social Sciences and Humanities Review 26, nos. 1–2 (1959): 1–182.

6

Introduction

in the Philippines blossomed from an estimated 150 people in 1570, when Spaniards first established an outpost in Manila, to as many as 30,000 by 1603.16 The population fluctuated through most of the Spanish colonial era as colonial officials alternatively encouraged migration and choreographed pogroms, but turmoil in China beginning in the 1850s and Spanish need for labor led to steadier migration patterns in the latter half of the nineteenth century. In the American colonial period, which began in the early 1900s, the Chinese community in the Philippines remained relatively stable despite the extension of the Chinese Exclusion Act to the islands. China, for its part, had welcomed delegates from what is now considered the Philippines as early as the Song dynasty (960–1279).17 Most early travelers from the archipelago came as merchants or diplomatic representatives who performed their parts in the tributary “system.”18 Because “Filipino” is a recent term forged by sojourning Propagandists in the crucible of early Bourbon–Restoration-era Spain, however, it is hard to speak of a parallel “Filipino” population in China before the nineteenth century.19 However, by the midway point of that century, people from the archipelago had found work around the world, including China, in seafaring industries, which helped them form a sense of shared identity and affinity for the home islands.20 Two episodes have garnered outsized attention in the history of Sino– Philippine entanglement: the Manila galleon trade and the revolutionary era of the Philippines. In the galleon trade, Spanish ships labored across the Pacific from Acapulco to Manila and back, while Chinese junks completed the circuit by meeting them in Manila.21 Years later, Filipino revolutionaries launched three successive but ultimately unsuccessful revolutions at the turn of the twentieth century, restructuring the Sino–Philippine relationship 16

17 18

19

20 21

Huang Zisheng 黄滋生 and He Sibing 何思兵, Feilübin Huaqiao shi 菲律宾华侨史 [History of Huaqiao in the Philippines] (Guangzhou: Guangdong gaodeng jiaoyu chubanshe 广州 : 广东高等教育出版社, 1987), 2. Henry William Scott and Go Bon Juan, Filipinos in China before 1500 (Manila: De La Salle University, 1989), 1–3. Ibid., 14; and Roderich Ptak, “From Quanzhou to the Sulu Zone and Beyond: Questions Related to the Early Fourteenth Century,” Journal of Southeast Asian Studies 29, no. 2 (September 1998): 289. For more on Filipino nationalism and the propagandist movement, see John N. Schumacher, The Propaganda Movement, 1880–1895: The Creators of a Filipino Consciousness, the Makers of Revolution (Quezon City: Ateneo de Manila University Press, 1997). See, for example, Filomeno V. Aguilar, Jr., “Manilamen and Seafaring: Engaging the Maritime World beyond the Spanish Realm,” Journal of Global History 7 (2012): 366. See, for instance, Birgit Tremml-Werner, Spain, China, and Japan in Manila, 1571–1644: Local Comparisons and Global Connections (Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2015).

Before a Vast Ocean

7

by “teaching China the meaning and viability of revolution as a solution to its national problems.”22 However, while these episodes are important, they have commanded outsized attention in our history books, obscuring equally important episodes and actors. As outlined earlier, the proliferation of empires and the rapid expansion of transportation networks in the nineteenth century enhanced existing Sino–Philippine ties and fostered new connections by the twentieth century. These connections led Filipino musicians, veterinarians, and clerks to move to China’s booming port cities to carve out new lives for themselves while Chinese businesspeople, students, and lawyers traveled to the Philippines to live and learn. Meanwhile, wealthy Chinese entrepreneurs and self-styled heroes from the Philippines leveraged their significant assets and networks of powerful acquaintances to fund infrastructure projects and steer political organizations in the archipelago and China. At the same time, Chinese and Filipino athletes and diplomats turned basketball courts and banquet halls into proxies for progress, while pundits transformed their columns into arenas for politicking. Chinese people lived in the Philippines and married Filipinos, they discussed the archipelago and its people in the pages of popular newspapers and journals, and they copied Philippine innovations in governance and education. For many Chinese people, the Philippines represented progress and opportunity, while for many others it represented tyranny, especially after Filipino lawmakers legislated limits on Chinese freedoms. Either way, the Philippines loomed large. And China filled the same role for Filipinos who moved north for work, wrote about China in dailies and reviews, or traced their heritage there. In many ways, China became a crucial benchmark and strawperson that Filipinos used to measure themselves in all facets of life and governance. This monograph argues that in the early twentieth century the Philippines and Filipinos played a significant role in Chinese history, and China and Chinese people likewise played a significant role in Philippine history. Their histories were connected. This straightforward argument, however, sails against the flow of existing scholarship, which largely overlooks the depth and significance of Sino–Philippine contact and mutual influence during this period. So, before we can move on to the connected history of China and the Philippines itself, we must first explore the web of historiography to devise strategies to tease out and recover lost voices, which will lead us to the second argument of this book. The next section asks why histories such as this one 22

Nicole CuUnjieng Aboitiz, Asian Place: Filipino Nation: A Global Intellectual History of the Philippine Revolution, 1887–1912 (New York: Columbia University Press, 2020), 151. See also Rebecca E. Karl, Staging the World: Chinese Nationalism at the Turn of the Twentieth Century (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2002), 83–113.

8

Introduction

have remained hidden, and it experiments with ways to leverage global, world, and transnational history approaches to bring them to light. Observing and Untangling the Human Web World history is a metaphor. Or, rather, one of its most significant contributions to the study of history comes in its metaphors.23 Practitioners of global, transnational, and world history regularly employ vivid and imaginative terms such as circulations, flows, links, circuits, and networks to compel readers to think critically and see and know in new ways.24 In his call for researchers to explore “connected histories,” for instance, Sanjay Subrahmanyam touts the use of “intrepid analytical machetes.”25 Transnational historian Pierre-Yves Saunier, meanwhile, asks us to set “our historical butterfly net” to “transnational mode.”26 Laura Briggs, Gladys McCormick, and J. T. Way, opting for a different but equally incisive metaphor, describe transnationalism as “the conceptual acid that denaturalizes” the nation.27 Whether it is with machetes, butterfly nets, or acid, historians of the global have a way of cutting through complex topics, burning through old paradigms, and capturing historical butterflies with potent metaphors. One metaphor that has successfully ensnared many world, global, and transnational historians is the web. The web captures the complexity and breadth of global interactions, the longevity and stickiness of its exchanges, and the interconnectedness of it all.28 This metaphor has 23

24

25 26

27 28

For an interesting take on “metaphorical suggestiveness” in history, see Charles S. Maier, “Consigning the Twentieth Century to History: Alternative Narratives for the Modern Era,” American Historical Review 105, no. 3 (2000): 811. For critiques of the abuse of metaphors in academic writing, see Ann Curthoys and John Docker, “The Two Histories: Metaphor in English Historiographical Writing,” Rethinking History 1, no. 3 (1997): 259–273; Stefanie Gänger, “Circulation: Reflections on Circularity, Entity, and Liquidity in the Language of Global History,” Journal of Global History 12, no. 3 (2017): 303–318; and Stuart Alexander Rockefeller, “Flow,” Current Anthropology 52, no. 4 (2011): 557–578. C. A. Bayly, Sven Beckert, Matthew Connelly, Isabel Hofmeyr, Wendy Kozol, and Patricia Seed, “AHR Conversation: On Transnational History,” American Historical Review 111, no. 5 (2006): 1454. Sanjay Subrahmanyam, “Connected Histories: Notes towards a Reconfiguration of Early Modern Eurasia,” Modern Asian Studies 31, no. 3 (1997): 762. Pierre-Yves Saunier, “Transnational History – Introduction,” in Transnational History, HAL Archive ouverte n Sciences de l’Homme et de la Societe, January 6, 2014, https://halshs .archives-ouvertes.fr/halshs-00922207. Saunier adjusted the wording to “camera set” in the published version; see Pierre-Yves Saunier, Transnational History (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2013), 10. Laura Briggs, Gladys McCormick, and J. T. Way, “Transnationalism: A Category of Analysis,” American Quarterly 60, no. 3 (2008): 627. For the most famous use of this metaphor, see J. R. McNeill and William H. McNeill, The Human Web: A Bird’s-Eye View of World History (New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 2003). See also Tony Ballantyne, Webs of Empire: Locating New Zealand’s Colonial Past

Before a Vast Ocean

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also proven helpful because it hints at the difficulty historians face should they desire to untangle, chart, or even just observe the overlapping strings of global history. If researchers bypass the web and focus solely on the aciniform silk cocoon that happens to contain an embalmed national history, to extend the metaphor, they will likely miss much of the story of human history contained in the broader web, such as the extensive contacts between China and the Philippines in the early twentieth century that are the subject of this book. This book leverages transnational methods to observe, untangle, and rebuild the web of Sino–Philippine connectivity in the early twentieth century, with implications for exploring other such webs around the world. In her book on the connected histories of Rangoon, Penang, and Bangkok, historian Su Lin Lewis begins by plotting the routes of the “inter-connected web of mobility and exchange,” and this monograph starts much the same way with the previous section.29 The current section, in turn, conducts an audit of global, transnational, and world histories, exposing their limitations and blinders with the goal of designing a path toward renewal. This section focuses on two major issues that weigh on the approaches: disciplinary and methodological siloing, which is caused in part by the vastness of the fields themselves, and Eurocentrism and coloniality, which are lingering legacies of two centuries of imperial historiography and the funnel web of the archives. The section after recasts a more open and expansive orb web by highlighting and expanding upon key innovations of global historians that inform and inspire this book. It focuses on sub-global regions and scales in history, interactions among people of the Global South, selective silences, and disintegration in transnational inquiry. World historians have long embraced new approaches to enhance their research. For example, proponents of what some have called “new world history,” “new global history,” and the “transnational turn,” among many other things, have, over the past couple of decades, weaved a more balanced and interdisciplinary approach to history that takes seriously “peripheral” influence on the “metropole” rather than just the other way around, cultural and material cultural flows in addition to capital flows, global feminisms and subaltern studies in addition to elite machinations, and public health and environmental histories and their place in the human web.30 These scholars cast transnational history as

29 30

(Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press, 2012); and J. R. McNeill, The Webs of Humankind: A World History (New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 2020). Su Lin Lewis, Cities in Motion: Urban Life and Cosmopolitanism in Southeast Asia, 1920– 1940 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2016), 1. For an overview of some of these changes, see Maxine Berg, ed., Writing the History of the Global: Challenges for the 21st Century (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013);

10

Introduction

a way of seeing that embraces “methodological diversity,” and many of them have inspired this research on the Philippines and China.31 However, while the critical and necessary adjustments these scholars have made have breathed new life into world, global, and transnational history, the scholars making those changes, myself included, remain consciously or unconsciously influenced by universalist and stadialist baggage that continues to shape agendas, steer funding, and damage the reputation and utility of the approaches.32 Leading world historians have admitted that the field can be prescriptive and totalizing and that it often privileges the perspective of its loudest and most endowed acolytes, who happen to mostly hail from North America and Europe for the time being.33 Ultimately, historians of the global have reached a point where, while we can name the problems of the approach and recognize the impact of historical baggage, actually applying research to counterbalance or offset those issues remains difficult.34 This book and this introduction are designed to address some of the questions surrounding global, transnational, and world history while highlighting ways to leverage the strengths of these approaches. But what are global, transnational, and world history? After fumbling through several formulas, Patrick Manning flippantly writes, “At the most expansive level, I could claim that all historical studies have now become world

31 32 33

34

Sebastian Conrad, What Is Global History? (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2016); Ross E. Dunn, Laura Jane Mitchell, and Kerry Ward, eds., The New World History: A Field Guide to Teachers and Researchers (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2016); Bruce Mazlish, The New Global History (London: Routledge, 2006); and Douglas Northrop, ed., A Companion to World History (Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell, 2012). Bayly et al., “AHR Conversation: On Transnational History,” 1454. For a brief summary of that baggage, see Ranajit Guha, History at the Limit of WorldHistory (New York: Columbia University Press, 2002). See, for instance, Frederick Cooper, “What Is the Concept of Globalization Good for? An African Historian’s Perspective,” African Affairs 100, no. 399 (2001): 189–213; Richard Drayton and David Motadel, “Discussion: The Futures of Global History,” Journal of Global History 13 (2018): 1–21; Gabriela De Lima Grecco and Sven Schuster, “Decolonizing Global History? A Latin American Perspective,” Journal of World History 31, no. 2 (2020): 425–446; Roxann Prazniak, “Is World History Possible? An Inquiry,” in History after the Three Worlds: Post-Eurocentric Historiographies, ed. Arif Dirlik, Vinay Bahl, and Peter Gran (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2000), 221–239; Heather Sutherland, “The Problematic Authority of (World) History,” Journal of World History 18, no. 4 (2007): 491–522. For the growth and potential of global, world, and transnational history, see Sven Beckert and Dominic Sachsenmaier, eds., Global History, Globally: Research and Practice Around the World (London: Bloomsbury, 2018). There are signs that this era is coming to an end. Jürgen Osterhammel, for instance, argues that the time when reflections on global history “outnumbered attempts to put all those ambitious recipes into historiographical practice” seems to be ending. See Jürgen Osterhammel, “Global History,” in Debating New Approaches to History, ed. Marek Tamm and Peter Burke (London: Bloomsbury Academic, 2019), 21.

Before a Vast Ocean

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history.”35 In a similar vein, when describing global history, Sebastian Conrad writes, “Once it is established that global history is everything, everything can become global history.”36 In other words, definitions vary so much that even the most seasoned practitioners find it difficult to isolate common strands. They eventually do cobble together more concrete definitions, of course, but their frank admissions can lead to confusion. Transnational, global, and world history are also caught in theorization and citation cycles.37 Because the approaches are so expansive as to include nearly everything, entry into them is taxing. Scholars often venture in with distinct linguistic backgrounds, regional specializations, and even global lenses.38 As responsible academics, they either get lost in efforts to understand and rationalize the fields like I am doing here, cite the citation magnets of one of the meta-approaches, or engage in digital search aided “side-glancing,” as historian Laura Putnam calls it.39 At the same time, many scholars have been swept away by terms like “transnationalism,” which, according to C. A. Bayly, has become “merely a buzzword among historians.”40 Critics and confused advocates then lump this scholarship together. As Laura Briggs, Gladys McCormick, and 35

36

37

38

39

40

Manning, Navigating World History, 7. For similar sentiments, see C. A. Bayly, The Birth of the Modern World, 1780–1914 (Oxford: Blackwell, 2004), 469; and Osterhammel, “Global History,” 26. Conrad, What Is Global History, 8. Conrad addresses overapplication and ambiguity in the conclusion; see ibid., 232–233. C. A. Bayly, on the other hand, introduces another layer of ambiguity, writing, “I think that the distinctions between world, global, and transnational history have never adequately been explained.” See Bayly et al., “AHR Conversation,” 1442. For more on self-aggrandizing citation cycles, see Robert Cribb, “Circles of Esteem, Standard Work and Euphoric Couplets: Dynamics of Academic Life in Indonesian Studies,” Critical Asian Studies 37, no. 2 (2005): 289–304. Some historians remain caught up in a debate over the difference between world, global, and transnational history, as well as various related approaches, such as diplomatic, connected, comparative, international, and big history. These debates can be constructive, but they often dissolve into posturing and territorialism. For a brief introduction to this topic, see Kenneth Pomeranz and Daniel A. Segal, “World History: Departures and Variations,” in A Companion to World History, ed. Douglas Northop (Chichester: WileyBlackwell, 2012), 15–31; or Dominic Sachsenmaier, Global Perspectives on Global History: Theories and Approaches in a Connected World (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), 59–109. Lara Putnam, “The Transnational and the Text-Searchable: Digitized Sources and the Shadows They Cast,” American Historical Review 121, no. 2 (2016): 377–402, esp. 380. Many of the most well-known and well-cited world histories come from synthesizers. See, for instance, Jared Diamond, Guns, Germs, and Steel: The Fates of Human Societies (New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 1997); Yuval Noah Harari, Sapiens: A Brief History of Human Kind (New York: Harper, 2015); and Ian Morris, Why the West Rules – For Now: The Patterns of History and What They Reveal about the Future (New York: Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 2010). Bayly et al., “AHR Conversation,” 1441.

12

Introduction

J. T. Way, who are all affiliated with the Tepoztlán Institute for Transnational History, put it, “one can say a great many contradictory things about what is wrong with transnationalism and they will all be true about someone’s transnationalism.”41 In theory, global approaches should open new spaces for interdisciplinary collaboration, and indeed they have on many occasions, but the very size and ambition of those approaches sometimes ironically serve as an impediment.42 Many scholars of migration studies, imperial history, sports history, critical race and gender studies, New Qing history, diplomatic history, and other subfields, many of whom inspire this book, still tend to look past one another and over some forms and spaces of interaction even amidst history’s transnational turn. In many ways, global history has become an unwieldy and unnavigable tangled web, feeding the laments of critics who watch as world history scholars struggle to remember the paths through their own theoretical structures. Histories, especially ones that breach the borders of nation-states, are inherently messy, but world history methodology should not rival those histories in complexity and messiness. The second major factor constraining global history research is the two centuries of imperial Eurocentric historiography that have rummaged through the webs of the past like a three-ton elephant. Historian Dipesh Chakrabarty’s observation three decades ago that legacies do “not disappear simply because some of us have now attained a critical awareness” of them still rings true.43 Global histories, as Jeremy Adelman observes, sometimes feel like “another Anglospheric invention to integrate the Other into a cosmopolitan narrative on our terms, in our tongues.”44 41

42

43

44

Briggs, McCormick, and Way, “Transnationalism,” 626. Sebastian Conrad similarly describes how some historians “hijacked” the term “for a variety of different purposes”; see Conrad, What Is Global History, 6. Some scholars are also critical of the tendency to “transnationalize” or “globalize” everything. See, for instance, Frederick Cooper, Colonialism in Question: Theory, Knowledge, History (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005); 111–112; and JohnPaul A. Ghobrial, “The Secret Life of Elias of Babylon and the Uses of Global Microhistory,” Past & Present, no. 222 (2014): 58–59. Chakrabarty, “Postcoloniality and the Artifice of History,” 2. Durba Ghosh admits that her greatest fear when writing imperial histories is that she will “Unintentionally reaffirm the place of Europe as the central point of reference.” See Durba Ghosh, “AHR Forum: Another Set of Imperial Turns?” American Historical Review 117, no. 3 (2012): 782. “Our” presumably meaning American or European? See Jeremy Adelman, “What Is Global History Now?” Aeon, March 2, 2017, https://aeon.co/essays/is-global-history-still -possible-or-has-it-had-its-moment. For similar sentiments, see Matthew Brown, “The Global History of Latin America,” Journal of Global History 10, no. 3 (2015): 365–386; De Lima Grecco and Schuster, “Decolonizing Global History,” 425–446; David A. Segal, “Worlding History,” in The New World History: A Field Guide to Teachers and Researchers, ed. Ross E. Dunn, Laura Jane Mitchell, and Kerry Ward (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2016), 317–328; and Micol Seigel, “Beyond Compare:

Before a Vast Ocean

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So, while many Latin Americanists and subaltern studies scholars have cast innovative transnational webs, many Africanists and Southeast Asianists have weaved compelling world histories, and many East Asianists and Europeanists have knit pioneering global histories of economic entanglement, the approaches remain bound to a European historiographical tradition and its continued “epistemic privilege of classifying.”45 The nature of archives and digitized databases has only amplified the obstacles global historians face. In his unique study of the Indian Ocean world in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century, Thomas Metcalf confesses that archival limitations have relegated a flourishing and wellconnected Indian Ocean world to historiographical obscurity.46 Historians are still often bound to, and as a result privilege the voices from, European, Japanese, and American metropolitan and colonial archives and digital databases.47 These source bases and the studies they feed funnel readers to and from the colonial metropole, rather than exposing them to a range of histories. As a result, historical actors from the so-called West still dominate our world histories, acting as either key agents of, or major impediments to, change and dynamism. So, after recognizing the limitations of global, world, and transnational history, and after trudging through decades of other trendy methodological

45

46 47

Comparative Method after the Transnational Turn,” Radical History Review, no. 91 (2005): 62–90. For more on “epistemic privilege,” see Walter D. Mignolo, “Forward: Yes We Can,” in Can Non-Europeans Think?, ed. Hamid Dabashi (London: Zed Books, 2015), xiv. For some pathbreaking transnational histories, see Prasenjit Duara, Rescuing History from the Nation: Questioning Narratives of Modern China (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1995); and Diane M. Nelson, A Finger in the Wound: Body Politics in Quincentennial Guatemala (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999). For some innovative early world histories, see Philip D. Curtin, Cross-Cultural Trade in World History (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984); and Donald R. Wright, The World and a Very Small Place in Africa (Armock: M.E. Sharpe, 1997). For some captivating global histories, see Bayly, The Birth of the Modern World; Kenneth Pomeranz, The Great Divergence: China, Europe, and the Making of the Modern World Economy (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2000); and Priya Satia, Empire of Guns: The Violent Making of the Industrial Revolution (New York: Penguin Press, 2018). Thomas Metcalf, Imperial Connections: India in the Indian Ocean Arena, 1860–1920 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2008), 9. For other critical takes on archival limitations, see Antoinette Burton, ed., Archive Stories: Facts, Fictions, and the Writing of History (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2006); Brian Connolly and Marisa Fuentes, “Introduction: From Archives of Slavery to Liberated Futures,” History of the Present: A Journal of Critical History 6, no. 2 (2016): 105–116; Putnam, “The Transnational and the Text-Searchable,” 377–402; Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak, “The Rani of Sirmur: An Essay in Reading the Archives,” History and Theory 24, no. 3 (1985): 247–272; and Ann Laura Stoler, Along the Archival Grain: Epistemic Anxieties and Colonial Common Sense (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2009).

14

Introduction

turns, should historians still embrace the transnational?48 I would argue that we should, but, as with everything, with a healthy dose of humility. Untangling the human web is a tiring endeavor, but the process allows us to see and appreciate a more nuanced, representative, and ultimately accurate vision of world history. Hopefully, the untangling act in this introduction can make it easier for future scholars to work their way through their own historical and historiographical webs. As you will see from the footnotes, I have benefited greatly from reading the scholarship of many inspiring individuals. The next section highlights some critical interventions by them, as well as this book’s own contributions. Casting a New Human Web While global, transnational, and world history have weathered their fair share of critiques, the approaches remain valuable, and with some adjustment, will continue to reveal new insights. As highlighted earlier, the complexity of the theoretical frameworks used, and the volume of scholarship adopting the frameworks, has sometimes prevented collaborations, leading many global historians to speak over or past one another. This monograph attempts to cut through some of this complexity and disciplinary and methodological siloing by engaging with and combining three distinct but related transnational history approaches in each part. Then, by combining those parts, it shows both the unique and vibrant connected history of the Philippines and China and a connected interdisciplinary methodological web that can be applied to study other peoples and places around the world. Historian Engseng Ho, noting that “in the enthusiasm for globalization, scholarly practice surged ahead of theory,” has attempted to bring order to transnational research agendas by encouraging scholars to follow “mobile societies” and explore transregional connections across intermediate scales.49 This book responds to Ho’s first point by following Filipino and Chinese actors as they crisscrossed the globe. Part I, for 48

49

For critiques of historians’ affinity for turns, see Bell, “Questioning the Global Turn,” 1–24; and Susan K. Cahn, “Turn, Turn, Turn: There Is a Reason (for Sports History),” The Journal of American History 101, no. 1 (2014): 181–183. Engseng Ho, “Inter-Asian Concepts for Mobile Societies,” Journal of Asian Studies 76, no. 4 (2017): 921–922. For similar interventions, see Richard T. Chu and Caroline S. Hau, “Region and Microhistory: Writing the Chinese Diaspora in the Philippines,” Kritika Kultura 21/22 (2013/2014): 299–306; Akira Iriye, Global and Transnational History: The Past, Present, and Future (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2013), 19–35; Dominic Sachsenmaier, “World History as Ecumenical History,” Journal of World History 18, no. 4 (2007): 465–489; and Roy Bin Wong, “Comparing States and Regions in East Asia and Europe: Is Southeast Asia (Ever) Part of East Asia?” Southeast Asian Studies 48, no. 2 (September 2010): 115–130.

Before a Vast Ocean

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instance, highlights how the same forces that lured Chinese to the Philippines and aided in their transplant – the prospect of improved livelihood, supportive kinship networks, and overlapping imperial circuits – fostered the reverse flow of Filipinos to China. The section thereby bridges a major rift in migration studies, which is an important world history subfield, juxtaposing the mirrored diasporas of Chinese in the Philippines and Filipinos in China. This framing provides balance and a fresh perspective on a topic that often veers into discussions on state control, native-place and business networks, and acclimation and assimilation. All the chapters in this book also pay close attention to Ho’s second point on scale, following both the global itineraries of Chinese and Filipinos and their local meanderings. This book is indebted to world historians who have made compelling arguments to incorporate a variety of scales, large and small, vast and narrow, in research.50 Part IV of this book, which pivots from a Shanghai sporting event in 1921, to classrooms in Springfield, Massachusetts, in the ensuing years, to the boardrooms in Manila in 1934, challenges the boundaries established by area studies while recognizing and paying homage to the interdisciplinarity at the heart of the area studies mission. These chapters, as well as the other chapters of this book, spin a supranational but still navigable web. Recently, innovative scholars of the comparative have realigned their research, exploring the “connected histories” of two locales and casting “reciprocal comparisons,” especially between countries of the so-called Global South.51 This has helped grow our understanding of global connectivity beyond the dusty cobwebs of American, European, and Japanese 50

51

See, for instance, Matthew Pratt Guterl, “AHR Forum: Comment: The Future of Transnational History,” American Historical Review 118, no. 1 (2013): 130–139; Douglas Northrop, ed., A Companion to World History (Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell, 2012), 6–7; Bernhard Struck, Kate Ferris, and Jacques Revel, “Introduction: Space and Scale in Transnational History,” The International History Review 33, no. 4 (2011): 573–584; and Sebouh David Aslanian, Joyce E. Chaplin, Ann McGrath, and Kristin Mann, “AHR Conversation: How Size Matters: The Question of Scale in History,” The American Historical Review 118, no. 5 (2013): 1431–1472. For more on “connected histories,” see Arjun Appadurai, “How Histories Make Geographies: Circulation and Context in a Global Perspective,” in The Future as Cultural Fact: Essays on the Global Condition (London: Verso, 2013); Donna R. Gabaccia and Dirk Hoerder, eds., Connecting Seas and Connected Ocean Rims: Indian, Atlantic, and Pacific Oceans and China Seas Migrations from the 1830s to the 1930s (Leiden: Brill, 2011); Tansen Sen, India, China, and the World: A Connected History (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2017); and Subrahmanyam, “Connected Histories,” 735–762. For the concept of “reciprocal comparisons,” see Gareth Austin, “Reciprocal Comparison and African History: Tackling Conceptual Eurocentrism in the Study of Africa’s Economic Past,” African Studies Review 50, no. 3 (2007): 1–28; Pomeranz, The Great Divergence, 8–10; and Jean-Laurent Rosenthal and Roy Bin Wong, Before and Beyond Divergence: The Politics of Economic Change in China and Europe (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2011).

16

Introduction

empires and business networks.52 Adopting this geographical and methodological orientation helps us recover critical extra-imperial connections such as those forged by educators in China and the Philippines.53 Recovering such connections, in turn, reveals novel insights. Part II of this book, for instance, argues that Chinese educators and students viewed the Philippines as a unique educational model that offered a non-militaristic path to “modernity,” rather than an American colonial laboratory. Connected and reciprocal histories have also illuminated ways to challenge coloniality, Eurocentrism, and other blinders that stick to many world histories. Global historians increasingly recognize and make central in their mission the necessity of “looking from the bottom up at globalization.”54 Self-described adherents of transnational history especially have inspired myself and others by introducing subaltern, decolonial, and feminist studies methodologies to the writing of global history, calling for the application of “epistemologies of the South.”55 China and the Philippines weaves what some have called a “translocal,” “transcolonial,” or “pluriversal” historical narrative of world history that foregrounds actors from the Global South who co-opted, utilized, and shaped imperial and economic systems of power to spin their own webs and advance their own agendas.56 This book makes room for such actors 52

53

54

55

56

For research on extra- and inter-imperial connections, see Augusto Espiritu, “InterImperial Relations, the Pacific, and Asian American History,” Pacific Historical Review 83, no. 2 (2014): 238–254; Devleena Ghosh, “Burma–Bengal Crossings: Intercolonial Connections in Pre-Independence India,” Asian Studies Review 40, no. 2 (2016): 156–172; and Huei-Ying Kuo, Networks beyond Empires: Chinese Business and Nationalism in the Hong Kong-Singapore Corridor, 1914–1941 (Leiden: Brill, 2014). For scholars who research educational linkages in Asia, see James A. Cook, “Currents of Education and Identity: Overseas Chinese and Minnan Schools, 1912–1937,” TwentiethCentury China 25, no. 2 (April 2000): 1–31; Faye Yuan Kleeman, In Transit: The Formation of the Colonial East Asia Cultural Sphere (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2014); and Lewis, Cities in Motion. Lynn Hunt, Writing History in the Global Era (New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 2014), 64. See also Arjun Appadurai, Modernity at Large: Cultural Dimensions of Globalization (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1996), 32–33; Xin Fan, World History and National Identity in China: The Twentieth Century (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2021), 11–15; and Willem van Schendel, “Geographies of Knowing, Geographies of Ignorance: Jumping Scale in Southeast Asia,” Environment and Planning D: Society and Space 20 (2002): 661. Fiona Paisley and Pamela Scully, Writing Transnational History (London: Bloomsbury Academic, 2019), 2–5. For “epistemologies of the South,” see Boaventura de Sousa Santos, “Epistemologías del Sur,” Utopióa y Praxis Latinoamericana 16, no. 54 (2011): 17–39, quoted in De Lima Grecco and Schuster, “Decolonizing Global History,” 440. Many scholars point to C. L. R. James ’ The Black Jacobins: Toussaint L’Ouverture and the San Domingo Revolution (New York: Dial Press, 1938) as an inspiration. For more on “translocality,” see Urlike Freitag and Achim von Oppen, eds., Translocality: The Study of Globalising Processes from a Southern Perspective (Leiden: Brill, 2010), esp. 4–8. For more on “transcolonial,” see Brian Bernards, Writing the South Seas: Imagining the Nanyang in Chinese and Southeast Asian Postcolonial Literature (Seattle:

Before a Vast Ocean

17

from the Global South to answer Hamid Dabashi’s wearied question, “can Non-Europeans think?,” with their decisive actions.57 Like the scholarship that inspires it, this book aims to subvert the power dynamics that continue to reinforce the strands of Euro-American agency while discarding the connections formed by other agents in world histories. Adopting a decolonial approach that moves past the diagnosis phase of postcolonial research to a stage that proactively challenges the continued influence of coloniality is a critical element in this endeavor.58 This book, therefore, as highlighted in the note on what is missing, implements a form of selective silence that shifts who dominates the dialogues and who appears on screen. It centers Filipino and Chinese actors who have largely been overlooked in global histories, such as Honorio Evangelista, Albino Z. Sycip (Xue Minlao 薛敏老), Regino Ylanan, Dee C. Chuan (Li Qingquan 李清泉), Huang Yanpei (黃炎培), Encarnacion Alzona, Thomas H. Suvoong (Shu Hong 舒鴻), and Gan Bun Cho (Yan Wenchu 顏文初). To restore these voices and circumvent the world historians’ archive dilemma, this book uses rare archival and published material in Chinese, English, and Spanish, much of which has not been used in historical research. For instance, this monograph taps into a trove of Chineselanguage publications from the Philippines that were largely destroyed in Philippine collections during World War II but survived in far-flung libraries across the People’s Republic of China, Australia, Japan, and the United States. These unique journals and letters, which are only now being digitized, reveal a complicated and sometimes contradictory position for Chinese in the Philippines, which scholars of the community have only partially captured. This is one of the topics covered in Part III. This book also uses unique archival material, such as Shanghai Municipal Orchestra band committee notes and private reservation requests from the Shanghai Municipal Archives, which provide a window into the lives of Filipinos in Shanghai, as seen in Part I.

57 58

University of Washington Press, 2015), esp. 23–24; and Dane Keith Kennedy and Durba Ghosh, eds., Decentring Empire: Britain, India, and the Transcolonial World (Hyderabad: Orient Longman, 2006). For more on “pluriversal,” see Walter D. Mignolo and Catherine E. Walsh, On Decoloniality: Concepts, Analytics, Praxis (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2018), 2–3. Hamid Dabashi, Can Non-Europeans Think? (London: Zed Books, 2015). For moving past the diagnosis phase, see bell hooks, “Postmodern Blackness,” Postmodern Culture 1, no. 1 (1990). For decolonial approaches, see Walter D. Mignolo and Catherine E. Walsh, “What Does It Mean to Decolonize?” in On Decoloniality: Concepts, Analytics, Praxis (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2018), 105–134; and Aníbal Quijano, “Coloniality of Power and Eurocentrism in Latin America,” International Sociology 15, no. 2 (2000): 215–232.

18

Introduction

In their push to analyze border crossings and transnational flows, some world historians have romanticized human mobility and interconnectivity, leading others to call for “narratives of global life that reckon with disintegration as well as integration.”59 If global histories are to be honest to the past, they must recognize that historical webs were torn asunder just as often as they were spun. The final chapter of this book, which is titled “Disintegration,” heeds this call by exploring how many of the transnational strings established by Chinese and Filipinos began to unravel in the build-up to World War II. Of course, many actors formed new ones in the years after, but that is a topic for another book. Many sections of this book, meanwhile, circumvent the romanticization of human mobility by following the lead of scholars who substitute the movement of humans for the mobility of ideas.60 The final part in particular explores discursive flows and media debates, adding an important element to a monograph otherwise dominated by humans and their institutions. And now, it is almost time to move to the main content of the book, but, before we proceed to the cases themselves, let us return to the elusive definition of global, world, and transnational history. After all, we never did define it. Sorry to disappoint, but we are not going to here either. That is because these approaches can indeed be everything. They inspire and frustrate specialists from around the world, guaranteeing definitional ambiguity, but that is not a bad thing.61 Scholars will only settle on a definition when enough of them have abandoned the project, clearing space for land grabs and the ramblings of purists who attempt to implement their orthodoxies, but I hope this day never arrives. This book attempts to appreciate the complexity of and bring some order to the webs of world history, but ultimately, it thrives in and celebrates ambiguity and getting lost. This book offers an interdisciplinary, decolonial, connected history of China and the Philippines that pays attention to disintegration as well as creation, implements selective silences, centers cultural and discursive 59 60

61

Adelman, “What Is Global History Now?” See also Cooper, “What Is the Concept of Globalization Good For,” 189–213. For scholars of media spheres and representations, see Alexander Des Forges, Mediasphere Shanghai: The Aesthetics of Cultural Production (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2007); Akira Iriye, Across the Pacific: An Inner History of American–East Asian Relations (New York: Harcourt, Brace & World, 1967); and Lydia N. Yu-Jose, Japan Views the Philippines, 1900–1944 (Quezon City: Ateneo de Manila University Press, 1992). Others are also happy to keep the definition vague. See, for instance, Alessandro Stanziani, Eurocentrism and the Politics of Global History (London: Palgrave MacMillan, 2018), 6.

Before a Vast Ocean

19

flows between peoples of the Global South, and explores unencumbered articulations of race, modernity, and gender. This approach itself makes up the second thesis of the book. But there are many equally compelling ways to write world history. It is hard to analyze a web, let alone untangle and weave one. So, let us remain humbled by our ignorance, knowing that any attempt at a world history is guaranteed to be a novice’s attempt. And now, it is time to get lost. Chapter Descriptions Part I, Mirrored Diasporas, leverages imperial history, migration studies, and urban history to explore parallels and differences between the Chinese community in Manila and Filipino community in Shanghai. The chapters in this section argue that, while many Filipinos and Chinese mostly secured reliable jobs in these modern cities, they occupied an uncertain and evolving position in racial–imperial hierarchies as foreign Asians sans imperial protection, leaving them vulnerable to arbitrary political and legal regimes. To better understand these mirrored diasporas, this part follows their pioneers as they traversed overlapping imperial formations on hulking new passenger steamships. Part II, The Philippine Model, incorporates research pioneered in Asia and the colonial world. Scholars of the tributary “system” and New Qing history have helped us reimagine the extent and form of inter-Asian interaction in the early modern period, and this chapter extends this critical perspective to the early twentieth century by following “cultural tributarists” who, like their cultural internationalist counterparts, sought to connect Asia through education, shared democratic ideals, and professional institutions. In so doing, it challenges a concept derived from the French colonial world known as the “laboratory of modernity,” which posits colonies as testing grounds for liberal colonial reformers. The chapters in this part argue that Chinese students, educators, and scholars viewed the Philippines as a unique model of modernity, not a colonial derivative. Part III, Nationalisms of the Founders, explores the overlapping and congruent nationalisms of elite Chinese in the Philippines through a microhistorical account of “the Founders,” a group of wealthy selfstyled heroes who founded the China Banking Corporation. The chapters in this part portray them as multifaceted yet conceited individuals who saw no contradiction in aligning with and spearheading various nationalistic visions simultaneously. The founders imagined themselves as saviors destined to rescue their hometowns, create an independent, bandit-free

20

Introduction

Fujian, and help China restore its sovereignty and achieve national salvation. Part IV, The Pivot, uses sports history, area studies, and event history to explore Sino–Philippine interactions at the Far Eastern Championship Games – an early Asian Olympiad. The chapters in this part highlight three turning points: coalescence in Shanghai when athletes and journalists from around Asia gathered in the city in 1921, possibilities at Springfield College in the United States through the 1920s when young students from China and the Philippines undertook parallel journeys of discovery, and disintegration in Manila in 1934 when politics overshadowed the games and disagreement over Manchukuo led to the unceremonious end of the Far Eastern Championship Games. The chapters in this part show how the Games as an event linked the fortunes of Filipinos, Chinese, and Japanese across rigid area studies boundaries into a “triangle offense.” The Conclusion, The Ghosts of the Present, bucks the trend of earlier chapters by focusing on only one theoretical framework – historical memory. It positions the exploration of the connected history of China and the Philippines as a means to dispel the ghosts of the present.

Part I

Mirrored Diasporas

The Filipino musicians are very capable, and almost invariably far superior to the Chinese in playing our instruments and music, in fact, they almost inundate the East.1 Claude Lapham, c. 1930s

The Chinese grew with the country from its earliest days, and helped in its development. They are modest, law-abiding, and hard-working . . . . The Chinese are possessed of a peculiar knack for cordial conviviality with Filipinos. Many of our best citizens are of Chinese extraction.2 Vicente Villamin, 1912

Introduction On a chilly December morning in 1934, Captain Honorio C. Evangelista (Figure 0.1) of the Shanghai Volunteer Corps received orders from Corps HQ to mobilize the Philippine Company in response to “disquieting reports” of enemy activity.3 Though a veterinarian by training, the Manilaborn Evangelista had demonstrated his martial prowess by rising through the ranks of the Volunteer Corps in Shanghai to become captain of the newly organized Filipino company. His recent promotion and the dire nature of the orders likely provided ample incentive for him and his colleagues to go above and beyond, especially with the other companies of the international volunteer militia – including the British, American, 1 2

3

Claude Lapham, “China Needs American Bands,” Metronome (July 1936): 13. Vicente Villamin, letter to General Frank McIntyre, June 23, 1921, in Chinese Migrations, With Special Reference to Labor Conditions, by Chen Ta (New York: Paragon Book Gallery, 1967), 191. “Shanghai Volunteer Corps,” file U1-14–953, Shanghai Municipal Archives, 35. From this point forward, I refer to the Shanghai Municipal Archives as “SMA” in the footnotes. For the extended anecdote in the introduction, I draw from two reports: “Shanghai Volunteer Corps Mobilisation Exercise,” December 16, 1934, file U1-14–953, SMA; and “Shanghai Volunteer Corps: Mobilisation Scheme,” 1937, file U1-14–806, SMA.

21

22

Mirrored Diasporas

Figure 0.1 Captain Honorio C. Evangelista, Shanghai Volunteer Corps

and Japanese companies, who represented the political elite of the city – also participating. According to reports from headquarters, Taiping rebels, who were “excellent individual fighters, but badly led,” were gathering at the city’s edge with “a certain amount of Machine Guns and modern rifles.”4 Shanghai yet again braced itself for an invasion. But how could this be? Although long-haired Taiping rebels had threatened Shanghai after the Battle of Muddy Flats, and Filipino mercenaries in the city had played a role in crushing that rebellion by serving in the so-called EverVictorious Army, those events had taken place over eighty years before.5 Could this be a restoration of the dreaded Taiping Heavenly Kingdom? Following protocol, Captain Evangelista notified lieutenants Julio Templo, Agapito Celis, and Guillermo Luchangco to assemble the company. Marching through the art deco streets of the International Settlement 4 5

“Shanghai Volunteer Corps,” file U1-14–953, SMA, 35. For more on the Shanghai Volunteer Corps at the Battle of Muddy Flats, see I. I. Kounin, Eighty Five Years of the Shanghai Volunteer Corps (Shanghai: The Cosmopolitan Press, 1938), 13–14. For more on Filipino participation in the Ever-Victorious Army, see Filomeno V. Aguilar, Jr., Migration Revolution: Philippine Nationhood and Class Relations in a Globalized Age (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2014), 37–39; Caleb Carr, The Devil Soldier: The American Soldier of Fortune Who Became a God in China (New York: Random House, 1992); and Jonathan Spence, God’s Chinese Son: The Taiping Heavenly Kingdom of Hong Xiuquan (New York: W. W. Norton, 1996), 238 and 328. For more on the Taiping rebellion, see Stephen Platt, Autumn in the Heavenly Kingdom: China, the West, and the Epic Story of the Taiping Civil War (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2012); and Tobie Meyer-Fong, What Remains: Coming to Terms with Civil War in 19th Century China (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2013).

Mirrored Diasporas

23

in Shanghai, the lieutenants led the Filipino volunteers to the Polytechnic Public School for Chinese on Pakhoi Road a little after sunrise at 0800 hours for a rendezvous with other Corps companies. From there, the troops advanced to Sector “B” by Suzhou Creek to watch and secure “all roads leading into the Settlement from the West.”6 For the no doubt anxious soldiers, what remained was a waiting game. Americans, Japanese, Europeans, Filipinos, Middle Easterners, and other foreigners as well as Subei, Jiangnanese, Fujianese, Cantonese, and other Chinese who called Shanghai home lived in a perpetual state of vigilance. Considering the near century of intermittent conflict, refugee migrations, and food shortages many had experienced, this preparedness came naturally. The same qualities that made Shanghai a cosmopolitan economic and cultural hub – proximity to the sea and the Yangtze river, top-tier universities, national and international financial institutions, manufacturing infrastructure, and a stable government under international protection – also made it a prime target for invasion. However, in the end, after much ado, the Philippine Company’s mobilization came to an end. The Filipinos deployed admirably, but the invasion never came, at least not in the form of Taipings in 1934. The Taipings had indeed been defeated eighty years earlier, and they were merely boogeymen for a Corps mobilization exercise designed to insure the combat preparedness of its international members. Yet Shanghai sat poised for an actual invasion, and the 1934 exercise in which the Philippine Company took part came as the rising sun loomed on the horizon and war drums, or perhaps merely echoes of the bombs that had shattered the Zhabei district two years earlier, rumbled in the distance. For those of you familiar with twentieth-century Chinese history, the image of Filipino soldiers defending Shanghai against Taiping rebels likely strikes a strange scene, and it puzzled me too when I first came across the mobilization plan in the archives. It did not take me too long to gather that the Taipings were not real, but the more interesting discovery was that the Filipinos, who left many heretofore untold stories in the archives, were.7 Sewing together these stories, one discovers a vibrant yet insecure community of predominantly white-collar workers and entertainers – a community that, curiously enough, resembles another in Asia: the Chinese in the Philippines. Chapter 1 explores this mirrored diaspora and the cities and empires that reflected and connected them. 6 7

“Shanghai Volunteer Corps,” file U1-14–953, SMA, 38. The story of the Filipino soldiers of the Ever-Victorious Army and their lives in China afterward has likewise not been fleshed out in any detail, and it would be a great topic for future researchers to pursue.

24

Mirrored Diasporas

Cities, Diasporas, and Empires The Filipino community in Shanghai and the Chinese community in the Philippines shared some striking similarities. First, they were dominated by young to middle-aged sojourning men. This sometimes resulted in longdistance relationships but more often led to local marriage, which in turn led to a rising caste of mestizos, or mixed-people, as well as the identity-related issues they navigated. Regarding vocation, some Filipinos in Shanghai and Chinese in Manila, in contrast with other Filipino and Chinese migrants around the world, occupied comparatively well-paid professions. Many Filipinos, for instance, worked as clerks and musicians, while Chinese served in a variety of occupations but were often associated, for better or worse, with a small elite who engaged in business. Hence the trumpets (musicians) and ledgers (businessmen) in Chapter 2’s title. Chinese and Filipino sojourners in their mirrored diasporas occupied a third space in the imperial-racial hierarchy as unaligned foreign Asians without strong state or imperial protection.8 Filipinos and Chinese were not the French, British, Japanese, or Americans, who colonized territory and peoples with armaments, bureaucracies, and selective discourses of enlightenment. Nor were they agents or proxies of empire, like Sikhs or Vietnamese, who, as members of so-called martial races, policed portions of the British and French empires respectively.9 At the same time, Chinese in Manila and Filipinos in Shanghai did not resemble Asian settler colonists, like the Japanese, Filipinos, and Chinese who established roots in Hawai’i. In Hawai’i, with greater numbers, Asian 8

9

Engseng Ho describes this phenomenon of separating trade and state protection in Asian mobile societies as “disaggregation-reaggregation.” See Ho, “Inter-Asian Concepts for Mobile Societies,” 919. Wang Gungwu refers to Chinese migrants as “merchants without empire,” and Aihwa Ong and Donald Nonini describe how Chinese “third cultures” emerged to support “Chinese transnationalism.” See Aihwa Ong and Donald Nonini, “Introduction: Chinese Transnationalism as an Alternative Modernity,” in Ungrounded Empires: The Politics of Modern Chinese Transnationalism, ed. Donald M. Nonini and Aihwa Ong (London: Routledge, 1997), 12–16; and Wang Gungwu, “Merchants without Empire: The Hokkien Sojourning Communities,” in The Rise of Merchant Empires: Long-Distance Trade in the Early Modern World, 1350–1750, ed. James D. Tracy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990), 400–421. For more on Sikh police in Shanghai and elsewhere, see Yin Cao, From Policemen to Revolutionaries: A Sikh Diaspora in Global Shanghai, 1885–1945 (Leiden: Brill, 2018); Isabella Jackson, “The Raj on Nanjing Road: Sikh Policemen in Treaty-Port Shanghai,” Modern Asian Studies 46, no. 6 (2012): 1672–1704; and Metcalf, Imperial Connections, 102–135. English-language research on Vietnamese in Shanghai is much more limited. For a brief introduction, see Christine Cornet, “The Bumpy End of the French Concession and French Influence in Shanghai, 1937–1946,” in In the Shadow of the Rising Sun: Shanghai Under Japanese Occupation, ed. Christian Henriot and Wen-Hsin Yeh (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 265. For more on “martial races,” see Heather Streets-Salter, Martial Races: The Military, Race and Masculinity in British Imperial Culture, 1857–1914 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2004).

Mirrored Diasporas

25

settler colonists shared some privilege in imperial and urban hierarchies.10 Furthermore, Shanghai’s Filipinos and Manila’s Chinese could not unequivocally claim membership to new national entities championed by “native” leaders. In other words, they could not claim white or Japanese colonial superiority, proxy imperial protection, or indigenous belonging. They filled an ill-defined and precarious middle ground – a space unintentionally cultivated by cities and empires. Urban spaces around the world sowed vitality, diversity, crossfertilization, and curious juxtapositions, and in Asia, the immense size of cities only amplified these features. Historians have undertaken meticulous research to highlight the crucial roles of Asian cities, such as Hong Kong, Singapore, Shanghai, Batavia, Yokohama, and to a lesser extent, Manila, in linking together the region and the world.11 These and other historians have stressed how, in these Asian metropolises, “new venues were emerging where Asians from all over the region met each other in professional associations and learned societies.”12 To put it another way, Manila and Shanghai acted as the trellis that supported migratory vines from China, the Philippines, and places far beyond. Spreading from city to city, these Asian “mobile societies,” as Engseng Ho calls them, linked the continent, both circumventing and amplifying imperial networks.13 In an attempt to follow these mobile societies and piece together a history of the “many Asias” they bridged, scholars have weaved together histories of diaspora, migration, and mobility.14 The 10

11

12

13 14

For more on settler colonialism, see Caroline Elkins and Susan Pederson, eds., Settler Colonialism in the Twentieth Century (London: Routledge, 2005), 2–8; Candace Fujikane and Jonathan Y. Okamura, Asian Settler Colonialism: From Local Governance to the Habits of Everyday Life in Hawai’i (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2008), 3–8; and Sidney Xu Lu, The Making of Japanese Settler Colonialism: Malthusianism and TransPacific Migration, 1868–1961 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2019), 7–10. See, for instance, Adam McKeown, Chinese Migrant Networks and Cultural Change: Peru, Chicago, and Hawaii, 1900–1936 (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 2001); Elizabeth Sinn, Pacific Crossing: California Gold, Chinese Migration, and the Making of Hong Kong (Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 2013); and Eric Tagliacozzo, “An Urban Ocean: Notes on the Historical Evolution of Coastal Cities in Greater Southeast Asia,” Journal of Urban History 33, no. 6 (2007): 911–932. Su Lin Lewis, Cities in Motion: Urban Life and Cosmopolitanism in Southeast Asia, 1920– 1940 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2016), 15. See also Elizabeth Sinn and Christopher Munn, eds., Meeting Place: Encounters Across Cultures in Hong Kong, 1841– 1984 (Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 2017). Ho, “Inter-Asian Concepts,” 914–917. Sunil S. Amrith, Migration and Diaspora in Modern Asia (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), 17. See also James Clifford, “Diasporas,” Cultural Anthropology 9, no. 3 (1994): 302–338; Evelyn Hu-Dehart, “Chinatowns and Borderlands: Inter-Asian Encounters in the Diaspora,” Modern Asian Studies 46, no. 2 (2012), 425–451; and Wang Gungwu, The Chinese Overseas: From Earthbound China to the Quest for Autonomy (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2000).

26

Mirrored Diasporas

chapters in this part build on this research by centering the mirrored diasporas of Chinese in Manila and Filipinos in Shanghai. It replaces the nation or nation’s diaspora, which has largely dominated the field of migration studies, with the lattice of inter-Asian migration and urbanimperial connections. In this era of connectivity, empires spread over water and land, leading scholars to describe them as unbounded and amorphous “formations” or “spheres.”15 These overlapping empires, which competed with, copied, and cooperated with one another, also supported many unexpected links, like the ones between China and the Philippines.16 To better explore these accidental connections of empire, historians have compiled “new” imperial histories and imperial biographies that followed individuals as they navigated overlapping imperial spheres.17 Other scholars have approached imperial histories “from below,” stressing the agency of nonimperials within imperial networks.18 Much as cities sowed the businesses, bureaucracies, and dance halls that employed Chinese and Filipinos, empires tilled and fertilized the diasporic fields. And historians of empire have developed sophisticated, if not entirely agreed upon, methods to measure crop yields. It is time we took a page from an early twentieth-century Shanghai journalist who – borrowing from the term Huaqiao (華僑), which itself had recently been appropriated from an archaic term to describe Chinese living outside the 15

16

17

18

For more on “imperial formations,” see Ann Laura Stoler, Carole McGranahan, and Peter C. Perdue, eds., Imperial Formations (Santa Fe, NM: School for Advanced Research Press, 2007). For more on imperial or sub-imperial “spheres,” see Robert J. Blyth, The Empire of the Raj: The Definition, Delineation and Dynamics of the Indian Sphere (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003); and Joshua Fogel, Articulating the Sinosphere: Sino–Japanese Relations in Space and Time (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2009). For more on competition, copying, and entanglement, see Jeremy Adelman, “Mimesis and Rivalry: European Empires and Global Regimes,” Journal of Global History 10, no. 1 (2015), 77–98. For inter-imperial cooperation and engagement, see Jeppe Mulich, In a Sea of Empires: Networks and Crossings in the Revolutionary Caribbean (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2020); and Heather Streets-Salter, World War One in Southeast Asia: Colonialism and Anticolonialism in an Era of Global Conflict (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2017). For more on “new” imperial history, see Kathleen Wilson, ed., A New Imperial History: Culture, Identity, and Modernity in Britain and the Empire, 1660–1840 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004); Ghosh, “AHR Forum: Another Set of Imperial Turns?” For imperial biographies and microhistories, see David R. Ambaras, Japan’s Imperial Underworlds: Intimate Encounters at the Borders of Empire (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018); Daniel Gorman, Imperial Citizenship: Empire and the Question of Belonging (New York: Manchester University Press, 2006); and David Lambert and Alan Lester, eds., Colonial Lives across the British Empire: Imperial Careering in the Long Nineteenth Century (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006). See, for instance, Antoinette Burton, The Trouble with Empire: Challenges to Modern British Imperialism (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015); and Kleeman, In Transit.

Mirrored Diasporas

27

borders of the new Chinese nation-state – referred to Filipinos in China as Feiqiao (菲僑).19 In creating this term, this unnamed author recognized what most scholars in the past fifty years have not – that these migrations represent a shared impulse and dynamic, and they warrant comparison. Incorporating and building on the rich contributions of migration studies, urban history, and new imperial history, the chapters that follow uncover the entangled histories of the Chinese community in Manila and the Filipino community in Shanghai. Chapter 1 locates the two communities in their respective cities, while Chapter 2 follows Filipinos through the wilderness of the music industry and Chinese through legal brambles. Part I argues that agents of these mirrored diasporas shared much in common and are best understood when studied together. And, finally, this part contends that by centering inter-Asian interactions in world history, one gains clarity on somewhat overgrown topics, such as statutory exclusion, imperial and state power, and Shanghai’s and Manila’s foreign communities. Now, let us use these interventions to unlock the next key to the story.

19

The term Huaqiao was inspired by the story of elite Chinese families who fled to southern China during the Jin dynasty (420 CE). For more on the origin and use of the term, see Shelly Chan, Diaspora’s Homeland: Modern China in the Age of Global Migration (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2018), 9–11; and Wang, The Chinese Overseas, 47 and 54. For an example of the use of Feiqiao, see “Lühu Feiqiao juxing duli qingzhu dahui 旅滬菲 僑舉行獨立慶祝大會 [Shanghai Filipinos Organize Independence Celebration],” Wen you 文友 [Literature Companion] 12, no. 12 (1943), 25. In what was sure to cause confusion, some writers also referred to Chinese from the Philippines as Feiqiao.

1

Shanghai’s Filipinos and Manila’s Chinese Filipinos in Shanghai

In 1885, two unnamed “Manilamen” were assaulted by “lekin runners,” or Qing-government-sanctioned opium tax collectors, in the International Settlement in Shanghai. In response, a Scottish and a British member of the Shanghai Municipal Council exchanged letters with the German Senior Consul discussing whether this intrusion of the runners into the International Settlement breached the Treaty of Tianjin, one of the unequal treaties signed nearly thirty years beforehand. The Scot, who chaired the Council, noted that the presence of Chinese opium tax collectors and “a number of rowdies” created “serious ill-feeling and resentment.”1 The tone of the letters is telling. Two Filipinos, one of whom had his arm broken, were at the center of the assault, yet the letter carried a sense of bureaucratic apathy. The Filipinos were there, yet for the Council members, diplomats, and tax collectors alike, they appeared more like rhetorical devices to test the limits of the law than actual humans. Perhaps the lekin runners felt they had more leeway to enforce their sovereignty over fellow Asians, while the Municipal Council members felt conflicted on where to draw the line on “foreign” privilege in the international city.2 Council members eventually decided to ban lekin runners in the International Settlement altogether, but by the time they came to that decision, the Filipinos had faded from the conversation and the historical record. The ethereal presence of Filipinos in these letters resembles the depiction of Filipinos in later histories of Shanghai. Filipinos sometimes appear in history monographs or research articles, but always in the background, never the center, and often voiceless. In some ways, this is understandable because many records of Filipino lives are difficult to trace, but the elision of the community by historians has largely moved from the realm of accidental oversight to subconscious erasure. Before addressing the 1 2

Municipal Council, Shanghai: Report for the Year Ending 31st December 1885 and Budget for the Year Ending 31st December 1886 (Shanghai: Kelly & Walsh Limited, 1886), 150–152. J. J. Keswick, the Scottish Chair of the Municipal Council, for his part, described the Filipinos as “foreigners” and “Spanish subjects”; see Municipal Council, 1885–1886, 152.

29

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Mirrored Diasporas

Figure 1.1 Members of the Philippine Company, Shanghai Volunteer Corps

erasure of Filipinos from Shanghai history, however, we will first restore that history. City residents created the Shanghai Volunteer Corps (Figure 1.1), whose mobilization exercise began this chapter, in 1853 in response to the threat of the Taiping Civil War spilling over into the city.3 Although Filipinos had served in mercenary armies around Shanghai during that time, the official Philippine Platoon of the Shanghai Volunteer Corps was not founded until 1927. The platoon transformed into a full company of 100 soldiers five years later.4 The creators of the Volunteer Corps envisioned an international organization that would mobilize during times of duress, coordinate with the Shanghai Municipal Police, and defend the city until foreign powers had time to send in their regular navies and armies.5 At its maximum 3 4

5

For a general history of the Corps, see Kounin, Eighty Five Years. J. R. Jones, letter to the Commandant of the SVC, June 2, 1932, file U1-1–363, SMA, 86; and Kounin, Eighty Five Years, 240. See also “ Shangtuan baogao: zuzhi Feilübin dui 商團 報告:組織菲律賓隊 [International Merchant Militia Report: Organization of the Philippine Company],” Shanghai gonggong zujie gongbuju gongbao 上海公共租界工部局 公報 [Shanghai International Settlement Ministry of Works Gazetteer] 3, no. 23 (1932), 256. Xu Tao, “The Chinese Corpsmen of the Shanghai Volunteer Corps,” in The Habitable City in China: Urban History in the Twentieth Century, ed. Toby Lincoln and Xu Tao (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2017), 24.

Shanghai’s Filipinos and Manila’s Chinese

31

strength, the Corps boasted twenty-seven companies consisting of English, American, Russian, Japanese, Jewish, Chinese, Portuguese, and Filipino soldiers.6 The Shanghai Municipal Council activated the Shanghai Volunteer Corps on twenty-five occasions, but two mobilizations loom large over the others.7 The first occurred during the Taiping Civil War and the second in response to the 1932 Japanese invasion of the Zhabei district of the city, also known as the January 28 Incident. This brief preview of World War II in Zhabei served as a catalyst for the conversion of the Philippine Platoon into a full company. Though the company suffered from similar recruitment issues as other companies during the Great Depression, it retained enough members to stay intact until the dissolution of the Corps in 1942.8 While Filipinos made up only one of the twenty-seven companies, their eager participation in mobilization exercises, Corps parades, and annual rifle competitions made them a visible presence in the cosmopolitan city. Historian of the Corps I. I. Kounin relates how Filipino “keenness is not confined to parades,” noting, “Filipino volunteers have won many honors on the rifle range.”9 Newspapers corroborated this success, reporting on Filipino victories in individual and group competitions of the Municipal Challenge Cup, Trueman Cup, and Durban Cup.10 Their precision on the rifle range likely gained them some measure of respect. In an era when military power reflected well on the general prosperity of a country and its people, the Filipino volunteers earned social capital through their martial displays on the firing range. If we take a brief detour to the Philippines to preview the next section in this chapter, we find that many Chinese living there, like their Filipino counterparts in Shanghai, volunteered for military service, fighting in the Philippine wars against Spain, the United States, 6

7 8

9 10

Li Guang 李光 and Xu Tao 徐涛, “Shanghai tanshang de ‘daweiwang zhi xing’ – jindai Shanghai Wanguo shangtuan Youtai fendui yanjiu 上海滩上的 ‘大卫王之星’ – 近代上海 万国商团犹太分队研究 [On the Judaic Business Group of Shanghai Volunteer Corps in Modern Shanghai],” Shilin 史林 [Historical Review] 4 (2010): 44. For a list of mobilizations, see Shanghai Volunteer Corps Centenary Dinner held at The Royal Hongkong Yacht Club on Friday, 2nd April, 1954 (Hong Kong: Ye Oldé Printerie, 1954). See Annual Report of the Shanghai Municipal Council, 1933, file U1-1–946, SMA, 60; Annual Report of the Shanghai Municipal Council, 1934, file U1-1–947, SMA, 50; Annual Report of the Shanghai Municipal Council, 1935, file U1-1–948, SMA, 76; and Annual Report of the Shanghai Municipal Council, 1936, file U1-1–949, SMA, 55. Kounin, Eighty Five Years, 241. “Annual Pistol Shooting,” The North-China Herald [Zilin xingqi zhoukan 字林星期周刊], May 17, 1933, 267; “The S.V.C. Annual Rifle Meetings,” The North-China Herald [Zilin xingqi zhoukan 字林星期周刊], May 9, 1934, 199; and “Results of the Annual Rifle Meeting of S.R.A.,” The North-China Herald [Zilin xingqi zhoukan 字林星期周刊], May 29, 1935, 356.

32

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and Japan.11 Jose Ignacio Paua, who was perhaps the most famous Chinese volunteer, reportedly recruited 3,000 Chinese fighters to fight in the 1896 revolution against Spain.12 According to historian Richard T. Chu, however, most Chinese “seem to have taken a wait-and-see attitude” during the revolution.13 Chinese in the Philippines took a more proactive role during World War II. Japan, which invaded the Philippines in 1942 in the middle of their eight-year war with China, targeted Chinese political activists in the archipelago, causing many to go underground, where they split into left- and right-leaning guerilla movements.14 The Filipino volunteers in China and the Chinese volunteers in the Philippines demonstrated a willingness to join in the collective protection of their new ecosystems. While the skeptic would be correct to point out that the fighter-volunteers also defended their own interests when taking up arms, this observation does not detract from the overarching contributions of the volunteer fighters.15 Ultimately, they made the choice to fight. As a result, unlike the “sub-imperial” Sikh soldiers and officers, who became “a surrogate target for Chinese resentment of Euro-American imperialism,” Chinese in Manila and Filipinos in Shanghai, as volunteers, largely avoided direct association with white and Japanese imperial power.16 In some ways, however, the participation of Filipinos in the defense of China and the participation of Chinese in defense of the Philippines is obscured in historiography and popular memory.17 In his groundbreaking article on the Chinese Company of the Shanghai Volunteer Corps, for 11

12

13 14 15 16

17

For an overview of Chinese participation in the Philippine Revolution, see Teresita Ang See and Go Bon Juan, Ethnic Chinese in the Philippine Revolution (Manila: Kaisa Para Sa Kaunlaran, 1996). Eufronio M. Alip, Ten Centuries of Philippine–Chinese Relations (Manila: Alip & Sons, 1959), 46; see Teresita Ang See, Tsinoy: The Story of the Chinese in Philippine Life (Manila: Kaisa Para Sa Kaunlaran, 2005), 90–91; and Andrew Wilson, Ambition and Identity: Chinese Merchant Elites in Colonial Manila, 1880–1916 (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2004), 158–162. Richard T. Chu, Chinese and Chinese Mestizos of Manila: Family, Identity, and Culture, 1860s–1930s (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 86. Yung Li Yuk-wai, The Huaqiao Warriors: Chinese Resistance Movement in the Philippines, 1942–45 (Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 1995), 30–152. Ibid., 15–30. Jackson, “The Raj on Nanjing Road,” 1691. For “sub-imperial,” see Tony Ballantyne, Between Colonialism and Diaspora: Sikh Cultural Formations in an Imperial World (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2006), 30–31; Blyth, The Empire of the Raj, 2–10; Metcalf, Imperial Connections, 102–135; and Anjali Gera Roy, “Band Le Gandari (Tie Up Your Bundle): Unpartitioned,” in Sikh Diaspora: Theory, Agency, and Experience, ed. Michael Hawley (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 68–69. In an interesting and telling parallel, the same could be said of Korean involvement in the Japanese imperial army and navy. See Takashi Fujitani, Race for Empire: Koreans as Japanese and Japanese as Americans During World War II (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2011), 4 and 18.

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example, Xu Tao does not mention the Philippine Company despite their sharing many commonalities with the Chinese Company. Members of the Chinese and Philippine companies had to overcome racial discrimination and prove their worth through physical displays of aptitude.18 Yung Li Yuk-wai, in her work on Chinese mobilizations against Japan in the Philippines during the Second World War, noted how she had to work against stereotypes that depicted Chinese “not just as grasping and disloyal, but as essentially cowardly.”19 “Huaqiao warriors” in the Philippines and Filipino Corpsmen in Shanghai did not belong to an overarching imperial mission, and, as a result, did not appear consistently in any specific archive. In the gardens of historical records, they are visible for all to see, but without labels, historians have trouble identifying them.20 By contrast, historians have traced in some detail the contributions of Indians in the “British world.”21 Even if Filipinos and Chinese acted in their own interest when volunteering to defend their host countries, they were clearly not furthering the goals of Chinese or Philippine empires, which sets them apart from Sikh, Vietnamese, Javanese, and other Asian imperial migrants. If Filipinos were not traveling to Shanghai as sub-imperial agents or colonizers, why did they uproot themselves and move to the city? There is no simple answer. Their participation in the Volunteer Corps hints at their visibility in and relationship with the city, but it does not divulge their reasons for coming. It turns out that some Filipinos, like the Russian and Jewish refugees who began to crowd the city by the 1930s, came as political refugees from the wars for independence at the turn of the twentieth century.22 Others just traveled to the city on vacation, like Mrs. Marcos Roces, Isabel Roces, and Ontonia Roces of the famous media mogul family.23 Dr. Riego de Dios, a registered physician, came 18 20

21

22

23

Xu, “The Chinese Corpsmen,” 29–30. 19 Yung Li, The Huaqiao Warriors, ix. A few scholars have begun to explore “overlapping imperialisms,” “intercolonial connections,” and the “connected history of empires.” See, for example, Ballantyne and Burton, Empires and the Reach of the Global; Espiritu, “Inter-Imperial Relations”; and Ghosh, “Burma–Bengal Crossings”. See, for example, Carl Bridge and Kent Fedorowich, eds., The British World: Diaspora, Culture and Identity (London: Frank Cass, 2003); and Kent Fedorowich and Andrew S. Thompson, eds., Empire, Migration and Identity in the British World (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2013). Jesus I. Yabes, ed., The Philippines in Shanghai: The Philippines–China Relations [Feilübin he Shanghai de youhao zhi lü 菲律宾和上海的友好之旅] (Shanghai: The Philippine Consulate General of Shanghai, 2005), 21. For more on the refugee communities in Shanghai, see Irene Eber, ed., Voices from Shanghai: Jewish Exiles in Wartime China (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2008); and Marcia Ristaino, Port of Last Resort: The Diaspora Communities of Shanghai (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2001). “Well Known Manilans Are Sailing This Afternoon on the ‘Hoover,’” The Tribune, September 26, 1931.

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to Shanghai to practice.24 Another Filipino operated a casino that served the Filipino community in the city.25 The brothers Jose, Vicente, and Julian Cobarrubias worked for an American import–export firm. At least one of the brothers also volunteered for the Shanghai Volunteer Corps. Vicente Alobog owned a hat store on Nanjing Road near what would become the Philippine Consulate in 1947.26 Captain Honorio Evangelista, the leader of the Philippine Company of the Shanghai Volunteer Corps, served as the city’s sole Filipino veterinarian.27 Other “Manilamen” worked on vessels that prowled the Yangtze.28 In other words, as historian Gregorio F. Zaide observes, “Filipinos went to China in search of commercial profits, new homes, and adventure.”29 In many ways, Honorio Evangelista, Riego de Dios, Vicente Alobog, and other Filipinos lived uniquely Shanghai stories. Shanghai – the “demon capital,” “paradise of adventurers,” “pleasure capital,” and “Paris of the Orient” – was a vibrant metropolis and open port known for cultural innovation, leading universities, student and worker activism, industrial production, and capital flows.30 It was no accident that Filipinos decided to establish roots in the city. Like many cities at the time, Shanghai contained sharp contrasts, with countless residents living in dire poverty while others commuted in gold-plated sedans.31 The city’s diverse industries, including construction and entertainment, attracted 24

25 26 27 28 29

30

31

Margie Quimpo-Espino, “Octogenarian Is Insurance Industry’s Best Kept Secret,” Inquirer, July 29, 2007, http://business.inquirer.net/money/topstories/view/20070729-7 9280/Octogenarian-is-insurance-industrys-best-kept-secret. “Filipino–Spanish–Portuguese ‘Monte Carlo’ of Shanghai No More,” Philippines Free Press, September 3, 1923. Mariano Ezpeleta, Memoirs of an Ambassador (Quezon City: New Mercury Printing Press, 1973), 23. Yabes, The Philippines, 21. J. D. Clark, Sketches in and around Shanghai, Etc. (Shanghai: Shanghai Mercury and Celestial Empire Offices, 1894), 140–141. Gregorio F. Zaide, Philippine History and Civilization (Manila: Philippine Associated Publishers, 1939), 212. See also Phillip B. Guingona, “The Sundry Acquaintances of Dr. Albino Z. Sycip: Exploring the Shanghai-Manila Connections, circa 1910–1940,” Journal of World History 27, no. 1 (2016): 45–46. Liu Jianhui, Demon Capital Shanghai: The “Modern” Experience of Japanese Intellectuals, trans. Joshua A. Fogel (Portland, ME: Merwin Asia, 2012), 5. See also Jeffrey N. Wasserstrom, Global Shanghai, 1850–2010: A History in Fragments (London: Routledge, 2009). For wealth and glamor, see Sherman Cochran and Andrew Hsieh, The Lius of Shanghai (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2013); and Wen-Hsin Yeh, Shanghai Splendor: Economic Sentiments and the Making of Modern China, 1843–1949 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2008). For Shanghai’s underbelly, see Gail Hershatter, Dangerous Pleasures: Prostitution and Modernity in Twentieth-Century Shanghai (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1997); and Hanchao Lu, Beyond the Neon Lights: Everyday Shanghai in the Early Twentieth Century (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2004).

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all types of people.32 Filipinos, like the city’s Russians, Sikhs, Jews, Americans, Portuguese, and Japanese, leveraged their talents to carve out a community, becoming one of the largest foreign contingents in the megacity.33 Determining the overall population of Filipinos in Shanghai in the early twentieth century is a daunting task because they had no consulate until 1947 and no Philippine imperial archive to accumulate their records afterward. According to the official census of the International Settlement, 382 Filipinos lived in the city in 1930.34 But censuses are capricious creatures. Recent debates about the categorization of people of Southwest Asian or North African descent in the United States hint at the uncertainty involved in categorizing and counting people.35 Uncertainty grows during periods of greater racial and political malleability like in the early twentieth century when competing and overlapping ethnonationalist movements cropped up across the world. Moving beyond the census only muddies the waters. Although a period guidebook, All about Shanghai, registered zero Filipino residents in the French Concession, the Concession hosted a “Manila Road,” and Philippine Consul General Mariano Ezpeleta reported numerous Filipino residents in the former Concession in 1947.36 Estimating the aggregate population of Filipinos in Shanghai in 1947, Ezpeleta wrote, “The Filipinos number over one thousand.”37 In fact, his first major task as Consul General was to do what the British, Japanese, French, and Americans leaders in the city had felt little incentive to do when they ran the city – track down and properly document Filipinos. 32

33

34 35

36

37

For Shanghai as opportunity, see Robert A. Bickers, Empire Made Me: An Englishman Adrift in Shanghai (New York: Columbia University Press, 2003); and Lilaine Willens, Stateless in Shanghai (Hong Kong: Earnshaw Books, 2010). For more on Shanghai’s foreign communities, see Robert Bickers and Christian Henriot, eds., New Frontiers: Imperialism’s New Communities in East Asia, 1842–1953 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2000); Ristaino, Port of Last Resort; and Xiong Yuezhi 熊月 之, ed., Shanghai de waiguoren 上海的外国人, 1842–1949 [Foreigners in Shanghai, 1842– 1949] (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe 上海:上海古籍出版社, 2003). The Municipal Gazette, December 5, 1930, file U1-1–995, SMA, 520. Yousef H. Alshammari, “Why Is There No MENA Category on the 2020 US Census?” Al Jazeera, April 1, 2020, www.aljazeera.com/news/2020/04/mena-category-2020census-200401114334500.html. For the Shanghai guidebook, see Henry J. Lethbridge, All about Shanghai: A Standard Guidebook (Hong Kong: Oxford University Press, 1986), 36. For Manila Road, see Go Bon Juan, “Manila Road in Shanghai,” Manila Times, May 28, 2008. For Expeleta’s comments, see Ezpeleta, Memoirs of an Ambassador, 21. According to Gregorio Zaide, there was also an earlier Filipino merchant settlement across the river from the Bund in what is now Pudong. See Zaide, Philippine History and Civilization, 213. Ezpeleta, Memoirs of an Ambassador, 21. See also Mariano Ezpeleta, Red Shadows over Shanghai (Quezon City: Zita Publishing Corporation, 1972), 7.

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Tallying the Filipino population no doubt proved difficult for Ezpeleta considering that many Filipinos in the city had not registered marriages or births, while those who had registered often did so with the incorrect consulate.38 If Ezpeleta’s number of 1,000 is accurate, though, then the number of Filipinos in the city approached the French and German communities, both of which totaled around 1,400 residents in 1935.39 Considering the Philippine Company of the Shanghai Volunteer Corps had nearly 100 members, pinning the overall population at above or around 1,000 does not seem far-fetched. While censuses are problematic, they can still reveal some telling information. According to the 1935 census, for instance, reflecting the general pattern in Shanghai, males accounted for 63 percent of the adult Filipino population in the International Settlement, with 169 men and 99 women.40 Curiously, the census revealed a similar imbalance with Filipino children, with seventy-one boys and forty-eight girls, which might suggest that families sent daughters back to the Philippines or removed them through some other means. The gender skew of the adult population mirrored global patterns during this era of “proletarian mass migrations.”41 Anecdotal evidence suggests that some Filipinos found local partners.42 Captain Honorio Evangelista of the Shanghai Volunteer Corps, for example, married Shanghai native Nancy Ting Evangelista, who unfortunately left a sparse paper trail.43 Though likely an exaggeration, according to Consul General Ezpeleta, “most Filipinos married Chinese girls.”44 This situation no doubt created the same types of legal uncertainties that confronted Chinese–Filipino couples in the Philippines, where Filipino women could lose their 38 40

41

42

43 44

Ibid., 22. 39 Lethbridge, All about Shanghai, 36. Bryna Goodman, noting that women made up only 30–36 percent of the city’s inhabitants, writes, “In the predominantly male sojourner city of Shanghai, women in public were rather exotic.” See Bryna Goodman, “The New Woman Commits Suicide: The Press, Cultural Memory, and the New Republic,” Journal of Asian Studies 64, no. 1 (2005): 90. This is the opposite case for Filipinos and others in diaspora more recently, where women dominate. For more, see Nana Oishi, Women in Motion: Globalization, State Policies, and Labor Migration in Asia (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2005), esp. 50–54 and 64–66; and Rhacel Salazar Parreñas, The Force of Domesticity: Filipina Migrants and Globalization (New York: New York University Press, 2008). For “proletarian mass migrations,” see Katharine M. Donato and Donna Gabaccia, Gender and International Migration: From the Slavery Era to Global Age (New York: Russell Sage Foundation, 2015), 74–95. Tamara Loos notes that intra-Asian relationships were more numerous and visible than white European–Asian unions in Southeast Asia, and the same likely held true in China. For more on intra-Asian unions, see Tamara Loos, “A History of Sex and the State in Southeast Asia: Class, Intimacy and Invisibility,” Citizenship Studies 12, no. 1 (2008): 27–29. House of Representatives. Honorio Canciller and Nancy Ting Evangelista, 81st Congress, 2nd session, February 7, 1950, Report No. 1578, 1. Ezpeleta, Memoirs of an Ambassador, 23.

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citizenship or American national status by marrying a Chinese national. In Shanghai, where the Municipal Mixed Court and separate national courts and consulates complicated jurisdiction and jurisprudence, as we saw with the case of the Filipinos and lekin runners at the start of this chapter, cases regarding disappearance, divorce, and domestic violence with mixed families must have been complicated and contentious.45 Legal ambiguities aside, children of mixed families appear to have faced issues of identity and belonging. One mixed Filipino-Chinese lad in Shanghai, for instance, felt obligated to prove he was truly a Filipino when acting as a trilingual translator for visiting Filipinos. Consul General Ezpeleta assured Filipino readers of his memoir that the young man participated in Filipino social gatherings and was “one of us.”46 To move beyond the surface and dig out topics like wages, community, and family, we will utilize the records of the Shanghai Municipal Orchestra, but before we continue with the Filipino experience, let us hop aboard a steamer and take a closer look at the lives of Chinese in the Philippines. Chinese in Manila What is currently a two-and-a-half-hour flight from Shanghai-Pudong Airport to Ninoy Aquino International Airport in Manila was a three- to fourday voyage in the 1930s. Though it might seem like an endless journey by today’s impatient standards, back then it was a breeze. By contrast, it required at least three weeks to travel to Europe or the United States from either city. Xiamen to Luzon is even closer, measuring only seven hundred miles as the bird flies, or about the same distance as New York to Chicago. As historian Andrew Wilson observes, “steaming from Xiamen to Manila was perhaps as mundane as my morning commute and probably carried about as much political consequence.”47 More important than distance, however, is connectedness, and multiple lines from several steamship companies linked Shanghai, Xiamen, and Manila (Figure 1.2).

45

46 47

For debates over jurisprudence in Shanghai, see Isabella Jackson, Shaping Modern Shanghai: Colonialism in China’s Global City (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018), 136–139; and Frederic Wakeman, Jr. Policing Shanghai, 1927–1937 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1995), 70–72. Ezpeleta, Memoirs of an Ambassador, 23. Wilson, Ambition and Identity, 21. For more on the shrinking of distance in the age of steam, see Yrjö Kaukiainen, “Journey Costs, Terminal Costs and Ocean Tramp Freights: How the Price of Distance Declined from the 1870s to 2000,” International Journal of Maritime History 18, no. 2 (2006): 17–64.

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Figure 1.2 Route of the world-famous president liners

Entrepreneurs catered to passenger, post, and commercial transportation needs in Asian waters. The Dollar Steamship Company, founded by American businessman Robert Dollar, ran several passenger liners from Shanghai and Hong Kong to Manila.48 Five main Dollar Steamship routes served American imperial and business interests, and two of them, the Round the World and Trans-Pacific lines, connected Shanghai and Manila.49 Competitors from Russia, Japan, and Canada also plied the Shanghai–Manila route. In other words, China and the Philippines were bound by the “helix of imperial and global power,” as historian Antoinette Burton theorizes in a different context, and this helix brought Chinese to Manila just as it brought Filipinos to Shanghai.50 48 49

50

For a brief account of the S. S. Coolidge, see Peter Stone, The Lady and the President: The Life and Loss of the S. S. President Coolidge (Yarram: Oceans Enterprises, 1999). The others were transatlantic or American-only, see “Schedule No. 5: Dollar Steamship Line,” 1925–1926, Robert Dollar Papers, 69/113C, Box 21, the Bancroft Library, Berkeley, CA. Antoinette Burton, “Getting Outside the Global: Re-Positioning British Imperialism in World History,” in Race, Nation and Empire: Making Histories, 1750 to the Present, ed. Catherine Hall and Keith McClelland (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2010), 205. See also Frances Steel, Oceania under Steam: Sea Transport and the Cultures of Colonialism, 1870–1914 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2017).

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Like Shanghai, “Manila was one of the world’s most spectacular emporia with cosmopolitan sensibilities and a genuinely global outlook.”51 A thricecolonized city as opposed to a co-colonized city like Shanghai, it also absorbed foreign populations and new ideas. Through the early Maynila sultanate, Spanish colonial period, First Republic, and American colonial period, one factor remained constant in the city: a sizable and aspiring Chinese community. Yet while the Chinese community has received deserved if uneven scholarly attention, the city itself “is a place remarkably deficient of comprehensive urban historical analysis.”52 Whereas Shanghai flourishes in a well-fertilized field of scholarship, Manila has weltered in the dusty margins of obscurity.53 When Manila appears in historical scholarship, it often fills the role of a trade waystation or an axis of conflict. Many scholars, for instance, have tracked the famed Manila galleons along their route between Acapulco and Manila.54 This highly profitable and surprisingly durable luxury route budded when what Spanish officials called “the China Enterprise” – a euphoric dream of Spanish conquest and Christianization of China – came to a rapid and inglorious end, and Spanish officials in Manila instead became increasingly reliant on the growing Chinese community in the city to supply luxury goods for new and old Spain.55 Chinese traders engaging in the lucrative “triangular trade” between China, Japan, and Manila, meanwhile, viewed the archipelago as a reliable port, if not a promised land.56 The stable profits of the Manila trade ensured that Chinese would continue to sojourn there throughout the Spanish colonial period despite numerous obstacles placed by Chinese and Spanish authorities. The Spaniards implemented a long-standing tripartite policy of taxation, control, 51 52

53

54 55 56

Raquel A. G. Reyes, “Flaunting It: How the Galleon Trade Made Manila, circa 1571– 1800,” Early American Studies 15, no. 4 (2017): 713. Ian Morley, “Philippines Cities, Their History, Development, Culture, and Governance,” Journal of Urban History, 45, no. 5 (2019): 1050. Morley attempts to correct this situation with his book, Cities and Nationhood: American Imperialism and Urban Design in the Philippines, 1898–1916 (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2021). For other books that buck this trend, see Daniel Doeppers, Feeding Manila in Peace and War, 1850–1945 (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2016); Robert Ronald Reed, Colonial Manila: The Context of Hispanic Urbanism and Process of Morphogenesis (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1978); and Cristina Evangelista Torres, The Americanization of Manila, 1898–1921 (Quezon City: The University of the Philippines Press Diliman, 2010). See, for example, Arturo Giráldez, The Age of Trade: The Manila Galleons and the Dawn of the Global Economy (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2015). Giráldez, The Age of Trade, 62. Tremml-Werner, Spain, China, and Japan in Manila; and Birgit M. Tremml, “The Global and the Local: Problematic Dynamics of the Triangular Trade in Early Modern Manila,” Journal of World History 23, no. 3 (September 2012): 555–586.

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and conversion.57 In 1581, only ten years after Miguel López de Legazpi first set foot in the already-thriving port, the fourth governor general, following a new global pattern of segregation, established the segregated Parián neighborhood in Manila, requiring non-Christian Chinese to reside within its borders. For many centuries afterward, Chinese lived in segregated communities in the Parián and Binondo neighborhoods of Manila.58 Together, these neighborhoods served as the fulcrum for trade and specialized industries in Manila and beyond.59 Throughout the Spanish colonial period, the Chinese maintained a tenuous relationship with Spanish authorities. With the China dream dead and decayed for Spaniards, the Philippine dream of Chinese people dominated the relationship. However, Spaniards feared the influential, connected, and sizable Chinese community, which had quickly grown to outnumber theirs. Periodic pogroms and expulsion orders that threatened the foundations of the Chinese community defined the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.60 The Chinese feared the arbitrary justice and reactionary blindsides of Spanish authorities, but they consistently reestablished themselves after pogroms despite staggering casualty figures, such as the estimated 23,000 who perished in 1603.61 To compensate for their insecurity and uncertainty as non-colonizing and non-native members of the Manila community, Chinese turned to numerous strategies, including organizing the community through the Chamber of Commerce and cabecilla, or community leader; establishing and invoking hometown or qiaoxiang (僑鄉) ties; maintaining lines of credit with powerful Spaniards; and fostering extra-consanguine family ties such as compadrazgo, or co-parenthood and padrinazgo, or godparenthood.62 Like their Filipino 57 58

59

60

61 62

Wickberg, The Chinese, 9. The ninth governor general established the adjacent Binondo neighborhood for Chinese converts to Catholicism. See Teresita Ang See and Richard T. Chu, “An Overview of Binondo’s History,” in Manila: Selected Papers of the 20th Annual Manila Studies Conference, July 28–29, 2011, ed. Marya Svetlana T. Camacho (Manila: Manila Studies Association, 2012), 206–228; and Eufronio M. Alip, The Chinese in Manila (Manila: National Historical Commission, 1974), 16–19. Lucille Chia, “The Butcher, the Baker, and the Carpenter: Chinese Sojourners in the Spanish Philippines and Their Impact on Southern Fujian (Sixteenth–Eighteenth Centuries),” Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient 49, no. 4 (2006): 515–516. Chia, “The Butcher,” 510 and 515–519; see Ang See, Tsinoy, 59–62; and Edgar Wickberg, The Chinese in Philippine Life, 1850–1898 (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1965), 15–19. Alip, Ten Centuries, 39; and Gregorio F. Zaide, History of the Filipino People (Manila: The Modern Book Co., 1974), 65. Richard T. Chu, Chinese Merchants of Binondo in the Nineteenth Century (Manila: University of Santo Tomas Publishing House, 2010); Joshua Kueh, “Adaptive Strategies of Parián Chinese: Fictive Kinship and Credit in Seventeenth-Century Manila,” Philippine Studies: Historical and Ethnographic Viewpoints 61, no. 3 (2013): 362–384; Wilson, Ambition and Identity; and Zhuang Guotu, “The Social Impact on

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counterparts in Shanghai, to whom we will return in the next chapter, in times of duress, Chinese people came together as a community to help one another. Much of the community cohesion stemmed from shared linguistic and hometown ties, with most residents hailing from a few towns in southern Fujian, or Minnan. Scholars have noted how these Hokkien speakers became “undisputed leaders in seafaring enterprises.”63 In this regard, one could argue that they shared more in common with seafaring “Manilamen” than their Chinese peers.64 Yet for all of its advantages as a seafaring region, southern Fujian faced the dual dilemma of severe shortage of arable land and a bumper population.65 Fortunately for them, the Philippines, like much of Southeast Asia before the twentieth century, remained comparatively underpopulated. This led many Fujianese to try their luck in Manila, which Richard T. Chu describes as a “magnet to many Minnanese.”66 Just like today, Manila served as the economic, cultural, and political center of the Philippines. Local Chinese opened a branch of the Protect the Emperor Society, a famous Qing loyalist organization, in Manila in 1899.67 Likewise, nationalist-minded activists established the first Philippine branch of the Tongmenghui, Sun Yatsen’s (Sun Zhongshan 孫中山) anti-Manchu revolutionary organization, in Manila right before the revolution.68 As we will explore in more detail in Chapter 6, leading community members also established the Philippine Chinese Chamber of Commerce, the China Banking Corporation, and other prominent Chinese business ventures in Manila. As historian Edgar Wickberg notes in his work, “Unlike other parts of the archipelago, Manila had a Chinese population that was constantly being replenished.”69 Like Filipinos in Shanghai, Chinese in Manila mingled and interacted widely with the city’s diverse denizens, forming business partnerships, lasting friendships, and intimate relationships.70 According to censuses, the gender ratio skewed even further out of proportion for the Chinese community in the Philippines than it did for the Filipino community in Shanghai, with only 194 women out of a total of 66,000 in 1886 and

63 64 65

66 68 69

Their Home Town of Jinjiang Emigrants’ Activities during the 1930s,” in South China: State, Culture and Social Change during the 20th Century, ed. Leo Douw and Peter Post (Amsterdam: Royal Netherlands Academy of Arts and Sciences, 1996), 169–181. Chin-keong Ng, Trade and Society: The Amoy Network on the China Coast 1683–1735 (Singapore: NUS Press, 2015), 1. For seafaring Filipinos, see Aguilar, “Manilamen and Seafaring.” Chen Ta, Chinese Migrations, 23–28; Chu, Chinese and Chinese Mestizos, 34; and Zheng Zhenman, Family Lineage Organization and Social Change in Ming and Qing Fujian, trans. Michael Szonyi (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2001), 11 and 45. Chu, Chinese and Chinese Mestizos, 53. 67 Wilson, Ambition and Identity, 164. Antonio S. Tan, The Chinese in the Philippines, 1898–1935: A Study of Their National Awakening (Quezon City: R.P. Garcia Publishing Co., 1972), 118–122. Wickberg, The Chinese, 35. 70 Chu, Chinese and Chinese Mestizos, 142.

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3,098 women out of 43,802 in 1918.71 While this data, as mentioned earlier in the Filipino case, was almost certainly incomplete, the official tally is quite shocking for its implications on family life. With fewer than 100,000 Chinese residents for most of the American colonial period, and only half of them residing in Manila, the Chinese community remained more compact than comparable Chinese or Indian communities in Southeast Asia.72 So, while the Chinese population in the Philippines, and in Manila in particular, was significantly larger than the Filipino population in Shanghai, which we pinned at approximately 1,000, perhaps Chinese in Manila had more in common with Shanghai’s Filipinos than appears at first glance. If we consider the overall population of China, which was approaching 500 million, and the overall population of the Philippines, which had just passed 10 million, the emigration numbers, or outward flow of migrants, were similar percentage-wise but clearly on a different scale.73 With a gender ratio of 92.9 percent male to 7.1 percent female in 1918, there must have been many cases of underreporting, sojourning, or informal relationships. As Richard T. Chu notes, the 7.1 percent tally in the census also included Filipino women who married male Chinese nationals because citizenship became linked with the husband after the extension of exclusionary policies to the Philippines.74 On the flip side, this meant that if a Chinese woman were to marry a Filipino man, which was no doubt quite rare given the demographics, she would face legal limbo. A commentator in a Singaporean newspaper observed that in such cases, the Chinese woman would lose her Chinese citizenship and but could not acquire Philippine citizenship due to exclusionist laws.75 Lawmakers heaped these legal obstacles on Chinese people to disincentivize migration and complicate their lives, and we will explore this topic in more detail in the next chapter. 71

72

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Census Office of the Philippine Islands, Census of the Philippine Islands: Volume II: Population and Mortality (Manila: Bureau of Printing, 1921), 15; Josephine M. T. Khu, “José Tan Sunco (Chen Guangchun 陳光純),” Kritika Kultura 21/22 (2013/2014): 5; and Wickberg, The Chinese, 174. By contrast, Adam McKeown estimated that 29 million Indians and 19 million Chinese people migrated to Southeast Asia from 1846 to 1940. See Adam McKeown, “Global Migration, 1846–1940,” Journal of World History 15, no. 2 (2004): 157. Ping-ti Ho, Studies on the Population of China, 1368–1953 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1959), 86; and Census Office, Census of the Philippine Islands, 13. Census Office, Census of the Philippine Islands, 36; and Chu, Chinese and Chinese Mestizos, 333. The author described how such women would become “stateless bitter people.” See “Yu jia Feiren zhi Hua nüzi zhuyi 欲嫁菲人之華女子註意 [Chinese Women Who Want to Marry Filipinos Please Take Note],” Nan guang 南光 [Southern Light] 1, no. 4 (1928): 17. For more on this citizenship conundrum for Chinese people, see Emma Jinhua Teng, Eurasian: Mixed Identities in the United States, China, and Hong Kong, 1842–1943 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2013), 80–81.

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The census, which recorded a sizable mestizo or “half-breed” population, as the census labeled them, also shows a glimpse at the long history of intimate relations between Chinese and Filipinos.76 Furthermore, many Filipinos with Chinese heritage did not even report their Chinese background to census takers. The well-known author José Rizal, whose family famously rejected their Chinese heritage, supposedly for tax purposes, is a case in point.77 Church records and anecdotal evidence generally corroborate the long history of intermarriage.78 In other words, Chinese in the Philippines, like their Filipino peers in Shanghai, despite the many societal pressures and legal barriers designed to hinder such unions, adjusted to the new soil in these cosmopolitan cities by forming intimate partnerships. Unlike the Filipino community in Shanghai, the Chinese community had clear and traceable leadership and organizational structures. Of course, these organizations sometimes masked underlying divisions within the community, and we will return to those divisions in Part III. By the twentieth century, the Philippine Chinese Chamber of Commerce, which theoretically only dealt with financial affairs, had replaced earlier Spanish-era institutions as the de facto community governing body.79 Coupled with a vibrant Chinese press, which shapes Part IV, and a semi-independent school system, which we touch upon in Part II, the Chinese community was well defined and comparably unified. This unity allowed for a quick resolution of issues, such as a 1922 incident that entangled the Chinese community in Manila and Filipino one in Shanghai. The incident began when “news flashed from Shanghai, stating that Filipino colonists, mostly musicians and their families, who were living in that city were being maltreated by the Chinese there.”80 According to historian Eufronio M. Alip, Filipinos in Manila responded to this news by harassing local Chinese residents until Philippine Senator Manuel Roxas intervened to quell the riots.81 Just as American transplants in China suffered in the anti-American exclusion-inspired riots of 1905, Chinese residents in the Philippines suffered when rumors spread regarding ill treatment toward Filipinos in China.82 In other words, the Chinese and Filipino diasporas were not just similar; they were also intertwined.

76 78 79 80 82

Census Office, Census of the Philippine Islands, 15. 77 Wickberg, The Chinese, 34. For more on church records, see Chu, Chinese and Chinese Mestizos, 15; and Kueh, “Adaptive Strategies of Parián Chinese,” 363. The comparable Spanish-era institutions were the Gremio de Chinos, which was a type of guild, and Tribunal de los Sangleyes, which was a type of small-claims court. Alip, Ten Centuries, 47. 81 Ibid. For the anti-American boycott, see Guanhua Wang, In Search of Justice: The 1905–1906 Chinese Anti-American Boycott (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2001).

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Trumpets: The Shanghai Municipal Orchestra and Filipino Jazz In an unnamed Shanghai dance hall, “an American was holding a German. A Spaniard was holding a Russian. Portuguese bumped into people of mixed blood; inebriated people from Siam, France, Italy, Bulgaria” danced to their hearts’ content. Yokomitsu Riichi painted this exhilarating and romanticized picture in his 1925 novel, Shanghai. On the stage of this dance hall, “trombones and coronets swung about. Teeth were exposed from the dark skin of a band from Manila.”1 Though blurred by the constructed reality of fiction, the Filipinos on stage in Yokomitsu’s novel reflected a historical reality during Shanghai’s jazz age.2 If you entered a jazz club in Shanghai in the 1930s, chances are you would be doing the foxtrot to the beat of a Filipino band. While some Shanghai residents might have associated Filipinos with the Shanghai Volunteer Corps and mercenary armies, many more associated them with classical music and jazz, and some historians have followed suit. Historian Chen Chen goes so far as to write, “Filipino musicians had become synonymous with jazz in old Shanghai.”3 1 2

3

Yokomitsu Riichi, Shanghai: A Novel by Yokomitsu Riichi, trans. Dennis Washburn (Ann Arbor, MI: Center for Japanese Studies, University of Michigan, 2001), 80. For an introduction to Shanghai’s cabaret culture, see James Farrer and Andrew David Field, Shanghai Nightscapes: A Nocturnal Biography of a Global City (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2015); Andrew Field, Shanghai’s Dancing World: Cabaret Culture and Urban Politics, 1919–1954 (Hong Kong: The Chinese University Press, 2010); and Eugene Marlow, Jazz in China: From Dance Hall Music to Individual Freedom of Expression (Jackson: University Press of Mississippi, 2018). Chen Chen 陈晨, “Lao Shanghai de Feilübin yueren 老上海的菲律宾乐人 [Philippine Jazz Musicians in Old Shanghai],” Yinyue aihaozhe 音乐爱好者 [Music Lover] 2 (2010): 36. For a general history of Filipino jazz musicians in Hong Kong, Macao, and Shanghai, see Lee Watkins, “Minstrelsy and Mimesis in the South China Sea: Filipino Migrant Musicians, Chinese Hosts, and the Disciplining of Relations in Hong Kong,” Asian Music 40, no. 2 (2009): 72–99.

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Another scholar, with similar pomp, notes that the “Filipino bands dominate[d]” the jazz scene in Shanghai.4 Journalist Chang Hsiangyi, meanwhile, writes that, among the five or six hundred active musicians in Shanghai, “Filipino bands are the most famous.”5 Popular Filipino bands sprouted up across the city in the 1920s and 1930s, becoming an important part of the cultural ecosystem of Shanghai. Before Filipinos became connected with jazz, however, they had made a name for themselves in the Shanghai Municipal Orchestra. This section pieces together a social history of Filipinos in the city using archival documents of the Shanghai Municipal Orchestra from the 1880s to the 1920s and published memoirs and newspaper accounts of the jazz club night scene from the 1920s to the 1940s. Together, these documents show a vibrant and visible community that crossed paths with both the city’s elite and the city’s underclass. Challenging received assumptions about Western cultural influence on China, this section argues that Filipinos, who became closely connected with classical music and jazz in Shanghai, acted as one of the primary translators of these mediums to China. Filipinos first gained fame as musicians in the city through the Shanghai Municipal Orchestra.6 The first conductor, Spanish musician Melchior Vela, led a trip to “Manila where he recruited 19 men” for the band three years after its founding in 1878.7 Spanish imperial linkages created opportunities for Filipinos in Shanghai just as they had created opportunities for Filipino seafarers and musicians in the Americas, and Filipinos took full advantage of those opportunities by uprooting their lives and starting over in a new land.8 From Vela’s first recruiting trip up 4 5

6

7

8

Eugene Marlow, Jazz in China: From Dance Hall Music to Individual Freedom of Expression (Jackson: University Press of Mississippi, 2018), 40. Chang Hsiangyi (Zhang Xiangyi 張翔一), Taiwan “jueshi” guangpu: lishi, qunxiang, zhanwang 台灣{爵士}光譜: 歷史, 群像, 展望 [Taiwan “Jazz” Spectrum: History, Images, and Future] (Taiwan: Taiwan guji chuban youxian gongsi 台灣古籍出版有限公司, 2006), 3. Robert Bickers, “‘The Greatest Cultural Asset East of the Suez’: The History and Politics of the Shanghai Municipal Orchestra and Public Band, 1881–1946,” in Ershi shiji de Zhongguo yu shijie 二十世纪的中国与世界 [China and the World in the Twentieth Century], ed. Chi-hsiung Chang 张启雄 (Taibei: Institute of Modern History, Academia Sinica, 2001), 840. Bickers, “The Greatest Cultural Asset,” 843. For more on the Orchestra, see Kuo-huang Han (Han Guohuang 韩国璜), “Shanghai gongbuju yuedui yanjiu 上海工部局乐队研究 [A Preliminary Study of Shanghai Municipal Orchestra],” Yishu xue 艺术学 [Study of the Arts] 14 (1995): 143–205; and Wang Yanli 王艳莉, “Shanghai gongbuju yuedui de caiche fengbo – jianji Meibaiqi yuedui jingying celue 上海工部局乐队的裁撤风波 – 兼及梅百器乐 队经营策略 [Disturbance and Dissolution of the Shanghai Municipal Council Orchestra and Band – Maestro Paci’s Orchestral Management Strategy],” Yinyue yanjiu 音乐研究 [Music Research] 5 (2010): 86–97. Filipinos attained some of their musical repertoire from those seafaring expeditions to the Americas. Floro L. Mercene, for example, explains how “a number of their [Filipino]

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to the mid-1920s, Filipinos accounted for the majority of the Shanghai Municipal Orchestra’s members. Leaders of the Shanghai Municipal Council, which sponsored the ensemble, had many reasons to direct administrators to recruit Filipino band members. Historian Robert Bickers notes that “the most likely reason for the recruitment of Filipinos was that Spanish rule had fostered the development of a tradition of Filipino involvement in the colonial administration’s military and civil bands and musical life.”9 While this certainly factored in, practical concerns like the physical proximity of the recruits also shaped the decision. The Philippines was considerably closer than other talent pools.10 Why send a recruiter to Italy, Mexico, or France when the Philippines was a four-day steamship ride away? Shanghai ratepayers also viewed the hiring of Filipinos as an affordability issue because Filipinos received less compensation on average than European players.11 As with the unnamed “Manilamen” who were assaulted by lekin runners, the Filipino band members were both visible and invisible, central yet overlooked, at least from white eyes. They shared some aspects of foreign privilege, which helped them land jobs in the first place, but they could not hide their physiognomy, which shaped the fates of many humans during this era of pseudo-science–infused racism. The governing class expressed no moral qualms when prying wages out of their dark complexion. The advantages of hiring Filipinos ensured that the Orchestra remained a Filipino band for the first four decades of its existence. However, when Mario Paci, the institution’s most famous and longest tenured conductor, took charge in 1919, Filipinos gradually yielded their positions to Russians and Italians.12 After the Great War and its accompanying budget shortfalls, the Orchestra employed only seven European

9 10 11

12

dances and musical compositions” originated from “Mexico.” See Floro L. Mercene, Manila Men in the New World: Filipino Migration to Mexico and the Americas (Quezon City: University of the Philippines Press, 2007), 139. Bickers, “The Greatest Cultural Asset,” 844. Richie C. Quirino, Pinoy Jazz Traditions (Pasig City, Phillipines: Anvil, 2004), 18. Some members of the Orchestra and Band Committee that oversaw the Orchestra began to question this assumption in the 1920s, arguing that hiring Europeans on temporary contracts would have been more cost effective. See Orchestra & Band Committee Minute Book, No. 1, April 22, 1919 to Nov. 20, 1935, file U1-1–130, SMA, 98. For more on Paci’s role in the Orchestra, see Wang, “Shanghai gongbuju,” 86–97; and Zhao Xiaohong 赵晓红 and Hu Nan 胡楠, “Gongbuju yuedui ji qi dui Shanghai de yingxiang 工部剧乐队及其对上海的影响 [Municipal Orchestra and Its Influence upon Shanghai],” Wenhua yishu yanjiu 文化艺术研究 [Studies in Culture & Art] 4, no. 2 (2011): 157–174.

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musicians and nineteen Filipinos.13 In 1920, a year after Mario Paci’s ascension, the number shifted dramatically to seventeen Europeans and twenty-two Filipinos.14 From that point on, the numbers began to favor players of European descent. In 1927 the band consisted of thirty Europeans and fourteen Filipinos, and in 1940 it had forty-three Europeans, three Filipinos, and four Chinese people.15 Why did Paci, with the support of Shanghai Municipal Council members and ratepayers, weed out Filipino musicians? Most institutions evolve if they survive over half a century, and the Shanghai Municipal Orchestra was no exception. What was a limited music scene with few standout performers and a small listening audience in the 1880s had blossomed into a field of abundant talent and fierce competition by the 1930s, especially after the Depression set in and more people searched for work.16 By 1929, 13,000 Russians lived in the city, and many of them needed a job and possessed musical ability.17 In other words, the availability of Russian and other musicians in Shanghai made recruitment abroad unnecessary, or as Paci himself put it, “Manila offers no more advantages from a musical standpoint than those already obtainable in Shanghai.”18 Logistics of recruitment and the growth of local talent aside, transforming into a more European-looking band had become a selling point for Mario Paci and other government officials. Authors of the Annual Report of the Shanghai Municipal Council, for example, delightedly informed Shanghai ratepayers that “the Orchestra never rendered better music than at the concerts towards the end of 1925,” noting that “this is due, particularly to the increase in the number of good European musicians, to compensate for the decrease in Filipino musicians of less skill.”19 Though Mario Paci and his backers ostensibly replaced Filipinos with Europeans to increase the “skill” of the Orchestra, it does not take 13 14 16

17

18 19

Several German band members were laid off during World War I. Orchestra & Band Committee Book, No. 1, 14. 15 Han, “Shanghai gongbuju,” 170. For more on music and dance in China during this period, see Andrew Jones, Yellow Music: Media Culture and Colonial Modernity in the Chinese Jazz Age (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2001); and Andrew Field, Shanghai’s Dancing World: Cabaret Culture and Urban Politics, 1919–1954 (Hong Kong: Chinese University Press, 2010). Marcia Ristaino, “The Russian Diaspora Community in Shanghai,” in New Frontiers: Imperialism’s New Communities in East Asia, 1842–1953, ed. Robert Bickers and Christian Henriot (New York: Manchester University Press, 2000), 194. For more on Russian musicians in the city, see also Wang Zhicheng 汪之成, Eqiao yinyuejia zai Shanghai (1920s–1940s) 俄侨音乐家在上海 (1920s–1940s) [The Russian Musicians in Shanghai] (Shanghai: Shanghai yinyue xueyuan chubanshe 上海:上海音乐学院出版社, 2007). Orchestra & Band Committee Minute Book, No. 1, April 22, 1919 to Nov. 20, 1935, 18. Annual Report of the Shanghai Municipal Council, 1925, file U1-1–938, SMA, 321.

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a trained historian to read between the lines. I contend that British, American, and other privileged white members of the Shanghai community intentionally whitewashed the public band to claim control and ownership of the medium of classical music, which had, up to that time, been stewarded by Filipinos. To put it another way, adhering to the circular supremacist logic of imperialism, they wanted to “restore” Europeans to their “proper” place as progenitors of music and civilization. In this regard, the leaders of the Shanghai Municipal Council were partially successful in the short term, but tremendously successful in the long term, as we will explore in this chapter’s conclusion on erasure and distortion. Though largely lost in the wildfires of popular memory and controlled burns of historiography, the lives of Filipino and other band members endured in flame-resistant seeds found deep in the recesses of the archives.20 The records of the Shanghai Municipal Orchestra, for instance, give us unique insights into their lives. They show how Claro Legaspi, who carried the name of the Spanish conquistador Miguel López de Legazpi, cultivated a new career by moving to Shanghai and landing a white-collar job in the Orchestra in 1905.21 Like any white-collar job, work at the Orchestra had its perks, but it also demanded mental and physical devotion. During his long career in Shanghai, Legaspi only managed two trips back to the Philippines. It was simply too difficult to find time for the trip. He applied for a leave of absence in May of 1920, for instance. However, due to the Orchestra’s packed summer schedule, the conductor asked him to put his plans on hold until September, knowing full well that it had been ten years since he had last stepped foot in his homeland.22 After some foot-dragging by the Band Committee, Legaspi and his wife and children finally received permission to take the Empress of Asia steamship back home later that year. Legaspi and his family traveled second class, of course, but at least the Municipal Council footed the bill.23 Claro Legaspi received several raises over the years.24 A June 30, 1923, notification from the band’s conductor recommended the continuation of

20

21 22 23 24

While several scholars have researched the Shanghai Municipal Orchestra, as of writing this chapter, none cite the trove of private letters and salary records available at the Shanghai Municipal Archives. Annual Report of the Shanghai Municipal Council, 1925, file U1-1–938, SMA, 339. Mario Paci, “Application for Leave of Mr. Claro Legaspi,” September 3, 1920, file U13–863, SMA, 7. Ibid. Mario Paci, “Shanghai Municipal Council Orchestra & Band Department Renewal of Agreement,” June 30, 1923, file U1-3–863, SMA, 12.

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his employment and an increase in pay to $160 per month.25 However, three years later, in the midst of the Orchestra’s transformation, Conductor Paci wrote to the Band Committee, “Mr. Legaspi, after 21 years service [sic] and being aged at 52 years, has not any longer that grade of efficiency required to fill the place of third Trombone-Player in the Orchestra.”26 Although Legaspi received a year and a half of severance pay, he did not enjoy the same retirement pension as white employees. This disparity in compensation would become a major point of contention between the band’s Filipino and European players.27 In response to his sudden change in fortune, Legaspi sent a plea to Assistant Conductor A. de Kryger, who appears to have been closer to the band’s Filipino players than Conductor Paci. It read, As Conductor and my constant companion on the Band I believe you are in a position to say whether or not I have humbly and faithfully performed my duties as musician for the Municipal Band during the time that I was connected with it. Therefore I am approaching you today as I know of no other man who might have a little interest on my behalf and sincerely thanking you if you will be kind enough to help me, for the last time, to request the Shanghai Municipal Council that my compensation be made adequately or a little more than has been previously made – in order that I and my family may be able to get along with it for a while, or until at least I shall be able to find a new profession in my new field, in life.28

At age 52, distant from both the vigor of youth and the land of his ancestors, Claro Legaspi found himself unemployed. The nimble hands that had so adroitly navigated the curves of his trombone to create and sustain a career and livelihood in Shanghai had abandoned him as they took up the pen to write a heartfelt plea. The tone of his words suggests that he knew the appeal would land on deaf ears. All he had left were his wits and a small stipend to support his family. Legaspi could have turned to jazz like some of his colleagues, but instead, relying on the same entrepreneurial spirit that had brought him to Shanghai in the first place, he pioneered a different path. He found a new job as conductor. Jinan University, a Shanghai-based school that 25 26

27

28

Ibid. Mario Paci, “RE: Musician C. Legaspi’s Termination of Services,” letter to S. M. Edwards, May 18, 1926, file U1-3–863, SMA, 15. See also Mario Paci, “Statement of the Present Conditions of the Municipal Band,” file U1-3–738, SMA, 46. G. Edward, letter to the Staff Committee, August 25, 1926, file U1-3–863, SMA, 25. A dispute over distribution of overtime pay from private performances led to a standoff between Filipinos and Europeans in 1922. See Mario Paci, letter to J. M. McKee, December 18, 1922, file U1-3–2157, SMA, 12; and Han, “Shanghai gongbuju,” 154. Carlo Legaspi and H. San Juan, letter to A. de Kryger, August 9, 1926, file U1-3–863, SMA, 23.

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catered to overseas Chinese students, hired him as the “Conductor of the University Orchestra.”29 In an interesting twist, at Jinan, he taught “returned” overseas Chinese students, including some from the Philippines. After holding the position for several years, Legaspi returned to the Shanghai Municipal Orchestra on a temporary basis. Perhaps things were turning around for him, but it was hard to say with the state of the global economy during the Great Depression. He could only play music; the rest was up to God. The Shanghai Municipal Orchestra files reveal much that the International Settlement census could not. Personal stories of family, misfortune, prejudice, and community come to life in the private letters of the conductor and assistant conductor. The death of an employee always impacts an institution, and when well-regarded violinist Benito C. Sado died suddenly in 1932 while still an active member of the Orchestra, the assistant conductor wrote, “Sado has been a member of the Orchestra and Band for nearly 20 years and has always given his best, he was a very good musician and also a very honest and reliable man, whose death means a great loss to the Municipal Orchestra and Band.”30 After what was no doubt a frustrating back-and-forth with the Shanghai Municipal Council, Benito Sado’s wife Mary Kou Sado eventually received her husband’s full superannuation.31 Other band members and their families were less fortunate. P. Natividad, a talented player fluent in two instruments, became sick in 1933 with a growth in his throat. Unable to perform due to the nature of the illness, he lost his source of income and had trouble making hospital payments. In a highly contested business decision, the Band Committee declined to support Natividad financially because he no longer worked for the band. He died in November, a few months after becoming ill. To help their colleague and his family, Filipino members of the Orchestra financed his funeral, and the Municipal Council eventually granted six months’ pay to his widow.32 29

30 31 32

Jinan nianjian 暨南年鑒, 1929 [Chinan Annual], file Q240-1–491, SMA, 45, 136. I spent quite a bit of time paging through staff directories of different universities at the Shanghai Municipal Archives. This was my small reward for this perhaps ill-advised endeavor. Legaspi also appears in the school’s 1936 directory. See Zheng Hongnian 鄭洪年, Sun Ke 孫科, and Chen Lifu 陳立夫, Guoli Jinan daxue zhijiaoyuan xuesheng minglu 國立暨南大學 職教員學生名錄 [Student and Teacher Directory of Jinan University] (Shanghai: Guoli Jinan daxue yinwuzu yin, 1936 上海:國立暨南大學印務組印, 1936), 26. A. de Krygen, letter to Secretary of the Shanghai Municipal Council, March 7, 1932, file U1-14–1972, SMA, 24. Mary Kou Sado, letter to Secretary of the Shanghai Municipal Council, March 10, 1932, file U1-14–1972, SMA, 27. Mario Paci, letter to the Secretary of SMC, October 24, 1933, file U1-3–2381, SMA, 22; and Mario Paci, letter to Secretary SMC, November 4, 1933, file U1-3–2381, SMA, 25.

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Though the snapshots into the lives of Natividad and Sado are brief and incomplete, they provide valuable information. Judging from Mary Kou Sado’s name, she was likely ethnic Chinese, which hints at the romantic relationships formed in Shanghai. The way the Filipino band members rallied around their ailing mate suggests a vibrant support network much like the more formalized Chinese network in the Philippines. As far as I could tell during my research, apart from one World War II-era musicians’ union, there was no community newspaper or organization uniting Filipinos, but this anecdotal evidence hints at a type of unity.33 On a different note, one chronicler alluded to a different type of communal cohesion when he described the “Manila cock-pit in bamboo town” that was “in full swing every Sunday afternoon.”34 The disputes over pensions, severance, and health insurance show how Filipinos faced an uphill battle fighting for basic rights with the Euro-American–Japanese-dominated Municipal Council. Let us turn finally to Filipino achievement and Chinese viewership. C. de Castro and F. M. Calibo, two long-tenured and particularly wellregarded Filipino band members, set the bar for achievement. During his twenty-seven-year career, to the chagrin of some of his European peers, de Castro became the assistant conductor, occasionally conducting the half band on his own when both halves were requested for concurrent performances.35 In 1908, before the rise of Conductor Paci, the Band Committee even entrusted Mr. de Castro to travel to Manila to recruit additional band members, but de Castro declined due to poor health.36 F. M. Calibo played the piano and clarinet. He served on the Orchestra for thirty-seven years from 1905 to 1942. Unlike other Filipino players who retired due to old age, whitewashing policies, or underperformance in the 1930s, Calibo remained in the Band until its disbandment in World War II.37 The Orchestra initially served only foreigners and the city’s super wealthy, but after the success of the Northern Expedition of 1927, the Municipal Council expanded access to the Orchestra, allowing ordinary Chinese residents to attend. However, even before this expansion, the half orchestra or individual band members would play at private 33 34 35 36 37

“Shanghai Municipal Police Report: Filipino musicians Union – Application for permission of hold meeting,” October 28, 1942, file R36-12–22, SMA, 1. Clark, Sketches in and around Shanghai, 34–36. For European musicians who objected “to playing under the baton of Mr. de Castro,” see Band Committee, Minute Book, No. 1, 1908–1918, file U1-1–129, SMA, 8. Ibid., 13. Calibo was one of the highest paid Filipinos in the Band in 1923 at $165 per month. By comparison, Claro Legaspi received $160 and Hermogenes San Juan made $140. See E. S. B. Rowe, “General Order No. 6894,” June 22, 1923, file U1-3–863, SMA, 44.

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gatherings, which led to considerable exposure of the Filipino band members to Shanghai locals. The Chin Woo Athletic Association, for example, requested the services of a “Manila pianist” on April 9, 1921.38 The Orchestra sent F. M. Calibo. Apparently satisfied with his services, the Chin Woo Athletic Association requested Calibo’s services twice more over the ensuing years, the second time also requesting Claro Legaspi.39 Although restrictions prevented Chinese individuals in Shanghai from viewing Orchestra performances before 1928, private shows opened spaces for personal interactions.40 During the summer season, weather permitting, the band performed outside in Jessfield Park, and in the winter, they played in the regal Lyceum Theater. However, during downtimes, with the Band Committee’s sanction, Filipino band members performed for the city’s Chinese elite at weddings, dance parties, and other gatherings. In 1923, for instance, Claro Legaspi, a rather popular private performer, served as bandmaster for a Chinese band at a meeting of the Shanghai Charitable Societies.41 This no doubt served him well when he later applied to be the conductor at Jinan University. Two years earlier, Lord Robert Lee, the grandson of Li Hongzhang (李鴻章), requested the “Municipal Filipino Band” to perform at his mother’s funeral.42 In this interesting but telling slip of tongue, Lee hinted at a general association between the Orchestra and Filipinos among Shanghai’s residents. And these examples represent only a fraction of the requests received by the Orchestra over the years. The number of private performances ensured that the Orchestra and its Filipino band members gained visibility and renown. The Orchestra also frequently played for the Shanghai Volunteer Corps, which exposed the Filipino bandmembers to even wider audiences. As a result, for many of the city’s residents, Filipinos came to epitomize classical music. The omnipresence of Filipinos in the cabarets and nightclubs further expanded the link between Filipinos and cultural innovation. Consul General Mariano Ezpeleta stated upon his arrival in Shanghai in 1947 that “more than half of the Filipino residents in Shanghai dabble 38 39 40 41 42

“Shanghai Municipal Council Public Band Application Form,” April 7, 1921, file U1-6– 297, SMA, 35. “Shanghai Municipal Council Public Band Application Form,” October 27, 1921, file U1-6–297, SMA, 39. The shift in recruitment tactics coincided with the inclusion of statistics on Chinese attendance. See Bickers, “The Greatest Cultural Asset,” 856–859. Mario Paci, letter to J. McKee, Assistant Secretary of the Shanghai Municipal Council, September 7, 1923, file U1-6–299, SMA, 68. K. X. You, letter to the General Office of the Shanghai Municipal Council, March 19, 1921, file U1-6–297, SMA, 76.

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in music in the evenings.”43 Most Filipino jazz musicians did not play at Shanghai’s most prestigious facilities, which hosted the city’s wealthiest and most famous patrons or, as famous jazz pioneer and former Shanghai resident Whitey Smith called them, the “International 400.”44 Instead, Filipino jazz musicians worked in places that “catered less to foreigners and the native elite than to the Chinese urban petit bourgeoisie (xiao shimin),” like the city’s other famous jazz musicians, African Americans.45 Many onlookers and fellow jazz musicians, like Yokomitsu Riichi, Buck Clayton, and Whitey Smith, attested to the ubiquity of Filipinos in nightlife. In a city where “movie actors and actresses were national celebrities and popular idols,” many Filipino musicians gained the trappings of fame.46 Pomping Villa headed “a good Filipino band of 12 people” at the Mandarin Club, a prestigious Shanghai nightclub.47 A big fish, he was “acknowledged as the foremost xylophone player in Shanghai.”48 Similarly, Apolo Dila, whom many considered “the best jazz trumpet player in the late 1930’s,” led a band called the Shanghai Swing Masters.49 However, the most famous Filipino musician, and “acknowledge[d] musical leader” of the community, was Don Jose Alindada.50 In an interview, Don Jose’s son recalled how his father leveraged his wealth and fame to cruise through Japanese checkpoints during World War II without showing his identification.51 When Filipinos did not headline, they, along with the city’s Russian and Japanese musicians, filled out the cast of aspiring bands. Some Japanese bands, for instance, “employed Filipino bands with a few token Japanese members until the number of Japanese musicians in Shanghai made all-Japanese bands feasible,” again hinting at the ubiquity of Filipinos in the night scene.52 Whitey Smith also formed an “International Band” that contained American, Filipino, Russian, and 43 44 45

46 48 50

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Ezpeleta, Memoirs of an Ambassador, 23. Lee Watkins puts the number at 143 in 1942; see Watkins, “Minstrelsy and Mimesis,” 80. Whitey Smith with C. L. McDermott, I Didn’t Make a Million: How Jazz Came to China (Hong Kong: Earnshaw Books, 2017), 16. Jones, Yellow Music, 5. Jones makes this comment about Buck Clayton, a famous African American jazz musician who played in the city for a couple of years in the 1930s. For more on African American jazz musicians in Shanghai, see Buck Clayton, Buck Clayton’s Jazz World (New York: Oxford University Press, 1987), 60–78; and Jones, Yellow Music, 1–5. Wakeman, Policing Shanghai, 11. 47 Ezpeleta, Memoirs of an Ambassador, 34. Ibid. 49 Quirino, Pinoy Jazz Traditions, 20. Yabes, The Philippines in Shanghai, 20. Gregorio Zaide writes that Alindada, who graduated from Ateneo de Manila University in Manila, was “acclaimed as the best band master in Shanghai”; see Zaide, Philippine History, 214. Yabes, The Philippines in Shanghai, 27. E. Taylor Atkins, “Jammin’ on the Jazz Frontier: The Japanese Jazz Community in Interwar Shanghai” Japanese Studies 19, no. 1 (1999): 10.

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German players.53 The presence of Filipinos in the prestigious Shanghai Municipal Orchestra and Band only enhanced the status of Filipinos who played jazz. In this international city, Filipinos became jazz, and jazz became Filipino. However, this did not always carry a positive connotation, with some Chinese referring to Filipinos as “foreign piano devils.”54 Archival letters provide snapshots into the lives of Filipino orchestra players and their families, and memoirs and newspapers tell us colorful anecdotes about Filipino jazz musicians, but these sources remain fragmented and incomplete. Women’s voices are absent or derivative, and Filipinos who did not fit the middle-class mold outlined above have fallen through the cracks. Nevertheless, it is safe to say that Filipinos had a vibrant and visible community that served a valuable function in the ecosystem of one of Asia’s most unique cities. Historical records also demonstrate how Filipinos overseas, or Feiqiao, lived different lives from both the seafaring mariners or “Manilamen” and the sojourning medical workers who have dominated research on Filipino mobile societies more recently.55 Restoring and situating the Shanghai Filipino community helps grow our understanding of the cosmopolitan city and Filipino migrations, and a similar approach toward the Chinese community in the Philippines helps us better understand migration and the new art of gatekeeping. Ledgers: Banking, Import–Export, and the Bookkeeping Law Chinese exclusion has long influenced conversations in ChineseAmerican and Asian-American studies in the United States, and recently, the topic has sprouted fresh interpretations and insights.56 Scholars have recast the earliest rendition of the 1882 nationwide act as an experimental “restriction” act that probed the limits of sovereignty, reserving the term

53 55

56

Smith, I Didn’t Make a Million, 89. 54 Watkins, “Minstrelsy and Mimesis,” 80. For “Manilamen,” see Aguilar, “Manilamen and Seafaring,” 364–388; Resil B. Mojares, Isabelo’s Archive (Mandaluyong City: Anvil Publishing, 2013), 138–142; and Mercene, Manila Men in the New World. “Manilla men” also appeared in Herman Melville’s Moby Dick; see Herman Melville, Moby Dick, or The White Whale (Boston: The St. Botolph Society, 1892), 416. For medical workers, see Catherine Ceniza Choy, Empire of Care: Nursing Migration in Filipino American History (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2003). For recent reexamination of the laws, see Erika Lee, At America’s Gates: Chinese Immigration During the Exclusion Era, 1882–1943 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2003); and Beth Lew-Williams, The Chinese Must Go: Violence, Exclusion, and the Making of an Alien in America (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2018).

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“exclusion” for the revamped and better funded 1888 law.57 They have noted that businesspeople and educators in the United States vehemently opposed the legislation, lobbying for exemptions for students through the so-called side door and for merchants through the VIP door.58 Other scholars have linked American exclusionary measures with a global tide of anti-Asian sentiment and innovative gatekeeping techniques.59 The infamous but short-lived Philippine Bookkeeping Act, which banned Chinese business owners from maintaining their ledgers in Chinese, pioneered the next step in this xenophobic global movement, but it has fallen under the radar of researchers. For their part, historians of the Philippines have recently begun to examine the consequences and logics of American exclusion in the archipelago. General Elwell S. Otis provisionally extended exclusion to the Philippines in 1898, and legislators cemented the policy in 1902.60 In banning the migration of Chinese laborers to the archipelago, architects of America’s empire deliberately distinguished themselves from their British and French peers, who turned to Chinese, Vietnamese, and Indian labor in their colonies after the end of the global slave trade.61 When one American businessman attempted to recruit coolie laborers from China for a new rickshaw business in Manila in 1902, American administrators and Filipino union leaders lambasted him and shut down the project.62 One by-product of this exclusionary policy, as mentioned 57 58

59

60

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Beth Lew-Williams, “Before Restriction Became Exclusion,” Pacific Historical Review 83, no. 1 (2014): 24–56. Madeline Y. Hsu, The Good Immigrants: How the Yellow Peril Became the Model Minority (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2015); and Paul A. Kramer, “Empire against Exclusion in Early 20th Century Trans-Pacific History,” Nanzan Review of American Studies 33 (2011): 13–32. See, for instance, David C. Atkinson, The Burden of White Supremacy: Containing Asian Migration in the British Empire and the United States (Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press, 2016); and Adam M. McKeown, Melancholy Order: Asian Migration and the Globalization of Borders (New York: Columbia University Press, 2011). Clark L. Alejandrino, A History of the 1902 Chinese Exclusion Act: American Colonial Transmission and Deterioration of Filipino–Chinese Relations (Manila: Kaisa Para Sa Kaunlaran, 2003); and Richard T. Chu, “Transnationalizing the History of the Chinese in the Philippines during the American Colonial Period: The Case of the Chinese Exclusion Act,” in Filipino Studies: Palimpsests of Nation and Diaspora, ed. Martin F. Manalansan IV and Augusto F. Espiritu (New York: New York University Press, 2016), 179–196. For an introduction to this topic, see Moon-Ho Jung, Coolies and Cane: Race, Labor, and Sugar in the Age of Emancipation (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2006). Pante, “Rickshaws and Filipinos” International Review of Social History 59, no. S22 (2014): 133–159. Spaniards experimented with coolie labor in the late nineteenth century. See Mònica Ginés-Blasi, “A Philippine ‘Coolie Trade’: Trade and Exploitation of Chinese Labour in Spanish Colonial Philippines, 1850–98,” Journal of Southeast Asian Studies 51, no. 3 (2020): 457–483.

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before, was the formation of a comparatively small and wealthy Chinese community in the Philippines. The population of Chinese in the Philippines hovered around 100,000 during the American colonial period, but, as mentioned before, that figure paled in comparison to communities in other colonies and polities in Southeast Asia where independent Chinese and global companies activated business, native-place, and kinship networks to recruit Chinese laborers. Historian Adam McKeown calculates that while 4 million Chinese people traveled to Thailand, 2 to 3 million crossed into Indochina, 4 million made it to the Dutch East Indies, and a staggering 11 million went to the Straits colonies, fewer than 1 million embarked for the Philippines.63 Colonial policy largely caused this discrepancy as both the Spanish and American colonial regimes took measures to reduce Chinese migration. Filipino legislators during the American colonial period, following in the footsteps of Spanish and American colonial officials, took the next logical step in legal gatekeeping wizardry with the passage of the Bookkeeping Act of 1921. This act built on the foundation of the Exclusion Act in the United States and the Head Tax and White Australia Policy in Canada and Australia, but Filipino legislators acted as its main stewards. The law, Act No. 2972 of the Philippine legislature, required that all businesses maintain their financial transaction records in Spanish, English, or a native language of the Philippines – or in other words, any language other than Chinese.64 Legislators ostensibly passed this law to prevent tax evasion by Chinese and other foreign merchants who could have theoretically obscured their records by maintaining them in their native languages, but, as one economist sardonically retorted, “Dishonesty can be committed in any language.”65 What, then, was the actual intention of the legislation? It is hard to see the Bookkeeping Act as anything other than an attempt to disadvantage the remaining Chinese people in the Philippines. As with other forms of legislative gatekeeping, its designers hid their objectives behind the veil of sovereignty. Jaime C. de Veyra, a Filipino legislator who championed the School of Forestry in Los Baños, which we will return to in Chapter 4, described the Bookkeeping Act as an innocent attempt to correct for

63 64 65

McKeown, “Global Migration, 1846–1940,” 158. The smaller Dutch and Japanese communities also felt the impact of the legislation, but Chinese merchants were clearly the intended targets. Villamin, letter to General Frank McIntyre, 190. This is the same Villamin quoted at the beginning of this chapter.

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“irregularities of books of Chinese firms.”66 By making this argument, he, like the drafters of the Chinese Exclusion Act in the United States and the Chinese Head Tax in Canada, described the passage of the law as an act of sovereignty, writing, “it is a sovereign right for a country to enact laws to protect the well-being of its citizens.”67 The Bookkeeping Act differed from exclusionist legislation in white settler states, however, because it targeted wealthy Chinese merchants instead of laborers. This represented a radical shift from legislation that built on the prejudices of white working-class settlers but preserved a hushed alliance among the world’s most wealthy. By targeting capital flows instead of the movement of people, the Bookkeeping Act more directly threatened the bottom lines of wealthy Chinese businesspeople in the archipelago and, therefore, potentially wealthy Filipino and Americans elsewhere. The class-sensitive nature of the law threatened to destabilize the unspoken class alliance that allowed a wealthy global elite, like those of the “International 400” in Shanghai, to grow their profits while avoiding some of the distastefulness of global xenophobia.68 Proponents of the Act defended it in one of two ways. The few American colonizers who supported the law viewed it as an opportunity for the United States to distinguish itself from imperial peers, like Japan, France, and England, by demonstrating a commitment to Filipinos first even if it entailed financial costs. Filipino legislators and businesspeople who designed and defended the Act viewed it as a form of affirmative action, using the same types of arguments that proponents of the New Economic Policy in Malaysia and the Filipino First Policy in the Philippines would use after independence. Instead of receiving preference, however, Filipino businesspeople gained a distinct legal advantage over their Chinese business competitors under the Bookkeeping Act. Historian John E. Murray has meticulously pieced together economic reports to estimate Chinese wages in the Philippines during the early American colonial period, and his research helps shed light on what appears to have been a common Filipino perspective. According to Murray, Chinese wages in Manila exceeded those in Xiamen by “a factor 66

67 68

Jaime C. de Veyra, letter to Chen Ta, September 30, 1922, in Chinese Migrations, 186. Filipino pundits commonly cited a figure of 1.5 million to 2 million pesos per annum in outstanding taxes; see Antonio S. Tan, The Chinese in the Philippines during the Japanese Occupation 1942–1945 (Quezon City: University of the Philippines Press, 1981), 187. The origin of this figure is uncertain. de Veyra, letter to Chen Ta, 186. For similar arguments about American exclusion, see Lee, At America’s Gates, 29 and 173. For more on these wealthy “cosmopolitans,” as James Carter calls them, see James Carter, Champions Day: The End of Old Shanghai (New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 2020), esp. 118–133.

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of two or more,” making it an obvious draw for those who could make it to the archipelago. Once in Manila, “Chinese workers except the semiskilled were paid significantly more than Filipinos in the same occupation.”69 This discrepancy, mixed with the visibility of Chinese storefronts around the capital, likely led to native Filipino animosity toward the successful migrants, which begins to explain the willingness of legislators to experiment with the law. Just as some Chinese in Shanghai viewed Filipino jazz musicians as “foreign piano devils,” some Filipinos in Manila viewed Chinese businesspeople as foreign bookkeeping devils. The American-appointed Philippine Commission proposed early versions of the Bookkeeping Act in 1912 and 1913 without success.70 Filipino legislators updated and rewrote the Bookkeeping Act in 1921 and passed it into law with the approval of the Governor General. After undergoing several court-ordered delays, the law went into effect on January 1, 1923. Failure to comply with the bookkeeping translation requirement resulted in imprisonment, or a fine of up to ₱10,000, which was a considerable sum at the time, especially for mom-and-pop store owners. As the Chinese Chamber of Commerce of the Philippines noted in a letter to the Governor General, Chinese small businesses, which made up 90 percent of Chinese businesses in the archipelago, would suffer the most because they could not afford translators.71 Although it could have undermined the community, the passage of the Bookkeeping Act appeared to unify Chinese in the Philippines. It helped them transform from a marginalized in-between community into a selfsufficient and activist one, just as wage discrimination in the Shanghai Municipal Orchestra and in Shanghai’s cabarets had for Filipinos in that city. In Manila, coordinated by the Philippine Chinese Chamber of Commerce, community members tapped into their diverse acquaintance and business networks to challenge the law. The resistance campaign began with a high-stakes meeting of local leaders to discuss strategy. At the meeting in 1921, Chinese leaders began to lay out a multilayered campaign to combat the Act in the Philippines, the United States, and around the world.72 In the first phase of the plan, they drafted and submitted a protest memorial to the high-stakes Wood–Forbes 69 70 71 72

John E. Murray, “Chinese–Filipino Wage Differentials in Early-Twentieth-Century Manila,” The Journal of Economic History 62, no. 3 (2002): 781 and 783. Tan, The Chinese in the Philippines, 185. See also Chu, Chinese and Chinese Mestizos, 77–78 and 285–286. Chinese Chamber of Commerce, Philippine Islands, letter to Governor General of the Philippines, February 15, 1921, in Chinese Migrations, 188. For a brief overview of the international dimensions of the campaign, see Wong KwokChu, The Chinese in the Philippine Economy, 1898–1941 (Quezon City: Ateneo de Manila University Press, 1999), 84.

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Mission, which was at that time touring the Philippines to ascertain whether the Philippines was “ready” for independence.73 They also sent Albino Sycip (Xue Minlao 薛敏老), Dee C. Chuan (Li Qingquan 李清泉), and six other prominent members of the Chinese community to testify against the bill before the Philippine Senate Committee on Justice.74 Finally, they engaged native-place associations, business networks, and personal acquaintances to grow awareness of the new law. As the Bookkeeping Act approached implementation, community leaders enacted phase two of their campaign, dispatching the young lawyer Albino Sycip and the veteran stalwart Rafael Machuca Go Tauco (Wu Kecheng 吳克誠) overseas to lobby for international support. Their ultimate destination was the United States Supreme Court, but they made many stops along the way, including one in China where they coauthored a stinging critique of the Bookkeeping Act in the Banking Journal. In the article, stressing the global ramifications of the law, they mused about what would happen if Chinese leaders passed a parallel law requiring American and Filipino merchants in China to keep their ledgers in Chinese.75 Careful to avoid making any unnecessary enemies, veiled threats against American businesses in China aside, Sycip and Go Tauco stressed camaraderie between Chinese and Filipinos in the article, reminding readers of the support mainland Chinese had offered to Philippine antiimperial movements in the past.76 They informed Chinese readers that Filipino opinion toward the law was divided, noting that the editors of the Philippine Spanish dailies El Comercio, La Nation, and El Mercantile all opposed the law.77 Seeking to light a fire under the feet of their Chinese compatriots, they argued that should China wait for the law to pass before taking countermeasures, it would be too late.78 A well-organized cable and letter campaign accompanied the lobbying of Sycip and Go Tauco. Dee C. Chuan, a leading figure in this campaign, penned a personal letter to the Tianjin Chamber of Commerce where he outlined the details of the law and introduced Sycip and Go Tauco.79 Others took the campaign to the popular press in the Philippines, China, and the United States, securing the support of many American 73 75

76 79

Tan, The Chinese in the Philippines, 190. 74 Ibid., 191. Albino Sycip (Xue Minlao 薛敏老) and Rafael M. Go Tauco (Wu Kecheng 吳克誠), “Feilübin boji an jielüe 菲律濱簿記案節略 [Summary of the Philippine Bookkeeping Law],” Yinhang yuekan 銀行月刊 [Banking Journal] 1, no. 11 (1921): 15. Ibid., 8. 77 Ibid., 15. 78 Ibid. Dee C. Chuan (Li Qingquan 李清泉), letter to Tianjin Chamber of Commerce (Tianjin zongshanghui 天津总商会), March 28, 1921, file J0128-3–005300–003, 8–13, Tianjin Municipal Archives.

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newspapers.80 In newspaper op-eds, Chinese in the Philippines systematically refuted the premise that Chinese cheated on their taxes. In a detailed analysis of import and export volume by Chinese merchants in the Philippines in the Shenbao, Gan Bun Cho (Yan Wenchu 顏文初) argued that the accusations that Chinese cheated on their tax reports were categorically false.81 The concerted efforts of Chinese leaders in the Philippines and allies around the world secured the support of the Shanghai Chinese Chamber of Commerce, the Shanghai Bankers’ Union, the Shanghai Education Group, the Jiangsu Ministry of Education, the Nanjing Chamber of Commerce, the American Chamber of Commerce in China, and many other associations and organizations.82 The American Chamber of Commerce in China communicated: RESOLVED That we, the American Chamber of Commerce of China, give our support to the attached protest of the Chinese General Chamber of Commerce of Shanghai, in the belief that the omission of the Chinese language from the above mentioned law is an unfortunate oversight and that either this omission should be promptly remedied by amendment or the law repealed.83

The American Chamber of Commerce might have been motivated to support their Chinese counterparts in the Philippines by the prospect of Chinese reprisals against American business interests in China, but, motivation aside, they became an ally in the campaign.84 Because of these initial lobbying efforts, colonial officials postponed the promulgation of the law to January 1, 1923. After going into effect, the campaign against the law shifted to the courts. The Philippine government levied its first bookkeeping charge on the Chinese merchant Yu Cong Eng (Yang Kongying 楊孔鶯). With the assistance of Albino Sycip and Rafael Go Tauco, Yu Cong Eng sued. 80

81 82

83

84

Zhao Zhengping 趙正平, “Nanyang Huaqiao zai shiye yu jiaoyu shang suo shou zhi liang da yapo 南洋華僑在實業與教育上所受之兩大壓迫 [Two Instances of Oppression that Southeast Asian Chinese Face in Industry and Education],” Zhongguo yu Nanyang 中國 與南洋 [China and Malaysia] 2, no. 2/3 (1921): 15. Gan Bun Cho (Yan Wenchu 顏文初]) “Feilübin tongxin 菲律賓通信 [Letter from the Philippines],” Shenbao 申報, June 12, 1926, 6. See Nanjing Chamber of Commerce (Nanjing zongshanghui 南京总商会), letter to Tianjin Chamber of Commerce (Tianjin zongshanghui 天津总商会), April 28, 1921, file J0128-3–005300–004, 14–15, Tianjin Municipal Archives; Sycip and Go Tauco, “Feilübin boji an,” 13; Y. H. Yang, letter, undated, file J0128-3–005300–005, 16, Tianjin Municipal Archives; and Zhao Zhengping, “Nanyang Huaqiao,” 14. W. A. Whakman, “Resolution Passed by the Executive Committee, American Chamber of Commerce,” April 12, 1921, file J0128-3–005300–005, 17, Tianjin Municipal Archives. A similar dynamic convinced some American business interests to oppose the 1882 Chinese Restriction Act. See Kramer, “Empire against Exclusion,” 13–32.

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After two years in insular courts, the Philippine Supreme Court upheld the constitutionality of the law. This led to a final appeal to the United States Supreme Court that culminated in the June 7, 1926, ruling. Supreme Court Justice William Howard Taft, who had previously served as Governor General of the Philippines and the president of the United States, wrote the majority opinion. Taft struck down the law, writing, In view of the history of the Islands, the large and important mercantile interests of Chinese residing there, who are unacquainted with other languages than their own, the above Act of the legislature, in prohibiting them from maintaining a set of account books in Chinese, and thus preventing them from keeping advised of their business and directing its conduct, is not within the police power, but is arbitrary and discriminatory, and deprives them of liberty and property without due process of law and denies them the equal protection of the laws, in violation of the Philippine Bill of Rights.85

This hard-fought victory for Chinese in the Philippines would not have been possible without the unity of the community and the support of allies across the globe. Yet chirps of criticism about the anti-Bookkeeping campaign could be heard in the archipelago, and those critiques help historians better understand the complex position of Chinese in the Philippines. Lim Boon Keng (Lin Wenqing 林文慶), a prominent educator from Singapore who served as president of Xiamen University from 1921 to 1937, argued that Chinese in the Philippines should not have taken the dispute to the United States but instead resolved it locally by working with Filipino legislators.86 Lim felt that by bypassing the Philippine Senate, local Chinese leaders undercut the authority of Filipino elected representatives, creating a rift between the Chinese and Filipino communities in the archipelago. Sycip and Dee, key architects of the resistance campaign, defended themselves by declaring that they did not intend to undermine the authority of Filipino legislatures, and that they had only turned to the courts and the United States as a last resort.87 Chinese in the Philippines had to address and negotiate through multiple layers of sovereignty. By internationalizing the campaign, engaging the popular press, and utilizing the court system, Chinese in the Philippines risked alienating potential allies in the postindependence world. It was a tough decision to make, but community leaders likely felt they had no other choice. In the same way that Filipinos became linked with jazz and music in China, Chinese became intertwined with business and capital in the 85 86

Yu Cong Eng v. Trinidad, 271 U.S. 500 (1926), 11. Tan, The Chinese in the Philippines, 193. 87 Ibid., 194.

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Philippines. Labor and financial disputes rocked both communities. The precarious position Chinese and Filipinos found themselves in left them with few options for formal redress.88 Under pressure, Filipinos in Shanghai turned to union action and flight to other industries such as jazz. Chinese in Manila, on the other hand, reached beyond imperial networks, tapping into business relationships, kinship networks, personal acquaintances, and the courts to challenge the Bookkeeping Act. In both circumstances, despite grave challenges, the communities remained intact if a little unsettled. World War II and the Cold War proved to be gamechangers, however. Exodus and Entrenchment Alfonso Z. Sycip (Xue Fenshi 薛芬士) stayed in the Philippines, while Honorio Evangelista packed his bags and left Shanghai after World War II. The conflict turned life on its head for many in Asia. Life savings dissolved, multi-generation homes succumbed to incendiaries, and necessities such as food and water evaporated. Many people, meanwhile, faced execution or imprisonment without pretext or recourse. The Cold War, instead of resolving the conflict in Asia, divided the region into camps, further complicating matters for families and individuals who had to either uproot themselves or weather the storms. The postwar choices of Sycip and Evangelista reflect some of the larger trends of the two communities. For the most part, Filipinos in Shanghai fled the reds, while Chinese in Manila feared the reds. Alfonso Sycip, a community stalwart and prominent businessperson, was approaching retirement age when the war came, but that did not stop him from rallying the Chinese community in the Philippines to support the fight against Japan. As head of the Chamber of Commerce at the outbreak of the Sino–Japanese war, he organized the “Philippine Resistthe-Enemy Committee” to raise funds to send medicine, munitions, and aid to Chinese soldiers in occupied China.89 His anti-Japanese activity put him, along with many other prominent Chinese merchants and leaders in Manila, in a position of great peril when the war expanded to the archipelago on December 8, 1941.90 Japanese officials had already known about the Sycips before the invasion. Alfonso’s driver was a Japanese man who ended up serving as 88 89 90

Ho, “Inter-Asian Concepts,” 919. Yoji Akashi, The Nanyang Chinese National Salvation Movement, 1937–1941 (Lawrence: Center for East Asian Studies, University of Kansas, 1970), 43–49. For more on Chinese in the Philippines during the war, see Tan, The Chinese in the Philippines.

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a Captain in the Imperial Army, and both Alfonso and his brother Albino were outspoken community leaders.91 So, after the Japanese army occupied Manila, they promptly captured and imprisoned Alfonso and Albino. Some of Alfonso’s colleagues, like Gan Bun Cho, a reporter and educator who will appear again later in this book, were executed by Japanese soldiers.92 Other Chinese in the Philippines took up arms against the Japanese invaders, joining both left- and right-leaning guerilla movements in the Luzon countryside.93 Alfonso Sycip, due to his advanced age, received a pardon from his Japanese captors, and, before they could change their minds, fled with many other members of the Sycip family to a remote island in the northern Philippines.94 In exile, Alfonso and his family lost touch with his brother, Albino, who had elected to go into hiding in Manila. After the liberation of the Philippines, but before the end of the war itself, Albino Sycip used his personal connections with General Douglas MacArthur to dispatch a rescue boat to Fuga Island where Alfonso and his family had isolated themselves.95 Fortunately, everyone was alive and well. Despite experiencing many hardships, the Sycips had more or less made it to the other end of the war unscathed, which was a boast few of their Chinese colleagues could make. Filipinos in Shanghai had largely avoided critiquing Japan, theoretically decreasing the probability of Japanese reprisals against them, yet they likely felt insecure during the war nonetheless. Agapito Celis, a former Shanghai Volunteer Corps lieutenant, founded the Filipino Musicians Union of Shanghai in 1942 to “promote the welfare of Filipino musicians and to help destitute musicians.”96 As citizens in Shanghai turned their attention to the necessities of daily life during the war, the music industry 91 92

93 94 95

96

Jose Y. Dalisay, Wash, Only a Bookkeeper: A Biography of Washington Z. Sycip (Makati City: The SGV Foundation and the AIM Scientific Research Foundation, 2009), 42. Li Tianxi 李天锡, “Feihua jiaoyujia Yan Wenchu 菲华教育家顏文初 [Philippine-Chinese Educator Gan Bun Cho],” in Shishi wenshi ziliao di san ji 石狮文史资料 第3辑 [Historical Records of Shishi Volume 3] (Shishi: Zhongguo renmin zhengzhi xieshang huiyi Fujiansheng Shishishi weiyuanhui wenshi kejiao weiyuanhui 中国人民政治协商会议福 建省石狮市委员会科教委员会, 1994), 184. See also Yung Li, The Huaqiao Warriors, 32. For an overview of these guerilla fighters, see, Yung Li, The Huaqiao Warriors. Dalisay, Wash, 43. Ibid. Alfonso’s niece later described the harrowing rescue of the Sycips on Fuga Island by the American Alamo Scouts as a “miracle mission.” Although Fuga had initially served as a refuge from the war, Japanese soldiers eventually occupied it as well. See Jane Sycip LinFu, “Sojourn on Fuga Island: A Recollection 60 Years Later,” unpublished memoir, August 2005. Thanks to Chris Frondoso for sharing this document with me. “Shanghai Municipal Police Report: Filipino musicians Union – Application for permission of hold meeting,” October 28, 1942, file R36-12–22, SMA, 1. Celis was a lieutenant of the Philippine Company; see The Municipal Gazette, June 23, 1933, file U1-1–998, SMA, 302.

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withered, leaving Filipino musicians to fend for themselves. While it is difficult to gauge the reach of the Musicians Union, one document listed at least twenty-four members, including the Filipino celebrity, Don Jose Alindada.97 A brief cabaret revival spread across Shanghai after the war, and many Filipino musicians returned to their old grazing grounds. The Consul General of the Philippines in Shanghai, Mariano Ezpeleta, noted sardonically, “The smutty nightclubs and dancing parlours which suffered physical paralysis during the war had a biblically mystical resurrection when peace came.”98 Former Shanghai Volunteer Corps corporal and Caltex employee Guillermo Luchangco was elected president of a new community organization.99 After years of uncertainty and living in the margins, Filipinos finally had a government-like body representing them in Shanghai. However, even as the community regenerated after the drought, new storm clouds rumbled on the horizon that threatened to wash out the community entirely. When “red shadows” descended upon Shanghai in 1949, many Filipinos, following Consulate directives, fled the city. Veterinarian Captain Honorio C. Evangelista of the Shanghai Volunteer Corps and his wife Nancy Ting Evangelista, with special permission from the US Congress, attained permanent residence in the United States for making “an extremely valuable contribution to the cause of the United States during and since hostilities ended in the Pacific.”100 Unfortunately for us, the American lawmakers did not elaborate on what the “valuable contribution” was, but it no doubt had something to do with the budding Cold War. Leaving Shanghai was a tough decision, especially for those “raising a family of third generation Filipinos in this city of irresistible allurement.”101 For many Filipinos, Shanghai had become home. And besides, the airlines were fully booked for a year and passenger ships like the Presidential Liners were booked for six months at that point, making departure difficult even after Filipinos accepted that necessity.102 On the other end of the journey, when and if they finally did make it “home” to the Philippines, “many of these Filipinos brought with them their families 97 98 100 101 102

Agapito Y. Celis, letter to Commissioner of Police, September 20, 1942, file R36-12– 22, SMA, 3; and Yabes, The Philippines in Shanghai, 27. 99 Ezpeleta, Memoirs of an Ambassador, 24. Ibid., 23 and 27. U.S. Congress, Senate, Honorio Canciller and Nancy Ting Evangelista, Report No. 1625, 81st Cong., 2nd sess., introduced May 17, 1950. Ezpeleta, Red Shadows over Shanghai, 108. Ibid., 102. For more on flight from Shanghai with the foundation of the People’s Republic of China, see Helen Zia, Last Boat Out of Shanghai: The Epic Story of the Chinese Who Fled Mao’s Revolution (New York: Ballantine Books, 2019).

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of different nationalities and for the first time, they saw the land of their husband.”103 Instead of going to the Philippines, some Filipinos, like their privileged Kuomintang and rightest Chinese counterparts, left for Hong Kong and Taiwan. Victoria and Vicente Padilla, on the other hand, remained in the People’s Republic of China through the Cultural Revolution before finally deciding to move to Hong Kong.104 The Padillas shared diplomatic pedigrees – Victoria having spent a few years in Manila with her father, who served as the Chinese Consul General, and Vicente having served as a Filipino diplomat in China. Many years later, after Reform and Opening, the Padillas came full circle, making their way back “home” to Shanghai to retire.105 The “reds” were also on people’s minds in the Philippines in the late 1940s and early 1950s. For Chinese people living there, the success of the Chinese Communist Party proved problematic. During the war, many Chinese people in the Philippines had taken up arms to fight against the Japanese invaders, but for many of them, especially those who had joined left-leaning militias, that asset quickly morphed into a liability as people began to suspect them of harboring communist sympathies. Squadron Number 48 of the Hukbalahaps, or “Huks,” a group of communist guerilla fighters from central Luzon who fought during and after World War II, consisted of Chinese fighters, many of whom had seen action in China before coming to the Philippines.106 Soon after World War II, when the Cold War began to heat up, Chinese in the Philippines became convenient targets for nativist nationalists due to their perceived connections with “red” China and the Huks. Legislation such as the 1958 Filipino First Policy, which displaced many Chinese people from the retail industry, left more Chinese on the defensive. Costly naturalization barriers that priced people out of citizenship, meanwhile, left some Chinese men and their wives in legal limbo.107 It was not until the dictator Ferdinand Marcos restored relations with China and instituted his mass naturalization policy in 1975 that Chinese

103 104 105 106 107

Diosdado Macapagal, “Foreword,” in Red Shadows over Shanghai, by Mariano Ezpeleta (Quezon City: Zita Publishing Corporation, 1972). For Filipino flight to Hong Kong and Taiwan, see Quirino, Pinoy Jazz Traditions, 18–19; and Watkins, “Minstrelsy and Mimesis,” 80. Yabes, The Philippines in Shanghai, 41–45. Benedict J. Kerkvliet, The Huk Rebellion: A Study of Peasant Revolution in the Philippines (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2002), 93. Ang See, Tsinoy, 172. For more on the Chinese community during this time period, see Chien-Wen Kung, Diasporic Cold Warriors: Nationalist China, Anticommunism, and the Philippine Chinese 1930s–1970s (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2022).

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in the Philippines finally felt some measure of security.108 After Marcos’ policy shift, some Chinese chose to move to the Republic of China in Taiwan, where their previous citizenship was tied, while some ventured to their ancestral homes in the People’s Republic of China. The majority, whose roots had long since matured, however, chose to stay in the Philippines despite the remaining legal and cultural obstacles. Part I Conclusion: The Agenda of Memory In his oft-cited 1934 guidebook to Shanghai, All About Shanghai, Henry J. Lethbridge provides a comprehensive overview of the city, covering topics such as the government structure, demographics, neighborhoods, newspapers, transportation, and nightlife. Curiously, in the sections where he discusses cabarets, nightlife, and the Shanghai Municipal Orchestra, despite Filipinos having become “synonymous with jazz,” as we established earlier, Lethbridge does not mention them.109 In this regard, his guidebook set a trend for later histories and memoirs of the city, which uprooted Filipinos from the field of historical memory. In his much more recent history of dance in Shanghai, Andrew Field mentions Filipinos in passing on several occasions, but he largely marginalizes them in a story for which they were so critical.110 Prominent historians of Shanghai Hanchao Lu and Joshua Fogel similarly omit Filipinos entirely in blanket statements about Shanghai’s foreign residents.111 But while English-language scholarship has sometimes downplayed the role of Filipinos in the city, Chinese-language scholarship denigrates or removes them. For example, in her account of the Shanghai Municipal Orchestra, echoing the uncritical sentiments of Conductor Mario Paci, Wang Yanli writes, “Paci advanced the conversion to European musicians, while gradually eliminating unqualified musically deficient (逐渐削弱演奏水平欠佳) Filipino players, and in the 1930s added talented (优秀) Chinese musicians.”112 Others, like Zhao Xiaohong, Hu Nan, and Wang Zhicheng, opt for erasure by either

108

109 110 111 112

Filomeno V. Aguilar, Jr., “Interview with Benito Lim: Philippine Citizenship through Mass Naturalization, a Dictator’s Largesse?” Philippine Studies 60, no. 3 (2012): 391–415. Lethbridge, All About Shanghai, 57, 76, and 83. For “synonymous with jazz,” see Chen, “Lao Shanghai,” 36. In his account of a labor dispute at the Canidrome, a popular cabaret, for example, Field treats Filipino players as bargaining chips. See Field, Shanghai’s Dancing World, 95. Joshua Fogel, “The Recent Boom in Shanghai Studies,” Journal of the History of Ideas 71, No. 2 (2010): 331; and Lu, Beyond the Neon Lights, 38. Wang, “Shanghai gongbuju,” 87.

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ignoring the ethnicities of the players or privileging the history of the European and Chinese players.113 Filipinos presented these scholars with a paradox. If, as Wang Yanli argues, “The Shanghai Municipal Orchestra, through a variety of methods, gradually completed Chinese acceptance of Western symphonic music,” then how did Filipinos fit into the story?114 How could Chinese people learn and adopt “Western” music if it was played by the hands of Filipinos? Was it still “Western” music? The solution to the paradox that these scholars adopted was simple – they wrote the Filipinos out of history. It was much harder for historians and scholars of Chinese in the Philippines to erase Chinese people from history, even though many historical individuals like José Rizal attempted to exorcise Chineseness from their personal histories. Many Chinese people still live in the Philippines, and their historical numbers made them impossible to expunge discursively. The memory and history of Chinese in the Philippines, therefore, is less a battle for existence and more a struggle over meaning. Alfonso Felix’s 1966 work represents a pattern of early scholarship that was largely descriptive and prescriptive. He argues that the history of Chinese in the Philippines was defined by struggle, and that, to escape from that cycle, Chinese should assimilate into Philippine society.115 Later, historians began to grapple with nationalism and identity, writing histories of gradual awakenings and competing allegiances. More recently, scholarship has taken on an activist-like engagement with the concepts of “loyalty” and belonging. Given the long history of discrimination that we glimpsed through our discussion of the Bookkeeping Act, crafting a longue-durée narrative of loyalty seems like a logical mechanism to bolster a vibrant but still contingent community. In the conclusion of her work on hybridity in the Chinese community in the Philippines, Juliet Lee Uytanlett felt it necessary to write, “They are Chinese in ethnicity and Filipino in nationality. They are Chinese whose loyalty resides in the country [the Philippines] and not China or Taiwan.”116 Perhaps no scholar has done more to use her academic platform to ameliorate the condition of Chinese in the Philippines than Teresita Ang 113 114 115 116

Wang, Eqiao yinyuejia; and Zhao and Hu, “Gongbuju yuedui.” Wang, “Shanghai gongbuju,” 87. Alfonso Felix, Jr., The Chinese in the Philippines, 1570–1770 (Manila: Solidaridad Publishing House, 1966), 10. Juliet Lee Uytanlett, The Hybrid Tsinoys: Challenges of Hybridity and Homogeneity as Sociocultural Constructs among the Chinese in the Philippines (Eugene, OR: Pickwick Publications, 2016), 191.

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See, a respected scholar-activist who founded Kaisa Para Sa Kaunlaran – a heritage center, library, and museum dedicated to Chinese in the Philippines. The Kaisa Para Sa Kaunlaran credo states, “Our blood may be Chinese, but our roots grow deep in Filipino soil; our bonds are with the Filipino people.”117 See popularized the term, “Tsinoy,” which comes from “Tsino,” or Chinese, and “Pinoy,” or Filipino.118 For Tsinoys in the Philippines or any sympathetic to their condition, history has become a tool with which to offset or balance the discrimination and prejudice that are still endemic in Philippine society. Perhaps historians of Filipinos in Shanghai should take note. The past offers important lessons and can sometimes act as a salve for the present. Despite their facing overt discrimination, legal uncertainties, questions about loyalty, and citizenship limbo, and despite their lacking imperial protection, Filipinos in Shanghai and Chinese in Manila built stable, visible, and flourishing communities in the early twentieth century. Manila and Shanghai, unique and diverse urban centers, lured sojourners and settlers with jobs and opportunities. Imperial networks and the steamships that linked them served as the trellis connecting the cities and their peoples. These unique circumstances created a mirrored diaspora of nonaligned foreign Asian communities that challenge our notion of what imperial networks, diasporas, and cities looked like. By restoring this complex and muddled history, we can approach the politics and prejudices of the present with more levity and patience. Recognizing what we do not know is always a humbling experience.

117 118

See Tsinoy, 5. Teresita Ang See, The Chinese in the Philippines: Problems and Perspectives, Volume 2 (Manila: Kaisa Para Sa Kaunlaran, 1990), 43.

Part II

The Philippine Model

Send us your youths to study in some of our colleges. We will send you ours in return. China has sent many students to America, and these are coming back with better understanding of American institutions. The same thing should be done by us [China and the Philippines] in establishing our friendship.1 Wu Ting Fang (Wu Tingfang 伍廷芳), 1921

A great number of students moved with their colleges and universities westward, but there are also many others who have chosen to continue their education abroad . . . the Chinese student finds another host who is right at the next door – the Philippines.2 Edward C. Lim (Lin Caixi 林材熙), 1940

Introduction In 1921, Wu Ting Fang (Wu Tingfang 伍廷芳), the acting president of the southern government in China, met with Teodoro R. Yangco and Conrado Benitez, two well-known Filipino educators and businesspeople. After they had come and gone, the famous diplomat and elder statesman from China took time out of his schedule to draft a friendly thank-you note, which publishers later printed in a Manila magazine. In addition to writing the line that appears at the start of this part, Wu penned, “My message is one of mutual friendship and understanding between the Chinese and Filipinos.”3 This brief and seemingly mundane exchange hints at the hidden world of educational exchanges between China and the Philippines that fostered personal connections, cultural understanding, political partnerships, and 1

2

3

Wu Ting Fang (Wu Tingfang 伍廷芳), “Wu Ting Fang Says Sun Yat Sen Is Backed Up by Progressive Chinese Educated in America,” Dongfang yuekan 東方月刊 [The Oriental Brothers] 1, no. 1 (1921): 15. Edward C. Lim (Lin Caixi 林材熙), “The Adventures of Chinese Students in the Philippines,” Sino–Philippine Research Journal [Zhongfei yanjiu jikan 中菲研究季刊] 1, no. 1 (1940): 29. Wu Ting Fang, “Wu Ting Fang,” 15.

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general goodwill. The Chinese diplomat and the two Filipino educators recognized that education could be a powerful adhesive force that brought the people of the two polities closer together. However, to Wu Ting Fang’s chagrin, designs do not always align with aspirations, as China failed to host many Filipino students during an era marked by internal tumult. The Philippines, however, attracted many Chinese students from the 1920s to the 1940s. Chinese commentators and policymakers who traveled to the Philippines and praised, criticized, copied, and adapted innovations in education, law, public health, and governance accompanied these students. Chinese educators viewed the Philippine education system, with its emphasis on vocational training and critical inquiry, as an ideal model to import to China. At the same time, scientists and lawyers thought of the archipelago as an intellectual laboratory and incubator of ideas. Meanwhile, liberal activists saw the Philippines as a burgeoning and vibrant space of democratic experimentation and gender equality. And, while some Chinese people criticized legislative measures that limited the mobility and freedom of Chinese residents in the Philippines, many viewed the Philippines as a young and vibrant nation-state-in-waiting not just worthy but demanding of their attention. For Chinese people who bemoaned unending conflict between militarists and rival governments and decried the rampant corruption and nepotism that discolored China, the Philippines appeared like a new canvas of possibility. The archipelago might not have been a city upon a hill, but at least it was a city above the floodplain. As historian Timothy Weston observes, “As China’s domestic and diplomatic predicament worsened, intellectuals, conservative and progressive alike, instinctively turned to schools as a primary instrument of social and political revitalization.”4 The Philippines offered to Chinese observers and students something that Japan, the United States, England, and Germany could not: a non-militaristic, education-oriented path toward the elusive but cherished goal of “modernity.”5 And this proved highly appealing. 4

5

Timothy B. Weston, The Power of Position: Beijing University, Intellectuals, and Chinese Political Culture, 1898–1929 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2004), 23. Although not listing the Philippines as a model, Republican-era historian Sophia H. Z. Chen (Chen Hengzhe 陳衡哲) captured this desire for a non-militaristic path to modernity in her book, Sophia H. Z. Chen (Chen Hengzhe 陳衡哲), Xiyang shi 西洋史 [History of Western Countries] (Shanghai: Shangwu yinshuguan 上海:商務印書館, 1926), 313. See Fan Xin, World History, 50–52.

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Cultural Internationalism, the Tributary System, and Laboratories Before we apply gesso to the canvas of Sino–Philippine educational exchanges, we must first collect our methodological supplies in the historiography supply shop. Some shelves are rather sparse, though. Historians have consistently overlooked or downplayed how Chinese policymakers, educators, and students researched, toured, and copied the Philippines during the early twentieth century. In fact, an extensive search through recent articles or monographs dedicated to Chinese research on and modeling of the Philippines turns up little.6 What has caused this historiographical black hole? Though inadequate funding for Philippine-related research projects in general certainly factors in, I suspect that most of the neglect stems from an assumption that some historians might hold that Chinese people had little to learn from Filipinos. Historically, sinology, in both its Anglophone and Sinophone traditions, has been inward looking or focused on civilizational parallels. As for scholars who have reimagined China’s relationship with the world more recently, their focus is usually on either Tang and Qing dynasty relations with Central Asia, or Chinese connections with the so-called West and Japan in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.7 These scholars tend, whether intentionally or not, to endow the “West” and Japan with a monopoly on science, technology, rationality, and modernity. A quick perusal through research on American educational influence in Asia, and Asian borrowing and adaptation of American educational innovations, highlights this disparity. Scholars have written extensively about American universities in China,8 Chinese students in the United 6

7

8

For an exception regarding educational borrowing, see Khu, “José Tan Sunco.” 1–17. For calls to pay closer attention to Chinese modeling of the Philippines and other areas of the Global South, see Aboitiz, Asian Place: Filipino Nation, 150–152; Fan, World History and National Identity, 17; and Karl, Staging the World, 3–4. Rebecca Karl calls this the “West–Japan/China dyad,” while Shu-mei Shih calls it the “China–West binary of confrontation.” See, Karl, Staging the World, 5. See also Lionel M. Jensen, “China and the Confluence of Cultures: Overcoming the East–West MindSet,” in Beating Devils and Burning Their Books: Views of China, Japan, and the West, ed. Anthony E. Clark (Ann Arbor, MI: Association for Asian Studies, 2010), 107–132; and Shu-mei Shih, The Lure of the Modern: Writing Modernism in Semicolonial China, 1917– 1937 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2001), 4. There are notable exceptions, and they dot the footnotes of this book. See, for instance, Daniel H. Bays and Ellen Widmer, eds., China’s Christian Colleges: Cross-Cultural Connections, 1900–1950 (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2009); Mary Brown Bullock, An American Transplant: The Rockefeller Foundation and Peking Union Medical College (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1980); and Hongshan Li, U.S.–China Educational Exchange: State, Society and Intercultural Relations, 1905–1950 (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2008).

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States,9 and Chinese borrowing of American educational models.10 Similarly, researchers have explored American influence on the Philippine education system11 and, more recently, Philippine influence on the United States.12 In other words, while the shelf on Chinese borrowing from and modeling of the Philippines might be empty, the rows on Chinese borrowing of “Western” and Japanese ideas are overstocked. What accounts for this imbalance, and what are some ways to adjust the inventory? To better appreciate the magnitude and significance of Chinese borrowing from and modeling of the Philippines, it is critical to scrub off the biases that privileged research on East–West interactions in the first place. In research on the Philippines, the main blotches come from the American colonial occupation, which has consumed the research agendas and critical framings of nationalist and imperial scholars alike. Scholars of Chinese tributary relations and researchers of cultural internationalism, however, have created useful erasers that have accomplished a reset in different contexts, and this part borrows their metaphorical erasers to clear the page and resketch a history of inter-Asian interaction and interdependence. In so doing, this part challenges both the predominance of the East–West axis in research on global knowledge flows, as well as the 9

10

11

12

Hsu, The Good Immigrants; Liel Leibovitz and Matthew Miller, eds., Fortunate Sons: The 120 Chinese Boys Who Came to America, Went to School, and Revolutionized an Ancient Civilization (New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 2011); Edward J. M. Rhoads, Stepping Forth into the World: The Chinese Educational Mission to the United States, 1872– 81 (Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 2011); and Weili Ye, Seeking Modernity in China’s Name: Chinese Students in the United States, 1900–1927 (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2001). Liping Bu, Making the World Like Us: Education, Cultural Expansion, and the American Century (Westport, CT: Praeger, 2003); Yung-Chen Chiang, Social Engineering and the Social Sciences in China, 1919–1949 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001; and Huajun Zhang and Jim Garrison, eds. John Dewey and Chinese Education: A Centennial Reflection (Leiden: Brill, 2022). A. J. Angulo, Empire and Education: A History of Greed and Goodwill from the War of 1898 to the War on Terror (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012); Alexander A. Calata, “The Role of Education in Americanizing Filipinos,” in Mixed Blessing: The Impact of the American Colonial Experience on Politics and Society in the Philippines, ed. Hazel M. McFerson (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 2002), 89–97; Paul Kramer, “Bernath Lecture: Is the World Our Campus? International Students and U.S. Global Power in the Long Twentieth Century,” Diplomatic History 33, no. 5 (2009): 775–806; and Noel V. Teodoro, “Pensionados and Workers: The Filipinos in the United States, 1903–1956,” Asian and Pacific Migration Journal 8, nos. 1–2 (1999): 157–178. Greg Bankoff, “Breaking New Ground? Gifford Pinchot and the Birth of ‘Empire Forestry’ in the Philippines, 1900–1905,” Environment and History 15, no. 3 (2009): 369–393; Alfred W. McCoy and Francisco A. Scarano, eds., Colonial Crucible: Empire in the Making of the Modern American State (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2009); and Lisandro E. Claudio, “Beyond Colonial Miseducation: Internationalism and Deweyan Pedagogy in the American-era Philippines,” Philippine Studies: Historical and Ethnographic Viewpoints 63, no. 2 (2015): 193–220.

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so-called laboratory of modernity trope, to which we will return in a moment. In other words, it centers Asia in Asian history. Some people in the past, just like some people today, held a romantic view of a denationalized, interdependent, and harmonious world.13 They challenged national and other artificial boundaries with their itineraries and their organizations, inspiring historians – myself included – to sketch their transnational portraits.14 However, many of these cultural internationalists, who fostered “international cooperation through cultural activities across national boundaries,” just like the scholars who research them today, came from a place of privilege, which brought with it a certain set of blinders.15 To put it another way, cultural internationalists and the scholars who study them, even in their global travels, sometimes inadvertently became anchored “in the metropolis,” reaffirming “metropolitan authority in its own terms,” as Mary Louise Pratt observes.16 So, to build on this innovative transnational research but not fall into the metropolitan trap, the chapters in this part leave the metropole behind. Scholars of the tributary “system” have pioneered an Asian-centered research model that helps accomplish such a feat.17 The tributary “system” was an amorphous and overlapping set of interactions in Asia defined by a mutable hierarchy with China ostensibly at the center, a ritualistic exchange of tribute or gifts, and substantial if not always welldocumented private trade.18 In other words, it was a “system” of inter“national” relations sans the Westphalian nation-state. Scholars debate 13 14

15 16 17

18

For an example of this semi-celebratory approach to globalization and denationalization in the early post-Cold War era, see Appadurai, Modernity at Large. For more on cultural internationalism, see Akira Iriye, Cultural Internationalism and World Order (Baltimore, MD: The John Hopkins University Press, 1997); Erez Manela, The Wilsonian Moment: Self-Determination and the International Origins of Anticolonial Nationalism (New York: Oxford University Press, 2007); and Fiona Paisley, Glamour in the Pacific: Cultural Internationalism and Race Politics in the Women’s Pan-Pacific (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2009). Iriye, Cultural Internationalism, 3. Mary Louise Pratt, Imperial Eyes: Travel Writing and Transculturation (London: Routledge, 1992), 5. For a similar sentiment, see Ghosh, “AHR Forum,” 782. The “system” itself was never called a “system” historically, hence the use of quotes. I will drop the quotes for the remainder of this chapter for simplicity, however. For an instructive conversation on this topic, see Peter C. Perdue, “The Tenacious Tributary System,” Journal of Contemporary China 24, no. 96 (2015): 1002–1014. For more on the tributary system, see John Fairbank, ed., The Chinese World Order: Traditional China’s Foreign Relations (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1968); Takeshi Hamashita, “The Tribute Trade System and Modern Asia,” in China, East Asia and the Global Economy: Regional and Historical Perspectives, ed. Linda Grove and Mark Seldon (London: Routledge, 2008), 12–26; Morris Rossabi, ed., China among Equals: The Middle Kingdom and Its Neighbors, 10th–14th Centuries (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1983); and Yuanchong Wang, Remaking the Chinese Empire: Manchu–Korean Relations, 1616–1911 (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2018).

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when and if the system came to an end and the extent to which the Philippines or other Southeast Asian polities belonged to such an order, but the focus of the idea itself can help us realign our approach to Asia.19 Famous scholar of the tributary system Takeshi Hamashita writes, “Asian history may be broadly understood as the history of a unified system characterized by region-wide tribute trade relations, with China at the center.”20 This part, therefore, proposes a “cultural tributarism” approach to Asian history that combines the attention to cultural institutions and exchanges one encounters in research on cultural internationalism with the focus on inter-Asian interaction one sees in research on the tributary system. Combined, these lenses allow us to detach ourselves from European, Japanese, and American imperial power and better view and appreciate the history of Chinese borrowing from the Philippines in the early twentieth century. “Cultural tributarism” decenters the nation and the “West,” foreshortening Chinese and Filipino peoples in the landscape of history. Chapter 3 and 4 examine how the Philippines became a model of modernity, where liberal-minded Filipino reformers, who had captured the hearts of many Asian romantics with the establishment of the First Philippine Republic in 1898, worked with American progressives to craft what they envisioned as a modern society. It shows how Filipino agents along with American colonials funneled money toward education, forestry, infrastructure, public health, and other elements of a “modern” state. These multilayered investments made the Philippines into much more than a “laboratory of modernity” – or a passive colonial space on which colonial officials applied experimental policies.21 Filipinos played a critical role in transforming the archipelago, and many Chinese 19

20 21

For critical Southeast Asian perspectives on the tributary system, see Anthony Reid and Zheng Yangwen, eds., Negotiating Asymmetry: China’s Place in Asia (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2009); Geoff Wade and James K. Chin, eds., China and Southeast Asia: Historical Interactions (London: Routledge, 2019); and Brantly Womack, China among Unequals: Asymmetric Foreign Relations in Asia (Singapore: World Scientific, 2010). For Chinese borrowing from Southeast Asian polities during the height of the tributary system, see John Guy, “Pan-Asian Buddhism and the Bodhisattva Cult in Champa,” in The Cham of Vietnam: History, Society and Art, ed. Tran Ky Phuong and Bruce Lockhart (Singapore: National University of Singapore Press, 2011), 300–322; and Charles Wheeler, “Buddhism in the Re-Ordering of an Early Modern World: Chinese Missions to Cochinchina in the Seventeenth Century,” Journal of Global History 2, no. 3 (2007): 303–324. Hamashita, “The Tribute Trade System and Modern Asia,” 12. For the “laboratories of modernity” approach, see McCoy and Scarano, Colonial Crucible; Paul Rabinow, “Governing Morocco: Modernity and Difference,” International Journal of Urban and Regional Research 13, no 1 (1989): 32–46; and Gwendolyn Wright, Politics of Design in French Colonial Urbanism (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1991). As

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observers accepted the Philippines as a unique and inspirational form when molding their own such model.22 However, it is important for us to recognize that, for most of the early twentieth century, the Philippines was an occupied country. Arguing for Filipino agency in an asymmetric imperial relationship sometimes necessitates downplaying the reach, and therefore the negative consequences of, American colonial rule, and this can be irresponsible in many contexts. But, as Anne Stoler and Frederick Cooper note, “colonial regimes were neither monolithic nor omnipotent,” and it can be an act of decolonization to highlight agency under occupation.23 The chapters that follow cautiously attempt to make such an intervention by weaving in ideas pioneered by scholars of inter-Asian interactions in the Ming and Qing and by scholars of culture and imperialism.

22

23

Pacific history scholars have pointed out, scholars still grapple with the perception of Pacific Islands as laboratories for study. See, for instance, Terence Wesley-Smith, “Rethinking Pacific Island Studies,” Pacific Studies 18, no. 2 (1995): 121–124. For a critique of the “efficient scientific management” aspect of the “laboratories of modernity” approach, see Stoler, Along the Archival Grain, 57–58. David Bell, in his research on the French Revolution, describes how “dynamic laboratories” of change influenced global events; see David Bell, “Words from David Bell,” Journal of Global History 13 (2018): 17. Ann Laura Stoler and Frederick Cooper, “Between Metropole and Colony: Rethinking a Research Agenda,” in Tensions of Empire: Colonial Cultures in a Bourgeois World (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1997), 6. For similar interventions, see Richard Phillips, Sex, Politics and Empire: A Postcolonial Geography (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2006), 138–141; and Ann Laura Stoler, Carnal Knowledge and Imperial Power: Race and the Intimate in Colonial Rule (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2002), 146–147.

3

Achieving Modernity by Studying the Philippines

Touring the Modern Huang Yanpei (黃炎培) was an educator. Although his attempt to arbitrate an end to the Chinese Civil War in the 1940s through the China Democratic League has diverted much attention from historians, he spent most of his career in education. He was born in 1878 in Chuansha, Jiangsu, which is now part of Shanghai, and it was in this province and city that he began his foray into what would become a lifelong undertaking. In 1905, Huang founded the influential Jiangsu Provincial Educational Association, and in 1912 he served as the Commissioner of Education of Jiangsu.1 Soon after his promotion, he began to take educational tours around the world, painting colorful portraits of different schools in a regular column in Shanghai’s leading daily, the Shenbao. Huang was like an itinerant artist who sought inspiration abroad before returning to his studio to teach an aspiring group of followers. In 1917, along with 786 other charter members, Huang Yanpei founded the Chinese Vocational Education Association. The influential institution advocated for vocational education, published educational magazines, and chartered and supported vocational schools.2 It claimed as members 1

2

For more on the Jiangsu Provincial Education Association, see Ernst P. Schwintzer, “Education to Save the Nation: Huang Yanpei and the Educational Reform Movement in Early Twentieth Century China” (PhD diss., University of Washington, 1992), 124–277. For more on Huang Yanpei and the Chinese Vocational Education Association, see Thomas D. Curran, Educational Reform in Republican China: The Failure of Educators to Create a Modern Nation (Lewiston, NY: The Edwin Mellen Press, 2005), 365–418; Margo S. Gewurtz, “Social Reality and Educational Reform: The Case of the Chinese Vocational Education Association 1917–1927,” Modern China 4, no. 2 (1978): 157–180; Huang Yanpei 黄炎培, “Zhongguo de zhiye jiaoyu 中国的职业教育 [Vocational Education in China],” in Huang Yanpei jiaoyu wenxuan 黄炎培教育文选 [Huang Yanpei’s Selected Works on Education] (Shanghai: Shanghai jiaoyu chubanshe 上海:上海 教育出版社, 1985), 135–144; and Wen-hsin Yeh, “Huang Yanpei and the Chinese Society of Vocational Education in Shanghai Networking,” in At the Crossroads of Empires: Middlemen, Social Networks, and State-Building in Republican Shanghai, ed. Nara Dillon and Jean C. Oi (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2008), 25–44.

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a who’s who of prominent educator-intellectuals from China, including Cai Yuanpei (蔡元培), Liang Qichao (梁啟超), Wu Ting Fang, and Zhang Boling (張伯苓). Huang Yanpei rose to the top of this elite group to serve as director of the Association. At its height in 1925, the Vocational Education Association directly managed fifty schools, and the Ministry of Education reported a total of 1006 vocational schools across China.3 On January 8, 1917, before founding the Vocational Education Association, Huang Yanpei began his overseas tours with a journey to Japan and the Philippines, which resulted in two monographs.4 With the war raging in Europe, Huang Yanpei had turned his attention to models closer to home. A team of prominent Chinese educators, including Kuo Ping-Wen (Guo Bingwen 郭秉文), who would later establish what would become Nanjing University, joined him for the educational excursion (Figure 3.1). After visiting Tokyo and stopping over in Shanghai, the

Figure 3.1 Huang Yanpei and other tour members to the Philippines, 1917 3 4

Gewurtz, “Social Reality and Educational Reform,” 164. Huang Yanpei 黄炎培, Dongnanyang zhi xin jiaoyu: houbian Feilübin 東南洋之新教育:後編 菲律賓 [Southeast Asia’s New Education: The Philippines] (Shanghai: shangwu yinshuguan 上海:商務印書館, 1918); Huang Yanpei 黄炎培, Dongnanyang zhi xin jiaoyu: qianbian Riben 東南洋之新教育:前編日本 [East and Southeast Asia’s New Education: Japan] (Shanghai: shangwu yinshuguan 上海:商務印書館, 1918). See also Shi Xueqin 施雪琴, Feilübin Huaqiaohuaren shihua 菲律宾华侨华人史话 [A History of Chinese Overseas in the Philippines] (Guangzhou: Guangdong jiaoyu chubanshe 广州:广东教育出版社, 2019), 191–192.

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entourage arrived in Manila on February 3. There, the group of educators met Albino Z. Sycip (Xue Minlao 薛敏老), a colleague of Huang’s who appears again in Chapter 6. Before proceeding to inspect the schools themselves, the Chinese tour members immersed themselves in relationship-building with a series of banquets. They first traveled to the Oriental Club in Manila where they dined with representatives from the Chinese Consulate. The next night, they joined Albino Sycip and other influential residents of the archipelago for dinner.5 After these pleasantries, which cemented important personal relationships just like the one we explored at the beginning of this part, the education tour group proceeded to the next phase of the trip. They met with the director of the Bureau of Education, toured several prominent schools, and visited with school principals, teachers, and local Chinese educators. Philippine schools impressed members of the tour, who applied choice adjectives in their accounts that appeared in newspapers and journals back in China. The sheer scale of the educational architecture caught the attention of Kuo Ping-Wen, who noted for readers back home that the “public school system [is] in full operation with more than two-thirds of the children of school age provided with opportunities of free education.”6 Huang Yanpei, on a different topic, wrote, “The emphasis on physical education, is something peculiar to Philippine education.”7 Echoing Huang’s sentiments, Cai Yuanpei, the president of Peking University and a towering figure in the Chinese educational landscape, commended the emphasis on physical education in the archipelago, noting that it was one of the main reasons that the tour embarked to the Philippines in the first place.8 For many tour members, girls’ access to education, which in turn led to prosperous careers, stood out in an all-around impressive system. Huang Yanpei, for example, noted that girls comprised 42 percent of the student population at the Philippine Normal School.9 In an era when education became “the defining mark of modernity for a new woman,” as historian Bryna Goodman puts it, this feature of the Philippine education system certainly appealed to tour members.10 Commenting on Filipino 5 6

7 8 9 10

Huang Yanpei, Dongnanyang: Feilübin, 1–11. Kuo Ping-Wen (Guo Bingwen 郭秉文), “My Impressions of the Philippines,” Feilübin Huaqiao jiaoyu congkan 菲律賓華僑教育叢刊 [The Philippine Chinese Educational Magazine] 1 (1917): 15. Huang Yanpei, Dongnanyang: Feilübin, 17. Cai Yuanpei 蔡元培, “Xuyan 序言 [Preface],” Feilübin Huaqiao jiaoyu congkan菲律賓華 僑教育叢刊 [The Philippine Chinese Educational Magazine] 1 (1917): 1. Huang Yanpei, Dongnanyang, 78 Goodman, “The New Woman Commits Suicide,” 79.

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contributions to society more broadly, a contributor to a Chinese women’s journal described Filipinas as the most “progressive” in Asia, outlining Filipino women’s contributions to higher education, the workplace, and society at large.11 Meanwhile, a Chinese lawyer, who penned a lengthy monograph on the archipelago after attending an international conference there, related an anecdote for his Chinese readers about a Filipina lawyer who successfully defended her client to “thunderous applause.” Perhaps with the intention of ameliorating the position of women professionals at home, the writer praised Filipinas who took up the profession of law.12 In an era of uncertainty in China, the Philippines served as the perfect laboratory to explore alternative ways to structure society. Featuring clear contours and a balanced color palette, the Philippine education system contrasted with China’s greyscale patchwork. The famous novelist Lao She (老捨), in a fictional account of a Martian Cat Kingdom, which exaggerated China’s societal fault lines like an impressionist painting does to a landscape, wrote sardonically, “schools have students, but no character; teachers attend to make money, administrators attend to make money, and students attend to prepare to make money. Everyone views schools as a new type of restaurant; what is education? Nobody asks.”13 For Huang, who had likewise concluded that the greatest deficiency of Chinese schools was their “divorce from reality,” the Philippines appeared refreshingly relevant and innovative.14 Tour members had come to the Philippines to examine the country’s vocational education system, so they stopped over at the Sales Department of the Bureau of Education to meet with experts. There, they inspected Philippine handmade products and inquired about equipment and the logistics of the program.15 Huang and other tour members also visited the Central Luzon Agricultural School, the top-ranking 11 12 13

14 15

Lin Jianbang 林建邦, “Feilübin funü gaikuang 菲律濱婦女概況 [Survey of Women in the Philippines],” Funü zazhi 婦女雜志 [The Ladies’ Journal] 9, no. 7 (1923): 65–67. Zheng Min 鄭民, Feilübin 菲律賓 [The Philippines] (Shanghai: Shangwu yinshuguan上海: 商務印書館, 1925), 190. Lao She 老舍, Maochengji xin Hanmuliede 猫城记:新韩穆烈德 [Cat Country and New Hamlet] (Shanghai: Wenhui chubanshe 上海:文匯出版社, 2008), 112. For an interesting parallel critique from the Philippines during the Spanish colonial period, see José Rizal, El Filibusterismo, trans. Ma. Soledad Lacson-Locsin, ed. Raul L. Locsin (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2007), 98–108. Curran, Educational Reform in Republican China, 372. Huang Yanpei, Dongnanyang, 44. For more on the handmade products industry, see Glenn Anthony May, “The Business of Education in the Colonial Philippines, 1909– 30,” in Colonial Crucible: Empire in the Making of the Modern American State, ed. Alfred W. McCoy and Francisco A. Scarano (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2009), 151–162.

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agricultural high school in the Philippines; the Agricultural College of Los Baños, a branch of the University of the Philippines system that we will return to later in this chapter; and the Anglo-Chinese School, the leading Chinese school in the Philippines. After departing from the Philippines, one tour member expressed his gratitude for the good treatment the party had received and shared his hopes that China would send another group of aspiring educators in the near future.16 The one-month tour to the Philippines had apparently left a strong impression on Chinese educators. On May 5, 1917, only two months after the tour came to an end, Huang Yanpei, Kuo Ping-Wen, Cai Yuanpei, and others gathered for the Combined Meeting of the National Association of Educators, which resulted in the foundation of the Chinese Vocational Education Association mentioned earlier.17 Was the founding of the Chinese Vocational Education Association directly after Huang’s and Kuo’s visit to the Philippines a coincidence? Perhaps. After all, Huang Yanpei had begun to advocate for vocational education as opposed to pragmatic education (實用主義教育) nearly a year before in a series of speeches delivered in Shanghai.18 But the proximity of the Philippines trip to the foundation of the Vocational Education Association is too close to ignore.19 Seeing the Philippine vocational education program in action likely gave Huang and other educators the final verification they needed that building a similar model in China was both feasible and advantageous. Curiously, however, Huang’s biographers and historians of Chinese education have largely ignored the timing of the foundation of the Vocational Education Association as well as the influence of the archipelago on Huang’s sensibilities more broadly. They emphasize instead the influence on China of America, Japan, and Europe. Historians Wen-hsin Yeh and Margo S. Gewurtz, who write about Huang Yanpei’s visit to Southeast Asia and the Chinese Vocational Education Association

16

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18 19

Chen Xiaozhuang (陳筱荘), “Dongfang julebu huansong kaocha jiaoyutuan zhi yanshuohui: Chen Xiaozhuang xiansheng yanshuoci 東方俱樂部歡送考察教育團之演說會: 陳筱荘先生演說詞 [Education Investigation Committee Farewell Banquet Speeches from the Oriental Club: Mr. Chen Xiaozhuang’s Speech]” Feilübin Huaqiao jiaoyu congkan 菲律賓華僑教育叢刊 [The Philippine Chinese Educational Magazine] 1 (1917): 13. For a detailed timeline of these events, see Xu Hansan 许汉三, Huang Yanpei nianpu 黄炎 培年谱 [Chronicle of Huang Yanpei] (Beijing: Wenshi ziliao she 北京:文史资料社, 1985), 28–41. Ibid., 28; and Curran, Educational Reform in Republican China, 378–385. Some observers from the Philippines drew the same conclusion. See “China May Adopt System in P.I.,” Manila Daily Bulletin, June 4, 1921.

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respectively, do not even mention the Philippines.20 Other scholars mention the Philippines in their research but treat it as a minor side exhibit.21 Without the Philippines, however, the portrait of vocational education in China is incomplete. Expanding the Tours Beyond bringing inspiration, Huang Yanpei’s 1917 tour also brought many new friendships and collaborations that reinforced cultural ties between the Philippines and China. Just as the ritualistic exchanges of the tributary system acted as a front for diplomatic engagement and private trade, the educational tour and its ritualistic banquets served as a catalyst for private exchanges. For example, during his tour, Huang met and befriended the prominent Filipino educator Camilo Osias, who was then the president of the National University of the Philippines. Like a friendly artist who hyped his colleague’s new exhibition, Osias later led a group of Filipino educators to China to learn about their education system and provide support for Huang. Camilo Osias, a Deweyen educator who would author a famous series of Filipino readers for schoolchildren, delivered a speech on education at the Shanghai Chamber of Commerce on his tour in 1921.22 Osias had come as a delegate to the Far Eastern Championship Games, to which we will return in Chapter 7, but, according to reports, “educational authorities” desired to detain Osias “after [the] Olympic games to enable him to give us advice on industrial education.”23 In his speech, Osias, standing 20

21

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Gewurtz, “Social Reality and Educational Reform,” 163; and Yeh, “Huang Yanpei,” 39. Yeh mentions specifically Huang’s visit to schools in Japan-controlled Manchuria and British, Dutch, and French colonies in Southeast Asia, but not the Philippines. Lydia YuJose offers an interesting perspective on Japanese politician and statesman Tsurumi Yusuke’s tour to the Philippines, however. See Yu-Jose, Japan Views the Philippines, 30–37. See, for instance, Curran, Educational Reform in Republican China, 390; and Qu Guanghua 曲光华, “Huang Yanpei yu Minguo shiqi de zhiye jiaoyu shulun 黄炎培与民国时期的职业 教育述论 [On Huang Yanpei and Vocation Education during the Republican Period],” Minguo dangan 民国档案 [Republican Archives] 2 (2007): 67. Camilo Osias (Aoxiya 奧西亞), “Ji Feidao yuandong yundonghui daibiao Aoxiya jun zai Shanghai zongshanghui zhi yanshuo 記菲島遠東運動會代表奧西亞君在上海總商會之演 說 [Remembering Philippine Far Eastern Championship Games Representative Mr. Osias’ Speech at the Shanghai Chamber of Commerce],” Zhongguo yu Nanyang 中 國與南洋 [China and Malaysia] 2, no. 2/3 (1921): 137. The meeting was cohosted by the Jiangsu Provincial Educational Association. Osias’ speech was also published in the Philippines; see Camilo Osias, “The Trinity of China’s Greatest Needs,” Dongfang yuekan 東方月刊 [The Oriental Brothers] 1, no. 1 (1921): 28–30, 34–35, 40. “China May Adopt,” Manila Daily Bulletin. For more on Camilo Osias, see Eduardo Bananal, Camilo Osias: Educator and Statesman (Quezon City: Manlapaz Publishing Company, 1974); Lisandro E. Claudio, Liberalism and the Postcolony:

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before a friendly audience, painted a glowing portrait of vocational education. Challenging his hosts, he offered a candid comparison of the education systems in Jiangsu and the Philippines, pointing out that the Philippines spent the equivalent of ¥30 million on education per year whereas Jiangsu spent just ¥6 million despite having three times the number of students as the Philippines.24 After the speech, several prominent Chinese educators and politicians, including Kuo Ping-wen and Chengting Thomas Wang (Wang Zhengting 王正廷), joined Camilo Osias and Huang Yanpei for yet another banquet. Mirroring Huang’s itinerary, Osias then toured several schools, including Huang’s flagship vocational school, the Chinese Vocational School.25 Osias honed his critical but supportive message along the way with additional speeches, including one to an audience of purportedly 2–3,000 in Nanjing.26 In those speeches, venturing beyond the frame of education, Osias voiced his support for the campaign against the Bookkeeping Act, which we learned about in Chapter 2.27 During his first tour of the Philippines, Huang had also met and befriended the prominent local Chinese educator Gan Bun Cho (Yan Wenchu 顏文初). A year after Huang returned to China from his tour, Gan sent a letter to Huang requesting an update on Chinese educational reforms. Huang responded with a short letter that Gan published in his education journal. In his letter, Huang painted an optimistic picture of China’s potential. He sketched out the recent changes that reformers had enacted during the Combined Meeting of the National Association of Educators, and he described the development of the Jinan Institute in Nanjing – a mainland school established for Chinese overseas students.28 In 1921, the same year of Camilo Osias’ tour, Gan Bun Cho and his educator colleagues undertook their own four-month tour to take in the Chinese educational landscape, visiting over sixty-three schools.29

24 25

26 28

29

Thinking the State in the 20th-Century Philippines (Singapore: National University of Singapore Press, 2017), 23–43; and Camilo Osias, The Story of a Long Career of Varied Tasks (Quezon City: Manlapaz Publishing Company, 1971). Osias, “Ji Feidao,” 137. The article uses Huang Yanpei’s courtesy name, Huang Renzhi (黃任之). Hu Daonan 胡道南, “Ge gongtuan huanying yuandong yundonghui Feilübin daibiao Aoxiya jun 個公團歡迎遠東運動會菲律濱代表奧西亞君 [Different Organizations Welcome Philippine Far Eastern Championship Games Representative Mr. Osias],” Zhongguo yu Nanyang中國與南洋 [China and Malaysia] 2, no. 2/3 (1921): 132. Osias, “Ji Feidao,” 133. 27 Ibid., 134. Huang Yanpei 黃炎培, “Yi nian youban 一年有伴 [A Year and a Half],” Feilübin Huaqiao jiaoyu congkan 菲律賓華僑教育叢刊 [The Philippine Chinese Educational Magazine] 2 (1919): 9–12. Gan Bun Cho (Yan Wenchu 顏文初), “Dui huiguo kaochatuan zhi chuyan 對回國考察團 之芻言 [My Humble Opinion on the China Return Home Survey],” in Feilübin Huaqiao huiguo kaochatuan tekan 菲律濱華僑回國考察團特刊 [Philippine Overseas Chinese Return

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Gan, who was born in Shishi, Fujian, had moved to the Philippines in 1913 when he became the editor of the Chinese-language newspaper, the Kong Li Po (公理報).30 During his trip back to China in 1921, Gan, along his fellow tour members, stressed the need for Chinese youth in the Philippines to follow in his footsteps and reconnect with China by studying at universities there.31 Stuffed into Gan’s packed schedule was a detour to the Jinan Institute, where speakers from Gan’s entourage, along with the hosts, stressed unity and common goals.32 Huang Yanpei also returned to the Philippines to inspect Chinese and vocational schools as part of a broader tour across Southeast Asia in 1921.33 By this time, however, in part due to the success of Huang’s earlier tour, many other Chinese educators were making that same journey. For example, that same year, Chen Yousong (陳友松), a Chinese educator from Hubei who had attended the University of the Philippines, returned to the Philippines with a colleague to inspect the Philippine Normal School.34 Echoing some of Huang Yanpei’s motifs, Chen praised the gender balance of the school, writing, “Women who lived here, were extremely happy.”35 Elsewhere, Chen and his fellow tour members highlighted the role American teachers played in education, but they also stressed that American teachers, unlike foreign teachers in British and Dutch colonies in Southeast Asia, led students to sing the Philippine

30

31 32

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Home Survey Special Bulletin] (Manila: Feilübin minli yinshuguan 馬尼拉:菲律濱民立印 書館, 1936), 4–5; and “Benxiao shangke huanying Feilübin Huaqiao jiaoyu kaochatuan yanshuo ji 本校商科歡迎菲律賓華僑教育考察團演說記 [The Department of Commerce at Our School Welcomes the Philippine Huaqiao Education Tour Group],” Zhongguo yu Nanyang 中國與南洋 [China and Malaysia] 2, no. 2/3 (1921): 39–42. Later, Gan became the principal of the Anglo-Chinese School in the Philippines, where he remained until his death in 1942 at the hands of Japanese soldiers. Research on Gan Bun Cho is limited, but for a brief introduction to his life, see Li Tianxi, “Feihua jiaoyujia Yan Wenchu,” 182–184. “Benxiao shangke,” Zhongguo yu Nanyang, 45. Chen Rongzong 陳榮宗 and Gong Daoxi 龔道熙, “Huaqiao jiaoyu kaochatuan zhi yanshuo 華僑教育考察團之演說 [Speeches from the Huaqiao Education Tour Group],” Zhongguo yu Nanyang中國與南洋 [China and Malaysia] 2, no. 2/3 (1921): 43. Camilo Osias also visited Jinan in his tour; see Hu Daonan, “Ge gongtuan,” 133. Huang Yanpei 黃炎培, “Nanyang zhi zhiye jiaoyu 南洋之職業教育 [Vocational Education in Southeast Asia],” Jiaoyu yu zhiye 教育与职业 [Education and Vocation] 1 (1921): 1–3. Ma Mingluan 馬鳴鸞, “Feilübin shifan xuexiao (Philippine Normal School) canguan ji 菲律賓師範學校 (Philippine Normal School) 參觀記 [Philippine Normal School Visit],” Xueyi 學藝 [Science and Art] 3, no. 10 (1922): 1–10. For more on Chen Yousong, see Yu Shusheng 于述耘, “Zhenzheng de xuezhe (shang) – zhuimu Chen Yousong xiansheng 真正的学者(上) – 追慕陈友松先生 [A Genuine Scholar (Part One) – Admiring Mr. Chen Yousong],” Zhongguo jiaoshi 中国教师 [Teacher’s Journal] 1 (2011): 54–56, 60; and the two follow-up articles. Ma Mingluan, “Feilübin shifan xuexiao,” 5.

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national anthem, not America’s.36 Treating the Philippines as an educational archetype, Chinese educators highlighted the active learning strategies in Philippine pedagogy. For example, in the foreword to a translated geography textbook from the Philippines, the translator and editor depicted an impromptu activity in a Philippine classroom where students scoured through maps to locate the hometowns of visiting Chinese educators.37 The translator wrote, “Elementary schools that can use this type of lively teaching material and teaching method right now already have [an advantage over] the old methods of forcing students to remember maps – names of mountains, names of lakes, names of cities – things that are not at all of interest.”38 A decade earlier, the viceroy of Sichuan Province had requested that textbooks be sent from the Philippines, and the acting director of the Bureau of Education in the Philippines had obliged, sending nearly 100 textbooks.39 While Gan Bun Cho’s primary purpose for visiting schools in China was to learn about new innovations in Chinese pedagogy to bring back to the Philippines, many other Chinese from the Philippines returned to their hometowns in China to establish schools, enhancing the overall educational link.40 Dee C. Chuan (Li Qingquan 李清泉), a leading tycoon and community organizer in the Philippines who appears again in Chapter 5, founded the Longmen School and Shizhen Raise Virtuous 36

37

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Ibid., 9. For more on America’s role in fostering Philippine nationalism, see Resil B. Mojares, “The Formation of Filipino Nationality Under U.S. Colonial Rule,” Philippine Quarterly of Culture and Society 34, no. 1 (2006): 11–32. Tang Jue 唐珏, “Feilübin chudeng xiaoxue sannianji dili jiaocai 斐律濱初等小學三年及 地理教案 [Philippine Elementary Education Grade Three Geography Lesson Plan],” Zhonghua jiaoyu jie 中華教育界 [Chinese Education World] 11, no. 5 (1922): 40–57. The pagination is unclear in the copy I viewed. Ibid. This journal article is a copy of the introduction to the translated textbook. The textbook might be an earlier edition of Maria Valdez-Ventura’s elementary school geography textbook; see Maria Valdez-Ventura, Philippine Primary Geography (Manila: Associated Publishers, 1924). For more on Chinese borrowing of active learning methodologies, see Curran, Educational Reform in Republican China, 128–130. Zhongguo diyi lishi danganguan 中国第一历史档案馆, Qingdai Zhongguo yu Dongnanya geguo guanxi dangan shiliao huibian, di er ce, Feilübin juan 清代中国与东南亚各国关系档案 史料汇编, 第二册, 菲律賓卷 [Qing Dynasty China and Southeast Asian Relations Archives Collections, Volume 2, The Philippines] (Beijing: Guoji wenhua chubangongsi 北京:国际文 化出版公司, 2004), 467–478. Thanks to an anonymous reviewer for pointing this out. For a brief introduction to Chinese overseas educational endeavors in Fujian and the Philippines, see Cook, “Currents of Education and Identity”; Qiao Yinwei 乔印伟, “Mingguo shiqi (1912–1937 nian) Jinjiang de qiaoban jiaoyu jiqi tedian 民国时期 (1912–1937年)晋江的侨办教育及其特点 [Republican Period (1912–1937) Jinjiang Huaqiao Schools and Their Characteristics],” Huaqiao huaren lishi yanjiu 华侨华人历史 研究 [Historical Studies of Chinese Overseas] 3 (2000): 30–39; and Wang Zengbing 王增炳 and Yu Gang 余纲, Chen Jiageng xingxue ji 陈嘉庚兴学记 [Tan Kah Kee’s Contribution to Education] (Fujian: Fujian jiaoyu chubanshe, 1981).

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Women School.41 Another prominent Philippine Chinese businessman donated ¥130,000 to establish the Yunti School in his hometown of Heshan, Fujian.42 Poet and educator Li Dan (李丹), meanwhile, founded a school in his hometown in Fujian in 1935 during a return trip there to mourn his recently passed mother.43 When these Chinese entrepreneurs from the Philippines founded schools in their hometowns, they brought a little of the Philippines with them. The Philippines was the Claude Monet, or perhaps I should say Fernando Amorsolo, for aspiring Chinese landscape artists. Even when they did not recognize the influence of the polity on their educational inclinations, Chinese educators subconsciously channeled its methods into their work. Li Dan’s emphasis on physical education and Dee C. Chuan’s encouraging of girls’ education hint at the Philippine influence.44 In an example of a more direct connection, prominent textile merchant and devout Catholic José Tan Sunco (Chen Guangchun 陳光 純) hired one of his colleagues from the Philippines, Fr. Serafin Moya, to temporarily serve as principal and teach Bible courses at his school in Quanzhou, Fujian.45 The head of the Philippine Overseas Chinese Bank in Manila and founder of the famous Double Ten School in Xiamen, Lim Chu Cong (Lin Zhuguang 林珠光), meanwhile, modeled the curriculum of his school on that of the Anglo-Chinese School in Manila.46 Lim Chu Cong, who served as the head of the Chinese YMCA in the Philippines, also published an article in a Chinese-language Philippine 41

42

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45 46

Dai Yifeng 戴一峰, “Dongnanya Huaqiao zai Xiamen de touzi: Feilübin Lishi jiazu gean yanjiu (ben shiji ershi zhi sanshi niandai) 东南亚华侨在厦门的投资:菲律宾李氏家族个案 研究(本世纪二十至三十年代) [Southeast Asian Huaqiao Investment in Xiamen: Case Study of the Li Family from the Philippines (1920s to 1930s)],” Zhongguo shehui jingji shi yanjiu 中国社会经济史研究 [Chinese Social and Economic History Research] 4 (1999): 64; and Qiao Yinwei, “Minguo shiqi,” 35. Ye Caizhen 葉采真, “Sanshi nianlai Minnan jiaoyu gaikuang 三十年來閩南教育概況 [Survey of Minnan Education over the Past Thirty Years],” in Xiaolüsong Huaqiao zhongxi xuexiao sanshi zhounian jinian kan 小呂宋華僑中西學校三十周年紀念刊 [Souvenir in Commemoration of the Thirtieth Anniversary of Anglo Chinese School], ed. Gan Bun Cho (Yan Wenchu 顏文初) (Shanghai: Shanghai zhonghua shuju 上海:上海 中華書局, 1929), 9. Bing Ling 冰凌, “Wo de fuqin Li Dan yu Yangshan xiaoxue 我的父亲李丹与洋山小学 [My Father Li Dan and Yangshan Elementary School],” Shishi wenshi ziliao di san ji 石狮 文史资料 第3辑 [Historical Records of Shishi Volume 3] (Zhongguo renmin zhengzhi xieshang huiyi Fujiansheng Shishishi weiyuanhui wenshi kejiao weiyuanhui 中国人民政 治协商会议福建省石狮市委员会科教委员会, 1994), 197. Historian Shi Xueqin has described how Philippine ideas about educations also percolated through Chinese schools in the Philippines; see Shi Xueqin, Feilübin Huaqiaohuaren shihua, 188–189. Khu, “José Tan Sunco,” 7. James A. Cook, “Bridges to Modernity: Xiamen, Overseas Chinese and Southeast Coastal Modernization, 1843–1937” (PhD diss., University of California San Diego, 1998), 186.

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journal arguing for the popularization of sports in Chinese schools.47 Another Chinese commentator from the Philippines similarly argued that the Fukien Christian University in Fujian needed to place more emphasis on physical education, noting, “Without physical education, the real meaning of student life will be lost.”48 Chinese overseas leaders might not have recognized the influence of their Philippine upbringing on their pedagogical persuasions, but their schools contained many Philippine elements. Upon his return to the Philippines in 1921, Camilo Osias reported, “My recent visit to China has given me increased interest in the welfare of the Chinese people and the Chinese Republic.”49 Osias had traveled to China as an educator and Far Eastern Championship Games representative, but he returned as an accomplished cultural tributarist. In ways, Camilo Osias represented his generation’s Konoe Atsumaro (近衛篤麿). Konoe was a Japanese liberal who had envisioned and helped create a world of Japanese educational influence on China in an earlier era.50 Osias, however, was the cutting-edge artist whose innovative methods led the disgruntled old-timer into quiet retirement.51 Osias’ education work and its positive reception in China reveal a broader shift among Chinese intellectuals, who increasingly redirected their attention from Japan to the Philippines in the 1920s. From Japan to the Philippines Before the Philippines became a model of modernity, Japan had occupied that pedestal. Over a span of ten years, Japan defeated both China and Russia in highly publicized military engagements, colonizing Taiwan and Korea along the way. Although this aggressive strategy led many people in China to view Japan with contempt, others grudgingly respected Japan’s 47

48

49 50

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Lim Chu Cong (Lin Zhuguang 林珠光), “Puji tiyu yu guomin jiankang 普及體育與國民 健康 [Popularizing Sports and the Health of the Citizens],” in Feilübin Huaqiao huiguo kaochatuan tekan 菲律濱華僑回國考察團特刊 [Philippine Huaqiao Return Home Survey Special Bulletin] (Manila: Feilübin minli yinshuguan 馬尼拉:菲律濱民立印書館, 1936), 5–7. Huang Hsin Lu, “A Study of Student Life in Foochow,” in Suwu Zhonghua xuexiao luocheng jiniankan 宿务中华学校落成纪念刊 [New Building Memorial: Cebu Chinese School] (Unknown, 1926), 47. Camilo Osias, letter to the Oriental Brothers, December 5, 1921, in Dongfang yuekan 東方 月刊 [The Oriental Brothers] 1, no. 1 (1921): 14. For more on Konoe’s education diplomacy, see Paula Harrell, Sowing the Seeds of Change: Chinese Students, Japanese Teachers, 1895–1905 (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1992), 33–38. For more on Japanese Asianists in China more broadly, see Paula S. Harrell, Asia for Asians: China in the Lives of Five Meiji Japanese (Portland, ME: Merwin Asia, 2012). Metaphorical retirement; Konoe Atsumaro had passed away in 1904.

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success and began to see Meiji-era reforms as critical to replicate.52 Chinese and Japanese educators, each with their own motivations, collaborated on educational projects, and Chinese students trekked to Japan’s top universities to learn Japanese techniques. In 1902, Wu Rulun (吳汝綸), in a trip much like the one Huang Yanpei would take fifteen years later, traveled to Japan on a four-month tour where he personally met the Meiji emperor. His tour resulted in a glowing 568-page compendium touting the Japanese model.53 For students, educators, and policymakers alike, Japan represented an affordable and proven pathway to what they perceived as modernity, and Chinese observers were eager to replicate the island nation’s success by studying and adopting the country’s policies. Having read the previous two subsections, this framing should sound familiar. Chinese observers were impressed that Japan’s national school system provided universal access, promoted social-intellectual conformity, and indoctrinated students with nationalistic sentiments.54 Japanese officials, for their part, like other cultural internationalists of their day, eagerly welcomed Chinese students because they viewed those students as a means to extend Japanese soft power. Furthermore, many Japanese officials viewed the colony of Taiwan much like Hubert Lyautey viewed the colony in Morocco – as a “laboratory of modernity” to experiment with progressive policies. Relevant for us, they viewed it as a territory to showcase Japanese-style education.55 Even on “mainland” China, Chinese officials, with the support of Japanese allies, attempted to implement Japanese elements in their education system.56 “Modernity” remained a fuzzy daguerreotype, but Chinese people increasingly made out in it the contours of Honshu, Shikoku, and Kyushu. This is somewhat ironic considering historian Takeshi Hamashita’s argument that modernization in Asia “emerged as a reaction against the all-inclusive superior–subordinate relations of the traditional tribute system” that saw China perennially at the center.57 52 53 54

55

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For a recent overview of this engagement, see Ezra F. Vogel, China and Japan: Facing History (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2019) 132–202. Weston, The Power of Position, 49. Harrell, Sowing the Seeds, 33. Filipinos also viewed Japan as a model during this period. See Motoe Terami-Wada, The Japanese in the Philippines, 1880s–1980s (Manila: National Historical Commission of the Philippines, 2010), 11. E. Patricia Tsurumi, Japanese Colonial Education in Taiwan, 1895–1945 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1977), 11. For Hubert Lyautey and “laboratories of modernity” in Morocco, see Rabinow, “Governing Morocco,” 33–34. See Heng Teow, Japan’s Cultural Policy toward China, 1918–1931: A Comparative Perspective (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1999), 157. Hamashita, “The Tribute Trade System,” 26. See also Seo-Hyun Park, “Small States and the Search for Sovereignty in Sinocentric Asia: Japan and Korea in the Late

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According to Hamashita, Meiji-era industrialization was an attempt to wrest Japan from the Chinese-centered tributary system and reorient the bilateral relationship in their direction. If we use education as a barometer to measure Japan’s effectiveness in this endeavor, then we can certainly grant them high marks, but instead of tearing the countries apart, education simply reversed the flow of borrowing.58 Japan’s influence on China expanded in the early twentieth century. From 1905 to 1906, Chinese schools employed 460 Japanese teachers, which was significantly more than any other foreign group.59 Additionally, many Japanese cultural tributarists, like their Filipino counterparts, founded schools in China.60 However, China’s educational relationship with Japan, like its relationship with the Philippines a decade and a half later, was one of measured symbiosis. As See Heng Teow points out, Chinese officials “actively sought to redirect the [Japanese] cultural efforts in ways that would best serve Chinese national interests and aspirations.”61 While Japan gained influence, China gained knowledge. Educator Konoe Atsumaro had a vision, but so did his Chinese counterparts. Of course, educational influence was not monochromatic. Japan was one of many hues in the palette of Chinese education. Historians generally identify several shifts in Chinese educational modeling. They argue that China mostly adopted European educational models and sent students there to study before 1895, after which they shifted to Japan. Japan remained the center until the United States became the new destination of choice from World War I to World War II. The Soviet Union took that mantle during the Cold War.62 As this chapter demonstrates, however, this chronology fails to capture China’s sustained and significant interest

58 59 60

61 62

Nineteenth Century,” in Negotiating Asymmetry: China’s Place in Asia, ed. Anthony Reid and Zheng Yangwen (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2009), 29–46. For more on this reversal, see Vogel, China and Japan, 132–174. Harrell, Sowing the Seeds, 48. The most prominent institution was Kenkoku University in Manchuria; see Yuka Hiruma Kishida, “Pan-Asianism in the Wartime Writings of Japanese, Chinese, and Korean Intellectuals in a Transnational Space at Kenkoku University in JapaneseOccupied Manchuria,” in Transnational Japan as History: Empire, Migration, and Social Movements, ed. Pedro Iacobelli, Danton Leary, and Shinnosuke Takahashi (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2016), 47–70; and Yuka Hiruma Kishida, “Kenkoku University, 1938–1945: Interrogating the Praxis of Pan-Asianist Ideology in Japanese Occupied Manchuria,” (PhD diss., University of Iowa, 2013). Teow, Japan’s Cultural Policy, xii and 202–203. See, for example, Curran, Educational Reform in Republican China, 20; Lloyd E. Eastman, The Abortive Revolution: China under Nationalist Rule, 1927–1937 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1974), 48–49; Suzanne Pepper, Radicalism and Education Reform in 20th-Century China: The Search for an Ideal Development Model (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 159–163; and Teow, Japan’s Cultural Policy, 157.

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in the Philippines. Instead of the Europe–Japan–United States–Soviet Union model, this chapter proposes a two-tiered assemblage. While wealthier people or those with access to scholarships from China began sending their children to the United States instead of Europe after World War I, less-connected Chinese families began sending their children to the Philippines instead of Japan after this same crucial turning point. Why was World War I an inflection point? War exigencies redrew trade and supply lines, making study in Europe difficult, if not impossible. These circumstances led many Chinese students to turn to the United States, which, although involved in the fighting, was free of occupying forces. Simultaneously, in Asia, after Prime Minister Ō kuma Shigenobu (大隈重信) issued the infamous Twenty-One Demands, and after Japan attempted to enforce its Shandong Peninsula landgrab, many fed-up Chinese families began to turn away from the archipelago of innovation to the east. Instead, as the next chapter shows, many students began to direct their gaze toward the equally compelling archipelago of innovation to the south. The Philippines offered many of the same advantages as Japan, and it surpassed Japan in several areas.63 It boasted a well-funded common school system with highly qualified instructors. The Philippines prided itself on a young but reputable system of public universities, like the University of the Philippines, as well as an established network of missionary-founded universities, like the University of Santo Tomas and Ateneo de Manila University. The medium of instruction was English, a critical international language. Travel to the archipelago was quick and inexpensive, and room and board were affordable. Perhaps the most important asset of the Philippines, however, was that it was not Japan. The Philippines never delivered a list of Twenty-One Demands to China, and the Philippines never colonized Taiwan or Manchuria. While exclusionist policies and anti-Chinese discrimination certainly turned off some potential students, the absence of militarism attracted many others. So, while the prominent Qing dynasty policymaker Zhang Zhidong (張 之洞) had argued that Chinese students had compelling reasons to study in Japan at the turn of the century, by 1921, it was Huang Yanpei’s and Wu Ting Fang’s turn on stage, and they shared different advice.64 Zhou 63

64

Chinese were not alone in discovering educational opportunities in the Philippines. As Su Lin Lewis points out, “Many Siamese students went to the University of Manila to study.” See Lewis, Cities in Motion, 212. Harrell, Sowing the Seeds, 27 and 65. See also Akira Iriye, China and Japan in the Global Setting (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1989), 34; and Shu Xincheng 舒新 城, Jindai Zhongguo liuxue shi 近代中国留学史 [History of Modern Chinese Overseas Students] (Shanghai: Shanghai shudian chubanshe 上海:上海书店出版社, 2011), 31.

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Enlai (周恩來), who would become premier of the People’s Republic of China; Chiang Kai-shek (Jiang Jieshi 蔣介石), who would become leader of the Republic of China; Lu Xun (魯迅), a famous revolutionary author and doctor; He-Yin Zhen (何殷震), the prominent anarcho-feminist writer; and many other well-known and lesser-known Chinese youth studied at Japanese universities and military academies. But by 1921, the Philippines began to train and graduate its own corpus of Chinese leaders.

4

Achieving Modernity by Studying in the Philippines

A Promising Alternative A full-page image of Chinese youth who attended Ateneo de Manila greets readers in the inaugural issue of Gan Bun Cho’s education magazine.1 The determined and poised faces of the students, some prepubescent, others approaching middle age, stare purposefully at the camera. The sheen of their clean-cut suits and the prestige of the College’s name lend them an aura of measured confidence. For the Chinese readers of this Shanghai publication, the students represented a novel and appealing possibility – one that had perhaps not yet crossed the mind of many well-to-do and middle-class families on the mainland – study abroad in the Philippines. This possibility became a reality for many families with the arrival of World War I as Chinese students began to travel to the archipelago in large numbers. Students continued to choose the Philippines through the 1930s and 1940s. With war and a long recovery in Europe, advertisers and supporters of study abroad to the Philippines leaped into action.2 In 1919, the Secretary-Treasurer of the Philippine Chinese Students’ Association, Cheng Look Wang, drafted a recruitment article targeting mainland Chinese families. Wang wrote, “The Philippine Chinese Students’ Association wishes to extend to all the Chinese students in the homeland . . . [the] heartiest welcome to [come to] this country for their studies.”3 To enhance the credibility of his sales pitch, he 1

2

3

“The Chinese Students of the Ateneo de Manila College [Zhonghua liufei Minyuan Yadian xuexiao xuesheng sheying 中華留菲岷垣雅典學校學生攝影],” in Feilübin Huaqiao jiaoyu congkan 菲律賓華僑教育叢刊 [The Philippine Chinese Educational Magazine] 1 (1917): unnumbered. Chinese schools also recruited Chinese from the Philippines. For a sample advertisement in a Manila paper, see “Dongnan daxue Jinan xuexiao heli Shanghai shangke daxue zhaosheng jianzhang 東南大學暨南學校合立上海商科大學招生簡章 [Southeastern University and Jinan School Combined Business and Commerce University Student-Recruitment Brochure],” Huaqiao shangbao 華僑商報 [Huachiao Commercial News] 2, no. 8 (July 25, 1921): 31. Cheng Look Wang, “Chinese Students Invited to Philippines,” Xuesheng 學生 [The Students’ Magazine] 6, no. 2 (1919): 1; and Cheng Look Wang, “Chinese Students Invited to Philippines,” The English Student [Yingwen zazhi 英文雜志] 5, no. 3 (1919): 229–230.

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incorporated elements of Huang Yanpei’s glowing reports of the Philippine education system in his article. He gave the Philippines the full five stars, writing that its education system was “the best in the Orient.”4 Advocates of studying in the Philippines, whose accounts dotted Shanghai’s media, painted a picture of high-quality, affordable education. They stressed that, by choosing the Philippines, Chinese students had the opportunity to save on transportation costs, tuition, room, and board.5 Cheng Look Wang stressed to his readers that the cost of an education in the Philippines was “not higher than in China and Japan, while the standard of education is even superior to that of Japan.”6 Other writers described the application process and everyday life as a student. One commentator, for instance, outlined the logistics of studying at the University of the Philippines, going over the majors, classes, library holdings, and application materials necessary to apply.7 In addition to a quality, affordable education, the Philippines boasted many intangible attractions, which boosters also highlighted for potential Chinese students, such as modern amenities, big-city living, tropical weather, and a sizable local Chinese population that could provide community support and links to China. One recruitment article described Manila as “a large city, almost rivaling Canton and Shanghai in size and clamor.”8 Considering the archipelago’s location on steamship routes for students coming from Shanghai, Hong Kong, and Xiamen, ease of access must have factored into decision-making for Chinese students and their parents as well. The Philippines also had the lure of language. English, an increasingly important international language that sometimes even served as the default language of communication at the time for Chinese from different regions of China, was the primary language of instruction at most schools.9 For potential Chinese students who were still learning the language, one recruiter assured, “[the] first year [of study] is also a year 4 5

6

7 9

Wang, “Chinese Students,” Xuesheng, 1. Zhang Jiashu (張嘉樹) described expenses in some detail. According to Zhang, tuition cost approximately ¥25 per month and room and board cost between ¥50 to ¥70. The conversion rate was ₱100 to ¥112 at the time. See Zhang Jiashu 張嘉樹, “Feilübin daxue 菲律賓大學 [The University of the Philippines], Nanyang yanjiu 南洋研究 [The Nanyang Research] 1, no. 1 (1928): 142. Ibid., 2. For a similar sentiment, see, Edward C. Lim (Lin Caixi 林材熙), “The Adventures of Chinese Students in the Philippines,” Sino-Philippine Research Journal [Zhongfei yanjiu jikan 中菲研究季刊] 1, no. 1 (1940): 29. 8 Zhang Jiashu, “Feilübin daxue,” 139–145. Lim, “The Adventures of Chinese,” 31. For an interesting take on the use of pidgin English by Chinese overseas, see Sun Yat Sen, Kidnapped in London (Bristol: J. W. Arrowsmith, 1897), 33–34.

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of primarily language acquisition.”10 Why travel to English-language learning environments on other continents when the Philippines was a short ride away? In fact, the Philippines still boasts many of the same advantages today, and as a result, it continues to attract students from India, Korea, and elsewhere in Asia.11 Japan, by contrast, could not offer an immersive English-language learning environment. Nor could it offer peace and stability. In the early twentieth century, the Philippines also appealed to Chinese students who had planned to attend schools in China until Japanese military occupation made them reassess. Another Chinese student at the University of the Philippines wrote that the Second Sino–Japanese War “caused me to abandon my intended trip to Shanghai and leave for Manila from Amoy to continue advanced education at the University of the Philippines.”12 However, perhaps the greatest advantage the Philippines had over Japan in recruiting Chinese students came not from any visible elements in the advertising but from the negative space surrounding it. The Sino–Japanese fissures that destabilized their bilateral relationship helped proponents of study abroad to the Philippines. If the tributary system was marked by Chinese-enforced stability and perfunctory appeasement by Korea and polities in Southeast Asia, the post-tributary era of early twentieth-century Asia was colored by conflict and fluctuating power structures. Over the span of forty years, China survived the First Sino–Japanese War, the Boxer Rebellion, the Xinhai Revolution, the Northern Expedition, the Japanese invasions of Manchuria and Shanghai, and the Second Sino–Japanese War. The “de facto collapse of the Chinese world order” that these conflicts brought about required a psychological readjustment that forced Chinese people to recalibrate 10

11

12

Lim, “The Adventures of Chinese,” 32. Lin encouraged students to regularly read the editorial sections of Manila’s English-language newspapers to help sharpen their language skills. According to Hohsung Choe and Rahul Mishra, approximately 30,000 Korean students and 15,000 Indian students attend schools in the Philippines each year. Korean students often seek English language training, while Indian students are more concentrated in medical courses. See Hohsung Choe, “Identity Formation of Filipino ESL Teachers Teaching Korean Students in the Philippines: How Negative and Positive Identities Shape ELT in the Outer Circle,” English Today 32, no. 1 (2016): 5–11; and Rahul Mishra, “India and the Philippines: Time to Go Beyond the ASEAN Framework,” S. Rajaratnam School of International Studies, August 2019, http://hdl .handle.net/11540/10861. Thanks to an anonymous reviewer for bringing this to my attention. Lin Chun-chun, “A P.U. Student’s Appreciation [Feida xuesheng du benbao deyi 菲大 學生讀本報得益],” Shiyong yingwen banyuekan 實用英文半月刊 [Practical English Bimonthly] 4, no. 7 (1938): 112.

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their prejudices when engaging with what many had deemed “minor” countries of the South Seas.13 So, while Japanese aggression soured Chinese desires to study in that country, and World War I and World War II effectively curtailed opportunities to study in Europe, the Philippines became an appealing option for citizens of the humbled former regional hegemon. Dreams of Eiffel Tower night saunters were cut short, but the monuments in Rizal Park beckoned. Edward C. Lim (Lin Caixi 林材熙) wrote, “Since the outbreak of hostilities the Philippines has not only received grateful refugees from her neighbor [China] but also along with them many eager students. In fact, if statistics were to be taken it will show that during the past two years more Chinese students have come to the Philippines than to any other country.”14 Though Lim likely exaggerated when he stated that more Chinese students went to the Philippines to study than to any other country, many students did go. One Philippine government official wrote, “Many Chinese students graduate every year from our institutions of learning, and those young men help a great deal in bringing our countries still closer.”15 However, as we have seen in our exploration of censuses in Chapters 1 and 2, statistical errors and other, often prejudicial, oversights seem to have blotted out the true number of Chinese students in the Philippines. Shu Xincheng (舒新城), a leading republican-era scholar and vocal critic of study abroad and returned students, for example, tallied only three Chinese students in the Philippines in 1925.16 A careful look at the enrollments of any of the prominent universities in the Philippines, however, easily disproves Shu’s statistics. According to University of the Philippines history professor Encarnacion A. Alzona in her 1932 overview, twenty-four Americans, fifty-four Chinese, nine Japanese, four Spaniards, two Englishmen, ten Siamese, one Frenchman, 13

14 15 16

Kawashima Shin, “China’s Re-interpretation of the Chinese ‘World Order’, 1900–40s,” in Negotiating Asymmetry: China’s Place in Asia, ed. Anthony Reid and Zheng Yangwen (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2009), 141. Lim, “The Adventures of Chinese,” 29. Manuel Alzate, “Sino–Philippine Relations,” in The Fookien Times Tenth Anniversary Number: 1926–1936 [Xinmin ribao 新閩日報] (Manila: Fookien Times Co., 1936), 41. Shu Xincheng, Jindai Zhongguo liuxue shi, 147. Shu recorded the same number in a contribution to Gan Bun Cho’s edited commemorative volume for the AngloChinese School; see Shu Xincheng 舒新城 and Liu Fanyou 劉范猷, “Sanshi nianlai Zhongguo liuxue waiyang gaikuang 三十年來中國留學外揚概況 [Thirty Year Survey of Chinese Study Abroad Students],” in Xiaolüsong Huaqiao zhongxi xuexiao sanshi zhounian jinian kan 小呂宋華僑中西學校三十周年紀念刊 [Souvenir in Commemoration of the Thirtieth Anniversary of Anglo Chinese School], ed. Gan Bun Cho (Yan Wenchu 顏文初) (Shanghai: Shanghai zhonghua shuju 上海:上海中華書局, 1929), 7. It is curious that Gan or the other editors did not question this figure.

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five Portuguese, two Syrians, and one Austrian enrolled in the University of the Philippines system during the 1928–1929 school year.17 In other words, Chinese students made up the largest foreign constituency at the prestigious University, surpassing even the Americans, which suggests that the University “manufactured” much more than the “native elite,” as historian Resil B. Mojares has noted.18 While the University of the Philippines was one of the leading attractions for Chinese and other foreign students, other universities and high schools also hosted students from overseas. The Catholic universities – De la Salle, Santo Tomas, and Ateneo de Manila – appealed to Christian and secular students alike.19 And private universities, like Far Eastern and Silliman, also attracted Chinese students.20 Even the Philippine Normal School, the charter vocational school that Huang Yanpei and other Chinese educators had visited, hosted one student from Henan, China, in 1922.21 Browsing the University of the Philippines yearbooks reveals that at least four Chinese students graduated from the university in 1926 and another four graduated in 1930.22 Corroborating Edward C. Lim’s earlier statement on wartime growth, that number increased to fourteen during the Second World War in 1941.23 If we turn to the official 1918 Census, we find that 2,038 students of Chinese citizenship attended schools in the Philippines, but this number likely included many long-time residents of

17

18 19

20 21 22

23

Encarnacion Alzona, A History of Education in the Philippines, 1565–1930 (Manila: University of the Philippines Press, 1932), 286. For more on Encarnacion Alzona, see Catherine Ceniza Choy, “A Filipino Woman in America: The Life and Work of Encarnacion Alzona,” Genre 39, no. 3 (2006): 127–140. Mojares, “The Formation of Filipino Nationality Under U.S. Colonial Rule.” Pablo Lim and M. O. Tan, the vice president and treasurer respectively of the Philippine branch of the Chinese Students’ Alliance of America, for example, attended Ateneo de Manila. See Chung Fong Ko, “The Chinese Students in the Philippine Islands,” The Chinese Students’ Monthly 16, no. 8 (June 1921): 624. Alip, Ten Centuries of Philippine–Chinese Relations, 137. Ma Mingluan, “Feilübin shifan xuexiao,” 1. Student Body of the University of the Philippines, Philippinensian, 1926 (Manila: MCP Enterprises, 1926), 168, 221, 240, and 242; and Senior Students of the University of the Philippines, The Philippinensian, 1930 (Manila: El Progreso, Inc., 1930), 105, 237, 258, and 307. The Ateneo Aegis turned up fewer graduating seniors, but as alluded to at the start of this section, many Chinese students also studied at the companion primary and secondary schools. See Senior Classes of the Ateneo de Manila, The 1932 Ateneo Aegis (Manila: [Unknown], 1932), 406. “Feida Zhongguo xueshenghui juxing jiaoyihui 菲大中國學生會舉行交誼會 [Chinese Students Association of the University of the Philippines Hosts Friendship Meeting],” Siyi Huaqiao daobao 四邑華僑導報 [Four Cities Chinese Overseas Guide] 1, no. 1 (1941): 78–79. It appears that fewer Chinese students studied there during WWI. See Twelfth Annual Commencement of the University of the Philippines (Manila: Bureau of Printing, 1922), 51–69.

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the islands.24 It is nearly impossible to aggregate a reliable number of Chinese people who traveled to the Philippines with the explicit purpose of studying, but it is safe to assume that the actual figures fell somewhere within the wide gap between Shu’s three and Lim’s more than any other country. For comparison, Y. C. Wang estimates that 679 Chinese students studied in the United States in 1921 and 1,191 attended schools there in 1943.25 To appeal to Chinese students, administrators at the University of the Philippines molded “courses of special interest to Chinese scholars such as Contemporary Chinese Problems and Oriental History and Politics.”26 Just as they do today, cash-conscious administrators recruited tuition dollars, adding special incentives and supportive armatures to lure overseas students whose parents had deep pockets. Administrators at the University of the Philippines went so far as to hire Chinese lawyer and journalist Dr. Luis P. Uychutin (Huang Kaizong 黃開宗).27 The United States-trained scholar was the first Chinese faculty member to teach at the University.28 Uychutin was part of a small contingent of Chinese teachers who joined and brightened the educational canvas in the Philippines. In 1937, officials from the Chinese National University and the University of the Philippines institutionalized a professor exchange.29 The University of the Philippines sent a professor of psychology to China, and the National University returned a political scientist to teach about Asian politics.30 24

25 26 27

28 29

30

Census Office of the Philippine Islands, Census of the Philippine Islands, Volume IV, Part II (Manila: Bureau of Printing, 1921), 432. Of those students, 1,497 attended school in Manilal see ibid., 433. See Y. C. Wang, Chinese Intellectuals and the West, 1872–1949 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1966), 158; and Hsu, The Good Immigrants, 48–49. Wang, “Chinese Students Invited,” 2. Gan Bun Cho (Yan Wenchu 顏文初), “Sanshi nian lai Feidao Huaqiao baozhi shiye 三十 年來菲島華僑報紙事業 [Thirty Years of Philippine Huaqiao Newspaper Publishing]”, in Xiaolüsong Huaqiao zhongxi xuexiao sanshi zhounian jinian kan 小呂宋華僑中西學校三十 周年紀念刊 [Souvenir in Commemoration of the Thirtieth Anniversary of Anglo Chinese School] (Shanghai: Shanghai zhonghua shuju 上海:上海中華書局, 1929), 7; and Carson Taylor, History of the Philippine Press (Manila: The Philippine Revolutionary Press, 1927), 45. Uychutin would later continue his academic career at the University of Xiamen, where he became the chair of the Literature Department; see Cook, “Currents of Education,” 20. Gan Bun Cho, “Sanshi nian lai Feidao,” 7. This came in the wake of National University President Wu Dingxin’s (吳鼎新) tour to the archipelago. See “Guomin daxue yu Feida jiaohuan jiaoshou 國民大學與菲大交換教 授 [National University and University of the Philippines Exchange Professors],” Jiaoyu shenghuo 教育生活 [Education Life] 4, no. 11 (1937): 14–15. Ibid. See also Alip, Ten Centuries, 137. Dr. Candido M. Africa of the University of the Philippines strongly advocated for enhanced exchanges of scholars between China and the Philippines; see Candido M. Africa, “Future Sino–Philippine Friendship,” in Feilübin Minlila zhonghua shanghui sanshi zhounian jiniankan 律濱岷里拉中華商會三十周年紀念 刊 [Philippine Chinese Chamber of Commerce Thirty Year Anniversary Publication], ed.

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Looking across the system at an earlier moment, according to the 1918 Philippine Census, fifty-eight Chinese teachers taught at schools in the Philippines, but as with the figures for students, this number likely included long-time residents of the archipelago.31 While the teacher exchanges between China and the Philippines never reached the depth of the Sino–Japanese exchanges, they point to the multifaceted nature of the overall educational relationship.32 Like their Japanese counterparts, many Filipino cultural tributarists viewed influencing young Chinese elites through education and better informing Filipinos about Chinese politics as important objectives. Historian Paul Kramer describes how American “proponents of openness argued that international students, in fact, enhanced American power, particularly as carriers of American practices and institutions, and of positive imagery about American society.”33 With similar motivations, Filipino educators likely viewed expanding the Chinese and foreign student population in the Philippines as a means to raise the profile of the Philippine model in the international arena. Student Life Student life at schools in the Philippines had its quirks, but it largely resembled life at universities elsewhere around the world. Study was central, comradery crucial, and youthful shenanigans a must. In 1934, Liu Zhitian (劉芝田), a graduate of the University of the Philippines who would later write two research monographs on Chinese in the Philippines, published a short article about his college experience for readers in China.34 While he alluded to the unique attributes of Manila, like the widespread availability of papayas and watermelons, he deemed life in the

31

32

33 34

Zhonghua shanghui chuban weiyuanhui 中華商會出版委員會 (Manila: Minli yinshuguan 馬尼拉:民立印書館, 1936), 29. These numbers also likely included teachers at Chinese schools in the Philippines. Census Office, Census of the Philippine Islands, Volume IV, Part II, 201 and 248. See also Shi Xueqin, Feilübin Huaqiaohuaren shihua, 194–200. For more on professorial exchanges between China and Japan, see, Grant K. Goodman, “Philippine–Japanese Professorial Exchanges in the 1930’s,” Journal of Southeast Asian History 9, no. 2 (1968): 229–240. As with the Philippine–China exchange, the University of the Philippines pioneered the exchanges with Japan. Kramer, “Bernath Lecture,” 806. For Liu Zhitian’s two monographs, see Liu Zhitian 劉芝田, Feilübin Huaqiao shihua 菲律 賓華僑史話 [Historical Narrative of Philippine Chinese Overseas] (Taipei: Haiwai wenku chubanshe 臺北:海外文庫出版社, 1958); and Liu Zhitian 劉芝田, Zhongfei guanxi shi 中 菲關係史 [History of Sino–Philippine Relations] (Taipei: Zhengzhong shuju 臺北:正中書 局, 1964).

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city and at the University of the Philippines as comparable to life in cities and universities in China.35 Liu Zhitian portrayed professors in the Philippines as stern, noting that Filipino students often referred to them as “tigers.”36 Like some students today, he complained about heavy reading loads, but, also like some students today, he reflected deeply on his struggles as an informal diplomat who navigated questions about his people and a distant “homeland” by curious and unfiltered classmates and professors. One such classmate asked him if Chinese men had multiple wives, which resembles the “do Chinese people eat dogs” question that still percolates in too many classrooms today.37 Although Liu certainly felt conflicted about his overall experience, he concluded his article with an appeal to students in China, writing, “Chinese students like us who want to study abroad but want to save on expenses, shouldn’t disregard the University of the Philippines.”38 Chinese students in the Philippines pursued a variety of majors and career paths and participated in a variety of student clubs and sports teams. Ka Bio Siy from Fujian, Sargent Yeh (Yeh Shao Chen) from Guangdong, and Pao Cheng Chen, for example, attended the University of the Philippines to study economics, business administration, and dentistry respectively.39 Cai Enzhi (蔡恩智) from Xiamen studied business and later went on to found a popular Chinese-language newspaper in Manila.40 Shanghai-native Kyung Tsoong (K. T.) Loh, who led the Chinese Student Dramatic Club of Manila, directed a series of May Fourth-inspired dramas.41 Yee Hon, an art major from Canton, in addition to traveling to the Philippines for his education, apparently also came to observe “the beautiful Filipinas” who were “his greatest inspiration.”42 Some Chinese students in the Philippines formed and joined political organizations. For example, students started a branch organization of the 35

36 37

38 40

41 42

Liu Zhitian 劉芝田, “Feilübin daxue shenghuo 菲律濱大學生活 [My Life at the University of the Philippines],” Qingnian banyue kan 青年半月刊 [Youth Fortnightly] 1, no. 1 (1934): 18. Ibid., 19. Ibid. Liu came to the Philippines at a relatively young age, setting him apart from Chinese students who came to the Philippines just as students, but this gave him unique insights into the Philippine educational experience. Ibid., 21. 39 Philippinensian, 1926, 240 and 242; and Philippinensian, 1930, 105. “Cai Enzhi xiansheng 蔡恩智先生 [Mr. Cai Enzhi],” in Feilübin Huaqiao huiguo kaochatuan tekan 菲律濱華僑回國考察團特刊 [Philippine Huaqiao Return Home Survey Special Bulletin] (Manila: Feilübin minli yinshuguan 馬尼拉:菲律濱民立印書館, 1936), 14. Tan, Chinese in the Philippines, 239. Senior Students of the University of the Philippines, The Whisp, 1929 (Manila: El Progreso, Inc., 1929).

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National Students’ Salvation Alliance in 1936 to organize against Japanese aggression in China.43 The May Fourth and May Thirtieth movements had inspired students in earlier years. At the same time, in solidarity with Chinese students studying in the United States, Chung Fong Ko founded a branch of the Chinese Students’ Alliance of America.44 Chinese students viewed their Filipino peers as role models for political activism. The politically attuned Liu Zhitian, for instance, praised the activism and upbeat attitudes of his Filipino peers, hinting that mainland Chinese students could learn from them.45 In other words, Chinese students embraced their location and waded into the politics of the United States, the Philippines, and China. Historian Thomas Curran notes that Chinese students, upon their return to China from studying in Japan, “became an important avenue along which Japanese and Western educational ideas were transported to China.”46 The same could be said of Chinese students, professors, and educators who studied and lived in the Philippines, like Liu Zhitian and Luis P. Uychutin, as well as the influential scholar Thomas Lin Huixiang (林惠祥). Thomas Lin Huixiang, a famous anthropologist who studied with H. Otley Beyer at the University of the Philippines, returned to China to head the Department of History and Sociology at Xiamen University after his stint in the Philippines. From that position, Lin shaped the direction of anthropological research in China, influencing two generations of scholars in his work as a professor and researcher.47 Liu, Uychutin, and Lin, as well as their many students, became cultural ambassadors – an important subcategory of cultural tributarists – who blended elements of the two polities into their work and careers, drawing new connections between the people and institutions of both places along the way. Although teaching and studying in the Philippines attracted many Chinese students and a few professors, the draconian nature of exclusionary policies proved to be a major barrier to recruitment and retention.48 43

44 45 46 47

48

“Women zai guowai de tongxue: Feilübin Huaqiao xuesheng zuzhi quanmin Huaqiao xuesheng kangri lianhehui 我們在國外的同學:菲律賓華僑學生組織全岷華僑學生抗日聯 合會 [News from Students Abroad: Philippine–Chinese Students Organize Manila Philippine–Chinese Resist Japan Organization],” Xuesheng hushing 學生呼聲 [Students’ Voice] 1, no. 2 (1936): 20–21. Chung Fong Ko, “The Chinese Students,” 624–627. For more information on the student organization, see Weili Ye, Seeking Modernity in China’s Name, 17–49. Liu Zhitian, “Feilübin daxue shenghuo,” 19. Curran, Educational Reform in Republican China, 160. Gregory Eliyu Guldin, The Saga of Anthropology in China: From Malinowski to Moscow to Mao (Armonk: M. E. Sharpe, 1994), 36–39. Thanks to an anonymous reviewer who brought Thomas Lin Huixiang to my attention. For more on the impact of exclusion in the Philippines, see Chapter 2.

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Although migration policy theoretically allowed Chinese students to enter the United States and the Philippines undeterred through what historian Madeline Hsu calls the educational “side door,” proving one’s status as a student was arduous.49 Edward C. Lim warned potential students that they would be shipped to a “detention house” on Engineer Island, the Philippine equivalent of San Francisco’s Angel Island, if they had no contacts in the archipelago, even if they had the proper documentation signed by American Consulate officials in Hong Kong.50 Complaints about detention and debasement shaded much commentary. The iconoclast socialist educator Kiang Kang-hu (Jiang Kanghu 江 亢虎), who stopped by the Philippines during a tour of Southeast Asia, grumbled that Chinese travelers needed a signature from the American Consulate, a note from the doctor onboard the ship of transport, evidence of a successful interview with immigration department officials, and luggage inspections just to get the opportunity to pass through customs. According to Kiang, even if one completed the laborious process, they still had no guarantee of entry.51 Even the prominent Philippine Chinese educator Gan Bun Cho nearly failed to enter the Philippines when he first arrived in 1912. He had applied for a “certificate of residence,” or the equivalent of a green card, but was initially denied because of his nationality.52 The same nativist unrest and gatekeeping logic that threatened to derail the plans of those who championed international students in the United States also threatened educational exchanges between China and the Philippines. Nonetheless, the flow of students continued. Students from across China studied diverse subjects at universities and high schools in the Philippines. Their numbers increased when alternative destinations like the United States, Japan, or Europe were closed due to warfare or political disputes, but many students chose the Philippines because it was an appealing destination in its own right. After their return to China, these students brought back with them both obvious and subtle design influences from the Philippines. But the skeptic might ask if they really brought back the Philippines, or merely a facsimile of the American original? 49 50

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Hsu, The Good Immigrants, 5. Lim, “The Adventures of Chinese Students,” 30. Lim ended his essay by “beseech[ing] both the Chinese and Philippine governments to do all they can to expedite their [students’] landing,” ibid., 32. Kiang Kang-hu (Jiang Kanghu 江亢虎), Jiang Kanghu nanyou huixiang ji 江亢虎南游回想 記 [Recollections of My Journey to the South] (Shanghai: Zhonghua shuju 上海:中華書局, 1924), 81. Gan Bun Cho v. The Insular Collector of Customs, Republic of the Philippines Supreme Court, G.R. No. L-9309, March 31, 1915, www.lawphil.net/judjuris/juri1915/mar1915/ gr_l-9309_1915.html (accessed September 12, 2021).

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The American Philippines? The Philippines was not a sovereign nation-state during the period covered in this chapter. Therefore, one could argue that Chinese people who traveled to and professed interest in the Philippine model were less interested in the Philippines itself and more interested in the space as an American colonial “laboratory of modernity.” In response, I would argue that, while this notion has some merit, Philippine “modernity” departed from its American counterpart, and its formation ultimately came about through a complex and variegated process in which Philippine and American designers along with predominantly Filipino practitioners, with the backdrop of global liberal discourses, debated, drafted, and implemented the idea.53 However, many historians would likely challenge this argument. In his incisive and classic reflection on American imperialism and education, historian Renato Constantino argues, “The education of the Filipino under American sovereignty was an instrument of colonial policy.”54 Constantino argues that education, perhaps more than military power, was central to American pacification of and control over the Philippines. To support his argument, he highlights the role of the Thomasites, a group of American teachers who went to the archipelago soon after American soldiers first landed, and pensionados, Filipino students who received scholarships to study in the United States. According to Constantino, through these vessels, education captured the “souls” of Filipinos.55 Scholars since Constantino, including those on all parts of the nationalist spectrum, have largely adopted Constantino’s basic design. More Philippine nationalist-oriented historians, such as Noel V. Teodoro and Reynaldo Ileto, suggest that Americans and American-educated Filipinos became “peddlers of a consciousness formed by the American way of life.”56 Curiously, though approaching the colonial arrangement from 53

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The concept of “multiple modernities” is an inspiration here. See Shmuel N. Eisenstadt, ed., Multiple Modernities (London: Taylor and Francis, 2017); and Michael John Watts, “Capitalisms, Crises, and Cultures I: Notes toward a Totality of Fragments,” in Reworking Modernity: Capitalisms and Symbolic Discontent, ed. Allan Pred and Michal John Watts (New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 1992), 1–20. Renato Constantino, “The Mis-Education of the Philippino,” in Filipinos in the Philippines and Other Essays (Quezon City: Filipino Signatures, 1966), 42. Ibid., 43–44. The quote is from Teodoro, “Pensionados and Workers,” 161. See also Calata, “The Role of Education in Americanizing Filipinos,” 89–97; and Reynaldo Ileto, “The Philippine Revolution of 1896 and U.S. Colonial Education,” in Knowing America’s Colony: A Hundred Years from the Philippine War (Honolulu: Center for Philippine Studies, University of Hawai’i, 1999), 1–18.

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a completely different angle, historians of American empire, like Glenn Anthony May and Paul Kramer, have tended to paint similar pictures by foregrounding the roles of American actors in extending American imperial power and exporting “American models.”57 Historian Joel Spring has labeled this overarching process of educational imperialism as “deculturalization.”58 Before we engage with this theoretical framing and its implications, however, let us first explore what the Philippine education system looked like at the time, starting with vocational education. Vocational education in the Philippines had complex beginnings. Americans David Barrows and Frank White spearheaded industrial education in the early American colonial period, as historian Glenn Anthony May points out, but Filipino lawmakers in the Senate lent moral and fiscal support by passing the Vocational Education Act in 1928.59 The Act entrenched industrial and vocational education in Philippine public schools and established the Division of Vocational Education, a branch of the Bureau of Education designed to organize and oversee vocational education.60 If we were to move back along the educational timeline, we would find an established vocational education system in place before the arrival of American colonials. One historian refers to the achievement of vocational education during the late Spanish colonial period as “genuinely substantial.”61 Another historian stresses that, “beneath the educational policies and practices of Spanish colonialism was a relatively cohesive body of fairly independent Filipino educational activity.”62 57

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The quote is from May, “The Business of Education,” 152. See also Elisabeth M. Eittreim, Teaching Empire: Native Americans, Filipinos, and US Imperial Education, 1879–1918 (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2019); Kramer, “Bernath Lecture,” 775–806; and Glenn Anthony May, Social Engineering in the Philippines: The Aims, Execution, and Impact of American Colonial Policy, 1900–1913 (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1980). Joel Spring, Deculturalization and the Struggle for Equality: A Brief History of the Education of Dominated Cultures in the United States (Boston: McGraw Hill, 2004), 3. May, “The Business of Education,” 152. Barrows and White, in turn, were inspired by none other than philosopher John Dewey. For more on Dewey’s approach to vocational education, see Alison Kadlec, Dewey’s Critical Pragmatism (Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2007), 75–81. For more on the Vocational Education Act, see Alzona, A History of Education, 246. Frederick Fox, “Philippine Vocational Education,” Philippine Studies 24, no. 3 (1976): 286. Karl Schwartz, “Filipino Education and Spanish Colonialism: Toward an Autonomous Perspective,” Comparative Educational Review 15, no. 2 (1971): 202–218. See also Johaina K. Crisostomo, “The Scholastic Foundations of Emilio Jacinto’s Liwanag at Dilim (Light and Darkness), c. 1896,” Philippine Studies 69, no. 2 (2021): 259–289; and John N. Schumacher, “Philippine Higher Education and the Origins of Nationalism,” Philippine Studies 23 (1975): 53–65. Thanks to Lisandro Claudio for directing me to these sources.

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Ultimately, the Philippine education system was a collaborative endeavor. While Americans directed the Bureau of Education, they received confirmation from the Philippine Assembly before 1916 and the Philippine Senate after. The first civilian governor of the Philippines implemented a “Filipinization” policy in the islands, which led to a rapid transfer in many appointed and elected government positions, including the assistant director of the Bureau of Education, who, after 1932, was required by law to be Filipino.63 Filipinos also populated many of the board positions of the Bureau, division superintendent positions, and school principal posts.64 The main architect of the Pensionado Act, which inaugurated the pensionado system, was the Filipino intellectual Trinidad H. Pardo de Tavera.65 Just as in Bengal during the so-called Bengal Renaissance, where a “new elite” took the lead in “mobilizing a ‘national’ effort to start schools,” in the Philippines, prominent individuals sought to construct a national identity through education.66 In the Philippines, Americans tended to hold managerial and leadership positions while Filipinos held a clear majority of overall positions. In 1925, for example, 1,000 Filipino and 213 American secondary education instructors taught in Philippine schools. That same year, the entire education system boasted 25,530 Filipino and 305 American teachers, suggesting a much more skewed ratio of teachers in primary education.67 Filipinos and Americans designed the pensionado system, which Kramer, Ileto, and Constantino dissect in their research, to train Filipinos to return to the Philippines to teach or work in civil service, and a quick look at the numbers above suggests that this and other Filipinization policies at least partially achieved their aims.68 Textbooks help bring the complexity of the Philippine education system into focus and highlight another area of entanglement. A few years after the acting director of the Bureau of Education in the Philippines had sent textbooks to China as noted earlier, lawmakers in the Philippines established a textbook advisory committee in 1913 that later transformed into a formal textbook board.69 Mirroring the pattern with teachers, schools gradually shifted from importing American textbooks to using 63 64 65

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Alzona, A History of Education, 192. Ibid., 193–194. See also Mojares, “The Invention of Filipino Nationality,” 15–16. Resil B. Mojares, Brains of the Nation: Pedro Paterno, T.H. Pardo de Tavera, Isabelo de Los Reyes, and the Production of Modern Knowledge (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2006). Partha Chatterjee, “Whose Imagined Community?” in Empire and Nation: Selected Essays (New York: Columbia University Press, 2010), 30. Philippines Bureau of Education, Twenty-Sixth Annual Report of the Bureau of Education: January 1, 1925 to December 31, 1925 (Manila: Bureau of Printing, 1926), 113. Calata, “The Role of Education,” 92. 69 Alzona, A History of Education, 192.

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homegrown ones. By 1926, at the height of the Filipinism movement, several textbooks authored by Filipinos circulated in schools, including A History of the Philippines, by Conrado Benitez; Stories of Great Filipinos, by Francisco F. and Conrado O. Benitez; A Brief History of the Philippines, by Leandro Fernández; The Philippine Readers, by Camilo Osias; Modern High School Arithmetic, by Vidal A. Tan; and Philippine Government, by George Malcolm and Maximo Kalaw.70 Attesting to the popularity of these new textbooks, Chinese scholar Li Changfu (李長傅) translated Fernández’s history in 1936.71 The University of the Philippines is another useful tool to explore the Philippine education system. The Philippine Assembly established the school in 1908 with the passage of the University Act (Act No. 1870). Filipinos and Americans jointly administered the school, and from 1911 to 1932 Filipinos served as four out of the six presidents.72 The University hosted some of the most prominent liberal scholars of the period, including Carlos P. Romulo, Conrado Benitez, Leandro Fernández, Maximo Kalaw, Pio Duran, Jorge Bocobo, and Encarnacion Alzona. These scholars, like their counterparts in Penang, Bangkok, and Rangoon whom Su Lin Lewis studies in her research, “were not simply ‘Westernised elites’ or ‘proto-nationalists’, but emerged within a pluralist and transnational educational framework.”73 They were not only Philippine nationalists, but also Asian cultural tributarists. The Philippine Philippines Highlighting Filipino participation and influence in the education system through legislation, teaching, and authoring textbooks, however, fails to directly address the critiques offered by Ileto, Constantino, and others, 70

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Philippines Bureau of Education, Twenty-Sixth Annual Report, 84–89. See also Claudio, Liberalism and the Postcolony; and Vernon del Rosario Totanes, “History of the Filipino History Book,” (PhD thesis, University of Toronto, 2012), 71–103. For the original textbooks, see Conrado Benitez, History of the Philippines: Economic, Social, Political (Boston: Ginn and Company, 1926); Francisco F. Benitez and Conrado O. Benitez, Stories of Great Filipinos (Manila: National Book Company, 1923); Leandro H. Fernández, A Brief History of the Philippines (Boston: Ginn and Company, 1919); Camilo Osias, The Philippine Readers (Boston: Ginn and Company, 1919); Vidal A. Tan, Modern High School Arithmetic for the Philippines (Manila: Associate Publishers, 1924); and George Malcom and Maximo Kalaw, Philippine Government: Development, Organization and Functions (Manila: Associated Publishers, 1923). Reynaldo Ileto offers a candid critique of Benitez’s book; see “The Philippine Revolution,” 1–18. Li Changfu 李長傅, Feilübin shi 菲律賓史 [History of the Philippines] (Shanghai: Shangwu yinshuguan 上海:商務印書館, 1936). Alzona, A History of Education, 274–276. For a brief account of presidents after independence, see Claudio, Liberalism and the Postcolony, 111–146. Lewis, Cities in Motion, 226.

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who stress that those Filipinos who participated in the education system failed to liberate their minds from colonial thought. These scholars address the concealed undertones of coloniality in addition to the concrete strokes of colonialism.74 Ileto, for instance, describes how University of the Philippines Professor Conrado Benitez, in his 1926 history textbook, portrayed the Philippine–American War as “some kind of unfortunate misunderstanding.”75 In other words, although a Filipino himself, Benitez could not help but think like an American apologist due to his training. But it is important to draw two distinctions when exploring the ideas and inclinations of Filipino intellectuals in the early twentieth century, and using a cultural tributarist lens and following Su Lin Lewis’ lead can aid us in that endeavor. First, we should separate liberalism, or an Enlightenment-influenced belief system, from Americanism or a proAmerican stance. It was possible to espouse the former without being consumed by the latter, especially considering the rich Philippine liberal tradition of the late Spanish colonial period and Malolos Republic.76 Philippine national hero José Rizal, a prominent cultural internationalist who advocated for education as a precondition to liberty, was one of Asia’s foremost liberals, and many who admired him no doubt could distinguish his liberalism, which predated American occupation, from Americanism.77 Second, Filipino participation in the colonial system does not necessitate their uncritical endorsement of all its methods or goals. It is possible, though admittedly challenging, to support a cause without signing up for an entire platform, even within an asymmetrical relationship. Anthony Reid and Zheng Yangwen have provided a ready example of resistance and autonomy in asymmetry with their research on the tributary “system.” They show how leaders of Southeast Asian polities engaged in the “‘tribute’ game” with China while pursuing their own agendas.78 74

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For a critical engagement with the concept of coloniality, see Walter D. Mignolo, Local Histories/Global Designs: Coloniality, Subaltern Knowledges, and Border Thinking (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2012). Ileto, “The Philippine Revolution,” 11. For a brief history of nineteenth-century Philippine liberalism, see Claudio, Liberalism and the Postcolony, 8–18. Rizal wrote, “My countrymen, I have given proofs that I am one most anxious for liberties for our country, and I am still desirous of them. But I place as a prior condition the education of the people, that by means of instruction and industry our country may have an individuality of its own and make itself worthy of these liberties.” See José Rizal, The Philippines a Century Hence, ed. Austin Craig (Manila: Philippine Education Company, 1912), 116. Anthony Reid, “Introduction: Negotiating Asymmetry: Parents, Brothers, Friends and Enemies,” in Negotiating Asymmetry: China’s Place in Asia, ed. Anthony Reid and Zheng Yangwen (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2009), 12. For more on this

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Filipino liberals and educators, while almost certainly having reservations about working with a supremacist occupying force, still played the “imperial game” with the United States in order to pursue their own independent objectives. One scholar has described this type of imperial cognitive detachment as “hybrid nationalism,” which “enables one to strategically choose, acquire, and benefit from both [native and Western imperial] cultural resources.”79 By working within the American imperial framework, Filipinos, like Reynaldo Ileto’s own grandfather, as Ileto notes, knowingly sacrificed the memory of Philippine resistance toward and revolution against the United States.80 But those who made such sacrifices probably calculated the risks and rewards and chose amnesia to pursue other means of reforming their country. Perhaps they felt confident that their descendants could read between the lines and restore the troublesome history that they had intentionally glossed over. However, imperialism weighs on not just historical subjects, but also contemporary research agendas, and it is important that we step back and take a look at our own craft.81 Scholars of educational borrowing have by and large molded their narratives around the armature of imperialism. Many of us continue to unwittingly reproduce imperialist rhetoric and circular logic because it has been firmly imprinted on our thinking. To justify imperialism in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, its advocates, and indeed many others, such as popular novelists and poets, developed a vocabulary of “imperial culture,” to borrow Edward Said’s term.82 It has been the challenge of our time to decolonize history and escape from the confines of this way of thinking. What complicates this picture is the fact that the American education system was indeed designed as a tool to further American imperial goals, and many Filipino educators contributed, perhaps even willingly or knowingly, to the achievement of those aims. Most scholars, as a result, have not allowed much room for autonomous thinking from Filipino pensionados, educators, and politicians who operated within this system. In other words, most scholars operate under the assumption that “even our imaginations

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republican influence on José Rizal, see Manuel Sarkisyanz, Rizal and Republican Spain and Other Rizalist Essays (Manila: National Historical Institute, 1995). Rolando Sintos Coloma, “Care of the Postcolonial Self: Cultivating Nationalisms in The Philippine Readers,” Qualitative Research on Education 2, no. 3 (2013): 321. Reynaldo C. Ileto, “Philippine Wars and the Politics of Memory,” Positions: East Asia Cultures Critique 13, no. 1 (2005): 221. See, for instance, Walter Mignolo’s account of colonialism’s continued influence on globalization theory and research. Walter D. Mignolo, “Coloniality and Globalization: A Decolonial Take,” Globalizations 18, no. 5 (2021): 794–809. Edward W. Said, Culture and Imperialism (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1993), 9.

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must remain forever colonized,” as anthropologist Partha Chatterjee observes.83 However, and this should go without saying, Filipino policymakers, though colonized subjects, could still think.84 Is it not possible that Filipino intellectuals in the early twentieth century recognized and actively weighed the implications of the troubling fact that “being admitted to Cornell had an agenda behind it,” just as historian Reynaldo Ileto realized during his studies there in the late 1960s to early 1970s?85 Edward Said provides insight that might allow us to change the contours of this conversation when he writes, “A confused and limiting notion of priority allows that only the original proponents of an idea can understand and use it. But the history of all cultures is the history of cultural borrowing.”86 At the root of our preceding discussion is the ownership of ideas and how those ideas spread and circulate within an asymmetric relationship. Ultimately, regardless of cause or motivation, many Filipinos successfully championed vocational education, forestry, democracy, and public health measures during the American colonial period. Does it matter that they were not the “original proponents” of those ideas? In a liberal era, many Filipinos, just like their Chinese and American counterparts, took up its banner, especially as the countervailing forces of militarism and fascism expanded. The effective implementation of liberal programs and institutions in the Philippines, in turn, led many liberals in China – and the United States for that matter – to seek out the Philippines, looking for the keys to “modernity.” In fact, it behooves us to be more specific about our liberalisms. Let us follow the lead of historian Lisandro E. Claudio and call Filipino liberal educator Camilo Osias, who studied at Columbia University with John Dewey, a “Deweyan” liberal, rather than “American” liberal.87 Through his intervention, Claudio erases another imperial imprint. While American, German, Scottish, or French students who studied with Dewey tend to carry the label “Deweyan” in historical research, Filipinos tend to carry the label “Americanized,” or “agents” of America.88 But we can change that. 83 84 85

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Chatterjee, “Whose Imagined Community?” 26. Dabashi, Can Non-Europeans Think? Reynaldo C. Ileto, “On the Historiography of Southeast Asia and the Philippines: The ‘Golden Age’ of Southeast Asian Studies – Experiences and Reflection,” in Workshop Proceedings on Can We Write History? Between Postmodernism and Coarse Nationalism (Tokyo: Institute for International Studies, Meiji Gakuin University, 2002), 7. www .meijigakuin.ac.jp/~iism/project/frontier/Proceedings/08%20Ileto%20Speech.pdf. Said, Culture and Imperialism, 217. Claudio, “Beyond Colonial Miseducation,” 202 and 214; and Claudio, Liberalism and the Postcolony, 32. For treatments of some of Dewey’s disciples, see Gregg Jorgensen, Discovering John Dewey in the Twenty-First Century: Dialogues on the Present and Future of Education

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If the history of culture is the history of borrowing, as Said argues, why can Filipino educators, teachers, principals, and legislators not own their contributions to the Philippine education system? If a hamburger can be American, and Dyngus Day Buffalonian, why can vocational education, democracy, and jazz not be Philippine? One can see a similar disparity in the labels applied to migrants. While people frame Filipinos, Chinese, and other migrants who sojourn or settle in the United States as “immigrants,” or provisional Americans, they tend to describe Americans who settle or sojourn in the Philippines or China as “expats” – a curious and vexing term that implies an impenetrable cultural identity. Turning this formula on its head, I would argue that some of the key “American” architects and intellectuals of the early twentieth-century Philippines, though born in the United States and carrying white and imperial privilege, became Filipinos. Anthropologist H. Otley Beyer and educator Austin C. Craig are good test subjects. Beyer, the “father of Philippine anthropology,” who trained Thomas Lin Huixiang, taught at the University of the Philippines from 1914 until his death.89 Craig, also a professor at the University of the Philippines until his dismissal in 1922, published several important histories of the Philippines, including a biography of José Rizal.90 Though American at birth, they became Filipinos.91 If my father, who was born in the Philippines, could become an American and then a Canadian, then these Filipinos, though American by birth, could undergo a similar legal and semantic transformation. This was a fun adventure through postcolonialism and decoloniality. However, for the purposes of this part, the most pertinent question we could address concerns how Chinese educators, policymakers, and students viewed and interpreted the Philippine model. In the end, reflecting the complex reality on the ground, Chinese observers identified both Filipino and American contributions to the model. A commentator in 1921 captured this ambiguity well when they wrote, “China will profit by absorbing things American and Filipino. Amalgamation of Americanism and Filipinism will make China great and more progressive.”92

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(New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2017), 67–68; and Robert B. Westbrook, John Dewey and American Democracy (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2015), 179–180. For more on H. Otley Beyer, see Mario D. Zamora, ed., Studies in Philippine Anthropology (In Honor of H. Otley Beyer) (Quezon City: Alemar-Phoenix, 1967). Austin C. Craig, Rizal’s Life and Minor Writings (Manila: Philippine Education Co., 1927). The same could be said of historian John N. Schumacher, journalists A. V. H. Hartendorp and Carson Taylor, and many others. For more on these socalled old-timers, including A. V. H. Hartendorp, see Joy A. Marsella, “Some Contributions of the Philippine Magazine to the Development of Philippine Culture,” Philippine Studies 17, no. 2 (1969): 315. O.B. “Chinism,” Dongfang yuekan 東方月刊 [The Oriental Brothers] 1, no. 1 (1921): 22.

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Similarly, the famous educator Kuo Ping-Wen, while highlighting the achievements made under the “American government in the Philippines,” noted that “the Filipinization of the government service have given great impetus to the growth of national spirit of the Filipino people.”93 In many other ways, even while recognizing American influence, Chinese observers treated the Philippines as an autonomous entity. They did this by calling the Philippines “the Philippines (菲律賓)” or “the Philippine Islands (菲島).”94 When writing about other polities in the region, however, they attached the colonizing power to the country name. For example, Chinese scholars often wrote, “Dutch East Indies (荷屬印度),” and “British Malaya (英屬馬來亞).” In other words, Chinese commentators implied Philippine autonomy through naming. One Chinese scholar, capturing this act of lexical defiance in one sentence, wrote, “Filipinos (菲人), with regards to culture and talent, are better than the Dutch East Indies and British Malaya.”95 “The American Philippines (美屬菲律賓)” rarely appeared in print, especially in book titles. History of the Philippines (菲律賓史) and Inspection of Industry and Commerce in the Philippines (菲律濱工商業考察 記), for instance, leave America out.96 The Economy of Southeast Asia’s Dutch East Indies (南洋荷屬東印度之經濟) and History of the Dutch East Indies (荷屬東印度歷史), on the other hand, both invoke the “Dutch East Indies.” Elsewhere, many Chinese people reported on “Sino-Philippine (中菲)” trade and interaction as opposed to “Chinese-American (中美)” trade.97 This seemingly trivial but deeply decolonial intervention by

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Kuo Ping-Wen (Guo Bingwen 郭秉文), “My Impressions of the Philippines,” Feilübin Huaqiao jiaoyu congkan 菲律賓華僑教育叢刊 [The Philippine Chinese Educational Magazine] 1 (1917): 15–16. There were many variations in spelling. See also Feiliebin 菲列濱, Feilübin 菲律濱, and Feidao 斐岛, to name a few. Su Wenlang 蘇文郎, Sanshi niandai Feilübin Huaqiao shangren 三十年代菲律賓華僑商人 [Chinese Merchants in the Philippines of the 1930s], ed. Yang Jiancheng 楊建成 (Taibei: Zhonghua xueshuyuan Nanyang yanjiusuo 臺北:中華學術院南洋研究所, 1984), 2. This is a reprint. The original was published in the 1940s. Liu Shimu 劉士木, Nanyang Heshu Dongyindu zhi jingji 南洋荷屬東印度之經濟 [Economy of Southeast Asia’s Dutch East Indies] (Shanghai: Jinan daxue Nanyang wenhua shiyebu 上 海:暨南大學南洋文化事業部, 1929); Shen Juecheng 瀋厥成, Heshu Dongyindu lishi 荷屬 東印度歷史 [History of the Dutch East Indies] (Shanghai: Shangwu yinshuguan 上海:商務 印書館, 1939); Li Changfu, Feilübin shi 菲律賓史; and Wu Chengluo 吳承洛, Feilübin gongshangye kaocha ji 菲律濱工商業考察記 [Inspection of Industry and Commerce in the Philippine] (Shanghai: Zhonghua shuju 上海:中華書局, 1929). This was also the case for the Spanish colonial period. H. H. Kung (Kong Xiangxi 孔祥熙), “Cheng guomin zhengfu xingzhengyuan: zongzi di liu qi san hao 呈國民政府行政院:總字第六七三號 [Submitted by the Executive Yuan: Number 673],” Gongshang gongbao 工商公報 [Industry and Commerce Gazette] 1, no. 12 (1929): 3.

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Chinese commentators helped inspire not just this section, but this entire book. Returning to schools, in 1932, prominent Chinese forester Fu Huan Kuang (Fu Huanguang 傅煥光), a graduate of the School of Forestry in Los Baños, praised his Philippine-trained Chinese colleagues, writing, “There have been returned students from other countries starting forest work in various parts of China, but none has done it with more zeal and better results. So, you see, the Philippine hardwood has in the long run proved harder and served better purpose than the species from other lands!”98 An element of targeted Philippine pride that reflected broader patterns from Chinese observers seeped into Fu’s words like watercolor on a fresh page. It is toward the producer of that pride, the School of Forestry, that we turn in the final section. Foresting Asia from the Makiling Mountains The School of Forestry in Los Baños lies tucked into the foothills of the Makiling Mountains in the lush interior of southern Luzon. It is an ideal location for studying tropical forests and innovative forestry techniques.99 Seven years after the foundation of the school in 1910, Huang Yanpei and his companions, during their first tour to the Philippines, stopped by for a visit. There, in the Los Baños hills, they met a young Chinese forestry student named Fu Huan Kuang, who would end up translating for the tour group.100 After the encounter, and after graduating from the School of Forestry, Fu Huan Kuang returned to China to begin what proved to be a colorful career in the field. Fu Huan Kuang became an outspoken advocate for forest preservation and soil conservation in China. He worked as a professor at several schools in Nanjing and elsewhere, including Southeast University.101 98

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Bu Huang Kuang (Fu Huanguang 傅煥光), “Chinese Graduates Heard From,” The Makiling Echo (April 1932), 432, found in the George Patrick Ahern Papers, Manuscripts Division, LOC. Fu Huan Kuang’s name is transliterated as “Bu Huang Kuang” in the article from the School of Forestry’s journal. For a general history of forestry in the Philippines, see Greg Bankoff, “Conservation and Colonialism: Gifford Pinchot and the Birth of Tropical Forestry in the Philippines,” in Colonial Crucible: Empire in the Making of the Modern American State, ed. Alfred W. McCoy and Francisco A. Scarano (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2009), 479–488; and Greg Bankoff, “Breaking New Ground?” 369–393. Most tour members spoke Mandarin, while most Chinese in the Philippines spoke Hokkien. See Fu’s introduction to and translation of an essay by the president of the Massachusetts Agricultural College, Kenyon L. Butterfield, Gaijin Zhongguo nongye yu nongye jiaoyu yijianshu 改進中國農業與農業教育意見書 [Education and Chinese Agriculture], trans. Fu Huan Kuang (Fu Huanguang 傅煥光) (China: Jiaoyubu kanhang 中國:教育部刊行, 1922).

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He served as the chief of the Forestry and Park Department in Nanjing, where he oversaw a staff of twenty people and designed the Sun Yatsen Mausoleum Park, which remains a centerpiece of the city today.102 He also served as director of the Anhui Forest Bureau and the Agricultural Institute of Anhui.103 A man of many talents, Fu also became known for his efforts to cultivate pecans in China.104 Fu’s meandrous yet productive career began with his training in Los Baños. While a student at the School of Forestry, Fu Huan Kuang transformed into a cultural tributarist. He curated “a collection that will show the industrial and economic development of the Philippine Islands” for display in China. To gather material for the collection, Fu penned a letter to the director of the Philippine Bureau of Science, who, apparently impressed with Fu’s ambition, personally sent letters on Fu’s behalf to directors of other museums in the Philippines. According to the director of the Bureau of Science, Fu also expressed interest in securing material from the Manila Merchants’ Association, the Philippine Library and Museum, and the Bureau of Commerce and Industry.105 While it is hard to determine the impact of Fu’s Philippine collection in China, its existence shows how Fu channeled new ideas from the Philippines to China. Fu Huan Kuang also propagated Philippine ideas in his writings. In a 1921 article in Huang Yanpei’s education journal, Fu wrote at length about his experiences at Los Baños. To the advocates of vocational education who read the magazine, Fu noted, “Forestry education in the Philippines emphasizes fieldwork . . . there was no day that [we] didn’t spend at least an hour outside.”106 Painting a colorful image of the training he received, he described how he, his classmates, and their fiftyyear-old professor each carried thirty pounds of equipment through the mountains to conduct research. Perhaps embellishing his experience, he 102 103

104 105

106

See Bu, “Chinese Graduates,” 431. Fu Huan Kuang (Fu Huanguang 傅煥光), Zongli lingyuan xiaozhi 総理陵園小誌 [Prime Minister’s Tomb Gazette] (Beijing: Beijing zhongxian tafang keji fazhan youxian gongsi 北 京:北京中献拓方科技发展有限公司, 2012); and Zhou Daochun 周道纯, Zhongshan lingyuan boji 中山陵园博记 [Sun Yat-Sen’s Tomb Records] (Nanjing: Jiangsu renmin chubanshe 南京:江蘇人民出版社, 1989), 178–180; and National Foreign Assessment Center, Directory of Chinese Officials: Scientific and Educational Organizations: A Reference Aid (Washington, DC: National Foreign Assessment Center, 1981), 48. Lenny Wells, Pecan: America’s Native Nut Tree (Tuscaloosa: University of Alabama Press, 2017), 215. “Feiliebin kexueju zhi Jinan xuexiao shu 菲列賓科學局致暨南學校書 [Philippines Bureau of Science Letter to Jinan University],” Zhongguo yu Nanyang中國與南洋 [China and Malaysia] 5 (1919): 7. Fu Huan Kuang (Fu Huanguang 傅煥光), “Feilübin senlin jiaoyu zhi xunlian 菲律濱森 林教育之訓練 [Philippines Forestry Education Exercise],” Jiaoyu yu zhiye 教育与职业 [Education and Vocation] 29 (1921): 2.

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wrote that military training could not compare to the long treks through the elements and lengthy stints in the bush.107 Touting the Philippine model, he ended with an appeal for Chinese to conduct field work in their own mountains, asking rhetorically, “[If you don’t] advance with difficulty through the mountains, how can [you] know the needs of the forests?”108 The College of Forestry reflected the broader Philippine education system in its complex origins. Though arguably a pet project of Americanborn forester George Patrick Ahern, its establishment in 1910 came through a Philippine Assembly bill proposed by House Representative Jaime de Veyra.109 In two telling depictions of the school’s origins, American historian Lawrence Rakestraw credits American forester George Patrick Ahern for establishing the school, whereas Filipino historian Encarnacion Alzona highlights the role of Filipino politician Jaime de Veyra in its creation.110 In a more recent centennial commemoration publication, Fernando A. Bernardo, more diplomatically, features images of de Veyra and Ahern side by side, leaving the impression of a peaceful cofounding of the College.111 These narratives demonstrate how debates about ownership and independence of action and thought in colonial relationships remain relevant and unsettled. From its humble beginnings, when it hosted eighteen students in several thatch huts, the School of Forestry grew into a regional powerhouse with modern facilities and first-rate faculty. By 1930, 435 students had graduated from the school, including nine who worked for the China Forest Service.112 Politicians and administrators designed the school to train foresters to staff the newly minted Philippine Bureau of Forestry, which was tasked with protecting and maximizing the profits of forest resources in the archipelago. Yet the founders of the school had more than the Philippines in mind. As Rakestraw puts it, “Ahern, like many of 107 109

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Ibid., 4. 108 Ibid. Ahern had called for the creation of a school as early as 1901. See George P. Ahern, Special Report of Captain George P. Ahern (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1901), 11. This is the same de Veyra who lobbied for the Bookkeeping Act. Lawrence Rakestraw, “George Patrick Ahern and the Philippine Bureau of Forestry, 1900–1914,” The Pacific Northwest Quarterly 58, no. 3 (1967): 148; and Alzona, A History of Education, 298. Notably, however, Rakestraw describes the Philippine Bureau of Forestry as a “unique development” that “did not stem from the U.S. Forest Service.” See Rakestraw, 144. Fernando A. Bernardo, Centennial Panorama: Pictorial History of UPLB (Los Baños: University of the Philippines Los Baños Alumni Association, 2007), 16. Antonio P. Racelis, a Filipino professor at the School of Forestry, made a similar observation in 1933, noting that the school resulted from “cordial cooperation of the Filipino leaders notably Manuel L. Quezon and Jaime C. de Veyra.” See Antonio P. Racelis, “Forestry Education in the Philippines,” Journal of Forestry 31 (1933): 456. Racelis, “Forestry Education,” 460.

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his generation, looked upon the Philippines as the portal to trade with China.”113 In 1912, Ahern, whose paper trail was easier to follow than Senator de Veyra, sent a letter to the Secretary of the Interior of the Philippines stating, “For a considerable time I have felt strongly that the presence of a limited number of Chinese students in the Forest School would be most desirable from a number of considerations, among them being the influence which such students would exert on their return to China.”114 His main collaborator in China, Ngan Han (Han An 韩安), a famous forester himself, took a trip to the Philippines to investigate advances in forestry and inspect the school in Los Baños in 1914.115 Officials from the School of Forestry in Los Baños and the College of Agriculture and Forestry of Nanking University then established an official exchange program.116 The Forestry Fund Committee of Shanghai volunteered to provide financial support for Chinese students in Los Baños.117 Beyond the student exchanges, George Patrick Ahern helped inspire directors at the Nanking University to start their own School of Forestry.118 A model cultural tributarist himself, Ahern suggested that Chinese students trained in Los Baños could serve as instructors for a new 113 114

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Rakestraw, “George Patrick Ahern,” 148. George P. Ahern, letter to the Secretary of the Interior, Manila, November 29, 1912, George Patrick Ahern Papers, Manuscripts Division, Library of Congress. From this point forward I will refer to the Library of Congress as “LOC” in the notes. See George P. Ahern, letter to Amos P. Wilder, January 12, 1912, George Patrick Ahern Papers, Manuscripts Division, LOC; and George P. Ahern, “Programme to be Followed in Connection with Mr. Ngan Han’s Visit to the Philippine Islands,” April 17, 1914, George Patrick Ahern Papers, Manuscripts Division, LOC. Ngan Han studied at the University of Michigan at the same time as Albino Sycip, who was one of the Founders from Chapter 6. Because the Chinese student community in Michigan was so small, Sycip and Han likely knew one another, adding another small link to the plethora of connections between China and the Philippines. R. M. Shearer, letter to George P. Ahern, March 17, 1914, George Patrick Ahern Papers, Manuscripts Division, LOC. See George P. Ahern, letter to Ngan Han, October 8, 1914, George Patrick Ahern Papers, Manuscripts Division, LOC. The Forestry Fund Committee of Shanghai came from the Famine Relief Committee. This organization was originally established to help resettle farmers near Nanjing, but after the colonization project proved unsuccessful, the directors decided to reallocate remaining funds to forestry education. See Joseph Bailie, “Agriculture and Forestry in China,” Journal of Forestry 15 (1917): 1014–1016. For a brief history of the Famine Relief Committee, see Andrea Janku, “The Internationalization of Disaster Relief in Early Twentieth-century China,” in State Society and Governance in Republican China, ed. Mechthild Leutner and Izabella Goikhman (Berlin: LIT Verlag Münster, 2014), 9. See George P. Ahern, letter to S. R. Sheldon, October 8, 1914, George Patrick Ahern Papers, Manuscripts Division, LOC. American Joseph Bailie was another key architect of the Forestry School in Nanjing. See Randall E. Stross, The Stubborn Earth: American Agriculturalists on Chinese Soil, 1898–1937 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1989), 86–88.

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generation of Chinese foresters. Aided by Ngan Han’s lobbying efforts in Beijing, administrators in Nanjing founded what was reportedly one of “the most enthusiastic among the Chinese departments” of Nanking University, the College of Agriculture and Forestry.119 Han, who served as the head of the Bureau of Forestry at the time, ushered in the new era of forestry in China with an article in the University of Nanking Magazine about its practice in the Philippines.120 He highlighted how the Philippines not only trained and returned forestry students but also transferred entire forestry schools. The success of the school in Los Baños pushed policymakers in China and other parts of Asia to reexamine their own national or colonial forest policies and to commit resources to train students in forestry and preservation. During the 1928–1929 school year, two Chinese students, five Siamese students, and one French student enrolled at Los Baños.121 Recognizing the international reach of the School of Forestry, Encarnacion Alzona wrote, “The Chinese graduates of the school [of forestry] have returned to China and are in the forest service there. In the Orient there is a large demand for trained foresters.”122 Soong Ding-Moo, an early graduate of the School of Forestry, took up his vocation at a provincial forest station in China. T’ang Ti-Hsien, a 1916 graduate, became one of the “pioneer planters of the famous Purple Mountain” near Nanjing. Ling Cien-Ying, a 1920 graduate, taught at a provincial agricultural college for two years before taking charge of the Forestry Department of Kaying College in Guangdong. Together with Fu Huan Kuang, these “Philippine boys,” as Ngan Han called them, made their mark on Chinese forestry.123 Adding radiant accents to Ngan’s portrayal of Chinese foresters who studied in the Philippines, Fu Huan Kuang wrote, “Our responsibility is heavy, our opportunity is rare, and our experience really worth something. We, the Makiling men, are determined to do our best for the sake of the young China.”124 119

120 121 123

124

For the school’s foundation, see Rakestraw, “George Patrick Ahern,” 149. For enthusiasm, see Presbyterian Church in the U.S.A., Reports of the Missionary and Benevolent Boards and Committees to the General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church (Philadelphia: Presbyterian Board of Publication, 1917), 127. Ngan Han, “Forestry in the Philippine Islands,” Jinling guang 金陵光 [The University of Nanking Magazine] 6, no. 9 (1915): 404–410. Alzona, A History of Education, 295. 122 Ibid., 300. Bu, “Chinese Graduates Heard From,” 431–432. For the “Philippine boys,” see Ngan Han, letter to George P. Ahern, April 20, 1921, George Patrick Ahern Papers, Manuscripts Division, LOC. Scholars of forestry in China, just like those of other areas of Sino–Philippine interaction in the early twentieth century, tend to downplay the role of Philippines-trained foresters in China. See, for instance, E. Elena Songster, “Cultivating the Nation in Fujian’s Forests: Forest Policies and Afforestation Efforts in China, 1911–1937,” Environmental History 8, no. 3 (July 2003): 452–473. Bu, “Chinese Graduates,” 432.

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Part II Conclusion, The Philippine David During a tour of the University of the Philippines in 1928, a captivated Chinese visitor described the Philippines as the up-and-coming “Paris of the Orient.”125 He professed, “All of my readers must think [that boast] exceedingly strange, but from examining her [the Philippines’] cultural background, environment, government, economy, law, religion, art, education and other features, [the archipelago] in fact just might turn into a civilized country.”126 Although the chapters in this section have focused on students and educators, the Philippine model was more than simply a bust of education. It was Michelangelo’s full-bodied David, and Chinese tourists, just as they flock to view the Florentine masterpiece today, traveled to the Philippines in the early twentieth century to take in the full sculpture. Other Chinese commentators more familiar with the archipelago expressed less surprise but equal enthusiasm toward the Philippine model. One writer, for instance, commented, “People from [the Philippines] are most advanced as lawyers, politicians, and young educators.”127 Chinese travelers to the Philippines also sketched glowing reports about Philippine democracy and the participation of women in public life. One Chinese student who studied at the University of the Philippines and would later become a leading scientist in the Philippines wrote, “Women will not be toys and inferiors as they have hitherto been, but the help-mates, advisers and equals of men.”128 Another writer translated an article by a Filipina suffragist that introduced to a Chinese audience the exploits of Capitana Solome, who fought for the revolutionary Katipunan, and Maria Francisco, who was the first Filipino woman to receive a law degree.129 In 1923, the prominent Chinese lawyer Zheng Min (鄭民) attended the fourth meeting of the International Bar Association, an organization of Asian lawyers, in Manila. In addition to attending meetings, Zheng took the opportunity to visit nearby schools, prisons, police stations, and other 125 127 128

129

Zhang Jiashu, “Feilübin daxue,” 139. 126 Ibid. Gui Zhi 桂埴, “Feidao duli wenti 斐島獨立問題 [The Philippine Independence Question],” Xuelin zazhi 學林雜志 [Academia Magazine] 1, no. 2 (1921): 63. F. Co Tiao-Tui (Xu Zhaotui 許肇堆), “The New Educational Epoch in China,” Feilübin Huaqiao jiaoyu congkan 菲律賓華僑教育叢刊 [The Philippine Chinese Educational Magazine] 1 (1917): 14. For his role in science in the Philippines, see Go Bon Juan, “Father of RP Science Chinese,” Manila Times, June 9, 2010. Ye Shaochun 葉紹純, “Feilübin zhi funu yundong 菲律賓之婦女運動 [The Women’s Movement in the Philippines],” Nanyang yanjiu 南洋研究 [The Nanyang Research] 6, no. 4 (1936): 7–9. Paz Policarpio Mendez wrote the original article. For more on Mendez, see Paz Policarpio Mendez, String of Pearls: Memoirs of a Filipina Suffragist (Quezon City: Circle Publications, 1993).

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areas of interest. The Philippine David impressed him. In fact, upon his return to China, he wrote a lengthy monograph about the archipelago and its innovations.130 In the book, in addition to praising public education and women’s rights, Zheng described how the judicial and penitentiary systems functioned efficiently.131 He gushed, “One could say that the Manila prison system is the number one in the world.”132 In a public health and eugenics era, Chinese scientists and doctors praised advances made in those realms in the Philippines.133 The Culion Leper Colony, which, according to historian Angela Leung, was the “best known in China and greatly admired by elites,” became the focal point of attention.134 Colonial officials established the state-of-the-art leprosarium in 1906 to isolate those afflicted by the disease, and it became a point of pride and contention in the Philippines.135 Two decades after its founding, a Chinese columnist praised the continued efforts in the Philippines to eradicate leprosy in a report published in both a leading English-language Chinese daily, and the subject specific Leper Quarterly.136 Then, several years later, perhaps inspired by this initial report, The Leper Quarterly devoted an entire issue to fighting leprosy in the Philippines. The editor introduced the special issue with these words: “We devote this issue of the Quarterly to the Philippines with a view to furnishing sufficient seed for thought and consideration both to the government and people alike as to what could be done in controlling the dread scourge of leprosy in China in the light of the wonderful achievement being made in the Philippine Islands.”137 The Acting Director of the Bureau of Health in the Philippines and the head of its leprosy department echoed the 130 133

134 135

136 137

Zheng Min, Feilübin 菲律賓 [The Philippines]. 131 Ibid., 125. 132 Ibid., 191. Public health had a checkered history in the Philippines just as it did in China and the United States. Several historians have noted that American colonizers used public health initiatives, like the campaign against cholera, to wage a war on “people’s bodies, beliefs and social practices.” For the quote, see Reynaldo C. Ileto, “Cholera and the Origins of the American Sanitary Order in the Philippines,” in Imperial Medicine and Indigenous Societies, ed. David Arnold (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1988), 131. See also Warwick Anderson, Colonial Pathologies: American Tropical Medicine, Race, and Hygiene in the Philippines (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2006), 3. Angela Ki Che Leung, Leprosy in China: A History (New York: Columbia University Press, 2009), 13. For an overview of the Culion Colony, see Anderson, Colonial Pathologies, 158–179; José Arcilla, “The Culion Leper Colony, 1900s–1970s,” Philippine Studies 57, no. 2 (2009): 307–326; and Ronald Fettes Chapman, Leonard Wood and Leprosy in the Philippines: The Culion Leper Colony, 1921–1927 (Washington, DC: University Press of America, 1982). “Philippines War on Leprosy,” Mafeng Jikan 麻瘋季刊 [The Leper Quarterly] 1, no. 1 (1927): 29–30. “Editorial,” Mafeng Jikan 麻瘋季刊 [The Leper Quarterly] 4, no. 1 (1930): 1.

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editor’s sentiments in separate articles.138 The scientist T. C. Wu (Wu Zhijian 鄔志堅), who disparaged a colony in China that was “so dirty and smelly that it was really unfit for human habitation,” praised colonies in the Philippines, writing, “With the exception of India, there is no country in the world putting up a more vigorous fight on leprosy than the Philippine Islands.”139 The special issue on fighting leprosy in the Philippines highlights the extensive medical ties, which paralleled those formed by educators, that Chinese and Philippine cultural tributarists crafted in their shared battle to fight the disease. Chinese observers viewed Philippine developments in public health, education, forestry, governance, and women’s rights as inspirational models to replicate and bring back to China. Just as a replica of Michelangelo’s David graces Ningbo Grand Theater Park in China today, replicas of the Philippine model appeared throughout China in its education systems, forests and parks, public health and legal regimes, prisons, and democracy in the past. Chinese people eagerly studied in, took tours of, and imported innovations from the Philippines because they viewed the Philippines as a model of “modernity.” For Chinese observers who had grown up in an era of conflict and instability, the Philippines shined as a peaceful and optimistic pathway to prosperity.

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Eusebio D. Aguilar, “What the Philippine Health Service Had Done in 1929 on Combating Leprosy,” Mafeng Jikan 麻疯季刊 [The Leper Quarterly] 4, no. 1 (1930): 59–62; Vicente Kierulf, “Progress of Leprosy Control in the Philippines,” Mafeng Jikan 麻瘋季刊 [The Leper Quarterly] 4, no. 1 (1930): 27–33; and Vicente Kierulf, “Establishment of the Culion Leper Colony,” Mafeng Jikan 麻瘋季刊 [The Leper Quarterly] 4, no. 1 (1930): 34–54. T. C. Wu [Wu Zhijian 鄔志堅], “My Trip to South China and the Philippine Islands,” Mafeng Jikan 麻瘋季刊 [The Leper Quarterly] 4, no. 2 (1930): 7; and T. C. Wu [Wu Zhijian 鄔志堅], “Fighting Leprosy in the Philippines,” Mafeng Jikan 麻瘋季刊 [The Leper Quarterly] 4, no. 1 (1930): 3. See also C. L. Wong, “Six Months of Leper Work in the Philippines,” Mafeng Jikan 麻瘋季刊 [The Leper Quarterly] 12, no. 2 (1938): 85–94.

Part III

Nationalisms of the Founders

Fujianese in the Philippines! If the ravaging of each soldier pains you, you should go save your hometown. Fujianese in the Philippines! If the insult of bandits pains you, you should go save your hometown. Fujianese in the Philippines! If the tragedy of not having a home pains you, you should go save your hometown. Fujianese in the Philippines! If the difficulty to return home pains you, you should go save your hometown.1 Unknown Author, 1924

Of the Nationalist leaders I have seen many. The Chinese Nationalist movement is a complete success because of the union of the Chinese people, high and low, northerners and southerners, in a common struggle to free themselves from foreign interference.2 Manuel L. Quezon, 1927

Introduction On July 19, 1920, a powerful team of Chinese businesspeople that we will refer to as “the Founders” assembled in Manila to form an incredible financial conglomeration known as the China Banking Corporation (中興 銀行). This elite group of men, combining their unique skill sets and abundant capital, used this bank to invest in their hometown communities and national causes, reshape outmoded and ineffective political institutions, and expand their business interests around the world. However, the forces of militarism and corruption cast dark shadows over their altruism, and the arbitrary legal regimes of local and global forces siphoned off their hard-earned riches. Did these illustrious men have what it took to meet the challenges of their day? Find out below! 1

2

“Jingzhong 警鐘 [Warning Bell],” in Nanyang Minqiao jiuxianghui tekan 南洋閩僑救鄉會 特刊 [Southeast Asian Hokkien Overseas Save the Hometown Movement Meeting Bulletin] (Manila: Feilübin Zhonghua yinshuguan 斐律濱中華印書館, 1924), 17. Albino Sycip, letter to K. P. Chen, July 24, 1927, file Q275-1–2375–53, Shanghai Municipal Archives. This comes from the transcript of a radio broadcast that Manuel Quezon delivered on board the President Madison en route to Shanghai. From this point forward, I will refer to the Shanghai Municipal Archives as “SMA.”

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Each member of the Founders brought with him a special power or attribute. Dee C. Chuan (Li Qingquan 李清泉), the spiritual leader, provided the moral compass, organizing prowess, and abundant wealth to lead this motley crew. Guillermo Cu Unjieng (Qiu Guangzheng 邱光 征), the compadre, or co-parent, guided his fictive children to new industries and new relationships. Albino Z. Sycip (Xue Minlao 薛敏老), the communicator, used his training as a lawyer to help his colleagues escape from sticky situations and used his many global connections to introduce his banking buddies to powerful acquaintances. Oei Tjoe (Huang Yizhu 黃奕住), the patron, was not from the Philippines, but he mingled with the bankers nonetheless, lending his ample fortunes to build a railway that would end all railways. Carlos Palanca Tan Guin Lay (陳迎來), the mixologist, with his educational credentials and modest background as a distillery tycoon, brought a much needed voice of the people. The Founders also adopted two heroes from outside their ranks: The Canton commander Cai Tingkai (蔡廷鍇) and the statesman Manuel Quezon. Although not from Fujian, and not directors of the China Banking Corporation, these allies helped the Founders achieve many of their objectives. The Founders, in turn, placed faith and wealth on their shoulders and in their pockets. With his physical and propaganda armies behind him, Cai Tingkai instituted a program of reform and autonomy in Fujian that the Founders had long dreamed about. Manuel L. Quezon, on the other hand, with the power of the Philippine Senate behind him, brought much needed recognition to Chiang Kai-shek’s (Jiang Jieshi 蔣介 石) nascent national regime. In other words, these adopted heroes helped fulfill the overlapping nationalistic dreams of Chinese in the Philippines. A savior complex infected the wealthiest and most powerful members of the Chinese community in the Philippines. Their fortunes and societal successes, which so clearly set them apart from not just many family members in China but also many Filipino peers in the archipelago, led them to undertake overlapping, sometimes contradictory, but always audacious missions to “save the hometown” and achieve “national salvation.” Both missions contained a fundamentally nationalistic sentiment, but not for the same geo-body.3 The first invoked hometown sentiments, a shared Fujianese littoral lifestyle, and a spoken language and all the shared interactions that it fostered. The latter drew from a wider Chinese discourse on nationalism that tapped into Kuomintang political rhetoric, anti-Japanese sentiment, and the written language and all the cultural heritage it encapsulated. 3

Thongchai Winichaukul, Siam Mapped: A History of the Geo-Body of a Nation (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 1994), 17.

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Negotiating Nationalisms and Positioning Parochialisms Scholars of nationalism have expertly leveraged fiction to imagine new worlds and map new geo-bodies, and the chapters in this part follow this precedent by taking some stylistic liberties. Although writing about the global and deterritorial rather than the national, Arjun Appadurai’s engagement with “imagined worlds,” or the multiple worlds that are “constituted by the historically situated imaginations of persons or groups,” is instructive.4 He describes images, the imagined, and imagination as a “social practice” and a “form of negotiation between sites of agency.”5 In our case, negotiation comes from not just new technological forces, which is Appadurai’s focus, but also ideological forces, like nationalism. The citation magnet that is Imagined Communities has long steered conversations on nationalism thanks to its elegant prose and sharp insights, but scholars have questioned the applicability of its “modular” formula on colonized and formerly colonized places.6 Scholars, like the historical subjects they study, have struggled when distinguishing between “traditional” or autochthonous versus “foreign” or allochthonous formulations of nationalism under colonialism.7 In fact, nationalists and scholars of nationalism still debate what can and cannot be added to the nation-making grimoire. However, Benedict Anderson’s other works, which are more centrally rooted in Southeast Asia, are perhaps more instructive for this part. For example, Anderson observes how Chinese in Southeast Asia shifted from having “no idea they were ‘Chinese’” to struggling to navigate competing nativisms and nationalisms.8 Researchers have long debated the political orientations and calculations of Chinese overseas, with some arguing that Chinese adopted a strategic and ideologically ambiguous policy of “flexible citizenship,” while others have highlighted the “multiple nationalities” of Chinese in diaspora.9 Adding further complications, Wang Gungwu argues that “many other 4 6

7

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Appadurai, Modernity at Large, 33. 5 Ibid., 31 and 54. Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism (London: Verso, 2006); and Partha Chatterjee, The Nation and Its Fragments: Colonial and Postcolonial Histories (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1993), 5. See, for instance, Chatterjee, The Nation and Its Fragments; Coloma, “Care of the Postcolonial Self”; James Leibold, Reconfiguring Chinese Nationalism: How the Qing Frontier and Its Indigenes Became Chinese (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2007); and Siew-Min Sai, “Educating Multicultural Citizens: Colonial Nationalism, Imperial Citizenship and Education in Late Colonial Singapore,” Journal of Southeast Asian Studies 44, no. 1 (2013): 49–73. Benedict Anderson, The Spectre of Comparisons: Nationalism, Southeast Asia and the World (London: Verso, 1998) 13–14, and 302. For more on “flexible citizenship,” see Aihwa Ong, Flexible Citizenship: The Cultural Logics of Transnationality (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1999). For more on “multiple nationalities,” see Lin Man-Houng, “Overseas Chinese Merchants and Multiple

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Nanyang Chinese were unenthusiastic about China and apparently loyal to the various authorities under which they lived.”10 Some scholars, meanwhile, describe how the nationalisms of both China and their adopted home countries pulled Chinese in Southeast Asia in opposite directions.11 In other words, scholars have discussed not only the direction and extent of the loyalty of Chinese overseas, but also the authenticity and depth of their moral convictions and ideological alignments.12 Meanwhile, some scholars, myself included, have increasingly moved toward acknowledging and exploring the strength and durability of Hokkien or southern Fujianese nationalism as a separate but concomitant form.13 Guotong Li, for instance, in her research on traveling “Genteel Ladies” of Fujian, uses Anderson’s idea of “imagined communities” to analyze poems and the identities they shaped.14 Jeremy Taylor likewise highlights the “provincial pride and Fujianese self-expression” of Hokkien performers of a classic Fujian play in his research.15 This exploration of Fujianese nationalism sets us apart from scholars who dismiss hometown affiliations as “parochial.”16 The chapters in this part build on

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Nationality: A Means for Reducing Commercial Risk (1895–1935),” Modern Asian Studies 35, no. 4 (2001): 985–1009. Wang Gungwu, “The Limits of Nanyang Chinese Nationalism, 1912–1937,” in Southeast Asian History and Historiography: Essays Presented to D.G.E. Hall, ed. C. D. Cowan and O. W. Wolters (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1976), 405. Tan, The Chinese in the Philippines, esp. 78; Edgar Wickberg, “Anti-Sinicism and Chinese Identity Options in the Philippines,” in Essential Outsiders: Chinese and Jews in the Modern Transformation of Southeast Asia and Central Europe, ed. Daniel Chirot and Anthony Reid (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1997), 153–184. Some historians also describe how Chinese in Southeast Asia established their own areaspecific nationalisms and affiliations. See, for instance, Yuan Bingling, Chinese Democracies: A Study of the Kongsis of West Borneo (1776–1884) (Leiden: Research School CNWS, Leiden University, 2000); and Yung Li, The Huaqiao Warriors, 27. Phillip B. Guingona, “A Ghost and His Apparition Roam the South China Sea: Limahong and the Dream of a Hokkien Nation,” Translocal Chinese: East Asian Perspectives 11 (2017): 90–124. Guotong Li, “Imagining History and the State: Fujian Guixi (Genteel Ladies) on the Road and at Home,” in The Inner Quarters and Beyond: Women Writers from Ming through Qing, ed. Grace Fong and Ellen Widmer (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 315–338. See also Guotong Li, “Women’s Voices from ‘Our Homeland’: Fujian Women’s Local Identity and Identity Politics,” Journal of Oriental Society of Australia 49 (2018): 186–210. Jeremy E. Taylor, “Lychees and Mirrors: Local Opera, Cinema, and Diaspora in the Chinese Cultural Cold War,” Twentieth-Century China 43, no. 2 (May 2018): 163–180. See also Jeremy E. Taylor, Rethinking Transnational Chinese Cinemas: The Amoy-Dialect Film Industry in Cold War Asia (Abingdon: Routledge, 2011). Hugh R. Clark, meanwhile, makes a similar argument about the Kingdom of Minnan in the tenth century. See Hugh R. Clark, Portrait of a Community: Society, Culture, and the Structures of Kinship in the Mulan River Valley (Fujian) from the Late Tang through the Song (Hong Kong: The Chinese University Press, 2007), 5–6. See, for instance, Tan, The Chinese in the Philippines, 78; and Yung Li, The Huaqiao Warriors, 26. For an instructive conversation on the balance of research on provincialism and nationalism, see Duara, Rescuing History from the Nation, 178–183.

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work that centers Hokkien nationalism, as well as research on Chinese nationalism, but it largely leaves the work of nation-making to the historical agents themselves. To help focus narratives and humanize histories on grand scales, including histories of nationalism, global historians have increasingly turned to biography and the individual, and this part follows that lead.17 Some use what they call a “translocal” lens, which explores “groundedness” during movement and emphasizes individual agency, to capture the experiences of both those who moved away from home and those who remained.18 Yongtao Du has applied translocal methodologies to explore lineage organizations in China, noting the “continuous movement of people between distant places and the persistent links they maintained with their place of origin.”19 The chapters in this part take a cue from these interventions by following the Founders, their supporters, and their detractors as they traversed and built Fujianese and Chinese nationalisms. Building on my earlier article, this chapter applies what one might call a global microhistorical approach.20 Microhistories focus on storytelling, sources, and individual agency to underscore patterns that sometimes, but not always, played out elsewhere around the globe.21 Global 17

18

19

20

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See, for instance, Clare Anderson, Subaltern Lives: Biographies of Colonialism in the Indian Ocean World, 1790–1920 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012); Caroline S. Hau and Kası̄ an Tē chaphı̄ ra, eds. Traveling Nation-Makers: Transnational Flows and Movements in the Making of Modern Southeast Asia (Singapore: National University of Singapore Press, 2011); and Jill Lepore, “Historians Who Love Too Much: Reflection on Microhistory and Biography,” The Journal of American History 88, no. 1 (2001): 129–144. This reflects a broader trend in Atlantic history. For a primer on transnational biographies of the Atlantic, see Lisa A. Lindsay, “Biography in African History,” History in Africa 44 (2017): 11–26. Ulrike Freitag and Achim von Oppen, “Introduction: ‘Translocality’: An Approach to Connection and Transfer in Area Studies,” in Translocality: The Study of Globalising Processes from a Southern Perspective, ed. Ulrike Freitag and Achim von Oppen (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 3–8. See also Tony Ballantyne, “On Place, Space and Mobility,” New Zealand Journal of History 45, no. 1 (2011): 50–70. Yongtao Du, “Translocal Lineage and the Romance of Homeland Attachment: The Pans of Suzhou in Qing China,” Late Imperial China 27, no. 1 (2006): 35. For an extended discussion and application of translocality, see Yongtao Du, The Order of Places: Translocal Practices of the Huizhou Merchants in Late Imperial China (Leiden: Brill, 2015). Guingona, “The Sundry Acquaintances of Dr. Albino Z. Sycip.” For more on global microhistory, see Tonio Andrade, “A Chinese Farmer, Two African Boys, and a Warlord: Toward a Global Microhistory,” Journal of World History 21, no. 4 (December 2010): 573–591; and Francesca Trivellato, “Is There a Future for Italian Microhistory in the Age of Global History?” California Italian Studies 2, no. 1 (2011), https://escholarship.org/uc/item/0z94n9hq. For a concise definition, see Thomas Robisheaux, ed., “Microhistory Today: A Roundtable Discussion,” Journal of Medieval and Early Modern Studies 47, no. 1 (2017): 8–10. There is some overlap between microhistory and case studies. See ibid., 11–14; and Charlotte Furth, Judith T. Zeitlin, and Ping-chen Hsiung, eds., Thinking in

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microhistories have their limits, however. They often follow individuals who carried significant privilege, like the Founders, that allowed them to crisscross the globe in ways that those less endowed simply could not.22 In that regard, this part is less of a social history in the classic microhistorical mold and more of a global intellectual history that traces how wellconnected Chinese in the Philippines attempted to redefine their place in histories and nations.23 The chapters in this part tell a tale of rich connected Chinese men who felt not only that they could change the world, but that they should.

22

23

Cases: Specialist Knowledge in Chinese Cultural History (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2007). John-Paul A. Ghobrial expresses skepticism at the goal of “recovering the connected world” through the movement of individuals. See Ghobrial, “The Secret Life of Elias of Babylon,” 58. For another comment on the limits of global intellectual histories, see Frederick Cooper, “How Global Do We Want Our Intellectual History to Be?” in Global Intellectual History, ed. Samuel Moyn and Andrew Sartori (New York: Columbia University Press, 2013), 283–294. For more on global intellectual histories, see Aboitiz, Asian Place: Filipino Nation; Cemil Aydin, The Idea of the Muslim World: A Global Intellectual History (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2017); and Samuel Moyn and Andrew Sartori, eds., Global Intellectual History (New York: Columbia University Press, 2013).

5

Capital Heroes and a Hokkien Nation

Fujian Ails The rocky and mountainous topography and island-dotted coastline of the province of Fujian, which made farming difficult, set it apart from the more agriculturally productive provinces of the so-called heartland. Its unique location and geography pushed its residents – who were primarily Hakka and Hokkien people – to take to the seas as fishers and traders.1 The Quanzhou, Xiamen, Zhangzhou arc in the southern area of the province, known as Minnan, or southern Fujian, became a nexus of maritime activity as early as the Song dynasty.2 Before and between Ming and Qing dynasty maritime bans, these cities anchored a lucrative long-distance trading system that linked the region to the Philippines and areas beyond.3 Dark days plagued Fujian in the Ming and Qing dynasties. According to historian Zheng Zhenman, by the Qing dynasty, “overpopulation and the shortage of arable land made it objectively difficult for the natural subsistence economy to be sustained.”4 This fact, coupled with a “bureaucratic government in the Ming and Qing” that was powerless 1

2

3

4

Some scholars argue that the uniqueness of Fujian’s climate and history calls for an independent field of research. See, for instance, Wu Xiao An 吴小安, “Fujianxue yu Dongnanya Fujianxue: gean toushi yu xueshu jiangou 福建学与东南亚福建学: 个案透视 与学术建构 [Fujian Studies and Southeast Asian Fujian Studies: Review of Case Studies and Intellectual Construction],” Overseas Chinese History Studies 华侨华人历史研究 4 (2005): 10–21; and John E. Wills, “Contingent Connections: Fujian the Empire and the Early Modern World,” in The Qing Formation in World-Historical Time, ed. Lynn Struve (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2004), 167–203. Hugh R. Clark argues that Fujian became one of the “most prominent centers of the empire” by the early Song. Hugh R. Clark, Community, Trade, and Networks: Southern Fujian Province from the Third to Thirteenth Century (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), 3. See also Clark, Portrait of a Community. For a Fujian-centered account of early Qing dynasty overseas Hokkien networks, see Ng, Trade and Society. For early trade networks from Quanzhou to the Philippines, see Ptak, “From Quanzhou to the Sulu Zone and Beyond. Canton would eventually eclipse Quanzhou as the main southern entrepot in the Qing dynasty. Zheng, Family Lineage Organization and Social Change in Ming and Qing Fujian, 45.

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to “exert effective control over society,” led to the proliferation of extragovernmental family- and village-oriented organizations and enterprises that stepped in to support and sustain numerous seafaring and overseas business ventures.5 Overpopulation, poor job prospects, and inconsistent and often counterproductive government policies in southern Fujian, mixed with ample opportunities overseas, led many residents of the province to pick up shop and move to Southeast Asia by the turn of the twentieth century. Most Chinese who migrated to the Philippines came from a handful of villages in southern Fujian.6 As they moved to the Philippines and elsewhere around the world, they maintained ties back “home” through native-place associations, clan or surname organizations, and trade or guild associations. They also built new institutions such as the Chinese Chamber of Commerce and physical meeting places, like the huay kuan, or huiguan. All these organizations, along with the financial wellspring provided by the China Banking Corporation, which served as the de facto financial arm of the Chamber of Commerce, helped steer the relatively vulnerable Chinese community in the Philippines through the tempest of the early twentieth century.7 These organizations, which linked together multiple sites beyond southern Fujian, helped foster and support the “translocal practices” of Hokkien people.8 Time and again, Fujian transformed into a battlefield as competing outside political entities, be they the Beiyang Army and Kuomintang forces, Japanese and Chinese adversaries, or the Communists and Nationalists, sent in occupying armies. The 1920s and 1930s, which historian Arthur Waldron describes as an epoch of “perennial and inconclusive quests for power,” proved particularly taxing for residents of southern Fujian and their families abroad.9 In 1917, the nominal leader of Republican China, Duan Qirui (段祺瑞), appointed Li Houji (李厚基) 5

6

7 8 9

Ibid., 308. Joyce Madancy, on the other hand, argues that the state, acting through local elites, was much more proactive in its interventions. See Joyce A. Madancy, The Troublesome Legacy of Commissioner Lin: The Opium Trade and Opium Suppression in Fujian Province, 1820s to 1920s (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, Harvard University Press, 2003), 8–13. According to a study of tombstones in Manila, 66.56 percent of Chinese came from the village of Jinjiang, 17.63 percent from Nan’an, 2.96 percent from Hui’an, 1.55 percent from Longxi, 1.24 percent from Enming, 1.17 percent from Quanzhou, and 1.12 percent from Tong’an. See Chu, Chinese and Chinese Mestizos of Manila, 29. Su Wenlang, Sanshi niandai Feilübin Huaqiao shangren 三十年代菲律賓華僑商人, 82. Du, The Order of Places, 21–25. Arthur Waldron, From War to Nationalism: China’s Turning Point, 1924–1925 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 264. See also Edward A. McCord, The Power of the Gun: The Emergence of Modern Chinese Warlordism (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993).

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the military governor of Fujian.10 In that position, Li Houji launched an attack on Kuomintang-controlled Guangdong, which led to large-scale fighting in both provinces. Then, the so-called King of Minnan (闽南王), militarist and fellow Beiyang partisan Chen Guohui (陈国辉), entered the fray with his strong-handed anti-communist and anti-overseas meddling agenda.11 In other words, while many Hokkien farmers and laborers left the province in search of opportunity in Southeast Asia, many militarists stepped right in to replace them, leading, in turn, to a greater exodus. National “reunification” under Chiang Kai-shek and the start of the Nanjing Decade in 1927 likewise “did not lead to peace” in Fujian, as sociologist Huei-Ying Kuo cryptically notes.12 In fact, soon after “reunification,” bandits kidnapped six government ministers, while local military leaders like Chen Guohui continued to call the shots.13 The establishment of the Jiangxi Soviet in the neighboring province, like the laying of a minefield next to a munitions factory, multiplied the dangers for and increased the anxiety of those in Fujian as the province once again found itself in the crosshairs of conflict. Fujian became a key link in Chiang Kai-shek’s Encirclement Campaign to oust communist forces from neighboring Jiangxi.14 Chiang Kai-shek sent the famous generals of the Nineteenth Route Army, Cai Tingkai and Jiang Guangnai (蔣光鼐), to squeeze out the communists and prevent them from gaining access to the coastline. However, the esteemed generals rebelled against Chiang Kai-shek, establishing a short-lived People’s Revolutionary Government that would ultimately succumb to Kuomintang air raids and yet another invasion from neighboring Guangdong Province. To put it another way, conflict and tribulations defined the lives of those in Fujian, and their sojourning family members in Southeast Asia could not help but look on with consternation. However, they refused to sit idly by while Fujian fell apart. With megaphones in hand, wallets at the ready, and capes rippling over their superhero costumes, the Founders hatched plans for redemption. 10 11

12

13

For more on Li Houji, see Li Guoqi 李国祁, Minguo shilun ji 民国史论集 [Republican China History Collection] (Taibei: Nantian shuju 台北: 南天书局, 1990), 74–86. Shi Xueqin 施雪琴, “Huaqiao yu qiaoxiang zhengzhi: 20 shiji ersanshi niandai Feilubin minqiao jiuxiang yundong de lishi beijing 华侨与侨乡政治: 20世纪二三十年代菲律宾闽 乔救乡运动的历史背景 [Chinese Overseas and Home-town Government: Historical Outline of the Philippine Fujianese-Overseas Save the Home-town Movement of the 1920s and 1930s],” Huaqiao Huaren lishi yanjiu 华侨华人历史研究 2 (1999): 46–47. Huei-Ying Kuo, “Native-Place Ties in Transnational Networks: Nationalism and Fujian’s Development, 1928–1941,” in Chinese History in Geographical Perspective, ed. Yongtao Du and Jeff Kyong-McClain (Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2013), 147. Ibid. 14 Kuo, Networks beyond Empires, 257–258.

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Honest Dee and Community When introducing the lumber and banking tycoon Dee C. Chuan (Li Qingquan 李清泉) to a prominent Shanghai-based banker with the hope of seeing a “closer relationship established,” Albino Z. Sycip (Xue Minlao 薛敏老) wrote, “You will find in him a very loyal and useful friend.”15 Sycip could have said, and likely did say, the same about other colleagues when introducing them to well-connected acquaintances across his vast network. However, Dee, who became something of a spiritual leader for the Chinese community in the Philippines, earned Sycip’s praise as he proved time and again not only his ambition and business acumen, but also his philanthropy, leadership, and reliability. Although sometimes referred to as the “Lumber King,” Dee C. Chuan dabbled in far more than wood.16 He founded two of the leading Chineselanguage newspapers in the Philippines, the Chinese Commercial News and the Fookien Times.17 He led the Chinese Chamber of Commerce in the Philippines for several stints. He cofounded the Philippine–Chinese Banking Corporation, the Fuquan Company, and the Li Minxing Company. He also embodied the new generation of Chinese leaders and entrepreneurs in the Philippines who built relationships with other prominent and connected Chinese, Filipinos, and Americans at the “Cosmos Club, Wack Wack Golf Club, Philippines Carnival Association,” and elsewhere.18 Dee C. Chuan was born in Shizhen Village, a small town in Jinjiang, Fujian, in 1888. When old enough, he studied at the Xiamen Tongwen School, which his father had established, before continuing his studies at St. Joseph’s Anglo-Chinese School in Hong Kong.19 Although relatively brief, Dee’s cosmopolitan education provided him with the requisite skills – English fluency, business acumen, and international connections – to begin his foray into business. Inspired by his education, he later founded, as we discussed in Chapter 3, the Longmen School, the

15 16

17 18 19

Albino Sycip, letter to K. P. Chen and T. P. Yang, July 19, 1928, file Q275-1–2395– 110, SMA. Dai Yifeng, “Dongnanya Huaqiao zai Xiamen de touzi”; Li Rui 李锐, Qiaohun: Li Qingquan zhuan 侨魂: 李清泉传 [Overseas Spirit – Biography of Li Qingquan] (Haikou: Hainan chubanshe 海口:海南出版社, 1999); and Wong, The Chinese in the Philippine Economy, 1898–1941, 186–193. The Chinese Commercial News [華僑商報] used to be called the Huachiao Commercial News. Wong, The Chinese in the Philippine Economy, 75. Dai Yifeng, “Dongnanya Huaqiao,” 62.

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Shizhen Moral Education Girls’ School, the Chengmei Elementary School, and the multifaceted Zhenshan Reading and Publishing Society.20 Dee C. Chuan and his well-to-do colleagues in the Philippines swooped into the despondent Minnan, or southern Fujian, with remittances, donations, and direct investments. Dee invested in long-term infrastructure projects, like peers, seawalls, concrete factories, and drydocks, as well as real estate, like shopping complexes and residential buildings.21 After an initial ¥190,000 investment through the Li Minxing Company failed to secure reliable seawalls for Xiamen in 1927, he invited an expert from the Netherlands to assess and reconstruct the embankments, adding nine additional peers in what Dee envisioned as the first stage of a hundred-year development plan for the city.22 And these investments were merely the tip of the investment iceberg. In 1928, another Chinese entrepreneur from the Philippines invested ¥30,000 in the Anhai Electric Light and Power Company in his hometown of Anhai to electrify the village and spawn new business opportunities.23 A few years earlier, Chinese investors from the Philippines founded two transportation companies, the QuanzhouAnhai Auto Company and the Quanzhou-Weitou Auto Company, to build roads connecting the modest villages from which they hailed to the nearby international ports of Quanzhou and Xiamen.24 YMCA leader and educator Lim Chu Cong (Lin Zhuguang 林珠光) founded the import–export Shengmei Company with a ¥30,000 investment in 1917. However, perhaps no investment topped Zheng Zhikun’s (鄭志坤) ¥270,000 investment in the Xiamen Zhengye Company in 1932.25

20

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22 23

24 25

Li Rui, Qiaohun, 69–73; Zhenshan yueshu baoshe chuangban liushiwu zhounian jinian ce bianweihui 圳山阅书报社创办六十五周年纪念册编委会, Zhenshan yueshu baoshe chuangban liushiwu zhounian jinian ce: 1919–1984 圳山阅书报社创办六十五周年纪念册: 1919–1984 (Hong Kong: xianggang youli yinshua youxian gongsi 香港: 香港友利印刷有 限公司, 1984). For an overview of Dee C. Chuan’s investments, see Yifeng Dai, “Southeast Asian Chinese Investment in Xiamen: The Li Family during the 1920s and 1930s as a Case Study,” in Leo Douw, Cen Huang, and David Ip, eds., Rethinking Chinese Transnational Enterprises: Cultural Affinity and Business Strategies (Richmond, Surrey: Curzon, 2001), 102–122. Li Rui, Qiaohun, 80–82. Quanzhoushi Huaqiao zhi bianzuan weiyuanhui 泉州市华侨志编纂委员会, Quanzhoushi Huaqiao zhi 泉州市华侨志 [Quanzhou Municipal Overseas Chinese Gazetteer] (Beijing: Zhongguo shehui chubanshe 北京: 中国社会出版社, 1996), 187, 190–192; see also “Chinese Notes,” The Electrical Review 90, no. 2327 (1922): 914. Chu, Chinese and Chinese Mestizos, 299; and Li Rui, Qiaohun, 76. Su Shuili 苏水利, Xiamen duiwai jingji maoyi zhi 厦门对外经济贸易志 [Xiamen Foreign Economics and Trade Gazetteer] (Xiamen: Zhongguo tongji chubanshe 厦门: 中国统计出 版社, 1998), 196.

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According to Huei-Ying Kuo, Chinese overseas investment in real estate in Xiamen amounted to 90.2 percent of all investment.26 Southeast Asian sojourners supplemented substantial donations and direct investment with equally staggering family remittances. According to the Xiamen Overseas Chinese Bureau, Chinese from the Philippines sent home ¥12.5 million in remittances in 1935 alone.27 This monetary lifeline helped many overburdened families, and it doubled as a form of “diasporic Chinese philanthropy.”28 Historians Gregory Benton and Hong Liu, who describe the remittance exchange system in the Philippines as “more cohesive and united than elsewhere in Southeast Asia,” link Philippine giving to a range of southern Fujianese projects involving religious sites, educational institutions, and political organizations.29 Hokkien people from the Philippines invested in and were deeply invested in the health and well-being of their hometowns. Chinese living overseas paired hometown investments and philanthropy with strategic spending on massive family compounds. Most built on the protected island of Gulangyu, which sat a stone’s throw from Xiamen Island. James A. Cook notes that the gated Gulangyu mansions, beyond providing a place to live, “presented an unquestioned statement of the wealth and talent of overseas Chinese.”30 Among Gulangyu’s big spenders, Dee C. Chuan’s uncle, Li Zhaobei (李昭北), and Dee’s close colleague and collaborator from the Dutch East Indies, Oei Tjoe, shared the crown, having invested in three “extravagant” villas on this island of villas.31 Despite having lived overseas for most of their lives, many wealthy Chinese from Fujian still desired to retire in Minnan, even if it meant the gentrified island retreat of Gulangyu. At least the foods tasted familiar, the wharfs remained near, and the ocean breeze recalled memories of youth for these melancholic tycoons. The Founders and other wealthy Chinese from the Philippines invested and donated substantial sums to build and finance schools, industry, infrastructure, and residences in their hometowns and nearby 26

27

28

29 30 31

Kuo, “Native-Place Ties in Transnational Networks,” 146. For similar observations on Taishanese investments in China, see Madeline Y. Hsu, Dreaming of Gold Dreaming of Home: Transnationalism and Migration between the United States and South China, 1882– 1943 (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2000). Xiamen Huaqiao zhi bianweihui 廈門華僑志編委會, Xiamen Huaqiao zhi 廈門華僑志 [Xiamen Overseas Chinese Gazetteer] (Xiamen: Lujiang Chubanshe 廈門鷺江出版社, 1991), 149. Gregor Benton and Hong Liu, Dear China: Emigrant Letters and Remittances, 1820–1980 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2018), 130. See also George Hicks, Overseas Chinese Remittances from Southeast Asia, 1910–1940 (Singapore: Select Books, 1993) Benton and Liu, Dear China, 63 and 130–150. Cook, “Bridges to Modernity,” 143. Xiamen Huaqiao zhi bianweihui, Xiamen Huaqiao zhi, 171.

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communities. They showed their affection for southern Fujian through their pocketbooks. Naturally, they sought to grow their own fortunes and improve the lives of their own family members in the process, but, based on their investment and donation patterns, Chinese in the Philippines had more than personal well-being in mind. They dreamed of a prosperous and safe Fujian. However, for many, this utopian Fujian felt frustratingly unattainable. The oft delayed and much maligned Xiamen–Longyan Railway epitomized both the audacious aspirations and dashed dreams of Chinese overseas. Build the Damn Railroad, Pleads Oei Tjoe Oei Tjoe, the patron, although not a long-time resident of the Philippines like the other founders of the China Banking Corporation, collaborated closely with Dee C. Chuan, Albino Z. Sycip, and other archipelagic acquaintances.32 According to his biography, he came up with the idea and pledged the first funds for establishing what would become the China Banking Corporation during a long stay in Manila in 1919.33 The itinerant Oei Tjoe reminds us that the Sino–Philippine web spread far beyond the two polities into what Du Yongtao labels a “multi-place arena.”34 Chinese in Southeast Asia tapped into hometown associations, chambers of commerce, and family to expand business and political connections throughout Southeast Asia, across China, and sometimes even elsewhere around the world.35 Unlike many of his southern Fujianese colleagues from the Philippines, Oei Tjoe came from a poor and unconnected family from the more rugged, somewhat inland area of southern Fujian. Born in Shisun Village in Nan’an Country in 1868 on the heels of the Taiping Civil War, Oei experienced a childhood defined by hardship. Financial pressures forced him to drop out of school to support his family, and for the next eight years of his life, he became an itinerant barber, traveling first between the villages around his hometown before moving on to cities in 32

33 34 35

Because of his close collaboration with Chinese from the Philippines, some people even thought he was from the archipelago. See, for instance, Gong Zhiben 公治本, “Feidao de Huang Yizhu 菲島的黃奕住 [Oei Tjoe of the Philippines],” Qiaosheng 僑聲 [Overseas Chinese Voice] 3, no. 10 (1941): 63–64. Oei Tjoe, “Journal of Major Events After Returning to China,” in Oei Tjoe: A Biography, by Zhao Dexin, trans. Albert C. S. Teoh (Canada: Unknown, 2003), 179. Du, The Order of Places, 22. Perhaps no figure exemplified this transnational entrepreneurial spirit better than the “Tiger King,” Aw Boon Haw, who marketed his famous “Tiger Balm” around the world. See Sherman Cochran, Chinese Medicine Men: Consumer Culture in China and Southeast Asia (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2006), 118–150.

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the Dutch East Indies.36 Eventually, after acquiring a good grasp of Javanese, he cast his scissors and razors into the sea, opting instead to peddle household goods from his shoulder as a hawker.37 Then, from his meager savings, he opened a coffee stand, converted it into a grocery store, and transformed the store into a regional chain. From the grocery industry, he expanded into other industries like sugar, transforming into a prominent banker and international businessperson along the way.38 In other words, Oei Tjoe exchanged his rags for a quickly expanding bag of riches, which he used to build the aforementioned villas on Gulangyu. He was the quintessential underdog superhero, and like the quintessential underdog hero, he never forgot his roots. Beyond his personal investments, Oei flexed his philanthropic muscles, founding the Dou’nan School in his home county, the Ciqin Middle School for Girls in Xiamen, the Oei Tjoe Charity Hospital in his home county, and the Zhongshan Hospital in Xiamen.39 He also supported a library established by Dee C. Chuan on Gulangyu known as the Gulangyu Private Library.40 Like Dee C. Chuan, Oei invested staggering sums to construct new roads and buildings in Xiamen and Gulangyu.41 And, of course, Oei invested in a railway. Before Oei entered the scene, however, in the late Qing period, with the support of overseas investments totaling ¥3 million, a famous Qing dynasty official initiated the Zhangzhou–Xiamen railway project.42 Completion of the railway took much longer than anyone anticipated, however, as new bureaus and new government entities tossed the project back-and-forth like a hot potato. After “over 20 years of great pains to build the enterprise by southern Fujianese,” construction finally began in earnest in 1927 and concluded in 1930.43 However, the train operated for less than a year as intended before a car company leased out the failed line. After twenty-four years of off and on construction, and after numerous rounds of investment, the railway failed to consistently carry any actual locomotives or cargo.

36

37 41 42

43

Zhao Dexin, Oei Tjoe: A Biography, trans. Albert C. S. Teoh (Canada: [Unknown], 2003), 1–17. See also Lai Chen 赖晨, “Huang Yizhu: cong Nanyang xiaotitoujiang dao Minguo da yinhangjia 黄奕住: 从南洋小剃头匠到民国大银行家 [Oei Tjoe: From South Seas Barber to Republican China’s Banking Tycoon],” Wenshi chunqiu (文史春秋) 8 (2012): 54–58. Zhao, Oei Tjoe, 16–19. 38 Ibid., 20–101. 39 Ibid., 136–153. 40 Ibid., 149. Ibid., 116–117. Zheng Hua 鄭華, Fujian xinan lukuang jihua 福建西南路礦計劃 [Southwest Fujian Rail and Mine Plan] ([Unknown]: [Unknown], 1933), 1. The famous official was Chen Baochen (陳寶琛). Ibid., 3.

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Undaunted by the numerous false starts, Oei Tjoe became the project’s most tireless cheerleader and financial backer, but he knew that the modest Zhangzhou–Xiamen line would serve little purpose and garner little support if it did not penetrate deeper into the interior of the province – far past the mountainous village he called home. Countering detractors who argued that it was a folly to invest in Fujian, Oei Tjoe argued, “The conventional wisdom is that the land is barren. In fact, it is the inability of people to explore buried treasures in the ground and to move products sitting on the ground” that prevented significant investment.44 To solve the problem, Oei proposed combining the rail and mining missions.45 In 1922, donning his adventure hat, Oei Tjoe set off for the coal mines of Longyan, deep in the Fujian outback, but, before he could make it past Zhangzhou, his Dutch engineer and his sedan-chair bearers mutinied due to the approaching New Year.46 Oei Tjoe’s heart was in the right place, but he needed organizational support to see his dreams come to fruition. When Oei Tjoe heard that his banking colleagues from the Philippines were organizing a “save the hometown” meeting on Gulangyu, he knew that a golden opportunity to win over hearts and minds for his railroad had arrived, so he threw in his support.47 In a speech during the second meeting of the organization in Gulangyu in 1926, Oei compared the railroad to blood vessels in a human body, arguing that one must “first restore one’s vigor before proceeding to treat the illness.”48 Or, in other words, Chinese overseas must invest in Fujian to restore its vitality before they could “save it” from militarism. To realize his goal, he led a subcommittee within the Save the Hometown Association to raise 44

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Oei Tjoe, “The Origin of the Commercial Pan-Fujian Railway Joint-Share Co., Ltd.,” in Oei Tjoe: A Biography, by Zhao Dexin, trans. Albert C. S. Teoh (Canada: Unknown, 2003), 191. Oei was not alone in this assessment. See also Frederick W. Stevens, “Protecting China’s Coal and Other Minerals,” February 17, 1923, in China: Papers Written in China, Richard Dennis Teale Hollister Papers, Bentley Historical Library, 75-P. Oei Tjoe, “A Proposal – Commercial Pan-Fujian Railway Joint-Share Company Limited,” in Oei Tjoe: A Biography, by Zhao Dexin, trans. Albert C. S. Teoh (Canada: [Unknown], 2003), 193. Oei Tjoe, “Journal of Major Events After Returning to China,” 181. See also, Zhao Dexin, Oei Tjoe, 111. Zheng Hua, Fujian xinan lukuang jihua, 23; and Shusheng 蜀生, “Nanyang Minqiao jiuxianghui kaihui 南洋閩僑救鄉會開會 [Southeast Asian Hokkien Overseas Save the Hometown Association Meeting],” Shenbao 申报, March 24, 1926, 9. Oei Tjoe (Huang Yizhu 黃奕住), “Huang Yizhu yanjiang 黃奕住演講 [Oei Tjoe’s Speech],” in Nanyang Minqiao jiuxianghui baogaoshu 南洋閩僑救鄉會報告書 [Southeast Asian Hokkien Overseas Save the Hometown Association Report], ed. Huang Zhongxun 黃仲 訓 (Xiamen: Nanyang minqiao jiuxianghui zonghui kanhang 廈門: 南洋閩僑救鄉會總會 刊行, 1926), 21–22.

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funds for the railroad.49 Convincing his colleagues was not the issue, however, because at the meeting “all present agreed that building [the] railway is the basic means of saving the home town.”50 After the meeting, Albino Z. Sycip and Dee C. Chuan showed their support for the railway with a media blitz.51 Both argued for reallocating Boxer Indemnity funds, which foreign powers had levied after the socalled Boxer Rebellion, to support the construction of the railway.52 Echoing Oei’s sentiments, Dee argued that the railway would have four benefits: aiding in the transportation of troops and supplies, helping eliminate banditry, supporting new business ventures, and increasing educational opportunities.53 Sycip even fished for support within his China network by mentioning the project to his banking colleague in Shanghai.54 Dee and Oei, meanwhile, took a lobbying trip to Beijing to “see what arrangements can be made with the Ministry of Communication to build a railway in the Province of Fukien.”55 After the Northern Expedition, Oei Tjoe continued to push for a railway for Fujian, his previous failures having only amplified his ambitions. He began to call for a line that extended not just to Longyan, but all the way to the provincial border in Tingzhou.56 Oei Tjoe found new allies in his mission in Jiang Guangnai and the Nineteenth Route Army, who had arrived in the province to govern and protect after their glorious battle

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“Nanyang Minqiao jiuxianghui kaihui ji 南洋閩僑救鄉會開會紀 [Southeast Asian Hokkien Overseas Save the Hometown Association Meeting Notes],” Shenbao 申报, April 3, 1926, 9. Oei Tjoe, “Journal of Major Events After Returning to China,” 185. Albino Sycip [Xue Minlao 薛敏老], “Gengzi peikuan dangzuo heyong 庚子賠款當作何用 [What the Boxer Rebellion Indemnity be Used For],” Daolu yuekan 道路月刊 [Roadway Monthly], 10, no. 3 (1924): 6–8; and “Tongyue huaqiao daibiao Xue Minlao han waijiaobu zhuzhang gengkuan zhulu bingfu suozhe lunshuo 同月華僑代表薛敏老函外 交部主張庚款築路並附所著論說 [This Month Overseas Chinese Representative Albino Sycip Sent a Letter to the Foreign Ministry to Advocate for the Use of the Boxer Indemnity to Construct Roads],” Tielu xiehui huibao 鐵路協會會報 [Railway Association Report] 165 (1926): 3. “Tongyue Feilübin zhonghua shanghui huizhang Li Qingquan deng cheng jiaotongbu qing yi gengkuan zhulu 同月斐律濱中華商會會長李清泉等呈交通部請以庚款築路 [This Month President of the Manila Chinese Chamber of Commerce Dee C. Chuan and Others Submitted a Letter to the Ministry of Communications Requesting Use of the Boxer Indemnity to Build Roads],” Tielu xiehui huibao 鐵路協會會報 [Railway Association Report] 165 (1926): 3. Ibid. Albino Sycip, letter to K. P. Chen, August 21, 1926, file Q275-1–2358–7, SMA. Ibid. “Tielu xiaoxi: Min Huang Yizhu chouban Songting tielu 鐵路消息: 閩黃奕住籌辦嵩汀鐵 路 [Railroad Information: Southern Fujianese Oei Tjoe Makes Preparations for the Song-Ting Railroad],” Tielu yuekan 鐵路月刊 [Railway Monthly] 18 (1931): 1.

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in Shanghai in 1932.57 For a brief moment, it appeared as if Oei had struck gold as he stepped into the directorship of the Zhang–Long Railway and Mining Preparatory Committee under the new government. According to accounts, “with the help of the Committee’s technician they proceeded to work on the project in great haste.”58 However, it turns out that Oei had miscalculated when he called for restoring vigor before treating ailments. The Nineteenth Route Army ended up rebelling against Chiang Kai-shek’s Nationalist government, creating an independent People’s Revolutionary Government that began to redistribute land in western Fujian. Generalissimo Chiang responded to this mutiny by bombing Fujian and sending in yet another trusted general to “restore order” in the province. After supporting Oei Tjoe’s railway and playing a critical role in its construction, the Nineteenth Route Army, to cover their tracks in retreat, tore apart the tracks of the railway, “thus ending” Oei Tjoe’s and other overseas Chinese people’s dream of a railway for Fujian in the first half of the twentieth century.59 Oei Tjoe used the metaphor of the circulation system as an aid to call for the construction of a railway in Fujian. This part, in turn, uses the railway as a symbol or microcosm of the broader political situation in Fujian. The railroad symbolized the political failure of successive regimes in Fujian and the limits of overseas Chinese philanthropy and investment, but it also provides a glimpse of the interconnected world of the Founders. In the end, despite their best efforts, Oei Tjoe, Dee C. Chuan, Albino Z. Sycip, and other founders of the China Banking Corporation failed to shape policy using only unflinching optimism and a substantial war chest. Superheroes needed more than positivity and deep pockets; they needed power. That is one of the reasons that they began to wade into the fraught realms of politics. Tan Guin Lay and the Minqiao Moment As a prominent educator and self-fashioned unpretentious businessperson in the distillery industry, Carlos Palanca Tan Guin Lay, the mixologist, brought an important perspective to the super-wealthy banking team.60 He was born in Xiamen itself, and he came to the Philippines as 57

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“Minsheng jihua xingzhu Zhanglong tielu 閩省計劃興筑漳龍鐵路 [Fujian Plans to Construct the Zhang-Long Railroad],” Tielu yuekan 鐵路月刊 [Railway Monthly] 36 (1933): 2. Zhao Dexin, Oei Tjoe, 110. Kuo, “Native-Place Ties in Transnational Networks,” 149. “Humble” is certainly a misnomer as his company was valued at ¥3 million in 1939. See Su Wenlang, Sanshi niandai Feilübin, 90. For a brief sketch of Carlos Palanca Tan Guin Lay, see Wong, The Chinese in the Philippine Economy, 6.

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a teenager. Like his colleagues, after he had made his fortunes, Tan fulfilled the requisite hometown investment through his participation in a joint venture in a Xiamen-based paper company. Yet he also brought a no-knocks attitude that perhaps came from his long service as head of the Chinese Education Association of the Philippines.61 More than anyone else, he felt he could bridge the worlds of industry and education, or, to put it another way, money-making and community service. Channeling his supposed class-crossing credentials at the Southeast Asian Hokkien Overseas Save the Hometown Association meeting in 1924, Tan Guin Lay passionately appealed to his less endowed compatriots, saying, “patriotism doesn’t require money, if [you can] sacrifice and try your best, then you have succeeded in the pursuit of patriotism.”62 Tan’s awkward attempt to connect with the masses betrayed some of the shortcomings and blind spots of the Founders writ large, and we will return to those shortcomings later, but it also hints at the passion and energy of some of the organization’s adherents. So, what was the Southeast Asian Hokkien Overseas Save the Hometown Association, and how did it captivate and divide Hokkien people in the Philippines? The organization can be traced back to a meeting known as the Chinese Overseas Forum, which took place on Gulangyu Island on October 17, 1920. At that meeting, Oei Tjoe, Dee C. Chuan, Rafael M. Go Tauco (Wu Kecheng 吳克誠), and others gathered to discuss methods to oust the “warlord” Li Houji, unite different Fujianese organizations, and restrict military groups operating in Fujian.63 Organizers, including Tan Guin Lay, followed this meeting with another at the Oriental Club in Manila called the Philippine Chinese Overseas Association for the Advancement of Autonomy.64 This revamped organization developed 61

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Feilübin mingren shilue bianjishe 菲律濱名人史略編輯社, Feilübin Huaqiao mingren shilue 菲律濱華僑名人史略 [Brief Historical Sketch of Famous Philippine-Chinese] (Shanghai: Dadong shuju 上海: 大東書局, 1931), 9–10; and “Fujian zaozhichang chengli 福建造紙 廠成立 [Fujian Paper Mill Established],” Shenbao 申报, November 17, 1929, 14. Carlos Palanca Tan Guin Lay (Chen Yinglai 陳迎來), “Ji Chen Yinglai xiansheng yanjiang jiuxiang 紀陳迎來先生演講救鄉 [Remembering Mr. Carlos Palanca Tan Guin Lay’s Speech on Saving the Hometown],” in Nanyang Minqiao jiuxianghui tekan 南洋閩 僑救鄉會特刊 [Southeast Asian Hokkien Overseas Save the Hometown Association Bulletin] (Manila: Feilübin Zhonghua yinshuguan 斐律濱中華印書館, 1924), 1. “Canjia zhengzhi douzheng 参加政治斗争 [Participation in Political Struggles],” in Xiamen shizhi di wu ce juan sishisi: Huaqiao 厦门市志第五册卷四十四: 华侨 [Xiamen Municipal Gazetteer Book 5, Volume 44: Biographies], ed. Xiamen shi difangzhi bianzuan weiyuanhui 厦门市地方志编纂委员会 [Xiamen Municipal Gazetteer Editorial Committee] (Beijing: Fangzhi chubanshe 北京: 方志出版社, 2004); Liu Canghai 刘沧 海, “Minchu Fujian shengxian yundong jianxi 民初福建省宪运动简析 [Introduction to the Early Republic Fujian Provincial Constitution Movement],” Wenjiao ziliao 文教资料 6 (2006): 64–65; and Shi Xueqin, “Huaqiao yu qiaoxiang zhengzhi,” 44–45. Shi Xueqin, “Huaqiao yu qiaoxiang zhengzhi,” 45.

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a more sophisticated platform, calling for provincial autonomy, a provincial constitution, infrastructure and education investments, and local representation. Organizers also sought to grow the reach of the organization by contacting chambers of commerce and native-place organizations across Southeast Asia.65 In 1924, organizers in Manila rechristened the organization the Southeast Asian Hokkien Overseas Save the Hometown Association (南 洋閩僑救鄉會).66 In a special bulletin that the organizers published after the Manila meeting, members outlined the updated objectives of the organization. They wrote: “The aim of this organization is to connect overseas Fujianese in Southeast Asia, rescue Fujian from its current political situation, relieve the suffering of our compatriots, restore local order, and construct a self-governing enterprise.”67 Aiming for professionalization and stability, leaders established a permanent headquarters and laid out plans for twenty regional branches across the Philippines.68 To grow the movement, the organizers of the Save the Hometown Association realized they needed to expose the suffering and desperation of Fujian to residents in the Philippines. After all, many Chinese in the archipelago had not been to the province for some time due to financial and legal constraints.69 With that goal in mind, one author painted this picture in a bulletin dedicated to the organization: “With the recurring turmoil of war, Zhangzhou, Xiamen, Quanzhou, and Yong’an were the most impacted . . . looking north to [our] native place, people and spirits 65

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Huang Zhongxun 黃仲訓, ed., Nanyang minqiao jiuxianghui baogaoshu 南洋閩僑救鄉會 報告書 [Southeast Asian Hokkien Overseas Save the Hometown Association Report] (Xiamen: Nanyang minqiao jiuxianghui zonghui kanhang 廈門: 南洋閩僑救鄉會總會刊 行, 1926), 4–5. Antonio Tan refers to this organization as the “Nan-yang Overseas Chinese Fukien Salvation Association” and Huei-Ying Kuo translates the organization as the “South Seas Fujian Sojourners’ Home Saving Association”; see Tan, The Chinese in the Philippines, 300; and Kuo, Networks beyond Empires, 98. “Nanyang minqiao jiuxianghui linshi jianzhang 南洋閩僑救鄉會臨時簡章 [Temporary Regulations for the Southeast Asian Hokkien Overseas Save the Hometown Association],” in Nanyang Minqiao jiuxianghui tekan 南洋閩僑救鄉會特刊 [Southeast Asian Hokkien Overseas Save the Hometown Association Bulletin] (Manila: Feilübin Zhonghua yinshuguan 斐律濱中華印書館, 1924), 1. The last stipulation, which I translate as “construct a self-governing enterprise (建设自治事业),” is somewhat ambiguous. It could also be translated as “organize self-government,” but I wanted to capture some of the ambiguity in my translation. “Canjia zhengzhi douzheng”; and Jie 孑, “Jiuxiang yundong zhi daibiao dangchu fa yi 救 鄉運動之代表當出發矣 [Save the Hometown Movement Representatives are Departing],” in Nanyang Minqiao jiuxianghui tekan 南洋閩僑救鄉會特刊 [Southeast Asian Hokkien Overseas Save the Hometown Association Bulletin] (Manila: Feilübin Zhonghua yinshuguan 斐律濱中華印書館, 1924), 12. Exclusionist policies made it difficult for Chinese people to return to the Philippines. For more, see Chapter 2.

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all weep.”70 Educator Gan Bun Cho (Yan Wenchu 顏文初), who appeared in the previous part, wrote, “It is like there is no hometown to which [we] can return.”71 Another contributor described the situation as follows: “Soldiers and bandits, bandits and soldiers, this land of southern Fujian has become a world of soldier-bandits.”72 The Southeast Asian Hokkien Overseas Save the Hometown Association, was, needless to say, laser focused on exposing and resolving Hokkien issues. Organizers notably used “Hokkien overseas (閩僑)” instead of “Chinese overseas (華僑)” in the title of their organization, for example, stressing their affinity for and connection to southern Fujian. The authors of the 1924 bulletin ended up using the character “Fujian (閩)” so many times that the publishers at the Philippine–Chinese Printing Press ran out of it, substituting it with a blank circle halfway through the document.73 While some scholars dismiss this hometown affinity as “parochial” loyalty or “provincialism,” others, as observed in the introduction to this part, are increasingly recognizing it as a more complete form of imagined community.74 Save the Hometown Association organizers possessed a shared language, mythical homeland, common “traditions,” shared struggle, and, with the new organization and its bulletin, a political forum and media organ to channel that energy. Perhaps they even had a shared race or ethnicity. Deep in the recesses of the 1924 Save the Hometown bulletin, one contributor wrote, “Saving the hometown is saving the race (type

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Chen Keru 陳克如, “Shangyang Minqiao zhi jiuxiang zeren 商洋閩僑之救鄉責任 [The Responsibility of Maritime Merchant Fujianese Overseas to Save the Hometown],” in Nanyang Minqiao jiuxianghui tekan 南洋閩僑救鄉會特刊 [Southeast Asian Hokkien Overseas Save the Hometown Association Bulletin] (Manila: Feilübin Zhonghua yinshuguan 斐律濱中華印書館, 1924), 5. Gan Bun Cho (Yan Wenchu 顏文初), “Feilübin tongxun 菲律賓通訊 [Report from the Philippines],” Shenbao 申報, March 21, 1926. Others echoed this departed hometown theme. See, for instance, Xunjiang Shangren 荀江上人, “Huaqiao yu jiaxiang 華僑與家鄉 [Chinese Overseas and the Hometown],” in Nanyang Minqiao jiuxianghui tekan 南洋閩僑 救鄉會特刊 [Southeast Asian Hokkien Overseas Save the Hometown Association Bulletin] (Manila: Feilübin Zhonghua yinshuguan 斐律濱中華印書館, 1924), 6. “Wo huaqiao dang fuyou jiaxiang zhi guannian 我華僑當富有家鄉之觀念 [Thoughts on a Wealthy Hometown for Our Chinese Overseas],” in Nanyang Minqiao jiuxianghui tekan 南洋閩僑救鄉會特刊 [Southeast Asian Hokkien Overseas Save the Hometown Association Bulletin] (Manila: Feilübin Zhonghua yinshuguan 斐律濱中華印書館, 1924), 9. “Fa kan ci 發刊詞 [Preface],” in Nanyang Minqiao jiuxianghui tekan 南洋閩僑救鄉會特刊 [Southeast Asian Hokkien Overseas Save the Hometown Association Bulletin] (Manila: Feilübin Zhonghua yinshuguan 斐律濱中華印書館, 1924). The circles throughout the text confused me when I first browsed through the document. See Li, “Imagining History and the State,” 315–338; and Taylor, “Lychees and Mirrors,” 163–180.

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種).”75 But to which “race” or “type” did the author refer? Was it Chinese, Hokkien, Asian, or something even more abstract? Perhaps the author sought refuge in ambiguity. However, it is safe to conclude that Hokkien people in the Philippines felt a deep attachment to their ancestral villages or hometowns, and they sought to “save” them through the Association. Women played a critical role in the pursuit of this mission and the operation of the Association. Although few in number due to the legal impediments highlighted in Chapter 1, Hokkien women hosted a parallel forum at the Asian Theater in Manila in 1924 to promote the cause. Drawing inspiration from her Filipina compatriots, one speaker said, “Women in the Philippines have sacrificed so much energy and spirit for the independence question. They organized meetings, made calls, danced to help secure donations; [I] can’t forget [their efforts].”76 The speaker drew direct parallels between the Save the Hometown movement and the Philippine independence movement. A Lan (阿蘭), another contributor, argued that women should take charge of propaganda and dissemination efforts.77 Just as Tan Guin Lay attempted to bridge class differences, organizers like A Lan attempted to bridge gender divisions. After extensive recruitment efforts across Southeast Asia, organizers from the Philippines deliberately shifted the center of gravity of the movement to southern Fujian itself to make it more representative of and accessible to all Hokkien people. Naturally, however, the Founders still occupied most leadership roles. On March 15, 1926, after several months of preparation, Dee C. Chuan traveled from Shanghai to the Cejin Club at 31 Fujian St. on Gulangyu Island to host the second major meeting of the organization.78 Because the meeting took place on 75

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“Yi ge huaqiao de jiuxiang tan 一個華僑的救鄉談 [Discussion of Save the Hometown by an Huaqiao],” in Nanyang Minqiao jiuxianghui tekan 南洋閩僑救鄉會特刊 [Southeast Asian Hokkien Overseas Save the Hometown Movement Meeting Bulletin] (Manila: Feilübin Zhonghua yinshuguan 斐律濱中華印書館, 1924), 13. Jie 孑, “Duiyu funü jiuxiang yanjiang dahui de ganxiang 對於婦女救鄉演講大會的感想 [Reflections on Women’s’ Save the Hometown Meeting Speeches],” in Nanyang Minqiao jiuxianghui tekan 南洋閩僑救鄉會特刊 [Southeast Asian Hokkien Overseas Save the Hometown Association Bulletin] (Manila: Feilübin Zhonghua yinshuguan 斐律濱中華印 書館, 1924), 7. For a similar sentiment, see Liu Xiansi 劉閑思, “Liu Xiansi yanjiang jiuxiang wenti 劉閑思演講救鄉問題 [Liu Xiansi Discusses the Save the Hometown Issue],” in Nanyang Minqiao jiuxianghui tekan 南洋閩僑救鄉會特刊 [Southeast Asian Hokkien Overseas Save the Hometown Association Bulletin] (Manila: Feilübin Zhonghua yinshuguan 斐律濱中華印書館, 1924), 24. A Lan 阿蘭, “Jinggao nü tongbao 警告女同胞 [Warning to My Sisters],” Nanyang Minqiao jiuxianghui tekan 南洋閩僑救鄉會特刊 [Southeast Asian Hokkien Overseas Save the Hometown Association Bulletin] (Manila: Feilübin Zhonghua yinshuguan 斐律濱中華 印書館, 1924), 19. Huang Zhongxun 黃仲訓, Nanyang minqiao jiuxianghui baogaoshu, 4.

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Gulangyu, Carlos Palanca Tan Guin Lay could not attend, but Dee C. Chuan and Oei Tjoe served as able stewards in his stead. Over the next two weeks, leaders met six more times to lay out the operating rules of the organization, call for new infrastructure projects, like Oei Tjoe’s railway, discuss fundraising strategies, and offer and debate other proposals, such as converting Xiamen into a model city.79 Dee C. Chuan, in his opening message at the Gulangyu meeting, said, “Fujianese Overseas in the Philippines, due to their ardent enthusiasm, started the Save the Hometown movement, sending representatives to islands across Southeast Asia to spread the message and link together Hokkien overseas, working for common interests.”80 Even though Dee and others relocated the organization to Fujian, they still granted the Philippines a place of honor as the home of the Founders. And, even though they demonstrated a desire to diversify the leadership and bring in “compatriots of all walks of life,” as they curiously confided when inviting Carlos Palanca Tan Guin Lay to serve as the president of the Association, they still allowed business interests to dominate the organization’s agenda.81 The wording of the invitation to Tan Guin Lay, which Tan Guin Lay himself reported in the bulletin, revealed some of the limitations of the Save the Hometown Association. If other leaders thought that the “Alcohol King” could serve as a link to the masses, or at least a link to students and educators, they were sorely mistaken. In fact, recounting a debate on the organization at a local school, one student noted that many Chinese workers did not have the means to return home, so they had little reason to support the organization.82 By contrast, in his article in 79

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Shusheng 屬生, “Minqiao jiuxianghui zhi ti’an 閩僑救鄉會之提案 [Proposals from the Fujianese Overseas Save the Hometown Association],” Shenbao 申报, March 28, 1926, 9; “Nanyang Minqiao jiuxianghui kaihui ji, Shenbao, April 3, 1926, 9; and Huang Zhongxun 黃仲訓, Nanyang minqiao jiuxianghui baogaoshu, 6–18. Dee C. Chuan (Li Qingquan 李清泉), “Kaihui ci 開會詞 [Welcome Speech],” in Nanyang minqiao jiuxianghui baogaoshu 南洋閩僑救鄉會報告書 [Southeast Asian Hokkien Overseas Save the Hometown Association Report], ed. Huang Zhongxun 黃仲訓 (Xiamen: Nanyang minqiao jiuxianghui zonghui kanhang 廈門: 南洋閩僑救鄉會總會刊 行, 1926), 18–19. Carlos Palanca Tan Guin Lay (Chen Yinglai 陳迎來), “Qing Chen Yinglai jiu huizhang zhihan 請陳迎來就會長職函 [Letter Inviting Carlos Palanca Tan Guin Lay to Serve as President],” in Nanyang Minqiao jiuxianghui tekan 南洋閩僑救鄉會特刊 [Southeast Asian Hokkien Overseas Save the Hometown Association Bulletin] (Manila: Feilübin Zhonghua yinshuguan 斐律濱中華印書館, 1924), 5. “Qi yue shisan ye bianlun dahui 七月十三夜辯論大會 [Debate Meeting on the Evening of July 13th],” in Nanyang Minqiao jiuxianghui tekan 南洋閩僑救鄉會特刊 [Southeast Asian Hokkien Overseas Save the Hometown Association Bulletin] (Manila: Feilübin Zhonghua yinshuguan 斐律濱中華印書館, 1924), 4. The student’s name was Yang Mengchu (楊 夢初).

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the 1924 bulletin, Tan Guin Lay, describing the vulnerable position Hokkien people found themselves in in the Philippines, argued that Fujianese overseas needed to invest in their hometowns as a backup plan in case the situation in the Philippines took a turn for the worst.83 Relocating to Fujian, however, was not an option for many, so his appeal likely fell on deaf ears. Transnationalism might have been a superpower, but it came with side effects, including delusion, callousness, and hubris. One incident that took place in a village outside of Quanzhou in southern Fujian captures the limits of the Save the Hometown Association. It began with a local dispute between two families over access to burial grounds, but it grew into something much larger when a northern Beiyang government-appointed official responded by sending troops.84 Village residents, in turn, reacted to this influx of foreign Beiyang soldiers by attacking them, leaving twenty-seven dead. Before this incident, the Save the Hometown Association had emphasized the formation of local societies designed to enhance self-defense and selfgoverning capabilities at the village level.85 The formation of these local societies, however, only exacerbated problems as self-defense-trained villagers took up arms against perceived threats. Needless to say, the loss of his soldiers angered the local Beiyang government official. Seeking to stave off yet another bloody reprisal, Dee C. Chuan, as a spokesperson for the Save the Hometown Association, stepped in to mediate. Dee dispatched several delegates to negotiate with the Beiyang-appointed official, but when the delegates arrived and told the official that they represented the Save the Hometown Association, the Beiyang official grew incensed. According to reports, he retorted, “I have never harmed the town, what [home]town is it that you are saving?”86 In the end, the Save the Hometown 83 84

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Tan Guin Lay, “Ji Chen Yinglai xiansheng yanjiang jiuxiang,” 1. Chen Jinliang 陈金亮. “Minguo shiqi de Jinjiang Huaqiao yu xiangzu xiedou 民国时期的 晋江华侨与乡族械斗 [Republican Period Jinjiang Huaqiao and Clan Conflicts].” Shehui kexuejia 社会科学家 [Social Scientist] 2, no. 154 (2010): 152–154; and Chen Zhongjin 陈 仲谨, “Ji Huaqiao jiuxianghui yingjiu Zhanglin shi 记华侨救乡会营救张林事 [Remembering the Incident when Huaqiao Save the Hometown Association Rescued Zhanglin Village],” Quanzhou wenshi ziliao di shi ji 泉州文史资料第十辑 [Quanzhou Cultural and Historical Material Volume 10] (Quanzhou: Zhongguo renmin zhengzhi xieshang huiyi Fujiansheng Quanzhoushi weiyuanhui wenshi ziliao yanjiu weiyuanhui 泉州市 : 中国人民政治协商会议福建省泉州市委员会文史资料研究委员会, 1982), 38. The Association called for the restructuring of “local societies (xiangtuan 鄉團)” into independent county-level organizations that could maintain order on the village level. See Huang Zhongxun 黃仲訓, Nanyang minqiao jiuxianghui baogaoshu, 9; and Shi Xueqin, “Huaqiao,” 46. For more on local militias in the Republican Period, see Edward A. McCord, Military Force and Elite Power in the Formation of Modern China (London: Routledge, 2014), 82–85. Chen Zhongjin, “Ji Huaqiao,” 38.

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Association delegates would eventually achieve a breakthrough, but not through negotiations, as those were taken over by local officials. Falling back on their primary superpower, Dee C. Chuan, Oei Tjoe, Tan Guin Lay and other members of the Association appeased the Beiyang official by throwing money his way. Problem solved. The Fujianese political movement began to show cracks just as the Kuomintang began its Northern Expedition to seal the much wider fissures that had torn China apart. Class differences and hubris shook Carlos Palanca Tan Guin Lay and his colleagues from their pedestals, and Kuomintang generals quickly moved in to occupy those vacated plinths. One Save the Hometown skeptic, who outlined in detail the mistakes of previous Hokkien attempts at organization and salvation, captured the contradiction of the organization when they lambasted the rich who “only wanted to protect the fengshui of their ancestor’s graves.”87 In the pages of the Association’s own bulletin, this critic took the Founders to task for their disingenuousness and haughtiness. As the organization took on a more controversial political tone in 1926, which increasingly threatened to disrupt investments, the wealthy bankers blinked. Oei Tjoe, for instance, declined an official position as the Deputy of Fujian Province and Head of the Construction Bureau, instead opting to head up the private and unaffiliated Fujian Provincial Railway Association.88 As we will see, Dee C. Chuan, Albino Sycip, and several others also declined government positions. Decisions like these led the Association to slowly unravel. I tend to avoid counterfactuals, but it is intriguing to speculate what might have happened to the Save the Hometown Association had the Kuomintang not achieved a semblance of national unity in 1928. Perhaps the Association would have spearheaded a loose Chinese federal union with other provincial leaders, or perhaps it would have pioneered an independent, Hokkien nation. We will never know. With the rise of the Kuomintang and the start of the Nanjing Decade, the Founders temporarily abandoned the Save the Hometown mission, but they experimented with a sequel in 1932 when an unlikely Hokkien hero, the Canton commander Cai Tingkai, arrived on the scene.

87

88

“Congqian de cuowu he jinhou de juewu 從前的錯誤和今後的覺悟 [Mistakes of the Past and the Awakening of the Present],” in Nanyang Minqiao jiuxianghui tekan 南洋閩僑救鄉 會特刊 [Southeast Asian Hokkien Overseas Save the Hometown Association Bulletin] (Manila: Feilübin Zhonghua yinshuguan 斐律濱中華印書館, 1924), 4. Oei Tjoe, “Journal of Major Events After Returning to China,” 185. Leading Chinese merchants had received similar offers to serve in government positions before. See Wilson, Ambition and Identity, 179.

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Cai Tingkai, the Unlikely Hokkien Hero Lloyd Eastman, in his 1974 classic The Abortive Revolution, describes how the staunch defense of Shanghai by Guangdong Army veterans Cai Tingkai, Jiang Guangnai, and Chen Mingshu “resounded through the nation,” propelling them to legendary status overnight.89 While Carlos Palanca Tan Guin Lay, Oei Tjoe, and Dee C. Chuan attempted to buy their way to superherodom, the commander Cai Tingkai, who took over leadership of the Nineteenth Route Army in 1932, acquired his credentials through astounding military feats. Cai, who proved to be equally if not more effective at propaganda than at military maneuvers, leveraged his Shanghai victory to gain sympathy and support throughout China and across the world. During the skirmishes, he invited journalists from the international settlement to the army’s field headquarters to view his carefully curated image of a noble but underfunded army fighting off the “fierce tigers” of Japan.90 The Canton commander Cai Tingkai was an unlikely hero for Hokkien overseas, but he arrived at the right moment, and he sounded all the right notes for anxious diasporic compatriots. While he did not serve on the board of the China Banking Corporation, he did receive financial support from the bank, and he worked with many of the Founders to achieve their long sought-after goals. Cai was born to a peasant family in Luoding, a small city in the mountainous interior of Guangdong Province, closer to Guangxi than Guangzhou.91 No stranger to poverty, he dropped out of school when he was twelve and helped his family farm and mend clothes before becoming a police officer and eventually a soldier.92 As a soldier, he rose through the ranks, playing a prominent role in both the Northern Expedition and the Nanchang Uprising.93 On January 28, 1932, in the wake of the Manchurian Incident, when the Japanese army invaded northeastern China, the Japanese navy bombed and dispatched troops to northern Shanghai. The Nineteenth Route Army, against the better judgment of Chiang Kai-shek, offered stiff and memorable 89 90 91

92 93

Eastman, The Abortive Revolution, 91. Donald A. Jordan, China’s Trial by Fire: The Shanghai War of 1932 (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2001), 153–158. Cai Tingkai 蔡廷鍇, Cai Tingkai zizhuan: kongzong rongma shang jiangjun 蔡廷鍇自傳: 倥 傯戎馬上將軍 [Autobiography of Cai Tingkai: The Martial General on Horseback] (Taipei: Longwen chubanshe 台北: 龍文出版社, 2001), 1. Ibid., 12–13, 35, and 51. Cai Tingkai played a complicated role in the communist rebellion at Nanchang in August of 1927. He initially supported the communist rebels before strategically withdrawing. See Ma Ruoyi 马若义, “Lun Nanchang qiyi zhong de Cai Tingkai 论南昌起义中的蔡廷 锴 [On Cai Tingkai in Nanchang Uprising],” Chaohu xueyuan xuebao 巢湖学院学报 [Journal of Chaohu College] 5, no. 6 (2003): 52–55.

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resistance, but when Japanese forces eventually outflanked them, the Nineteenth Route Army strategically retreated, leading to an armistice.94 The bravery of the Nineteenth Route Army captured the hearts and wallets of the Founders and others across China and overseas. On February 5, the Founders, through the China Banking Corporation, wired ¥22,000 to Commander Cai Tingkai and the “gallant soldiers of our army.”95 Later that same year, through the old infrastructure of the Save the Hometown Association, Dee C. Chuan, along with other members of the old crew, requested that Chiang Kai-shek dispatch the Nineteenth Route Army to Fujian to help end the “brutal behaviors of red bandits” and restore some semblance of order in the province.96 Perhaps recognizing the importance of overseas Chinese support to his bankrupt government, or the threat of the spotlight-grabbing, heavily armed heroes of Shanghai in his backyard outside Nanjing, Chiang Kai-shek complied. Chiang dispatched the army and its charismatic leaders to what some viewed as “exile” to China’s “wild” borderlands, Fujian, to participate in the encirclement campaign against the communists in neighboring Jiangxi province, thereby striking two birds with one stone as he turned two major threats to his power and popularity against one another.97 Grateful to have the famous war heroes help bring order to their hometowns, Fujianese overseas continued to flood the Nineteenth Route Army’s coffers.98 Leaders of the army, in turn, reciprocated by implementing a program of opium eradication, bandit suppression, property protection, and infrastructure development, including Oei Tjoe’s railway.99 They also strategically fostered an image of transparency and 94

95 96 97

98 99

Scholars debate Chiang’s role in the defense, or lack thereof, of Shanghai in 1932. See, for instance Parks M. Coble, The Shanghai Capitalists and the Nationalist Government, 1927–1937 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1986), 104–106; and Jonathan Fenby, Generalissimo: Chiang Kai-shek and the China He Lost (London: The Free Press, 2003), 209–213. “Huaqiao yongyue shujiang 華僑踴躍輸將 [Chinese Overseas Contribute Willingly],” Shenbao 申报, February 6, 1932, 3. Kuo, Networks beyond Empires, 259. Some people considered Fujian a “remote” outpost. See Wu Minggang 吴明刚, “Huaqiao yu shijiu lujun 华侨与十九路军 [Huaqiao and the 19th Route Army],” Huaqiao huaren lishi yanjiu 华侨华人历史研究 [Huaqiao History Studies] 2 (2006): 44. Shi Xueqin, “Huaqiao yu qiaoxiang,” 47. Ibid., 46; and “Qing Feidao qiaoshang huimin kaikuang 請菲島僑商回閩開礦 [Request Philippine Chinese Merchants to Return to Fujian and Open Mines],” Huaqiao zhoubao 華僑周報 [Huaqiao Weekly] 40 (1933): 54–55. The Nineteenth Route Army, for instance, executed one of the main villains of Fujianese overseas, Chen Guohui (陳國輝). For support of the railway, see Jiang Guangnai 蔣光鼐, “Fujiansheng zhengfu xunling 福建省 政府訓令 [Fujian Provincial Government Orders],” May 24, 1933, file 36–4–268, Fujian Provincial Archives; and “Minsheng jihua xingzhu Zhanglong tielu 閩省計劃興築漳龍鐵 路 [Fujian Plans to Construct the Zhang-Long Railroad],” Tielu yuekan 鐵路月刊 [Railway Monthly] 36 (1933): 2.

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openness by hosting a grand meeting in Hong Kong to listen to the needs and aspirations of prominent leaders of the Fujianese diaspora, like Eduardo Co Seteng (Xu Youchao 許友超), who directed the Philippine Chinese Chamber of Commerce at the time.100 Nineteenth Route Army leaders even invited Dee C. Chuan and Eduardo Co Seteng to take up positions in the newly organized Fujian government. As alluded to earlier, Dee declined the invitation, but Co Seteng accepted and became mayor of Xiamen.101 After multiple decades of chaos and misery, it appeared to many that Fujian was finally on the mend. However, as alluded to earlier, when Cai Tingkai and other Nineteenth Route Army officials began implementing a policy of land reform in western Fujian, and when they declared the independent Fujian People’s Revolutionary Government, the Founders and their wealthy comrades reassessed their support. The newly branded revolutionaries continued to sound all the right notes, however, by acknowledging that China had suffered through the pain of militarism and misrule, and by focusing outwardly on economic issues and resistance to Japan.102 Cai Tingkai himself demonstrated to potential Chinese supporters in Southeast Asia that he understood their plight, describing how people from a “weak country with no diplomatic presence,” or Chinese overseas, faced oppression by local governments.103 Seeing the tide of public opinion turn against them, leaders of the Nineteenth Route Army attempted to reinvigorate support in Southeast Asia by sending a representative to the region and by doubling down on 100

101

102

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Wu Minggang 吴明刚, 1933, Fujian shibian shimo 福建事变始末 [1933: The Beginning and End of the Fujian Incident] (Wuhan: Hubei renmin chubanshe 武汉: 湖北人民出版 社, 2006), 121. “Xu Huang cizhi: Xu Youchao Huang Qiangzhi cizhi 許黃辭職: 許友超黃強之辭職 [Eduardo Co Seteng and Huang Qiang Resign],” Xinghua zhoukan 興華周刊 [Awaken China Weekly] 30, no. 50 (1933): 35; and “Xin shengwei Li Qingquan dianken cizhi 新 省委李清泉電懇辭職 [Dee C. Chuan Cables that he Plans to Resign from the New Fujian Congress],” Gongjiao zhoukan 公教周刊 [Public Education Weekly] 191 (1932): 15; and “Li Qingquan jianci minwei 李清泉堅辭閩委 [Dee C. Chuan Resigns from Fujian Congress],” Gongjiao zhoukan 公教周刊 [Public Education Weekly] 192 (1932): 15. As the headline implies, Co Seteng later resigned his position to take up a post as governor of Tinglong. See also “Xu Youchao 许友超 [Eduardo Co Seteng],” in Jinjiang shizhi juan sishiyi: renwuzhuan 晋江市志卷四十一: 人物传 [Jinjiang Municipal Gazetteer Volume 41: Biographies], ed. Chen Miao 陈苗 (Shanghai: Sanlian shudian Shanghai fendian chuban 上海: 三联书店上海分店出版, 1994). Sun Xiufu 孙修福, trans., “Fujian renmin zhengfu zhongyang weiyuanhui huiyi jilu 福建 人民政府中央委员会会议纪录 [Record of the Members’ Meeting of the Fujian People’s Revolutionary Government],” Minguo dangan 民国档案 [Republic of China Archives] no. 1 (1994): 44–45. For more on the Fujian Rebellion, see Yang Jinhe 杨锦和 and Hongpuren 洪朴仁, eds., Minnan geming shi 闽南革命史 [A History of the Revolution in South Fujian] (Beijing: Zhongguo Jihua chubanshe 北京: 中国计划出版社, 1990). Cai Tingkai, Cai Tingkai, 484.

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constructing popular infrastructure projects. However, when potential allies in Guangdong ignored overtures, communists in Jiangxi refused to coordinate, and Chiang Kai-shek orchestrated an aerial bombardment of the People’s Revolutionary Government, Fujianese overseas support quickly evaporated.104 Co Seteng, who had by that time been promoted to the governor of a newly subdivided Fujian, maintained his support initially but submitted his resignation as Chiang-allied troops moved on the province.105 In late 1933 and early 1934, the Nineteenth Route Army suffered a string of defeats on the battlefield before surrendering and dissolving.106 Overall, fighting was erratic and half-hearted, as many of the leaders either submitted to Chiang or moved into exile.107 Cai chose the latter, fleeing to Hong Kong, where he continued to champion a proactive and defiant stance toward Japan. Despite his unceremonious departure from Fujian, however, the Canton commander still commanded a following among Chinese in the Philippines. During a brief stopover in the archipelago on his way to Europe in 1935, he delivered a speech at a massive rally in Rizal Tennis Stadium, receiving a thunderous applause from the local crowd.108 Then, in 1936, the editors of a commemorative volume for the Philippine Chinese Chamber of Commerce invited Cai Tingkai to contribute an 104

105

106 107 108

Cai Tingkai had hoped that his old Guangdong Army colleague Chen Jitang (陳濟棠), who was anchoring the Guangdong portion of the circle in the Encirclement Campaign, would support his new government, but Chen declined to do so. Later, however, Chen Jitang launched his own unsuccessful separatist bid in Guangdong and Guangxi. See “Fukien Declares Independence, Creates ‘People’s Government,’ Adopts New Flag,” The China Weekly Review [Mileshi pinglun bao 密勒氏評論報] 66, no. 13 (1933): 510–513; and Kuo, Networks beyond Empires, 253–254. For divisions with the Chinese Communist Party, see William Dorrill, “The Fukien Rebellion and the CCP: A Case of Maoist Revisionism,” The China Quarterly, no. 37 (1969): 31–53. Soong Ching-ling (Song Qingling 宋慶齡), the communist-leaning widow of Sun Yat-sen, stated vehemently that any suggested links between her and the Fujian government were “malicious falsehoods.” See “Luntan jizhe yu Zhongguo gongchandang fuzeren guanyu minbian de tanhua 論壇記者與中國共產黨負責人關於閩變的談話 [Communist Party States Views on Fukien],” Zhongguo Luntan 中國論壇 [China Forum] 3, no. 2 (1933): 3. Sun Xiufu, “Fujian renmin zhengfu zhongyang weiyuanhui huiyi jilu 福建人民政府中央 委员会会议纪录,” 60; and “Xu Huang cizhi,” 35. Eduardo Co Seteng was also close with Chiang Kai-shek, but because of his role in the rebellion, he was targeted for deportation by the Foreign Office of the Nationalist Government. The Founders and other allies came to his support, however, by sending protest resolutions to Nanjing. See Tan, The Chinese in the Philippines, 311; and Zhonghua shanghui, Feilübin Minlila, 162. For a detailed account of these events, see Wu Minggang, 1933, Fujian shibian shimo, 293–347. Dorrill, “The Fukien Rebellion and the CCP,” 45. He also gave a talk at a private dinner with prominent members of the Chinese community and made trips to Iloilo and Cebu during his visit. See Tan, The Chinese in the Philippines, 307–308. This tennis stadium was the same site of the Sino–Philippine basketball matches from 1934. For more, see Chapter 9.

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article. Like an aged rock star singing all the old tunes, Cai described banditry and destitution in Fujian, and he praised how Chinese overseas had created the Save the Hometown Association, comparing it to the sacrifice of the Nineteenth Route Army.109 He called once more for provincial autonomy and substantial investments in infrastructure.110 And people listened. A year later, when he traveled back to Manila, Dee C. Chuan, Eduardo Co Seteng, and many others met him at the wharf with open arms and toasted him at the city’s prominent clubs.111 The Save the Hometown movement might have ended, and the Fujian People’s Revolutionary Government might have collapsed, but the dream of a prosperous and autonomous Fujian, or even independent Hokkien nation, lived on.

109

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Cai Tingkai 蔡廷鍇, “Gaizao Fujian yu Huaqiao 改造福建與華僑 [Transforming Fujian and Chinese overseas],” in Feilübin Minlila zhonghua shanghui sanshi zhounian jiniankan 菲律濱岷里拉中華商會三十周年紀念刊 [Philippine Chinese Chamber of Commerce Thirty Year Anniversary Publication], ed. Zhonghua shanghui chuban weiyuanhui 中華商會出 版委員會 (Manila: Minli yinshuguan 馬尼拉: 民立印書館, 1936), 71. Ibid., 72. 111 Cai Tingkai, Cai Tingkai, 502–503.

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Seeking Salvation and a Chinese Nation

China Aches While Fujian ailed, China ached. The early twentieth century made up the latter half of what people have referred to as the “Century of Humiliation” that lasted from the first Opium War through World War II. Conflict and change marked this tumultuous epoch. Internal turmoil brought about by the Taiping Civil War, the Nian Rebellion, the Miao Rebellion, the Panthay Rebellion, the Boxer Rebellion, the so-called Warlord Era, and the Chinese Civil War upended and ended lives while frustrating all attempts to unify and govern the country. And partially external challenges, including the Opium Wars, the Sino–French War, the Sino–Japanese War, and World War II, brought more suffering to families while slowly tearing away at Chinese sovereignty and financial solvency. The individual and collective tragedies of this century are seared into people’s memories and history books to this day. Tobie Meyer-Fong captures the general atmosphere of fear and anxiety during the Taiping Civil War when describing hair politics: “The Qing and their militia allies massacred civilians with hair on their foreheads; the Taiping killed those with freshly shaved pates.”1 Peipei Qiu, Su Zhiliang, and Chen Lifei, meanwhile, capture the incredible pain and suffering of so-called comfort women who were forced into sexual slavery during World War II and faced ostracization if they were fortunate enough to return to their communities after the conflict.2 Testimonies from the Taiping Civil War in the mid-nineteenth century and World War II in the mid-twentieth remained strikingly similar though the technologies of torment had changed.

1 2

Meyer-Fong, What Remains, 85. Peipei Qiu, with Su Zhiliang and Chen Lifei, Chinese Comfort Women: Testimonies from Imperial Japan’s Sex Slaves (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013).

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For people living through the first half of the twentieth century, an elusive salvation dangled frustratingly out of reach, and setbacks and disappointment remained the rule. Late Qing reformers attempted to bring about much-needed change through the Hundred Days of Reform spearheaded by Kang Youwei (康有爲) and the too little, too late New Policies led by the reluctant Empress Dowager Cixi (慈禧太后), but those reforms failed. Radical writers and martyrs, like Qiu Jin (秋瑾) and Zou Rong (鄒容), along with new global revolutionary discourses like anarchism and communism that helped inspire them, produced “a general revolutionary atmosphere” in the first decades of the twentieth century that threatened to dismantle old centers of power.3 This atmosphere produced the Wuchang uprising and the foundation of the Republic of China in 1911, and the Northern Expedition and the establishment of the Kuomintang government in Nanjing in 1927. However, as described elsewhere, these new governments failed to alleviate systemic problems across China. Japan’s invasions of northeastern China after the Mukden Incident, Shanghai a few months later, and the rest of China after the Marco Polo Bridge Incident in 1937 extended and expanded the pattern of calamity in China. China’s emaciated air force and deficient antiaircraft defenses exposed most of China to Japanese bombers throughout the war.4 And Japanese bombers did not hold back, unleashing carnage on people and infrastructure, especially in the wartime capital of Chongqing.5 Air raids ended many lives, but the face-to-face pogroms and individualized violence in Nanjing in 1937 represented a whole different scale of holocaust.6 This destruction demanded the attention of Chinese in the Philippines. The same way a collapsing building might draw attention away from a superhero who was holding a bus in suspension, the broader destruction across China began to draw attention away from the Founders who had spent so much time propping up the Fujian bus. Of course, the story was more complicated than simply pivoting from Fujian to China. Many Chinese people in the Philippines felt perfectly justified supporting Hokkien and Chinese nationalisms simultaneously, but Japan’s outright

3 4 5 6

Peter Zarrow, China in War and Revolution, 1895–1949 (London: Routledge, 2005), 50. Diana Lary, The Chinese People at War: Human Suffering and Social Transformation, 1937– 1945 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 22–24. Ibid., 87–88. See Iris Chang, The Rape of Nanking: The Forgotten Holocaust of World War II (New York: Penguin Books, 1998); and Bob Tadashi Wakabayashi, The Nanking Atrocity, 1937–38: Complicating the Picture (New York: Berghahn Books, 2007).

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invasion demanded a direct response.7 Like aspiring superheroes, the Founders attempted to save people both on the bus and in the toppling building. However, especially after the war threatened to expand to the Philippines, the Founders redirected most of their attention to Chinese politics and Chinese “national salvation.” Fortunately for them, the Founders had slowly built valuable connections across China in the preceding years that would prove handy in their mission. Sycip’s Sales Pitch Albino Z. Sycip, who was “beloved and honored by Chinese and Filipinos alike,” also was “regarded warmly as a strong tie between the American continent and the Asian world.”8 Always a man well connected, Sycip grew up on the posh Calle Jolo in Manila’s central business district where neighbors included Sergio Osmeña, a prominent politician who would serve as president, and Simplicio del Rosario, an original signatory of the 1899 Malolos Constitution of the First Philippine Republic.9 Unlike Oei Tjoe and Cai Tingkai, who received little formal schooling, Sycip spent his formative years in the classroom. He studied at the Anglo-Chinese College in Fuzhou before undertaking advanced studies at the University of Michigan, where he served as a leader of the Chinese student association and editor for the Michigan Law Review.10 With this training and connection to overlapping elite circles, Sycip, the communicator, facilitated connections and built partnerships for other Founders. Returning to the Philippines after his stint in Michigan, doctorate in law and ample confidence in hand, he gained fame as a hotshot lawyer who argued high-profile cases for the Chinese community in the Philippines, such as the challenge to the Bookkeeping Act that we learned about in Chapter 2. Eventually, he swapped vocations, trading his life as a lawyer for a considerably more comfortable existence as a businessperson. Simultaneously relying upon and enhancing his broad network of acquaintances, he entered into and excelled in the import–export business. 7

8

9 10

Rana Mitter, The Manchurian Myth: Nationalism, Resistance, and Collaboration in Modern China (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000), 3; and Zhuang Guotu 庄国土, “Cong minzu zhuyi dao aiguo zhuyi: 1911–1941 nian jian nanyang huaqiao dui zhongguo rentong de bianhua 从民族主义到爱国主义: 1911–1941 年建南洋华侨对中国认同 的变化 [From Nationalism to Patriotism: The Change of Identity of Huaqiao in Southeast Asia in 1910s to 1940s],” Zhongshan daxue xuebao 中山大学学报 [Journal of Sun Yatsen University] 40, no. 4 (2000): 111. “Albino Zarate SyCip,” Michigan Alumnus, July 1955, File: Sycip, Albino, U-M Alumni Files, Bentley Historical Library, University of Michigan. For more on Sycip, see Guingona, “The Sundry Acquaintances of Dr. Albino Z. Sycip,” 27–52. Dalisay, Wash, Only a Bookkeeper, 14–15. “Albino Zarate SyCip,” Michigan Alumnus.

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Although business prerogatives frequently took him away from the Philippines, he carefully attended to his connections back in the archipelago through golf matches at the Wack Wack Golf Club and his memberships to the Rotary Club and Cosmos Club.11 Through World War II and the years of recovery afterward, he served as the president of the China Banking Corporation, steering the institution through uncertainty.12 Sycip used the connections at his disposal to build bridges. In 1923, Kiang Kang-hu (Jiang Kanghu 江亢虎), whom we encountered briefly in Chapter 4, got into a heated argument with Dee C. Chuan and Carlos Palanca Tan Guin Lay during his trip to the Philippines. After complaining that Dee and Tan Guin Lay could not speak (Mandarin) Chinese, Kiang wrote, “The two gentlemen know nothing of courtesy, [they] look down upon people with the haughty aspect of a capitalist.”13 In this tense moment, the communicator, Albino Sycip, stepped in to mediate. Although Kiang still ended up broadcasting his gripes about Dee and Tan Guin Lay in the book he published upon his return to China, he admitted that Sycip had helped smooth things over. Nonetheless, Kiang rendered a familiar verdict on the Founders when he strongly chastised them for charging a sum, which thereby created a barrier for the non-wealthy to join the Education Association.14 When Sycip married Helen Vonglin Bau (Bao Fenglin 鮑鳳林), whom he had met in a chance encounter on a steamship coming back from the United States, he became part of a prominent Shanghai family that owned the Commercial Press, among other businesses. Bau and their children stayed in Shanghai with Bau’s family for long periods for health reasons, and Sycip frequently joined them on business trips.15 Likely leveraging the connections of his in-laws, Sycip received an honorary PhD from St. John’s Academy in Shanghai, cementing his position as a “dominant player” in the city.16 As historian Parks Coble notes, “In a city the size of Shanghai, the dominant players in every sector often interacted with one another in settings such as the Chinese Ratepayers Association, the alumni association of the prestigious St. John’s Academy, chambers of commerce, and so forth.”17 11 12 13 15 16 17

Wong, The Chinese in the Philippine Economy, 75. “Albino Z. SyCip, ’12,” Michigan Alumnus, December 1953, File: Sycip, Albino, U-M Alumni Files, Bentley Historical Library, University of Michigan. Kiang Kang-hu, Jiang Kanghu nanyou huixiang ji, 82. 14 Ibid., 83. Albino Sycip, letter to K. P. Chen, August 3, 1928. Q275-1–2395–102. SMA. Feilübin Mingren, Feilübin Huaqiao, 25; and Albino Sycip, letter to S.C. Chu, October 23, 1929, Q275-1–2395–176, SMA. Parks M. Coble, “The National Salvation Movement and Social Networks in Republican Shanghai,” in At the Crossroads of Empires: Middlemen, Social Networks, and State-Building in Republican Shanghai, eds. Nara Dillon and Jean C. Oi (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2008), 118.

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Because of his connections, Sycip often served as the recruiter or interlocutor for Chinese interests in the Philippines and Philippine interests in China. In 1914, shortly after his return from the United States, Sycip traveled to Shanghai to recruit merchants to showcase their products at the Manila Carnival the following year.18 In the city, Sycip met several members of the Chinese National Products Preservation Society who showed him sample textile products from local factories.19 Applying subtle nationalist-infused shaming, Sycip delivered his pitch, noting that comparable textile producers from England, Germany, France, and Japan dominated the Manila tradeshow. Sycip then discussed the details of the exposition with his Shanghai acquaintances for three full hours before retiring. In recruiting trips like these, Sycip and his colleagues laid the foundations for future partnerships between prominent Chinese in the Philippines and members of China’s business and political elite. Years later, Sycip returned to China to recruit once more for the Manila Carnival, but this time around he was no longer a young and unproven lawyer. In 1928, after he had already made his mark on the world through his leading role in defeating the Bookkeeping Law, successful import–export company, marriage into a prominent Shanghainese family, membership in elite international organizations like the Rotary Club, and position as a director of the China Banking Corporation, he returned to recruit. By this time, he was a Founder. As a result, Sycip traveled directly to Nanjing to meet with the Kuomintang Minister of Finance, H. H. Kung (Kong Xiangxi 孔祥熙), who confided that Sycip had had a “positive influence” on him.20 Kung agreed to sponsor the Chinese trade trip to the Manila Carnival. In a report to the Executive Yuan after the trip, H. H. Kung described how a lot of merchants had taken part in the Far Eastern Exposition of the Manila Carnival.21 While Kung did not personally attend the exposition, 18 19

20

21

Sycip’s selection as cultural ambassador likely had to do with his membership in the Philippine Carnival Association. “Huanying Xiaolüsong shanghui daibiao jishi 歡迎小呂宋商會代表紀事 [Records of the Meeting to Welcome Manila Merchant Representatives],” Shenbao 申報, December 13, 1914. Albino Sycip, letter to K. P. Chen, December 1, 1928, Q275-1–2395–4, SMA. Chinese merchants and artists continued to participate in the annual Manila Carnival, and Sycip and Dee, as members of the Manila Carnival Association, continued to support these exchanges. See “Wu shizhang faqi canjia Feilübin de jianian huahui 吳市長髮起參加菲律 賓的嘉年華會 [Mayor Wu Calls for Participation in the Manila Carnival],” Shenbao 申報, December 16, 1934; and “Fei jianian huahui juxing Zhongguo xiandai shuhua zhanlanhui 菲嘉年華會舉行中國現代書畫展覽會 [Modern Chinese Painting and Calligraphy Exhibition Held at the Manila Carnival],” Shenbao 申報, January 22, 1935. H. H. Kung (Kong Xiangxi 孔祥熙), “Cheng guomin zhengfu xingzhengyuan: zongzi di liu qi san hao 呈國民政府行政院: 縂字第六七三號 [Submitted by the Executive Yuan: Number 673],” Gongshang gongbao 工商公報 [Industry and Commerce Gazette] 1, no. 12 (1929): 1–2.

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he attached a comment from his representative who highlighted the warm atmosphere and pleasant welcome everyone had received at several business banquets. In the report, economic issues quickly faded to the background as Kung’s representative slipped into politics, promising a government of the Three People’s Principles that could both learn from and teach people in the Philippines.22 Just as investment and relationships had led the Founders into politics in Fujian, trade and connections led them into politics in Nanjing. Like Oei Tjoe and Dee C. Chuan, Albino Sycip stumbled upon a government position, but, also like Oei Tjoe and Dee C. Chuan, he passed on the opportunity. In 1928, soon after the formation of the Nanjing government, K. P. Chen (Chen Guangfu 陈光甫), Sycip’s banking colleague from Shanghai, wrote to inform Sycip that H. H. Kung had selected him to serve as the vice-minister of the Board of Industry and Commerce. Chen wrote, “I wired Mr. Kung recommending you for the post because you are the only man, whom I know of having the necessary qualification to do this important work for the country.”23 Sycip must have considered the opportunity, but in the end he informed his colleague, “I cannot entertain such an offer because my ability is not equal to the job.”24 Sycip’s careful fostering of relationships in the United States, the Philippines, and China had begun to bear fruit. An invitation to work directly for the central government in China had dropped at his feet. Supporting China and shaping its future had long occupied the minds of wealthy Chinese in the Philippines. Before the establishment of the Republic, on the heels of the Boxer Rebellion, organizers in Manila had founded a branch of the Protect the Emperor Society.25 In 1911, under the guidance of local Kuomintang leader Tee Han Kee (Zheng Hanqi 鄭 漢淇), a physician whom Albino Sycip would later vouch for in a 1928 correspondence with his Shanghai banking colleagues, Chinese in the Philippines opened a local office of Sun Yatsen’s revolutionary organization, the Tongmenghui. The local branch ended up raising over ₱300,000 for the revolutionary cause.26

22 23

24

25 26

Ibid., 3. K. P. Chen, letter to Albino Sycip, undated, file Q275-1–2395–156, SMA. Though undated, due to its content and location relative to other letters in the collection, the letter was almost certainly written in March 1928. Sycip expanded, “It is not human for one not to feel flattered and pleased to know that he is held in such high esteem by one of the greatest and ablest men and financiers of China.” See Albino Sycip, letter to K. P. Chen, March 18, 1928, file Q275-1–2395–161, SMA. Chu, Chinese and Chinese Mestizos, 53. Tan, The Chinese in the Philippines, 122–127.

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Just like the Nineteenth Route Army, the Kuomintang proactively dispatched allies and advocates to Southeast Asia to rally support for their agenda and raise money. In 1915, for instance, Kuomintang leader Sun Yatsen dispatched Hu Hanmin (胡漢民) to Europe, and on his way there, he stopped by Singapore and Manila.27 At a banquet in the Philippines, Hu delivered a speech disparaging Beiyang leader Yuan Shikai and praising the Kuomintang. He noted for readers back in China that Filipinos in the audience expressed their “enthusiastic approval” to his speech. Although it sounds far-fetched, according to Hu, one spectator could not help but stand up and deliver their own impromptu speech expressing ardent support for China’s revolution.28 With the establishment of the Whampoa Military Academy and the reinvigoration of the Kuomintang in 1924, the Founders and many of their colleagues recommitted to the nationalist organization and its leaders. This, of course, happened just as the Founders began to experiment with provincial politics. Over fifty different Chinese organizations in the Philippines signed on to a letter expressing support for the Kuomintang in 1925. With that support came some suggestions, however, as the letter’s authors wrote, “Chinese citizens should work hard to eliminate domestic compliance with imperialism and the scourge of warlord politicians to plan a reformed China.”29 The Founders had a long list of priorities, and they saw in the Kuomintang a potential avenue to achieve some of their goals. The Kuomintang, for its part, continued its outreach abroad after the success of the Northern Expedition, sending Hu Hanmin on yet another trip to the Philippines in 1929. This time around, Hu met with local congress members and appealed for more support.30 However, after having spent several years of organizing the Save the Hometown Association, which focused almost exclusively on Fujian, and after repeatedly having their hopes dashed with Chinese national politics, Chinese in the Philippines appeared to have lowered their expectations regarding what could be achieved on the national level. Nonetheless, they made efforts to ensure they stood on the right side of Chinese nationalism. While Sycip and other Founders supported nationalist-inspired protests and boycotts, like those that accompanied the 1925 May Thirtieth 27 28 29

30

Hu Hanmin 胡漢民, “Xiao Lüsong de duli wenti 小呂宋的獨立問題 [Question of Philippine Independence],” Xin Yaxiya 新亞細亞 [New Asia] 3 (1931): 1–2. Ibid., 3. “Xiaolüsong Huaqiao duishiju zhi xuanyan 小呂宋華僑對時局之宣言 [Manila Chinese Overseas Declaration on the Current Political Situation],” Minsheng 閩聲 [Fujian Echo] 2 (1925): 140. Wu Chengluo, Feilübin gongshangye kaocha ji, 77.

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movement in China, they tempered that support when money was on the line. Tugging all the right nationalistic heartstrings by recognizing how his “compatriots hated the cruelty and pain of imperialism,” Sycip, as the head of the Chinese Chamber of Commerce of the Philippines, sent a letter to the Shanghai Chamber of Commerce requesting that protestors refrain from boycotting the mixologist Tan Guin Lay’s La Tondeña Distillers.31 Sycip and other Founders feared that their status as wealthy Chinese outside the so-called mainland might link them to imperialist forces during Chinese nationalistic upheavals. After having fumbled through a legal obstacle course put up by the Philippine government with the Bookkeeping Act, the Founders did not want to dive through even more hoops imposed by China. It was tricky to balance Chinese, Philippine, hometown, and personal and professional goals, but Albino Sycip, the communicator, channeled his unique superpowers to glide across the balancing beam. He also helped his Founder colleagues do the same. When his colleague, Guillermo Cu Unjieng, shared a desire to invest in real estate in Hankou, for instance, Sycip sent a letter over to K. P. Chen in Shanghai asking for advice.32 Sycip later sent a follow-up to another Shanghai banking colleague asking if he could secure low-rate loans for both Dee C. Chuan and Cu Unjieng.33 In the next section, we will follow Sycip’s colleague, Cu Unjieng, as he balanced personal and national imperatives. Compadre Cu Unjieng, Camaraderie, and Capital Guillermo Cu Unjieng, the compadre, or co-parent, rocketed from poverty to incredible wealth before falling back through the stratosphere burdened by debt. He first migrated to Manila as a teenager in 1882 where he worked as a cook, cleaner, dyer, and clerk before saving enough to start his own business.34 He got his start in the import–export industry before branching into insurance, real estate, and banking.35 However, when the Great Depression hit, Cu Unjieng found himself overburdened with poorly timed debt. The Shanghai Hong Kong Bank of China filed a lawsuit against him for defrauding the bank, and the case made it all the way to the United States Supreme Court.36 For a time, however, Cu 31

32 33 34

“Feidao Huaqiao xinquan jiuchang chupin zhi shengming 菲島華僑馨泉酒廠出品之聲明 [Statement from the Philippine Chinese Overseas La Tondeña Distillers],” Shenbao申报, September 12, 1925, 15. Albino Sycip, letter to K. P. Chen, April 28, 1928, file Q275-1–2395–143, SMA. Albino Sycip, letter to T. P. Yang, July 21, 1928, file Q275-1–2395–119, SMA; and T. P. Yang, letter to Albino Sycip, July 27, 1928, file Q275-1–2395–118, SMA. Chu, Chinese and Chinese Mestizos, 371. 35 Ibid., 371–373. 36 Ibid., 374.

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Unjieng was one of the wealthiest and most influential residents of Manila. Like many of his Philippine colleagues, Cu Unjieng donated to his hometown and supported Chinese nationalist causes. In 1911, after hearing news of the Wuchang uprising, for instance, Cu Unjieng donated ₱5,000 to the revolutionary army.37 Cu Unjieng also watched out for his own, extending a system of compadrazgo, or co-parenthood, to the Founders. Joshua Kueh describes how this system of “fictive kinship” created “networks of mutual obligation and aid within their own community.”38 In 1904, along with twenty-four other prominent members of the community, Cu Unjieng founded the Manila Chinese Commercial Council – a precursor to the Chamber of Commerce. He served as the first president, and he held the position four more times from 1904 to 1920.39 From this spot, Cu Unjieng nurtured his foundlings and grew his wealth. By the 1920s and 1930s, however, the tables had turned, the compadre having transformed from a powerful agenda setter to a man who relied on his “children” to maintain his waning stature and influence. This was the backdrop to Sycip’s introduction of Guillermo Cu Unjieng to his Shanghai colleagues in the previous section. Sycip had also vouched for Cu Unjieng a year earlier when he first introduced him to K. P. Chen.40 Then, in 1928, after Cu Unjieng had become a “valued client of this bank,” Cu Unjieng sent his son and wife to honeymoon in Shanghai, and the Shanghai bankers played host.41 The relationships grew more multifaceted as personal, professional, and national goals expanded along with the fictive family. Capital and power folded together into a vortex of possibility as the Founders and their colleagues in China strengthened the bonds of their relationship by championing a common cause – the Chinese nation. Dee C. Chuan, in an interview published in a Manila newspaper soon after the Northern Expedition, broadcast his praise for the new Kuomintang government and its leader, Chiang Kai-shek, whom Dee described as “an able general and highly efficient and excellent administrator” whose “honesty is unquestioned.”42 Sycip and Dee also used their positions to 37 38 39 40 41 42

Tan, The Chinese in the Philippines, 127. Kueh, “Adaptive Strategies of Parián Chinese,” 362 and 366. Wilson, Ambition and Identity, 173–175. Albino Sycip, letter to K. P. Chen, February 4, 1927, file Q275-1–2375–113, SMA. T. P. Yang, letter to Albino Sycip, February 3, 1928, file Q275-1–2395–93, SMA. Dee C. Chuan, “The Current Situation in China: Power and Rule of the National Party,” interviewed by William F. La Pointe, file Q275-1–2375–093, SMA. Albino Sycip sent this clipping in a letter to K. P. Chen. See Albino Sycip, letter to K. P. Chen, May 31, 1927, file Q275-1–2375–90, SMA.

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squash rumors circulating in the Philippines that Chiang Kai-shek had been severely injured during the fighting.43 In addition to building business relationships with colleagues in China and making public and private declarations of support for the new Kuomintang government, the Founders also attended to relationships on a more personal level. Dee C. Chuan and Alfonso Sycip, Albino’s older brother and fellow Founder, contributed to a memorial fund for a prominent Shanghai banker who had recently passed.44 Albino also wrote to his Shanghai colleagues, “You and K. P. are my big brothers and so I feel that I have the privilege of expecting you to look after my interests as well as my duty in any matter that may come to your attention.”45 The Founders, perhaps planning for an uncertain future in troubled times, shored up their relationships across China. Cu Unjieng acted as the compadre of Dee C. Chuan, Albino Sycip, Carlos Palanca Tan Guin Lay, and others. Meanwhile, the Founders adopted new “brothers” in the Shanghai bankers who, in turn, developed close if not complicated relationships with those in power in nearby Nanjing.46 In other words, these ultra-privileged capitalists and politicians became part of a convoluted and clamorous extended fictive family. Within this family, Sycip and Dee enjoyed an especially close relationship with the aforementioned Shanghai bankers, K. P. Chen and T. P. Yang (Yang Dunfu 楊敦甫), which would come in handy later when coordinating a meeting between leaders of the Philippines and China.47 These close personal relationships helped build the necessary rapport needed to address complicated political issues, but they would have been far less effective without parallel relationships in the Philippines. The Founders’ fictive kinship networks extended throughout the archipelago. While Cu Unjieng, Sycip, and Dee funneled money into projects in Fujian, Shanghai, and elsewhere in China, they also crafted an image as model Philippine citizens and indispensable members of the proverbial Philippine family. They so effectively embodied this image that even a Chinese author who wrote about them noted, “Chinese overseas from Fujian, except when sending money to their hometowns, kept their investments in Philippine businesses.”48 Strategic investments and carefully 43 44 45 46

47 48

Albino Sycip, letter to K. P. Chen, August 12, 1927, file Q275-1–2375–32, SMA. Albino Sycip, letter to T. P. Yang, March 11, 1931, file Q275-1–491–36, SMA. Ibid. Parks Coble describes how the Kuomintang sought to “emasculate politically the urban capitalists and to milk the modern sector of the economy.” Coble, The Shanghai Capitalists, 3. It reached the point where they sent gifts to one another; see T. P. Yang, letter to Albino Sycip, April 24, 1934, file Q275-1–491–01, SMA. Su Wenlang, Sanshi niandai Feilübin, 81.

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Figure 6.1 Unchong Sycip, Alfonso Z. Sycip, Albino Z. Sycip, and Felisa S. Godinez. From John SyCip family collection provided by efforts of Addie S. Cukingnan and Leslie C. Samaniego.

calibrated friendships brought the Founders influential Filipino “family members.” Some of Dee C. Chuan’s children, for instance, had as godparents “distinguished Filipinos like Manuel Quezon and Sergio Osmena.”49 Finally, in addition to fostering fictive kinships, the Founders and their wealthy colleagues in the Philippines employed a strategy that scholar Aihwa Ong calls “flexible citizenship,” which entailed “acquiring a range of symbolic capitals that . . . facilitate their positioning, economic negotiation, and cultural acceptance in different geographical sites.”50 Scholars like Richard T. Chu have extended Ong’s argument to the Philippines, exploring how Chinese people there used flexible “border-crossing” practices and held “shifting and multiple loyalties.”51 With citizenship laws still fluid in the Philippines, Albino and Alfonso Sycip (Figure 6.1), who 49 50

51

Wong, The Chinese in the Philippine Economy, 76. Ong, Flexible Citizenship, 18. See also Barbara J. Brooks, “Japanese Colonial Citizenship in Treaty Port China: The Location of Koreans and Taiwanese in the Imperial Order,” in New Frontiers: Imperialism’s New Communities in East Asia, 1842–1953, ed. Robert Bickers and Christian Henriot (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2000), 109–124. Chu, Chinese and Chinese Mestizos, 12; and Chu, Chinese Merchants of Binondo, 33.

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were born in the Philippines in the late Spanish colonial period, used their Philippine citizenship to their advantage, while others from the Chinese community maintained their Chinese citizenship and sent their kids to China to keep a foot in both worlds.52 Whereas real families tied the Founders to their hometowns and provincial politics, fictive families and flexible citizenship strategies linked the Founders to China, the Philippines, and a broader world of politics. So, when an opportunity arose for the Founders to make a connection between the leaders of the Philippines and China in 1927, they, like the superheroes they imagined themselves to be, leaped into action. This high-profile and understudied meeting would not have been possible without the extensive networks cultivated by Cu Unjieng, Sycip, Oei Tjoe, and Dee over the preceding years. Quezon’s Quest Manuel L. Quezon, the statesman, occupies a treasured place in Philippine history. He has already appeared several times in this book, so there is no need to detail his life, but a few comments on his upbringing will help set the stage for the story that follows. He was born into a family of teachers in Baler in eastern Luzon in 1878 where he excelled in school, eventually going on to study law at the University of Santo Tomas.53 He temporarily dropped out of the program at Santo Tomas to join the revolutions against Spain and the United States, gaining a reputation as a “fearless, impulsive, quicktempered but kind-hearted” soldier.54 When the war turned south and General Emilio Aguinaldo surrendered, Quezon turned in his rifle, completed his degree, and took up the law.55 From there, he launched a career in politics, serving first in the House of Representatives, then the Senate, then as President of the Commonwealth of the Philippines. Manuel Quezon’s training as a lawyer provided him with a natural connection to the communicator, Albino Sycip. This connection would come in handy when Sycip pulled some strings to introduce Quezon to the leader of the Kuomintang and the Republic of China, Chiang Kai-shek. Before we get there, however, let us set up Quezon’s visit. Sycip laid the 52

53

54

Filomeno V. Aguilar, “Between the Letter and Spirit of the Law: Ethnic Chinese and Philippine Citizenship by Jus Soli, 1899–1947,” Southeast Asian Studies 49, no. 3 (2011): 446; and Wong, The Chinese in the Philippine Economy, 78. Sol H. Gwekoh, Manuel L. Quezon: His Life and Career, A Philippine President Biography (Manila: University Publishing Company, 1948), 8–19. For more on Quezon, see also Elinor Goettel, Eagle of the Philippines: President Manuel Quezon (New York: Julian Messner, 1970); and Manuel Luis Quezon, The Good Fight (New York: D. AppletonCentury, 1946). Gwekoh, Manuel L. Quezon, 24–26. 55 Ibid., 38–41.

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groundwork for the meeting with a preliminary visit to Shanghai in May of 1927, which took place right on the heels of the Shanghai–Nanjing offensive of the Northern Expedition. During his visit, “Sycip conferred with all the high officials of the Nationalist [government] including General Chiang Kai-shek.”56 Sycip’s meeting set the stage for Manuel Quezon’s visit two months later. Manuel Quezon left for Shanghai on the Empress of Asia on July 9, 1927, to “pay his respects to General Chiang Kai Shek.”57 The patron, Oei Tjoe joined Quezon, and the spiritual leader, Dee C. Chuan, promised to make the trip soon after in “service of the national cause.”58 Before making his way to Nanjing to meet with Nationalist leaders, however, Quezon charmed Shanghai’s wealthy with a banquet speech, saying, “I believe that the cause of Nationalist China is the cause of humanity. I think that it is only through the recognition of the fundamental principles of the rights of every nation to be free and independent and on an equal footing with other nations on earth that real peace and universal prosperity throughout the world can be established.”59 Ever the politician, Quezon serenaded his hosts with colorful Enlightenment rhetoric. On July 19, Quezon received a telegram from Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek himself stating, “Your visit to Nanking will be most welcomed.”60 Quezon then proceeded to Nanjing to meet with Kuomintang leaders, like the diplomat Hu Hanmin, whom we encountered earlier, and, of course, Chiang Kai-shek.61 What did Quezon and Chiang discuss during their meeting? Plans to combat communism? Japan and the United States? Enhancing trade relations? Unfortunately, we will never know unless someone uncovers an account of the meeting.

56 57 58 59

60

61

K. P. Chen, letter to Dee C. Chuan and Albino Sycip, July 13, 1927, file Q275-1–2375– 71, SMA. Albino Sycip, letter to K. P. Chen, July 9, 1927, file Q275-1–2375–87, SMA. Ibid. Albino Sycip, letter to K. P. Chen, July 19, 1927, file Q275-1–2375–62, SMA. For more on Quezon’s trip to Shanghai, see Pablo R. Verzosa, “Con Quezon [With Quezon],” La Opinion [The Opinion], July 20, 1927, 1. Honorio and Nancy Evangelista, prominent Shanghai Filipinos who appeared in Chapter 1, hosted Quezon during one of his banquets. Chiang Kai-shek, letter to Rafael Trias, July 19, 1927, box 11, file 4, Manuel Luis Quezon Papers, National Library of the Philippines. Chiang also informed Quezon that H. H. Kung had sent his apologies for not being able to join. The recipient of the letter, Rafael Trias, served as Manuel Quezon’s secretary at the time. A Shenbao article noted that they discussed “everything (磋商一切)” at their meeting; see “Zongshanghui deng qianri gongyan Fei yizhang 總商會等前日公宴斐議長 [The Shanghai Chamber of Commerce and other Organizations Hosted a Banquet for the Philippine Senate Leader Yesterday],” Shenbao 申報, July 19, 1927.

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Nonetheless, the symbolic value of their encounter cannot be understated.62 As the highest-ranking Filipino official, Quezon granted Chiang’s government a type of recognition that no other major power had yet extended. For Chiang, Quezon’s visit represented a de facto recognition of his newly established Nanjing government. For Quezon, the Nanjing trip provided an opportunity to act as an autonomous and proactive head of state who pursued his own foreign policy and agenda. Chiang’s reception of Quezon represented a de facto recognition of Philippine autonomy. For both the as-yet unsecure Kuomintang government and the colonially occupied Philippine government, the meeting served as an important political statement. And it would not have been possible without the Founders, who rallied different members of their disparate fictive family to make it happen. After Quezon had safely returned to the Philippines, Dee and Sycip sent a letter to Chen thanking him for hosting Quezon and organizing the meeting. They wrote, “We know that all of the courtesies President Quezon receives in Shanghai are entirely due to your efforts.”63 For his part, Chen expressed his admiration for Quezon. Chen wrote, “I saw him [Quezon] several times during his sojourn and am impressed that he is a very enlightened and energetic leader. He assured me that he would endeavor to promote a still better feeling between our people and the Philippinos [sic].”64 The Chinese Consul General in the Philippines likewise praised Quezon for “strengthening of the bond of friendship.”65 Like a superhero politician, Manuel Quezon sliced through international quandaries with the sword of diplomacy. For the Founders, the newly extended fictive family came with upkeep costs but tangible benefits. While most people had to rely on news reports radioed into news offices, Albino Sycip used his direct connections in Shanghai to get the most recent updates on events in China.66 Sycip no doubt used this information to align the financial decisions of the China Banking Corporation. After receiving an update on the Northern Expedition 62 63 64 65

66

For more on this meeting, see Guingona, “The Sundry Acquaintances of Dr. Albino Z. Sycip,” 27–52. Dee C. Chuan and Albino Sycip, letter to K. P. Chen, July 18, 1927, file Q275-1–2375– 63, SMA. K. P. Chen, letter to Albino Sycip, July 29, 1927, file Q275-1–2375–46, SMA. H. K. Kwong (Kuang Xukun 鄺煦堃), “Joined in Friendship [Youyi 友谊],” in The Fookien Times Special Edition Commemorating Its Fourth Anniversary, 1926–30 [Xinmin ribao sizhou jinian Yuandan tekan 新閩日報四週紀念元旦特刊] (Manila: Fookien Times Publishing Company, 1930), unnumbered. See, for instance, K. P. Chen, letter to Albino Sycip, August 17, 1927, file Q275-1–2375– 11, SMA; and K. P. Chen, letter to Albino Sycip, August 27, 1927, file Q275-1–2375– 10, SMA.

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from K. P. Chen later in 1927, Sycip returned an inspiring message, writing “In spite of the many adverse reports I feel quite confident that those who truly fight for the cause of nationalism, democracy and humanitarianism will . . . win at the end.”67 Dee C. Chuan and Albino Sycip, rallying the Founders, put their wallets where their mouths were, organizing the sale of a staggering ¥60 million in bonds for the Nationalist cause.68 But it was a small price to pay for membership to this powerful fictive family. Over the years, Albino Sycip helped orchestrate other prominent political exchanges.69 For instance, he introduced representatives of the Radio Corporation of the Philippines to Nationalist leaders in China to help work on technology transfers.70 However, no introduction topped that of Quezon. The Founders, along with their second adopted hero, Manuel L. Quezon, worked hard to achieve and ensure Chinese national unity even while, with their first adopted hero, Cai Tingkai, they struggled to achieve Hokkien national objectives. In the end, the arrival of the Second World War mobilized a powerful Chinese nationalist sentiment that tilted the scales toward China and its salvation. Part III Conclusion, “National” Salvation With the rise of Japanese militarism, Chinese overseas and the Kuomintang spearheaded the “National Salvation Movement,” which is an umbrella term used to describe a series of boycotts, protests, fundraisers, and other resistance measures implemented to resist Japanese military encroachments.71 Alfonso Sycip, a Founder who led the Chamber of Commerce at the outbreak of the Second Sino–Japanese War, formed the Philippine Resist the Enemy Committee, which helped raise nearly ¥260,000 for Chinese forces by August 1937.72 The Chinese Women’s Association of the Philippines, meanwhile, also raised money for war goods, including airplanes.73 In other words, the Founders and 67 68

69

70 71 72

73

Albino Sycip, letter to K. P. Chen, August 12, 1927, file Q275-1–2375–29, SMA. Albino Sycip and Dee C. Chuan, letter to K. P. Chen, August 10, 1927, file Q2751–2375–18, SMA; and Albino Sycip, letter to K. P. Chen, July 27, 1927, file Q2751–2375–48, SMA. Albino and his brother Alfonso continued to politick after the war as “cold warriors,” serving as key go-betweens for the Chinese Nationalists, Filipino politicians, and Americans. See Kung, Diasporic Cold Warriors, 83–86. Albino Sycip, letter to K. P. Chen, July 20, 1927, file Q275-1–2375–58, SMA. Coble, “The National Salvation Movement,” 110. Yoji, The Nanyang Chinese National Salvation Movement, 44. For Alfonso Sycip’s role in banking, see Lewis E. Gleek, The Manila Americans (1901–1964) (Manila: Carmelo & Bauermann, 1977), 123. Ibid., 50. According to Yoji, the Chinese in the Philippines raised more per capita than any other Chinese group in Southeast Asia. See ibid., 45.

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their allies continued their pattern of fundraising and financial support during the war. This does not mean that they forgot about Fujian, though. Back in 1927, after praising General Chiang Kai-shek and the Nationalist cause in a well-publicized interview, the spiritual leader Dee C. Chuan confided that even though he believed in “strong central government as do all Chinese Nationalists,” he still hoped that the new regime would provide a form of “provincial autonomy like that of the United States.”74 In other words, Dee hoped to achieve the best of both worlds: a united Chinese government, and an autonomous and secure Fujian. As historian Liu Hong observes, “there was an increasing tendency during the first half of the twentieth century to link localistic agendas with broader nationalist issues.”75 Chinese and Fujianese nationalistic issues became intertwined as leading Hokkien people in diaspora began to reconcile dueling nationalisms. Through the years, as the Founders built their wealth and created new infrastructure for investment and influence, some things remained unchanged. The Founders continued to be blinded by their privilege and stymied by the limits of their capital interventions. They attempted to augment their social and financial capital by using citizenship and fictive kinship, and they attempted to leverage that social and financial capital to influence politics. They remained faithful to both their hometowns and the broader, more amorphous Chinese geo-body, though the war demanded outsized attention to the latter. And, through it all, they remained committed to one another and confident in their diverse, if not always effective, superpowers.

74

Dee, “The Current Situation in China.”

75

Liu, “Bridges Across,” 107.

Part IV

The Pivot

Where diplomats have failed, where the spirit of Christianity itself failed . . . these games have wrought a most happy and auspicious accomplishment.1 Ramon Navas, 1921

The people of the Far East will be bound together not by diplomatic ties and international treaties but by the cord of mutual understanding which, if you please, I shall call it the placenta of sportsmanship.2 Felipe Laguatan, 1934

Introduction A few days before the start of the Fifth Far Eastern Championship Games on May 30, 1921, Filipino athletes found themselves stranded midstream in the always-crowded Huangpu River, which dissects the metropolis of Shanghai. Not literally stranded, mind you, as people could technically disembark from the chartered coast guard vessel that would serve as their home for the next several weeks, the Bustamante. However, it would still be two days before officials in Shanghai cleared space for them at the China Merchant’s Lower Wharf and contracted trucks to transport athletes to and from the practice facilities.3 Some on board the vessel might have interpreted this delay as an ominous portent of things to come, but then again, not all athletes are so superstitious. In Shanghai, after finally docking, these Filipino athletes and coaches, along with the many delegates, spectators, and sportswriters who make a memorable Olympics possible, prepared to join

1 2 3

Ramon Navas, “How They Came and Saw and Conquered,” Philippines Free Press, June 18, 1921. Felipe Laguatan, “The Far Eastern Games – Its Origin and Significance,” in Tenth Far Eastern Olympiad (Manila: The Sports Review, 1934), 85. “Osias Wrote on Filipino Athletes’ Prospects of Victory,” The Manila Times, June 4, 1921. See also Camilo Osias, “The First Victory of Filipino Athletes on Foreign Soil,” The Philippine Review [Revista Filipina] 6, nos. 8–9 (August–September 1921): 393–397.

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their peers from Japan and China in what would prove to be a key moment of coalescence. Historian Paul A. Cohen describes how the “coalescence” of individual lives combine into the collective actions that we refer to as “events.”4 The Far Eastern Championship Games, a monumental event that brought people together and dominated the news cycle for two weeks over the summer of 1921, reveals the depth and durability of Sino–Philippine interactions that we have slowly documented over the course of this book. Sports arenas, lecture halls, and business boardrooms blended together as athletes acted as cultural ambassadors, educators served as politicians, businesspeople became lobbyists, and pundits turned into soothsayers. Sport transformed into a nexus for nationalism and a conduit for transnationalism, connecting people and their divergent social and political agendas. However, whereas the 1921 Games acted as a moment of coalescence, the 1934 Games encapsulated an era of disintegration. In 1934, the intense conversations in the boardrooms in Manila that would eventually lead to the dissolution of the Far Eastern Athletic Association and the end to the Games sidelined the action on the courts. But it did not have to end this way. The years in between the Fifth and Tenth Far Eastern Championship Games represented a period of possibilities when physical education specialists from China, the Philippines, and Japan, many of whom were veterans of the Games, journeyed to Springfield College to study sports and health in the United States before returning to Asia to carry the baton of sports leadership. This period of overlapping trajectories and missions no doubt brought these Asian students together, but any good will they might have built during this time came to naught as war approached, the Games unraveled, and destinies diverged in 1934. The chapters that follow complete our tour of the Sino–Philippine link by journeying through the arenas, classrooms, boardrooms, and stadiums that brought everyone together and eventually tore everyone apart. They argue that, while contact between China and the Philippines remained robust, bilateral, and multifaceted throughout the early twentieth century, 1921 marked a highpoint of cooperation and possibilities, and 1934 marked a turn toward disillusionment and disengagement.

4

Paul A. Cohen, History in Three Keys: The Boxers as Event, Experience, and Myth (New York: Columbia University Press, 1997), 65.

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Sports, Events, and Area Studies Famous sports historian J. A. Mangan once described how Victorians viewed sports as the “imperial umbilical cord” of the British Empire that linked together a “white imperial fraternity.”5 Felipe Laguatan, who served as the physical director of the Far Eastern University in the Philippines, were he a contemporary of Mangan, might have responded with the equally gendered metaphor that starts this section, emphasizing instead regional and trans-imperial connections. Curious metaphors aside, sports historians have shown how athletics connected people through lofty ideals of sportspersonship, a sense of shared struggle, and flawed notions of superiority and destiny, and the chapters in this part draw from and extend these interventions. Sports brought a stadium of cheering fans from different walks of life together to join in a shared mission and passion. Yet sports historians are torn when addressing the location of sports in life and society in Asia. Some scholars, such as Fan Hong, portray sports as a fundamentally liberating force, especially for Asian women, whereas others, such as Andrew Morris, focus more on the role of sports in national awakenings.6 More broadly, when theorizing sports, scholars tend to privilege “the ‘Western civilizing mission’ and Asian resistance” to that mission in their research.7 Nonetheless, sports historians have carried critical race and gender studies, and inquiries into nation and empire, to new theoretical lengths, and this part takes advantage of the good field position they have established. Furthermore, by focusing on the Japan– China–Philippines sports triangle, this part pivots across not just imperial boundaries, but what has become another ingrained but controversial geographical and disciplinary division separating the Philippines from its “East Asian” peers: area studies. 5

6

7

J. A. Mangan, “Prologue: Britain’s Chief Spiritual Export: Imperial Sport as Moral Metaphor, Political Symbol and Cultural Bond,” in The Cultural Bond: Sport, Empire, Society, ed. J. A. Mangan (London: Routledge, 1992), 6. Fan Hong and Lu Zhouxiang, “Introduction: The Asian Century and Asian Sport,” in The Routledge Handbook of Sport in Asia, ed. Fan Hong and Lu Zhouxiang (London: Routledge, 2020), 1–7; Fan Hong, Footbinding, Feminism, and Freedom: The Liberation of Women’s Bodies in Modern China (London: F. Cass, 1997); and Andrew D. Morris, Marrow of the Nation: A History of Sport and Physical Culture in Republican China (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2004). For the quote, see Stefan Huebner, Pan-Asian Sports and the Emergence of Modern Asia, 1913–1974 (Singapore: National University of Singapore Press, 2016), 3. For other examples of sports as imperial resistance, see Richard Holt, Sport and the British: A Modern History (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1990), 203–235; C. L. R. James, Beyond a Boundary (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1993); and Theresa Runstedtler, Jack Johnson, Rebel Sojourner: Boxing in the Shadow of the Global Color Line (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2012).

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Scholars of Southeast Asia from Japan, the United States, and Australia have defended the coherence of Southeast Asia as a region in a push for funding and relevance, but many recognize the inherent contradictions and limitations of this formulation.8 The original impetus behind area studies lies in the creation of specialized knowledge and interdisciplinary programs to support geopolitical objectives.9 Most scholars will point to Cold War political considerations when identifying the entrenchment of “Southeast Asia,” and sometimes “East Asia,” in academia, but others, especially from China and Japan, point to the much longer history of Nanyang (南洋), or South Seas, research.10 Either way, the artificial constructs of “Southeast Asia” or “Nanyang,” which lack the same political momentum and imperatives that nations possess and empires possessed, have produced influential and foundational transnational research.11 The objective of the chapters that follow is not to reject this research, but to build on and incorporate it into a revamped and boundary-flexing playbook. Curiously, despite their many contributions, area studies specialists and sports historians have devoted considerable space to secondguessing their own relevance.12 Nonetheless, they have largely agreed 8

9

10

11

12

For a defense of the concept of Southeast Asia, see Paul Kratoska, Remco Raben, and Henk Schulte Nordholt, “Locating Southeast Asia,” in Locating Southeast Asia: Geographies of Knowledge and Politics of Space, ed. Paul Kratoska, Remco Raben, and Henk Schulte Nordholt (Singapore: Singapore University Press, 2005), 1–19; and Anthony Reid, “Southeast Asian Studies: Decline or Rebirth?” in Southeast Asian Studies: Pacific Perspectives, ed. Anthony Reid (Tempe, AZ: Monograph Series Press, Arizona State University, 2003), 1–23. Outside of political organizations in Southeast Asia, the concept has largely failed to take hold among Southeast Asians themselves. Critiques generally boil down to some version of Arjun Appadurai’s observation that “histories produce geographies and not vice versa.” See Appadurai, The Future as Cultural Fact, 66. See also Subrahmanyam, “Connected Histories,” 742–743. John Bowen, “The Development of Southeast Asian Studies in the United States,” in The Politics of Knowledge: Area Studies and the Disciplines, ed. David Szanton (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2004), 386–425. See, for instance, Chan, Diaspora’s Homeland, 48–74; Bernards, Writing the South Seas; Leander Seah, “Between East Asia and Southeast Asia: Nanyang Studies, Chinese Migration, and National Jinan University, 1927–1940,” Translocal Chinese: East Asian Perspectives 11, no. 1 (2017): 30–56; and Zhou Yuhong 周玉红 and Zhang Yinglong 张应 龙, “Li Changfu xiansheng dui Zhongguo Huaqiaohuaren yanjiu de xueshu gongxian 李 长傅先生对中国华侨华人研究的学术贡献 [Li Changfu’s Contribution to Chinese Overseas Research],” Bagui qiaokan 八桂侨刊 [Overseas Chinese Journal of Bagui], no. 4 (2009): 12–16. For examples from Southeast Asia, see Anderson, The Spectre of Comparisons; Anthony Reid, Southeast Asia in the Age of Commerce, 1450–1680 (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1988–1993); and James C. Scott, The Art of Not Being Governed: An Anarchist History of Upland Southeast Asia (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2010). For more on this debate, see Amy Bass, “State of the Field: Sports History and the ‘Cultural Turn,’” The Journal of American History 101, no. 1 (2014): 148–172; Sebastian Conrad and Prasenjit Duara, Viewing Regionalisms from East Asia

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on the necessity of fostering links with related subdisciplines, latching their research to the literary turn, cultural turn, affective turn, and transnational turn.13 This section follows this interdisciplinary path by tying the rope of sports history to the carabiner of area studies and latching it to the three key events along the pitch. It follows other area studies scholars who have explored and imagined new regions, such as highland Asia, or Zomia, littoral or maritime Asia, the Asia-Pacific, and inter-Asia.14 It also draws inspiration from Willem van Schendel, a critic of area studies who argues that “one practical way of strengthening cross-area intellectual engagement is to ‘follow the Southeast Asians’ to the non-West.”15 This part likewise ascends to new heights by following athletes and their entourages across and beyond the East–Southeast Asia divide. Events and event history are the bolts that allow for the safe execution of this methodological maneuver. Event historians key in on points of inflection, often narrowing the temporal scope to a single year, if not a single day, to slowly climb the mountain of history.16 Ray Huang, for instance, in his detailed account of day-to-day activities in the Wanli court, outlines subtle signs of disarray and corruption during what otherwise might have been considered a “year of no significance,” 1587.17

13 14

15

16

17

(Washington, DC: American Historical Association, 2013); Natalie Koch, “Is a ‘Critical’ Area Studies Possible?” Environment and Planning D: Society and Space 34, no. 5 (2016): 807–814; and Willem van Schendel, “Southeast Asia: An Idea Whose Time Is Past?” Journal of the Humanities and Social Sciences of Southeast Asia and Oceania 168, no. 4 (2012): 497–510. For a brief summary of these “turns,” see Cahn, “Turn, Turn, Turn.” See, for example, Barbara Watson Andaya, “Oceans Unbounded: Transversing Asia Across ‘Area Studies,’” Journal of Asian Studies 65, no. 4 (2006): 669–690; Ho, “InterAsian Concepts for Mobile Societies”; Tessa Morris-Suzuki, “Anti-Area Studies,” Communal/Plural 8, no. 1 (2000): 9–23; van Schendel, “Geographies of Knowing”; Wolf Schäfer, “Reconfiguring Area Studies for the Global Age,” Globality Studies Journal 22 (2010): 1–27; and Wong, “Comparing States and Regions in East Asia and Europe.” Although China and the Philippines might not be what Jeppe Mulich has in mind when he writes about the “inter-imperial microregion,” his idea about this amorphous space and interactions within it also informs my thinking in this part. See Mulich, In a Sea of Empires, esp. 21–22. van Schendel, “Southeast Asia,” 502. See also Kenneth Pomeranz, “Presidential Address: Histories for a Less National Age,” American Historical Review 119, no. 1 (2014): 1–22; and Schäfer, “Reconfiguring Area Studies for the Global Age,” 1–27. Other historians narrow in on “episodes” or cases. See, for instance, Furth, Zeitlin, and Hsiung, Thinking in Cases; and Vicente L. Rafael, White Love and Other Events in Filipino History (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2000). Ray Huang, 1587, A Year of No Significance (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1981). The this-year-in-history narrative has almost evolved into a genre of its own. For other examples, see William K. Klingaman and Nicholas P. Klingaman, The Year without Summer: 1816 and the Volcano that Darkened the World and Changed History (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 2013); Mark Kurlansky, 1968: The Year that Rocked the World (New York: Random House, 2005); Charles C. Mann, 1493: Uncovering the Near World Columbus Created (New York: Vintage Books, 2011); Tian Yuan Tan,

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Heather Streets-Salter similarly focuses on a relatively understudied and brief Indian mutiny in Singapore in 1915 to write a compelling narrative of World War I in a global frame.18 Perhaps the most extreme example of this chronological squeezing comes in James Carter’s Champions Day, which grabs onto a single day in 1941 to tell the story of a rapidly changing city during World War II.19 This temporal narrowing allows for a more careful and precise climb through seemingly mundane events, transforming them into symbols of broader changes. As Paul A. Cohen observes, events “acquire lives of their own, partly as symbols and metaphors, partly as organizing concepts that enable historians and other scrutinizers of the past to describe and analyze ‘what happened.’”20 If we leverage the interventions of sports historians and area studies scholars to focus on the Far Eastern Championship Games of 1921 and 1934, as well as the Springfield interlude that fell in between, as events, we can better appreciate their historical locations and implications. This part attempts to bring us to the mountaintop, offering a panoramic view of the Sino–Philippine link and the vast oceans of history and historiography that surround it.

18 20

Paul Edmondson, and Shih-pe Wang, eds., 1616: Shakespeare and Tang Xianzu’s China (London: Bloomsbury, 2016); and John E. Wills, 1688: A Global History (New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 2001). Streets-Salter, World War One in Southeast Asia. 19 Carter, Champions Day. Cohen, History in Three Keys, 65.

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Coalescence 1921, a Year of Promise

Establishing Goalposts in Shanghai Let us return to Shanghai in 1921. After the Filipino athletes finally alighted from the Bustamante, which had been waiting in the Huangpu River, they found their way to the courts in the Hongkou district of the thriving metropolis. On May 30, although “bad weather prevailed,” the Filipino athletes joined others to march in the opening parade in front of a “vast crowd,” which, by some estimates, totaled 150,000 by the Games’ end.1 Dr. Chengting Thomas Wang (Wang Zhengting 王正廷), the famous politician and president of the Far Eastern Championship Games, and director J. H. Gray, head of the YMCA in China, welcomed all to the fields of competition. For eager onlookers, this iteration of the Games brought extra drama as some media talking heads, for the first time, identified the visiting team from the Philippines as the “best all-around.”2 While talented Japanese, Filipino, and Chinese athletes took to the fields, spectators, commentators, and analysts dissected, pontificated on, and, on some occasions, torched performers and performances. At the same time, politicians and businesspeople used the occasion to deliver speeches among high company in boardrooms and lecture halls. Military leaders and educators, meanwhile, linked their industries to the competitions, looking to both recruit and legitimize their objectives through sport. And individual spectators themselves, as James H. Mills notes, carried the stories of the competition back “with them into the community, not simply as a tale to be told but as an experience to be related and relived.”3 In other words, as is the case today, the action on the playing

1

2 3

“Consider Philippines Has Best All-Around Squad at Shanghai Olympic Games,” The Manila Times, May 31, 1921; and Hoh Gunsun (Hao Gengsheng 郝更生), Physical Education in China [Zhongguo tiyu gailun 中國體育概論] (Shanghai: Shangwu yinshuguan 上海 : 商務印書館, 1926), 117. “Consider Philippines Has Best All-Around Squad,” The Manila Times. James H. Mills, ed., Subaltern Sports: Politics and Sport in South Asia (London: Anthem Press, 2005), 3.

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field ricocheted well beyond the field’s boundary like a foul ball, impacting various facets of society.4 Although news of the 1921 Far Eastern Championship Games might have had a shorter shelf life than contemporaneous political events, like the Wood–Forbes Mission in the Philippines, and although sports news likely had less of a tangible impact on daily life for most people, coverage of the Games plastered the pages of nearly every periodical in China and the Philippines, easily garnering more attention and interest than tired political issues. Sports were simply more interesting. Historian Lang Jing (郎净), noting how sports had “became part of everyday life,” tallied sixty sport-related articles in the premier Shanghai newspaper Shenbao during a single month in 1921.5 The Far Eastern Championship Games, the precursor to the postwar Asian Games, rotated between China, Japan, and the Philippines. American YMCA officials from China and the Philippines got the ball rolling for the competitions by organizing the first Games in 1913, but the leadership of the organization gradually shifted hands to regional professionals.6 Japanese representatives joined the Far Eastern Athletic Association, the organization that administered the Games, soon after its creation, but no other permanent members joined until 1934 when the Dutch East Indies became a member and sent a delegation.7 The Games thus formed a sportive triangle between China, Japan, and the Philippines during its heyday. At the Games, athletes competed in team sports, such as volleyball, soccer, baseball, and basketball; individual sports, such as tennis and swimming; as well as track and field events. For the most part, China performed well in team sports, like soccer and volleyball, Japan excelled in the swimming events, and Filipinos shined in track and field. Each event 4

5

6

7

Sports historians have long assessed the impact of sports off the field. For studies on the intersection of politics, race, and sport, see the classics: Harry Edwards, The Revolt of the Black Athlete, 50th Anniversary Edition (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2017); and Runstedtler, Jack Johnson, Rebel Sojourner. Lang Jing 郎净, 近代体育在上海 Jindai tiyu zai Shanghai (1840–1937) [Modern Sports in Shanghai] (Shanghai: Shanghai shehui kexueyuan chubanshe 上海 : 上海社会科学院出版 社, 2006), 152. For a brief introduction to the Far Eastern Championship Games, see Ikuo Abe, “Historical Significance of the Far Eastern Championship Games: An International Political Arena,” in Olympic Japan: Ideals and Realities of (Inter)Nationalism, ed. Andreas Niehaus and Max Seinsch (Würzburg: Ergon Verlag, 2007), 67–87; Fan Hong, “Prologue: The Origin of the Asian Games: Power and Politics,” Sport in Society 8, no. 3 (2005): 392–403; Huebner, Pan-Asian Sports, 17–73; and Morris, Marrow of the Nation. Siam and India also sent small delegations to different tournaments. The Western Asiatic Games started shortly after the Far Eastern Championship Games, but it shared a similar trajectory. For more on the Western Asiatic Games, see Huebner, Pan-Asian Sports, 74–101.

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carried with it a certain number of points that, when tallied up at the end of the Games, revealed an overall champion country for the tournament, much like the medal count at today’s Olympics. In 1921, breaking with past patterns, the Philippine team carried away the overall championship with ninety-nine points, while Japan came in second with eighty-two, and China brought up the rear with a disappointing thirty-two points.8 It was the first time that the home team, which had logistical advantages in the competitions, failed to secure the overall victory. For Chinese pundits, most events disappointed, but the men’s swimming events of 1921 proved particularly scandalous. Japanese and Filipino athletes carried off the medals in every single men’s swimming competition, and in the 100-meter backstroke, Chinese swimmers failed to even qualify for the championship round.9 This setback led Chinese commentators to grasp for answers, especially with the weight of global orientalist tropes that portrayed Chinese men as “feeble, effeminate, and devious” on their shoulders.10 The astute physical educator Hoh Gunsun (Hao Gengsheng 郝更生), reflecting on the poor performance in his monograph five years later, attributed the defeat to the turmoil surrounding the May Fourth movement. He lamented, “Had it not been for . . . the disturbed student life of 1919 and 1920 . . . China would undoubtedly have acquitted herself much better than she did.”11 Some Chinese pundits, on the other hand, dismissed the impact of political upheaval on China’s poor performance, instead attributing the losses to what they perceived as racial differences. One Chinese commentator, for example, credited Japanese and Filipino success at swimming competitions to their being “island people.”12 Though a far cry from Herbert Spencer’s articulation of race in Principles of Biology, this description of Filipinos and Japanese as “island people” contained its own deterministic, racialized logic.13 Furthermore, the commentator overlooked the lakes, river systems, and 9,000-mile coast of China in his 8

9

10 11 12 13

“Filipino Athletes Made Total of 99 Points in Winning Far Eastern Olympiad at Shanghai,” The Manila Times, June 6, 1921. See also “Filipino Athletes Won Track Honors During Downpour of Rain,” The Manila Times, June 5, 1921. “Filipino Athletes Exceeded All Expectations in Winning First Place in Olympic Meet,” The Manila Times, June 8, 1921; and You Xiong 幼雄, “Diwuci Yuandong yundonghui jishi 第五次遠東運動會紀實 [Recordings of the Fifth Far Eastern Championship Games],” Dongfang zazhi 东方杂志 [Eastern Miscellany] 18, no. 11 (1921): 19. Nicolas Schillinger, The Body and Military Masculinity in Late Qing and Early Republican China: The Art of Governing Soldiers (Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2016), 2. Hoh Gunsun, Physical Education, 116. You Xiong, “Diwuci Yuandong yundonghui,” 19. For an overview of changing Chinese conceptions of “race” over the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, see Frank Dikötter, The Discourse of Race in Modern China (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1992).

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analysis, instead highlighting circumstances that gave Japanese and Filipinos a competitive advantage. Commentators from the Philippines, for their part, also used race to diagnose athletes and dissect performances. Adopting a more optimistic and ameliorative tone, American colonial officials and Filipino and American educators touted sports as a means of racial “improvement.” For example, a representative of the Philippine Amateur Athletic Federation stated, “It is our belief that the Filipino can be made to grow taller and bigger; that the stock of the race can be improved considerably, despite many handicaps.”14 In other words, some Filipinos used perceived racial qualities as a means to discuss growth and potential, and sports became a measuring stick for that growth. Racially informed gossip percolated through the print media, but these commentaries, which steered readers through the endless recesses of hypotheticals and hyperbole, theoretically drew from the competitions themselves, which mostly produced a clear winner and loser. Losing can be difficult, especially when many people are watching and some of those people draft commentaries about said losing, but, if one could lose gracefully, it would send a powerful message. As historian David G. McComb points out, “it is a common cliché that sports reveal the values of a society.”15 For nationalistic commentators, a properly executed humble loss could demonstrate civilizational quality and values. Powerful people had already set the stage for Filipino commentators to execute such civilizational flexing. An influential American in the Philippine Department of Education, for instance, praised how young Filipinos knew how to lose.16 Meanwhile, a Filipino commentator said, the “ability to acknowledge defeat gracefully and generously” – or, in other words, to adhere to the nebulous rules and procedures of sportspersonship – weighed on athletes at the Games.17 So, when elite Filipino ballers succumbed to the upstart Chinese basketball team in Shanghai, their sportspersonship, and therefore their civilizational status, was put to the test.

14

15 16

17

Philippine Amateur Athletic Federation, Physical and Vocational Education (Manila: Philippine Amateur Athletic Federation, 1921), quoted in Celia Bocobo Olivar, History of Physical Education in the Philippines (Quezon City: University of the Philippines Press, 1972), 48. David G. McComb, Sports in World History (London: Routledge, 2004), 4. This statement came from O. Garfield Jones. See Lou Antolihao, Playing with the Big Boys: Basketball, American Imperialism, and Subaltern Discourse in the Philippines (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2015), 50. This is Jorge B. Vargas’ definition of sportspersonship. See Jorge B. Vargas, “Vargas Appeals for Cooperation and Patronage of the Xth Far Eastern Championship Games,” in Tenth Far Eastern Olympiad (Manila: The Sports Review, 1934), 87.

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Digesting Defeat Shanghai commentators hyped the men’s basketball match between China and the Philippines by unleashing a timeless sports metaphor, labeling the game a “war (戰),” as opposed to a “competition (賽).”18 This language was not unusual considering the close connection between military training and physical education in China, but the weight of the word still made it stand out in the sports section.19 Leading the Chinese team into “battle” was the “Flying General (飞将军)” himself, Sun Li-jen (Sun Liren 孫立人), who would later become one of Nationalist China’s most esteemed military generals, leading actual Chinese armies into actual battles.20 To cut to the chase, China won the “war,” but not without controversy. One Philippine newspaper recorded the final score as thirty to twentyseven in favor of China, while several papers from China reported thirtytwo to twenty-seven.21 This disagreement over the score reflected the controversy on the court where both sides demonstrated gritty determination. Keep in mind that the match took place before the invention of the twenty-four-second clock, so most games took the form of low-scoring grudge matches. Effort aside, the unexpected loss embarrassed the starstudded team from the Philippines. One Filipino athlete, when questioned about the game upon his return home, implied that his team had lost due to poor refereeing, noting to deaf ears that he “wants to forget the unpleasant past, and he asked that nothing of it be mentioned in this story.”22 In other words, this athlete lost both the game and the opportunity to spin the loss into amorphous civilizational points. On the other side of the court, the basketball victory carried extra significance for China. After all, the Philippine national team, which would later be christened the “Islanders” by fans at the Berlin Olympics in 1936, had earned a dream team-esque reputation for greatness.23 Long before Stephen Curry and other NBA stars wowed viewers with their elite 18 19 20 21

22 23

You Xiong, “Diwuci Yuandong yundonghui,” 19; and Morris, Marrow of the Nation, 96. For more on sports as war, see McComb, Sports in World History, 20 and 28. For more on military training and physical education in China, see Schillinger, The Body and Military Masculinity, 49–94. Li Hongwen 李洪文, Sun Liren quanzhuan 孙立人全传 [A Biography of Sun Liren] (Beijing: Tuanjie chubanshe 北京 : 团结出版社, 2016), 32. “Track and Field Championship Cinched by Filipino Athletes,” The Manila Times, June 1, 1921; “Yuandong yundonghui 遠東運動會 [Notes from the Far Eastern Championship Games],” Xuesheng Zazhi 學生雜志 [Student’s Magazine] 8, no. 7 (1921): 43; You Xiong, “Diwuci Yuandong yundonghui,” 19. “How They Came,” Philippines Free Press. Jorge Afable, ed., Philippine Sports Greats (Mandaluyong: MAN Publishers, 1972), 2. Li Hongwen stresses the significance of the victory for China in his biography of Sun Liren. See Li Hongwen, Sun Liren quanzhuan, 32.

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handles, these Filipino pioneers would “dribble the spheroid behind their backs.”24 Out of a total of ten Far Eastern Championship Games from 1913 to 1934, the Philippine team won every basketball tournament with the glaring exception of 1921’s, when they succumbed to China and the “Flying General.”25 In other words, the Chinese victory while “playing with the big boys,” to turn a metaphor by historian Lou Antolihao on its head, was a big deal.26 In fact, any Chinese victory against a Philippine basketball team led to celebrations in China. Eight years later, when Nankai University defeated the University of the Philippines in an exhibition match in Tianjin, one delighted Chinese editor gushed, “Nankai triumphed 37 to 33, sending the awe-inspiring Filipino team fleeing with their arms over their heads.”27 Basketball, which grew in popularity in China and the Philippines around the same time that it took off in the United States, provided a new channel of interaction for Chinese and Filipino competitors. In both countries, colleges and universities promoted international friendlies, sports federations organized tournaments, and media heads crafted new meanings and sponsored new rivalries.28 Soccer, which provided another such avenue for interaction, somewhat balanced the playing field for China and the Philippines. In front of rowdy crowd, the highly favored men’s team from Hong Kong added yet another trophy in 1921.29 Whereas Filipinos dominated the basketball competitions, Chinese athletes often triumphed in soccer at the Far Eastern Championship Games, leading Filipinos to invite Chinese teams to the islands to help Filipino players improve, but these invitations seem to have provided little benefit to the Filipino hosts.30 Not mincing words, 24 25 26 27

28

29 30

Afable, ed., Philippine Sports Greats, 3. Christian Bocobo and Beth Celis, Legends and Heroes of Philippine Basketball (Manila: The House Printers, 2004), 16. Antolihao uses this phrase to describe the Filipino mindset when playing basketball against others. See, Antolihao, Playing with the Big Boys, 7. “Feilibin daxue lanqiudui dabai ertao 菲立濱大學籃球隊大敗而逃 [University of the Philippines Basketball Team is Defeated and Flees],” Zhongguo xuesheng 中國學生 [The Chinese Student] 1, no. 4 (1929): 31. For basketball in the Chinese community in the Philippines, see Chung Fong Ko, “The Chinese Students in the Philippine Islands,” The Chinese Students’ Monthly 16, no. 8 (June 1921): 625; and Silverio Jorge, “Athletics Among the Chinese in the City of Manila,” Feilübin Huaqiao jiaoyu congkan 菲律賓華僑教育叢刊 [The Philippine Huaqiao Educational Magazine] 1 (1917): 6–7. Hoh, Physical Education, 116. Chen Jinjiang 陳錦江, “Zhengfei ji 征菲記 [Tour of the Philippines],” Donghua tiyu zhoukan 動畫體育周刊 [Tung Hwa Sports Digest] 1, no. 2 (1933): 8–9 and 16–19; “Feilübin jianian huadianhui zhu benxiao zuqiudui canjia 菲律賓嘉年華典會諸本校足 球隊參加 [School’s Soccer Team Invited to Play in the Philippines Carnival],” Sili Lingnan daxue xiaobao 私立嶺南大學校報 [Lingnan Private University School Paper] 44,

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one Chinese commentator celebrated a Chinese team’s “sweep of the foreign island (夷島),” noting that the victories would “make enemies not dare look down upon Chinese of the Celestial Kingdom.”31 Soccer provided some comfort for China at the Far Eastern Championship Games and some balance in the sports triangle, but it never reached the level of cultural significance as basketball. Basketball to this day is wildly popular in the Philippines and China. Even during the early years of the communist revolution in China, when leaders regularly denounced anything tangentially American, revered Marshals Zhu De (朱德) and He Long (贺龙) promoted basketball competitions.32 The compilers of the commemorative Legends and Heroes of Philippine Basketball, meanwhile, describe the sport as the “favorite pastime” of Filipinos.33 In more candid terms, Pedro D. Villanueva, longtime editor of the sports section in The Philippines Herald, wrote right before the 1934 Games, “We almost regard the Far Eastern Olympic basketball title as the private property of the Philippines.”34 Long before the Blue Eagles–Green Archers rivalry shaped the Philippine sports world, the Islander–Dragon rivalry captured the hearts and minds of spectators in Asia, linking Chinese and Filipinos through the bonds of sports.35 Basketball might have provided “another means for China to engage with, respond to, and potentially, proclaim superiority

31

32

33 34

35

no. 1 (1930): 390; Nanyang wenhua shiyebu 南洋文化事業部, “Guowai tongxun di bashier hao 國外通訊第八十二號 [Overseas Reports from the 28th],” Jinan xiaokan 暨 南校刊 [Jinan University Periodical] 37–40 (1930): 20–21; and “Shanghai Lehua zuqiudui fu Fei zhi bisai 上海樂華足球隊赴菲之比賽 [Shanghai Lehua Soccer Team’s Philippine Match Record],” Feilübin yanjiu 菲律賓研究 [The Philippines] 2 (1928): 122. Chen, “Zhengfei ji,” 19. Chen used the word “yi 夷” to describe the Philippines. Lydia Liu has described this word, in combination with the early English translation as “barbarian,” as a “super-sign” that rippled across multiple languages, taking new meanings along the way. See Lydia H. Liu, The Clash of Empires: The Invention of China in Modern World Making (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2004), 13 and 32–38. Judy Polumbaum, “From Evangelism to Entertainment: The YMCA, the NBA, and the Evolution of Chinese Basketball,” Modern Chinese Literature and Culture 4, no. 1 (2002): 197. Bocobo and Celis, Legends and Heroes of Philippine Basketball, 15. See also Afable, ed., Philippine Sports Greats, 9. P. D. Villanueva, “Everything Points to Another Basketball Victory in the Philippines,” in Tenth Far Eastern Olympiad (Manila: The Sports Review, 1934), 47. For a brief introduction to Pedro D. Villanueva, see Regino R. Ylanan and Carmen Wilson Ylanan, The History and Development of Physical Education and Sports in the Philippines (Manila: Self-published, 1965), 50–51. The Ateneo de Manila Blue Eagles and De La Salle Green Archers have long competed with one another in basketball and other sports. For more on fan culture and the rivalry in the Philippines, see Miguel Antonio N. Lizada, “Masculinity, Patronage Politics, and the Feminization of School Spirit in the Ateneo-La Salle UAAP Rivalry,” Philippine Sociological Review 63 (2015): 191–216.

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over the West,” as historian Judy Polumbaum establishes.36 And sports more broadly might have resulted in a “happy wedding of American and Philippine practices,” as Janice Beran observes.37 But basketball also linked athletes and observers from China and the Philippines, creating yet another pitch on which to exchange ideas, build partnerships, and settle disputes. Historian Lou Antolihao encourages scholars to examine sports using “a post-binary analysis that transcends the colonial fixation on disentangling the complex empire–colony relations.”38 Or, to put it differently, he challenges us to recognize that sports were more than simply the “promise of the foreign” – a phrase historian Vicente Rafael applies to Filipino elites’ use of Castilian in the late nineteenth century.39 Researchers should follow the lead of Zhu De and He Long and treat Asian athletes and physical educators as autonomous agents who engaged with and created unique and unexpected meaning in sports. James Naismith, a Canadian studying at Springfield College in the United States, invented basketball in this small city in western Massachusetts, meaning that basketball was as “foreign” to Rucker Park in New York City, which was constructed in 1950, as it was to the courts that used to grace Rizal Park in Manila.40 It is time for our histories to reflect this multidimensional reality. Ogling Athletes and Carnival Queens Women athletes participated in the Far Eastern Championship Games for the first time in 1921, though only in a dance demonstration.41 Women would not join in on team sports at the Games until the 1923 36 37 38 39

40

41

Polumbaum, “From Evangelism to Entertainment,” 199. Janice A. Beran, “Americans in the Philippines: Imperialism or Progress Through Sport?” International Journal of the History of Sport 6, no. 1 (1989): 82. Antolihao, Playing with the Big Boys, 187. Vicente L. Rafael, Promise of the Foreign: Nationalism and the Technics of Translation in the Spanish Philippines (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2005). See also Antolihao, Playing with the Big Boys, 20. Mark Dyreson’s description of sports as a “language” inspired this comparison. See Mark Dyreson, “Globalizing the Nation-Making Process: Modern Sport in World History,” International Journal of the History of Sport 20, no. 1 (2003): 92. Naismith himself recognized that the game had taken off in China and the Philippines, noting its incorporation into girls’ sports programs and regional competitions. See James Naismith, “Basket Ball,” American Physical Education Review (May 1914): 345, James Naismith Papers, Springfield College Archives, ms506-01–22–001; James Naismith, “Basketball – A Game the World Plays,” The Rotarian (January 1939): 1, James Naismith Papers, Springfield College Archives, ms506-01–22–015–01; and James Naismith, Basketball: Its Origin and Development (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1996): 147–153. The Ladies Journal [Funü zazhi 婦女雜志] featured images of the dancers wearing all white in front of onlooking crowds; see, “Diwujie Yuandong yundonghui zhi Zhongguo nüxuesheng youyi 第五屆遠東運動會之中國女學生游藝 [The Recreations of Chinese Girl Students at the Fifth Far Eastern Championship Games],” Funü zazhi 婦女雜志 [The Ladies’ Journal] no. 7 (1921).

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iteration in Osaka, and even then their participation – without medals – was limited to volleyball and tennis.42 Commentators had thus not yet arrived at some of the more sophisticated and onerous reporting that “paid close attention” to and “published individual criticism” of not just women’s performances, but also their posture and technique.43 Nonetheless, gendered commentary flowed through the sports pages and regular columns. In 1921, when few women appeared on the fields themselves, some commentators leveraged their absence to score political points. The head of the Philippine delegation, calling for the participation of women in the Games upon his return to the Philippines in 1921, for instance, added unprompted, “This will result in a great boost of athletics for girls and women in the Far East, and relatively China and Japan need this boost more than the Philippines.”44 By highlighting the deficiencies of China and Japan, this commentator turned women’s sports into a rhetorical tool to give the Philippines a slap on the back. This commentator thereby followed a common imperial discursive strategy that linked “progress” to women’s “improvement.”45 In many subtle ways, gender, like an expertly curled stone, slid its way into Games-related coverage. As is the case today, pundits followed athletes around in their daily lives, ready to drop “bombshell” reports at a moment’s notice.46 Filipino journalists, for example, proudly touted how “Filipinos were the first ones to stand up and offer their seats” to a group of Chinese women while riding the tram car in Shanghai.47 This “praiseworthy” behavior supposedly contrasted with that of Chinese athletes who “didn’t seem to be very enthusiastic about giving up their seats to the ladies.”48 As performers on and off the field, athletes felt the obligation to fulfill gendered societal expectations.49 42 43

44 45 46

47 49

F. N. Carl, “Watch Our Girls!” in Tenth Far Eastern Olympiad (Manila: The Sports Review, 1934), 62–64; and Morris, Marrow of the Nation, 88–89. You Jianming 游鉴明, Chaoyue xingbie shenti: Jindai Huadong diqu de nüzi tiyu 超越性别身 体 : 近代华东地区的女子体育 (1895–1937) [Transcending Sex and the Body: Women’s Sports in the Modern Huadong Area] (Beijing: Beijing daxue chubanshe 北京 : 北京大学出 版社, 2012), 146. Osias, “The First Victory of Filipino Athletes,” 396. Catherine Hall, “Of Gender and Empire: Reflection on the Nineteenth Century,” in Gender and Empire, ed. Philippa Levine (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), 50–51. Andrew Morris has described this process from the Chinese perspective as weathering “the judgmental gaze of China’s Asian neighbors and rivals.” See Morris, Marrow of the Nation, 161. “How They Came,” Philippines Free Press. 48 Ibid. For more on gender as performance, see Judith Butler’s classic essay, “Performative Acts and Gender Constitution: An Essay in Phenomenology and Feminist Theory,” Theatre Journal 40, no. 4 (1988): 519–531.

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One columnist from the Philippines Free Press, in a special issue on the Games, related a story about how a Filipino woman in Shanghai had abandoned her traditional clothing to become a “flapper.”50 The columnist, contrasting her with “pretty Japanese and Chinese girls,” complained that Filipinas in Hong Kong and Shanghai would rather die than wear their “own beloved costume.”51 In this regard, this columnist foreshadowed similar anxiety-ridden male criticisms, which Andrew Morris describes as “ogling for the nation,” that would haunt female athletes in the 1930s.52 But while commentators were only beginning to experiment with sports-related gender tropes in 1921, they, like nimble fencers, landed gendered jabs on other topics. Whereas Filipino observers used the condition of women in China as a rhetorical punching bag, Chinese observers viewed Filipino women as models to emulate. Chinese traveler and hopeless romantic Wu Hanfang (鄔翰芳) confided in his 1929 travel memoir that Chinese men who might “look down upon Filipinas” when they first arrive at the archipelago later ended up wanting to marry them. He wrote, “The first year [Filipino women] look like devils (鬼), the second year they look half-devil, half human, and the third year [Chinese men] become engrossed by the devils.”53 Apparently, Wu drew from personal experience in his “expert” analysis because he continued with a story about falling head over heels for the mestiza daughter of the head of the Cebu Chinese Chamber of Commerce.54 Wu Hanfang and others from China devoted countless pages to the lives of women in the Philippines inside and outside of sports in the early twentieth century.55 Earlier in his book, Wu described how young 50 51

52

53

54

55

F. M. Benedicto, “Benedicto Is Cruel with the Ladies,” Philippines Free Press, June 18, 1921. Ibid. For more on the political power of clothing in the Philippines, see Mina Roces, “Women, Citizenship and the Politics of Dress in Twentieth-Century Philippines,” in Gender Politics in Asia: Women Manoeuvring Within Dominant Gender Orders, ed. Wil Burghoorn, Kazuki Iwanaga, Cecilia Milwertz, and Qi Wang (Copenhagen: NIAS Press, 2008), 11–42. Andrew D. Morris, “‘The Me in the Mirror’: A Narrative of Voyeurism and Discipline in Chinese Women’ Physical Culture, 1921–1937,” in Visualizing Modern China: Image, History, and Memory, 1750-Present, ed. James A. Cook, Joshua Goldstein, Matthew D. Johnson, and Sigrid Schmalzer (Lanham, MD: Lexington Book, 2014), 111. See also Gao Yunxiang (高云翔), Sporting Gender: Women Athletes and Celebrity-Making during China’s National Crisis, 1931–45 (Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press, 2013), 58–60; and Hong, Footbinding, Feminism, and Freedom, 170–175. Wu Hanfang 鄔翰芳, Feilübin kaocha ji 菲律賓考察記 [A Visit to the Philippine Islands] (Shanghai: Shangwu yinshuguan 上海 : 商務印書館, 1929), 85. For a broader history of Chinese tropes of the “South Seas,” or Southeast Asia, see Bernards, Writing the South Seas. Wu Hanfang, Feilübin, 97–99. The head of the Cebu Chinese Chamber of Commerce wasn’t keen on allowing his daughter to marry someone who would move to China, so Wu Hanfang’s infatuation ultimately came to naught. Paul J. Bailey downplays this coverage in his research on Chinese “othering” in women’s magazines, but as I have shown here, significant and largely positive portrayals defined

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Filipinas frequented movie theaters, partook in social dancing, and worked in factories.56 Other commentators, channeling the liberationist mentality of the May Fourth era in China, which nominally began right before the 1921 Games, described to readers back in China how young women and men in the Philippines interacted with one another freely at picnics, camps, and dances, and how they could choose their own marriage partners.57 One writer admired everyday displays of affection by couples, citing how young men and women held each other’s hands while walking down the street, which is ironic considering the Philippine commentary mentioned earlier.58 For Chinese readers, women in the Philippines served a similar discursive function as Burmese women for Indians. In her article on a prominent Indian social worker’s ethnographic accounts of Burmese women in the early twentieth century, Shobna Nijhawan describes how Indians saw in Burma a model for Indian women to be “progressive and traditional rather than overtly Westernized.”59 Nijhawan stresses how this “South–South encounter” provided “a medium to think in new idioms of feminism and nationalism.”60 Chinese viewers, likewise, saw in the Philippines a safe harbor to discuss what historian Louise Edwards calls the “hotly contested image” of the modern (and traditional) Asian woman.61 Perhaps nothing captures the complexities of Chinese ogling of Filipino women better than the extensive discussions of Philippine beauty

56 57

58 59

60 61

Chinese observations of Filipino women in the early twentieth century. See Paul J. Bailey, “‘Othering’ the Foreign Other in Early-Twentieth Century Chinese Women’s Magazines,” in Women and the Periodical Press in China’s Long Twentieth Century, ed. Michel Hockx, Joan Judge, and Barbara Mittler (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018), 292. Wu Hanfang, Feilübin, 79–83. Huang Yanpei 黄炎培, Dongnanyang zhi xin jiaoyu: houbian Feilübin 東南洋之新教育 : 後 編菲律賓 [Southeast Asia’s New Education: The Philippines] (Shanghai: shangwu yinshuguan 上海 : 商務印書館, 1918), 93; and Lin Jianbang 林建邦, “Feilübin funü gaikuang 菲 律濱婦女概況 [Survey of Women in the Philippines],” Funü zazhi 婦女雜志 [The Ladies’ Journal] 9, no. 7 (1923): 66. Chen Mei’an 陳枚安, Nanyang shenghuo 南洋生活 [Life in Southeast Asia] (Shanghai: shijie shuju 上海 : 世界書局, 1930), 110. Shobna Nijhawan, “At the Margins of Empire: Feminist-Nationalist Configurations of Burmese Society in the Hindi Public (1917–1920),” Journal of Asian Studies 71, no. 4 (2012): 1020. Ibid., 1023–1025. Louise Edwards, “Policing the Modern Woman in Republican China,” Modern China 26, no. 2 (2000): 143. Mina Roces describes how Filipino women expertly navigated the demands of appearing both “modern” and “traditional” in their push for suffrage in the American colonial era. See Mina Roces, “Is the Suffragist an American Colonial Construct? Defining ‘the Filipino Woman’ in Colonial Philippines,” in Women’s Suffrage in Asia: Gender, Nationalism and Democracy, ed. Louise Edwards and Mina Roces (London: Routledge, 2004), 24–48.

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pageants. The Manila Carnival and its attached Carnival Queen contests, which contained its own type of performative competition, grew with the global exposition craze of the era, capturing the imagination of Manila’s residents.62 The Carnival also helped inspire the Far Eastern Championship Games as some of the earliest celebrations featured Asian friendlies.63 According to The Manila Times, the Carnival Queen was essentially a “popularity contest” where the “lady receiving the highest number of votes, be she American, Filipina, or European” would become Queen.64 But popularity contests, just like sports competitions, mean nothing without an audience, and, as seen in the images of winners that appeared in the popular Chinese journal The Young Companion in successive years, China hosted one of those attentive audiences.65 Nearly every Chinese visitor to the Carnival over the years commented on and created meaning in the event. This is unsurprising as Filipinos themselves used the beauty pageant to achieve various goals. Historian Genevieve Clutario argues that elite Filipino mestizos “regarded constructions of Filipina beauty as a means to solidify their privileged status,” and they used the beauty competition to define those standards.66 Perhaps Chinese observers saw an opportunity to borrow from Filipino discourses that linked beauty, nation, and modernity, especially when the Philippine pageant winners were Chinese mestizos or fully Chinese. The editors of The Young Companion, for instance, shared with obvious glee that the Carnival Queen in 1929 had Chinese heritage.67 Reading into conversations about the Carnival Queen contest and women in the Philippines more broadly, we see that Chinese held complicated and sometimes contradictory definitions of beauty. Wu Hanfang, as mentioned earlier, described Filipinas as possessing a concealed but 62

63 64 65

66

For an overview of the Carnival, see Genevieve Clutario, “Pageant Politics: Tensions of Power, Empire, and Nationalism in Manila Carnival Queen Contests,” in Gendering the Trans-Pacific World, ed. Catherine Ceniza Choy and Judy Tzu-Chun Wu (Leiden: Brill, 2017), 257–283. For a general overview of the “exhibitionary complex” of the era, see Alexander C. T. Geppert, Fleeting Cities: Imperial Expositions in Fin-de-Siecle Europe (New York: Palgrave MacMillan, 2010); and Robert W. Rydell, All the World’s a Fair: Visions of Empire at American International Expositions, 1876–1916 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1984). Elwood S. Brown, “Physical Work in the Philippines,” Physical Training 11, no. 8 (1914): 261–264. “Queen of the Carnival,” The Manila Times, December 13, 1907, 3, quoted in Clutario, “Pageant Politics,” 262. See, for instance, “Jianian huahui zhi xuanju huahou 嘉年華會之選舉花後 [Carnival Beauty Pageant Selection],” Liang you 良友 [The Young Companion] 18 (1927): 34; and Chen Bingren 陳秉仁, “Jianian huahui 嘉年華會 [Carnival],” Liang you 良友 [The Young Companion] 35 (1929): 20. Clutario, “Pageant Politics,” 268. 67 Chen Bingren, “Jianian huahui,” 20.

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profound beauty. Kiang Kang-hu (Jiang Kanghu 江亢虎), on the other hand, said of the beauty pageant, “In the eyes of Westerners, Spanish mestizos are the most beautiful, while in the eyes of Easterners, Chinese mestizos are the standard-bearers.”68 Regardless of standard-bearers, modernity and beauty flowed together at the Carnival just like modernity and sports at the Games. Historian Cho Kyo argues that “a people whose civilization is regarded as highly developed is likely to be viewed as physically appealing, whereas an ethnic group deemed ‘backward’ is considered ugly.”69 Perhaps Chinese fascination with the annual beauty contest in the Philippines reflected their growing tendency to connect the archipelago with modernity, as outlined in Part II. After all, images of the Carnival Queen often appeared next to images of muscular athletes from exhibition games and cutting-edge products that glowed under “electric lights that illuminated [the Carnival] like the light of day.”70 Beauty, sports victories, and modernity became one, and, for many Chinese and Filipino observers, they found a comfortable home in the Philippines. The Greater Coalescence of 1921 The Far Eastern Championship Games augmented the many linkages that we have explored throughout this monograph. For example, in Chapter 3 we briefly followed renowned Philippine liberal educator Camilo Osias to Nanjing and Shanghai where he delivered speeches on vocational education. During that trip he met with his Chinese counterpart Huang Yanpei (黃炎培) and toasted friends at several banquets.71 However, although educational meetings dominated his itinerary, Osias had actually trekked to China as the Philippine representative to the Far Eastern Championship Games.72 In other words, his critical speech about education was merely a by-product of his attendance at a regional sports meeting. Sports, education, and diplomacy merged like the events

68 69 70 71

72

Kiang Kang-hu, Jiang Kanghu nanyou huixiang ji, 94. Cho Kyo, The Search for the Beautiful Woman: A Cultural History of Japanese and Chinese Beauty, trans. Kyoko Selden (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2012), 5. Lin Jianbang 林建邦, “Jiyou jianian huahui 記遊嘉年華會 [Visiting the Carnival],” Shaonian Zazhi 少年雜志 [The Youth’s Magazine] 6, no. 8 (1916): 5. Camilo Osias (Aoxiya 奧西亞), “Ji Feidao yuandong yundonghui daibiao Aoxiya jun zai Shanghai zongshanghui zhi yanshuo 記菲島遠東運動會代表奧西亞君在上海總商會之演 說 [Remembering Philippine Far Eastern Championship Games Representative Mr. Osias’ Speech at the Shanghai Chamber of Commerce],” Zhongguo yu Nanyang 中 國與南洋 [China and Malaysia] 2, nos. 2/3 (1921): 137. “Track and Field Championship,” The Manila Times.

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of the decathlon, linking Osias, and the Filipino athletes, journalists, and coaches he led, to China. During one speech in Shanghai, veering from sports and education to address politics, Osias predicted the imminent demise of the discriminatory Bookkeeping Act, which we explored in Chapter 2.73 Only one month before, when the organizers of the Games remained in preparation mode, businessman and lawyer Albino Z. Sycip (Xue Minlao 薛民老), one of the Founders from Chapter 6, had made his way to Shanghai to rally opposition to the Bookkeeping Act.74 At several meetings with high company, Sycip described the resistance to the discriminatory legislation to receptive ears.75 With the friendly competitions of the Far Eastern Championship Games in the foreground, Chinese from the Philippines seized the moment to keep political issues alive and relevant in the metaphorical luxury boxes. Meanwhile, 1921 also marked the year that scholar Liu Shimu (劉士 木) traveled from Shanghai to Nanjing to deliver a speech warning of Japanese encroachment into Southeast Asia, thereby presaging common anxieties we will return in Chapter 9.76 With the Games, which boasted large athletic delegations from Japan and the Philippines, as a backdrop, Liu Shimu implored Chinese to learn about, invest in, and travel to Southeast Asia.77 In addition, 1921 also coincided with the Wood– Forbes Mission in the Philippines when independence became a real possibility and liberal Chinese commentators grasped onto every independence-related news story coming from the archipelago.78 In other words, the summer of 1921 was a time of coalescence, when sports,

73

74

75

76

77 78

Osias, “Ji Feidao,” 137. See also “Axiyasi yanshuo Feidao shangye jiaoyu 阿西亞斯演説 菲島商業教育 [Osias Speaks on Philippine Commerce and Education],” Shenbao申報, June 11, 1921. “Wu tuanti huanying Feidao Huaqiao daibiao 五團體歡迎菲島華僑代表 [Five Organizations Welcome the Philippine Chinese Delegation],” Shenbao 申報, April 15, 1921. Albino Sycip (Xue Minlao 薛敏老) and Wu Kecheng 吳克誠, “Feilübin buji an jielüe 菲 律濱簿記案節略 [Summary of the Philippine Bookkeeping Law],” Yinhang yuekan 銀行 月刊 [Banking Journal] 1, no. 11 (1921): 8–15. Zhaotang 肇棠, “Liu Shimu xiansheng yanjiang 劉士木先生演講 [Mr. Liu Shimu’s Speech],” Zhongguo yu Nanyang中國與南洋 [China and Malaysia] 2, nos. 2/3 (1921): 51–56. Ibid., 55. See, for instance, Gui Zhi 桂埴, “Feidao duli wenti 斐島獨立問題 [The Philippine Independence Question],” Xuelin zazhi 學林雜志 [Academia Magazine] 1, no. 2 (1921): 63; and Hualu 化魯, “Feilübin xuanju yu duli yundong 菲律賓選舉與獨立運動 [Philippine Elections and the Independence Movement],” Dongfang zazhi 東方雜誌 [Eastern Miscellany] 20, no. 21 (1923): 15–16. An earlier version of this monograph contained a full chapter on Chinese reporting on Philippine independence.

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politics, and society blended together like the colors on a well-designed jersey. It was a time of optimism despite the ample uncertainty of the era. But, alas, all good things must come to an end. On June 6, 1921, the coast guard ship Bustamante, commanded by Captain Juan M. Panopio, labored back to Manila carrying the triumphant Filipino athletes on board.79 While Filipinos had lost the basketball and soccer tournaments, they had succeeded elsewhere, bringing home the overarching victory. When the athlete-laden vessel arrived in Manila Bay five days later, siren blasts sounded from boats “flagged and decorated for the occasion,” welcoming them home.80 After the ship docked, Filipino athletes alighted to join a parade that took them across the city from the Aduana to Taft Avenue to the Normal School.81 At the Normal School, the athletes enjoyed a regal homecoming colored by speeches from prominent officials. Before we move onto the next chapter, let’s take a moment to listen in on those speeches. With political objectives in mind, parade organizers had invited Leonard Wood and W. Cameron Forbes, who were then leading the Wood–Forbes Mission to determine whether the Philippines was ready to gain independence, along with Senate President Manuel Quezon and Manila Mayor Ramon Fernandez, to serenade the coaches and athletes.82 Forbes was coy in his speech, opting for rote commentary on developing strong bodies, but Wood connected Philippine performance with civilizational development.83 Quezon, meanwhile, whom we will hear more from below, leaning on the trope of the stoic athlete who “shuts up and dribbles,” stressed the importance of sportspersonship and comportment.84 Though the parade theoretically celebrated returning Filipino athletes, politics loomed large in the ceremonial performance. News columnists, feeling less pressure to rein in hyperbolic reflexes with trophies already secured, poured praise on the athletes. Borrowing from the famous statement of Roman dictator Julius Caesar, the Philippines Free 79 80 81 82 83 84

“Filipinas Ha Ganado el Lier Puesto en la Olimpicos [The Philippines Has Won First Place in the Olympics],” El Ideal [The Ideal], June 6, 1921. “Olympic Athletes to Get Royal Welcome Today on Return from Shanghai,” The Manila Times, June 11, 1921. “Wood and Forbes Asked to Address Conquering Heroes of Olympic Meet,” The Manila Times, June 10, 1921. “Wood and Forbes,” The Manila Times. “Accept Umpire’s Decisions Without Protest Quezon Tells Olympic Heroes Big Demonstration Was Staged Sunday,” The Manila Times, June 13, 1921. Ibid. Journalist Laura Ingraham famously told NBA superstar Lebron James to “shut up and dribble” after Lebron James spoke out against racism in 2018. See “Laura Ingraham Told Lebron James to Shut Up and Dribble; He Went to the Hoop,” NPR, February 19, 2018, www.npr.org/sections/thetwo-way/2018/02/19/587097707/laura-ingraham-toldlebron-james-to-shutup-and-dribble-he-went-to-the-hoop.

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Press described how Filipinos “came and saw and conquered.”85 The editors of La Nación wrote, “The superiority in physical culture is one of the manifestations of the superiority of a people.”86 The editors of La Vanguardia employed the language of race, writing, “The laurels won in Shanghai proclaim the perfection of our race.”87 These editors implied that Filipino triumph on the sports field reflected a racial maturity that warranted parallel rewards off the field, or in other words, the granting of independence after the Wood–Forbes Mission. The Games became a rhetorical shuttlecock in an overcrowded gymnasium. While sports could serve as a unifying force that brought together not just the athletes and coaches but also pundits and spectators, they also revealed the destabilizing potential of politics. In 1921, political debates remained relatively tame. However, by the 1934 competition in Manila, events in the boardroom, which echoed growing geopolitical anxieties outside it, led to the end of the Far Eastern Championship Games. Politicians would confiscate the shuttlecock, completely ending the game, to continue the metaphor from earlier. Between those two pivotal meets in 1921 and 1934, a select group of Filipino and Chinese educators and athletes, many of them veterans of the Games, traveled to the neutral grounds of the International YMCA College in Springfield, Massachusetts, to explore an ultimately abandoned pathway toward closer collaboration.

85 86 87

“How They Came,” Philippines Free Press. “What Other Editors Say: Our Success,” The Manila Times, June 6, 1921. “What Other Editors Say: Lessons of a Success,” The Manila Times, June 8, 1921.

8

Possibilities Meeting at Springfield’s Fields

The Springfield Connection Thomas H. Suvoong (Shu Hong 舒鴻) arrived with little fanfare at the International YMCA College in Springfield, Massachusetts, on February 17, 1920, in “search of happiness.”1 On his hastily filled out application, he jotted down his address as “East of Szechuan Guild, Shanghai, China” – the vagueness of his home address suggesting that he might have been ready to sever ties with the past.2 This makes sense considering that his father had recently passed, and he had recently served as a laborer in France during the Great War. So, following in the footsteps of his two older brothers, he had come to the United States to study. The director of the YMCA in China had sent a letter three days prior, introducing Suvoong to the president of Springfield College.3 The director in China suggested to the president, half-heartedly, “you probably will have facilities for his securing such instruction as he may need. If you do not have [them] please feel free to recommend his entering high school.”4 This candid introduction is how Suvoong entered the vocation of physical education. This vocation, in turn, led to a rather successful career, with Suvoong serving as the first Chinese referee at the Olympic Games and teaching at Hangzhou Zhijiang University, Nanking National University, and Shanghai Jiaotong University. At Springfield, he joined 1

2

3 4

“Unnamed,” The National Memory and Fellowship Book of College, School, Camp and Home Life (Chicago: College Memory Book Co., n.d.), Springfield College Archives. He left this note in a logbook. For more on Suvoong’s contributions to sports theory in China, see Mao Qinggen 毛庆根, Shu Hong tiyu sixiang yanjiu 舒鸿体育思想研究 [An Analysis of Shu Hong’s Ideas on Physical Education] (Hangzhou: Zhejiang daxue chubanshe 杭州 : 浙江大 学出版社, 2017). “Application for Admission to the Physical Course of the International Young Men’s Christian Association College, Thomas H. Suvoong,” February 17, 1920, Springfield College Archives. D. Willard Lyon, letter to Laurence L. Doggett, February 14, 1920, Springfield College Archives. Suvoong almost certainly arrived before his letter of introduction. Ibid.

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Figure 8.1 Foreign student group, Springfield College, 1920. Courtesy of the Springfield College Archives and Special Collections.

a contingent of students from China, the Philippines, and other places around the world whose fates would become intertwined (Figure 8.1).5 From 1915 to 1932, at least fourteen students from China and five from the Philippines studied in Springfield, and by 1925, seven of them had already taken up leadership positions in physical education programs in their home countries.6 Serafin Aquino served as the Director of Physical Education of Public Schools in Manila, Sing-Fu Chang worked as the Director of Physical Education at Southeastern University in Nanjing, 5

6

For more on Suvoong’s Olympic service, see Xie Zhensheng 谢振声, Aoyun lanqiu diyi shao: Shu Hong jiaoshou jinian wenji 奥运篮球第一哨 : 舒鸿教授纪念文集 [The First Basketball Whistle at the Olympics: Professor Shu Hong’s Commemorative Collected Works] (Hangzhou: Xiling yinshe chubanshe 杭州 : 西泠印社出版社, 2008). Frank M. Mohler, “Springfield Men Serving the World,” The College at Springfield Bulletin 5, no. 4 (1932). See the insert on page five for images of the students. See also Fu Haojian 傅浩堅, Meiguo Chuntian daxue dui Zhongguo jintai tiyu xiandaihua de yingxiang 美國春田 大學對中國近代體育現代化的影響 [The Influence of America’s Springfield College on Chinese Modernization] (Hong Kong: Professional Publications Co. 香港 : 香港浸會大 學, 2008), v.

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John Mo (Ma Yuehan 馬約翰) continued as Director of Physical Education at Tsing Hua College in Beijing, and Regino R. Ylanan served as Director of Physical Education at the University of the Philippines in Manila.7 These former Springfield College classmates molded physical education in China and the Philippines respectively, and this chapter traces their intellectual foundations and trajectories through Paul Cohen’s “coalescence-dispersion process.”8 In the neutral turf of the United States, these Chinese and Filipino student-scholars, along with their Japanese peers, navigated similar questions about athletics, race, and nation, thereby extending sportive entanglements beyond the boundaries of East and Southeast Asia.9 The period between the 1921 and 1934 Far Eastern Championship Games represented an era of possibilities when shared challenges and objectives brought Chinese, Japanese, and Filipinos together, and the mirage of an Asia unified through sports shimmered briefly on the horizon. Springfield College, or the International YMCA Training School, as it used to be called, became a leading school for sports training, medicine, and research, but its success was far from preordained. Founders chartered the school in 1885 to train physical educators and YMCA secretaries, but from its inception, the school struggled for legitimacy, as it competed directly with George Williams College near Chicago, which also called itself the YMCA Training School.10 The Young Men’s Christian Association, or YMCA, a British evangelical organization, had gained many adherents in the United States by the late nineteenth century, and Springfield College positioned itself as one of the first institutions to capture the energy and vigor of sportive evangelicalism through professionalization and academic training. Under the leadership of the American Luther Gulick, the International YMCA Training School in Springfield transformed from a vocational school designed to produce YMCA secretaries into one of the foremost research centers on sports science and physical therapy in the world. Gulick gave Springfield College “its first philosophy, invented the triangle 7 8

9 10

Springfield College Alumni Association, Physical Education Alumni: International YMCA College (Springfield: Springfield College, 1925), 6. Cohen, History in Three Keys, 66. Engseng Ho describes a similar process that he calls “disaggregation-reaggregation,” in a recent article. See Ho, “Inter-Asian Concepts for Mobile Societies,” 919. I am borrowing this phrase from famous cricketer C. L. R. James’ memoir, Beyond a Boundary. For more on Springfield College’s founding, see Fu Haojian, Meiguo Chuntian daxue, 11– 13; and C. Howard Hopkins, History of the Y.M.C.A in North America (New York: Association Press, 1951), 175–176. One Filipino pensionado and sports enthusiast, Pedro D. Villanueva, studied at what would become George Williams College. See Ylanan and Ylanan, The History and Development of Physical Education, 50.

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as its symbol, raised the physical director’s status to that of a profession, and built at Springfield an internationally famous curriculum.”11 With this new mission and new international orientation, which set it apart from George Williams College, it attracted the likes of Canadian James Naismith, who invented basketball, and American William G. Morgan, who invented volleyball.12 By the 1910s and 1920s, Springfield had already gained international acclaim as a sports college, drawing talent from around the world. The International YMCA College at Springfield’s location in a progressive and evangelized New England no doubt influenced the Chinese and Filipino students who made their way there to study, but the “international” element of the college also steered students to take a global approach to athletics and sports in their research and later careers. “International” became a mindset of the school. One alum captured this cosmopolitan spirit in an article in the College at Springfield Bulletin, sharing his aim to make “world brotherhood customary,” which would thereby allow “a peaceful international order” to emerge.13 While Thomas Suvoong searched for happiness, others searched for world brotherhood, but perhaps, in the end, they were searching for the same thing. Sporting Nations In his 1921 Springfield College thesis, Filipino graduate Geronimo Suva, who had played for the Philippine basketball team in the first Far Eastern Championship Games, broadened his research on anthropometry by engaging with the German and Swedish “systems” of gymnastics and corrective exercise.14 Extending his international reach, Suva subtly, and perhaps unknowingly, weaved back-and-forth, like a talented point guard, between identifying with Philippine and American audiences in his narrative.15 Chinese graduate John Mo similarly located his research on Chinese athletics in the international arena by appealing for foreign assistance to China in his 1920 thesis. He added a lengthy appendix to the 11 12 13 14

15

Hopkins, History of the Y.M.C.A, 246. Administrators in Springfield added “International” to the school’s title to distinguish it from George Williams College. See Hopkins, History of the Y.M.C.A, 176. Frank M. Mohler, “Making World Brotherhood Customary,” The College at Springfield Bulletin 1, no. 5 (1927). Geronimo Suva, “Physical Measurements for Philippine Schools” (MA diss., International Young Men’s Christian Association College of Springfield, 1921), 10–11. For more on Suva’s physical education career and basketball experience, see Ylanan and Ylanan, The History and Development of Physical Education, 53–54. Ibid., 4 and 7.

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end of his work, which answered common questions people had regarding Chinese schools and living and working conditions in his country.16 Regino R. Ylanan, a fellow 1920 graduate, likewise noted that his thesis research touched on a topic “which is of paramount significance to physical education not only in this country but also abroad.”17 Filipino Regino Ylanan and Chinese John Mo lived parallel lives as physical education trailblazers. From their humble beginnings in Cebu in the central Philippines and Gulangyu in southeastern China respectively, Ylanan and Mo rose to fame as athletes, transformed into scholars in Springfield, and returned to the capital cities of their respective countries to take up the mantles of leadership in athletics. Both had early connections to the Far Eastern Championship Games, Mo having served as a committee member at the 1915 Games and Ylanan having participated in several events at multiple meets from 1913 to 1917.18 Both then studied at Springfield College from 1918 to 1920 before returning to their home countries to teach at Tsing Hua University and the University of the Philippines respectively. In other words, Ylanan and Mo not only channeled international influences into their research, but they lived border-crossing lives themselves, setting a precedent for their compatriots. In the ensuing decades, John Mo and Regino Ylanan became towering figures in physical education. Regino Ylanan helped organize the NCAA of the Philippines, served as the national physical director of the country, edited a sports magazine known as the Filipino Athlete, and published several articles and books on athletics.19 John Mo led the Chinese delegation to the Berlin Games in 1936, became the president of Tsing Hua University, served as the chairman of the All China Athletic Federation, 16

17

18

19

John Mo, “My Fourteen Years Experience of Western Physical Education” (MA diss., International Young Men’s Christian Association College of Springfield, 1920). Mo addressed such topics as salaries and contracts, climate, foreign schools, table etiquette, Christianity, and Chinese attitudes toward foreigners. Regino R. Ylanan, “Relation of Physical Exercise to Growth and Development” (MA diss., International Young Men’s Christian Association College of Springfield, 1920), i. Ylanan later published the results of his research on measuring the relation between growth and physical exercise in a Philippine medical journal; see Regino R. Ylanan, “Relation of Physical Exercise to Growth and Development,” Journal of the Philippine Medical Association 11, no. 5 (1922): 223–227. For more on Ylanan and the Far Eastern Championship Games, see Olivar, History of Physical Education in the Philippines, 103. For more on Mo and the Far Eastern Championship Games, see Fu Haojian 傅浩坚, Zhongguo jindai tiyu shi de chuanqi renwu Ma Yuehan 中国近代体育史的传奇人物马约翰 [Legendary Figure in Modern Chinese Sports History, John Mo] (Beijing: Beijing tiyu daxue chubanshe 北京 : 北京体育 出版社, 1998), 3. Olivar, History of Physical Education, 104. For Ylanan’s book, see Ylanan and Ylanan, The History and Development of Physical Education.

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and published several book and articles on athletics.20 And they both represented their countries at the controversial 1934 Far Eastern Championship Games, which we will return to in the next chapter. They were the Larry Bird and Magic Johnson to the next generation of eager basketballers who followed in their footsteps. Thomas H. Suvoong, who joined the college the same year that Ylanan and Mo graduated, could be considered one such successor. He didn’t bring many luxuries with him when he came to Springfield, but, like many of his peers from China and the Philippines, he carried a youthful optimism reminiscent of the athletes at the Far Eastern Championship Games. The fact that many of the Chinese and Filipino students in Springfield, like Mo and Ylanan, were themselves alums of the Games probably aided in producing this optimism. Gunsun Hoh, who was known by his Springfield comrades as “H2O,” wrote in a logbook, “Know each other 知人” and “Love each other 愛人.”21 Geronimo Suva, meanwhile, wrote that it was his ambition to “do my best in helping my people + give all that I have for a noble cause.”22 And Thomas Suvoong wrote that it was his humble goal to be “the light of the earth.”23 The students channeled their youthful passion into their research projects, turning Springfield into a laboratory not just to study but to create national histories of sports and sporting culture. Serafin Aquino, who submitted his thesis in June 1922, like John Mo before him, created a compendium of Filipino sports and games purportedly with the dual aim of advising American colonizers and fostering renewed interest in those sports and games among Filipino children.24 Gunsun Hoh took a similar approach in 1923 with his Springfield College thesis, “The Past and Future of Physical Education in China.” He started with a long history of physical activity in Chinese history before diving into specific Chinese games and exercises.25 20

21 22 23 24 25

Fu Haojian, Zhongguo jindai tiyu. For more on Mo’s publications, see Ma Yuehan 马约翰 (John Mo), Ma Yuehan jinian wenji 马约翰纪念文集 [John Mo’s Commemorative Collected Works] (Beijing: Zhongguo wenshi chubanshe 北京 : 中国文史出版社, 1998); and Ma Yuehan 馬約翰 (John Mo), Wo de jiankang shi zenyang delai de 我的健康是怎樣得 來的 [How I Attained My Fitness] (Beijing: Renmin tiyu chubanshe 北京 : 人民體育出版 社, 1954). “Unnamed,” The National Memory and Fellowship Book, Springfield College Archives. “Edwin H. Leighler,” The National Memory and Fellowship Book of College, School, Camp and Home Life (Chicago: College Memory Book Co., n.d.), Springfield College Archives. “George Wheeler, Class of 1923 Scrapbook,” Springfield College Archives. Serafin Aquino, “Philippine Games and Folk Dances” (MA diss., Springfield College, 1922), 1. Gunsun Hoh (Hao Gengsheng 郝更生), “The Past and Future of Physical Education in China” (MA diss., International Young Men’s Christian Association College of Springfield, 1923), 22–78.

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These historical theses, as well as the articles and books they inspired, like sports documentaries, tended to follow similar narrative arcs. They started by outlining an early golden age when the victories came easy. Then they described an era of decline under colonialism or a conservative regime. They concluded with a heartfelt comeback story of revival spearheaded by energetic rookies like themselves. For instance, after describing a sportive golden era in the Philippines before colonial occupation, Geronimo Suva proceeded to the period of decline, torching Spanish colonizers for turning Filipinos into “pale looking, humped back, emaciated young with spectacles, ready to die.”26 Gunsun Hoh similarly traced the “most contrary age for the development of physical education” to the “Essay system,” which led China to the “lowest point on her down-hill journey.”27 Hoh and Suva set the stage for a comeback, and, like good sports writers who squeeze emotions out of underdog stories, they provided them. These scholars offset the era of decline by researching, recovering, and compiling “traditional” games, and by building a bridge between those games and twentieth-century national revivals.28 They pivoted from past to present, stepping over the dark age in between, to draw continuities and craft new narratives for the nation. In other words, Chinese and Filipino scholars incorporated “premodern imperial forms of physical culture into a linear progressive history,” as historian Andrew Morris puts it.29 After all, a new sports dynasty doesn’t have the same emotional vigor as a team reviving the glory days of the past, and what was nationalism if not a creative manipulation of emotions that draws from so-called historical traditions to build unity and achieve political objectives? This formulaic Springfield research had a long-lasting impact in the region and beyond. Gunsun Hoh later converted his Springfield thesis 26

27 28

29

Suva, “Physical Measurements,” 4. In ways, Suva uncritically accepted Orientalist discourses like those articulated by the likes of American colonial administrator Dean Worcester. See Antolihao, Playing with the Big Boys, 43; Gerald R. Gems, Sport and the American Occupation of the Philippines: Bats, Balls, and Bayonets (Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2016), 145–146; and Gerald R. Gems, The Athletic Crusade: Sport and American Cultural Imperialism (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2006), 47–48. Hoh, “The Past and Future,” 13. For an analysis of these efforts through folk forms in the Philippines, see Theodore S. Gonzalves, The Day the Dancers Stayed: Performing in the Filipino/American Diaspora (Philadelphia, PA: Temple University Press, 2010), 58–60. Morris, Marrow of the Nation, 43. In this regard, Chinese and Filipino scholars followed a similar path as their peers around the world. For examples from India and Nigeria, see Joseph S. Alter, The Wrestler’s Body: Identity and Ideology in North India (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1992); and Andrew Apter, “The Subvention of Tradition: A Genealogy of the Nigerian Durbar,” in State/Culture: State-Formation after the Cultural Turn, ed. George Steinmetz (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1999), 213–252.

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into a highly cited monograph, which we encountered earlier in this chapter. Serafin Aquino channeled some of his thesis for a monograph on Philippine folk dances written by the “Mother of Philippine Dancing,” Francisca Reyes Aquino.30 Candido C. Bartolome, another Filipino Springfield alumnus, published several books on physical education through his long career at the University of the Philippines.31 And, of course, Regino Ylanan and John Mo also penned well-received sports histories and physical education research.32 In other words, these Springfield alumni helped establish long-lasting paradigms in the histories of sports in China and the Philippines. As leading theorists and advocates of physical education in the Philippines and China, it was only natural for Springfield graduates, upon their return home, to not only take a leading role in research but also to don the mantle of leadership in the premier athletic meet in the region, the Far Eastern Championship Games. As mentioned previously, John Mo and Regino Ylanan both participated in the Games before and after Springfield. George G. Tan (Chen Zhang’e 陈掌谔), another Springfield alumnus, likewise, competed in the decathlon at the fourth Games in Manila in 1919 before studying at the college.33 He also served as a Chinese delegate to the 1934 Games and eventually moved permanently to the Philippines.34 Two other Filipino alumni, Serafin Aquino and Pedro “Pete” Ablan, served as head and assistant coach of the Philippine track and field team at the 1934 Far Eastern Championship Games.35 Chinese and Filipino students at Springfield College also viewed sports, if not as a transnational “placenta of sportsmanship,” then at 30

31

32 33

34

35

Serafin Aquino and Francisca Reyes Aquino, Philippine Folk Dances (Manila, 1950– 1970); and Gunsun Hoh, Physical Education in China. For more on Francisca Reyes Aquino, see, Gonzalves, The Day the Dancers Stayed, 56–58; and Declan Patrick, “Filipino Folk Dance in the Academy: Embodied Research in the Work of Francesca Ryes Aquino, Sally Ann Ness, and Benildanze,” Asian Theatre Journal 31, no. 2 (2014): 399–416. See, for instance, Candido C. Bartolome, Source Book in Physical Education for Coaches and Researchers (Quezon City: Alemar Phoenix, 1971); and Candido C. Bartolome, Philippine Recreational Games (Quezon City: Phoenix Press, 1957). Ma Yuehan, Ma Yuehan jinian wenji; and Ylanan and Ylanan, The History and Development of Physical Education. Fang Xiongpu 方雄普, Huaqiao Huaren yu tiyu zatan 华侨华人与体育杂谈 [Chinese Overseas and Conversations about Physical Education] (Hong Kong: Xianggang shehui kexue chuban youxian gongsi 香港 : 香港社会科学出版有限公司, 2006), 30. George G. Tan (Chen Zhang’e 陳掌諤), A History of the Ancient Olympic Games [Gudai Aolinpike yundonghui shi 古代奧林匹克運動會史] (Manila: Chinese Sports Publishing, 1952), unnumbered preface. Tan had an illustrious career in physical education, teaching at Jinan University, Tsing Hua University, and Xiamen University before moving to the Philippines. Antonio de las Alas, “The Highest Spirit of Sportsmanship should Prevail during Olympiad,” in Tenth Far Eastern Olympiad (Manila: The Sports Review, 1934), 27.

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least as a means to build and enhance cooperation and congeniality in the region. Pedro Ablan, who graduated from Springfield in 1922, for instance, argued in his thesis that the Far Eastern Championship Games and sports more broadly could strengthen relationships within Asia.36 Ablan situated the three founding countries of the Games together, writing, “The writer feels sure that another two or three years will see the Philippines, China and Japan competing successfully in the athletic arena with the best athletes of the Western World.”37 Instead of portraying the Games as a wedge to separate Filipinos from their Asian peers, he used the Games as a tool to highlight Asian solidarity. Ablan’s juxtaposition reveals the power of sport to also create a common language and experience beyond national boundaries. A Different Sports Triangle The Far Eastern Championship Games, enhanced by the Springfield College connection, helped form the Japan–China–Philippines sports triangle.38 Cutting across area studies boundaries that typically separate East and Southeast Asia, the Philippines–China–Japan sports triangle challenges us to look beyond those habitual boundaries and appreciate this alternative region as a cohesive and closely connected unit. Historian Roy Bin Wong defines a region as “more than individual countries but far less than the entire globe,” and Anssi Paasi identifies “social institutions such as culture, media and administration” – a list that intersects directly with sports and its connected industries – as key ingredients for forming the “complicated constellation” that is a region.39 This definition aligns perfectly with the China–Japan–Philippines sports triangle. The YMCA uses a red “mind–body–spirit” triangle as its symbol, and Chinese, Japanese, and Filipino Springfield College graduates mapped that triangle onto Asia. In 1927, the young director of the Chinese YMCA in Manila, Lim Chu Cong (Lin Zhuguang 林珠光), whom we 36

37 38

39

Ablan argued that the founders of the Games “were moved by the idea of . . . developing and fostering a feeling of fraternity between the peoples of the three countries.” See Pedro Ablan, “Track and Field Athletics” (MA diss., International Young Men’s Christian Association College, 1922), 3. Ibid., 4. Sports historian Stefan Huebner has included this triangle in what he calls “sportive PanAsianism.” However, he describes sportive Pan-Asianism as rejecting Christianity. While many athletes and educators from Asia did reject the notion, the Springfield College contingent notably did not. See Huebner, Pan-Asian Sports, 9. Lou Antolihao makes a similar argument in his book; see Antolihao, Playing with the Big Boys, 10. Wong, “Comparing States and Regions,” 116; Anssi Paasi, “The Resurgence of the ‘Region’ and ‘Regional Identity’: Theoretical Perspectives and Empirical Observations on Regional Dynamics in Europe,” Review of International Studies 35 (2009): 133.

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encountered in Chapters 3 and 5, led Manila’s Chinese basketball team on a well-publicized “barnstorming tour” of China and Japan.40 Springfield alum Regino Ylanan, who by this time had returned to the Philippines to serve as national physical director, noted how tours like this allowed athletes to “serve as ambassadors of friendship and international good-will.”41 After all, Ylanan, as a former Far Eastern Championship Games competitor, had served as such an ambassador many times in the past. Channeling good will after his return to Manila at the conclusion of the 1927 tour, a team captain connected all the dots, citing the inspiration of the “famous Y.M.C.A. triangle” of Luther Gulick, which represented “mind–body–spirit,” in yielding a successful trip through the Philippines– China–Japan triangle.42 But it was Springfield College itself that served as the training camp for Asian educators, making events like the 1927 tour possible. The classrooms and sports fields in Springfield created ample opportunities for interactions and collaborations among members of the triangle. For instance, the Japanese student Denichi Takeuchi, who would later take Japanese sports teams on tours in the Americas, served as Filipino student Geronimo Suva’s test subject for his thesis, posing for muscle and stature measurements.43 Shared classes, playing fields, and research brought these Asian students together, and student clubs and organizations fostered a sense of team spirit and shared mission. The Masonic Club and Cosmopolitan Club in particular brought foreign students together. The Cosmopolitan Club set out to “unite students of all nationalities in the College for their mutual benefit, socially, intellectually, morally, and spiritually.”44 In 1920, Pedro Ablan served as vice-president of the club, Serafin Aquino served as social chairman, and Gunsun Hoh and Geronimo Suva were members.45 The next year, Gunsun Hoh became treasurer and Chin F. Song, Tomas Suvoong, Pedro Ablan, and Serafin Aquino were members.46 In fact, nearly every student from China and the Philippines at one point participated in the club. If Regino Ylanan and John Mo were the Larry Bird and Magic Johnson of Springfield College, 40

41

42

43 44 45

For a detailed account of the tour, see Silverio Jorge, “Retrospection,” in Fusang jiyou 扶 桑紀游 [Souvenir 1927], ed. C. C. Lim (Lin Zhuguang 林珠光) (Manila: Feilübin Zhonghua qingnian hui 馬尼拉 : 菲律賓華僑青年會, 1927), 41–44. Regino R. Ylanan, “Comment by the National Physical Director,” in Fusang jiyou 扶桑紀 游 [Souvenir 1927], ed. C. C. Lim (Lin Zhuguang 林珠光) (Manila: Feilübin Zhonghua qingnian hui 馬尼拉 : 菲律賓華僑青年會, 1927), 26. C. H. Choa, “Keynote to the Success of the Manila Chinese ‘Y’ Basketball Team China Japan Tour,” in Fusang jiyou 扶桑紀游 [Souvenir 1927], ed. C. C. Lim (Lin Zhuguang 林 珠光) (Manila: Feilübin Zhonghua qingnian hui 馬尼拉 : 菲律賓華僑青年會, 1927), 36. Suva, “Physical Measurements.” Springfield College, The Massasoit (Springfield, MA: Springfield College, 1921), 161. Ibid. 46 Ibid., 152–153.

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and they were worried about their legacies after retiring from the game, then they could rest assured knowing that Michael Jordan, Charles Barkley, Kobe Bryant, Isaiah Thomas, and others would continue their legacies after they stepped away. The Cosmopolitan Club, which became the International Student Organization in the 1990s, sponsored school outings to help international students become better acquainted with one another and America. In November of 1922, for instance, members of the club took a trip to the local Indian Motorcycle Plant to learn about American industry.47 At a farewell banquet the semester before, over “Philippine steak,” “Shanghai celery,” “Spanish olives,” and other global delicacies, SingFu Chang, Chin F. Song, Serafin Aquino, Gunsun Hoh, and others celebrated the year’s graduates.48 Student clubs and the extracurricular events they hosted fostered a sense of camaraderie, setting the stage for future gatherings and reunions at athletic events in Asia. Because the Far Eastern Championship Games attracted so many Springfield graduates, the cities that hosted the Olympiads acted as sites for reunions. One alum, during a trip to China, noted how he ran into many “Springfield graduates here in Shanghai.”49 An image in that same bulletin showed a “Springfield Reunion at Japan During Far Eastern Games” with John Mo and Regino Ylanan appearing smug and confident.50 Writing about Chinese and Filipino medical students in a different context, one professor from the University of the Philippines shared that “many a personal friendship has no doubt been made between the two groups in their stay abroad. After their return to their respective countries these friendship[s] could not be forgotten but renewed.”51 However, these anecdotes of interaction don’t leave us with much to measure the degree of direct contact between Japanese, Filipino, and Chinese scholar-athletes after graduation outside of a public clash in 1934 that we will explore in the following chapter, which is why this part focuses primarily on parallels. Staff in the alumni office at Springfield College no doubt saw the advantages of reunion publicity, which is why they included the Far Eastern Championship Game image 47 48 49 50 51

“Cosmopolitan Club Plans Active Year,” The Springfield Student, November 10, 1922. Cosmopolitan Club, “Farewell Banquet to Senior Members,” May 19, 1922, Springfield College Archives, rg1750-01–02-001. “Here and There Among Alumni,” The College at Springfield Bulletin 5, no. 1 (1931). Ibid. Candido M. Africa, “Future Sino–Philippine Friendship,” in Feilübin Minlila zhonghua shanghui sanshi zhounian jiniankan 律濱岷里拉中華商會三十周年紀念刊 [Philippine Chinese Chamber of Commerce Thirty Year Anniversary Publication], ed. Zhonghua shanghui chuban weiyuanhui 中華商會出版委員會 (Manila: Minli yinshuguan 馬尼拉 : 民立印 書館, 1936), 29.

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in their bulletin. So, while the image hints at some of the connections that might have existed within the sportive triangle, without personal correspondence, it is impossible to address the depth or persistence of this contact. Nonetheless, by following the athletes and educators of the China– Japan–Philippines sports triangle to a third space in the United States and to various reunions afterward, this chapter adopts a “trans-area studies” approach that examines Wong’s “geographies of connections that emerge in the spaces beyond national states that are far less than global.”52 It is easy for watershed moments, like the 1934 kerfuffle that we will explore in the next chapter, to obscure historical contingencies, like the possibilities at Springfield’s fields. However, by exploring such contingencies, we gain a better appreciation of lost opportunities when things fell apart. We have pivoted from the local to the global, and now it is time to return once more to the local to see how many of the characters introduced in this part came together one last time to struggle over the existence of the Games and the future of Asia.53

52

53

Wong, “Comparing States and Regions in East Asia and Europe,” 119. For “trans-area studies,” see James D. Sidaway, “Long Live Trans-Area Studies,” in “Southeast Asia: An Idea Whose Time Is Past?” by Willem van Schendel, Journal of the Humanities and Social Sciences of Southeast Asia and Oceania 168, no. 4 (2012): 506. See also Ho, “Inter-Asian Concepts for Mobile Societies,” 907. For more on the pivot between global and local, see Schäfer, “Reconfiguring Area Studies for the Global Age,” 22.

9

Disintegration The Triangle Offense

Parallel Circuits In an intense battle with the “Japanese military,” the Chinese army “trampled all over enemy territory.”1 The year? 1934. This alternate reality where China triumphed and Japan failed, which is a perfect inflection of the 1930s, did not come from the imagination of a science fiction author. It came from the pen of a sportswriter who was describing, in rather colorful terms, the Chinese victory over Japan at the final soccer game of the Tenth Far Eastern Championship Games. The author, as well as his Chinese compatriots who read his column, likely knew that the triumph on the field was only an illusion and that the true battles for the very existence of the Games and for the very existence of China were set to take place in the boardrooms the next day and on actual battlefields in years to come, but that didn’t detract from this moment of blind jubilation when the sports field served as the salve that reality could not to provide. In the Asian sporting world, 1934 was a year of some significance. The matches of the Far Eastern Championship Games were intense, but the boardroom bouts put those matches to shame.2 Before athletes took to the fields at the final Far Eastern Championship Games in Manila in May, Japanese Amateur Athletic Association representatives made barnstorming boardroom tours through Manila and Shanghai. In fact, the Japanese delegates landed in Shanghai at the same moment that athletes from across China had gathered for the trials for the Games.3 Negotiators above, athletes below. The narrative in this section bounces back-andforth between these groups. In some ways, the Tenth and final Far 1 2

3

Gan Bun Cho (Yan Wenchu 顏文初), “Zuqiu jinbiao 足球錦標 [The Soccer Title],” Qinfen tiyu yuebao 勤奮體育月報 [Chin Fen Sports Monthly] 1, no. 9 (1934): 33. For more on the 1934 Games, see Grant K. Goodman, “Japan, the Philippines, and the Far Eastern Olympics of 1934,” in The East Asian Olympiads, 1934–2008: Building Bodies and Nations in Japan, Korea, and China, ed. William M. Tsutsui and Michael Baskett (Leiden: Global Oriental, 2011), 23–33. Zhou Zudao 周祖道, “Di shi jie Yuandong yundonghui jiyao 第十届遠東運動會紀要 [Summary of the Tenth Far Eastern Championship Games],” Minsheng zhoukan 民聲週 刊 [Minsheng Weekly] 1, no. 2 (1934): 50.

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Eastern Championship Games initially unfolded like a repeat of the coalescence of 1921, but unlike the earlier iteration, politics ended up overwhelming sportive good will. The Japanese barnstorming boardroom tour began when a representative of the Japan Amateur Athletic Federation arrived in Manila in January 1934 to lobby for the admission of the puppet state of Manchukuo, which Japan had created after invading northeastern China in 1931, to the Far Eastern Athletic Association.4 The acceptance of Manchukuo into the organization would have provided some semblance of international recognition for the new state, which Japan desperately needed after its failure to achieve any such recognition from the League of Nations in the preceding years. The Manchurian Incident, as Japan’s invasion is often called, would eventually precipitate Japan’s withdrawal from the League of Nations and the Far Eastern Athletic Association, but we are getting ahead of ourselves. In Manila, Yamamoto Tadaoki (山本忠興), the Japanese Far Eastern Athletic Association representative, met with Springfield alum Regino R. Ylanan, the secretary treasurer of the Philippine Amateur Athletic Federation, and Jorge B. Vargas, the vice-president of the same organization. Later, in March, Yamamoto laid out the stakes of their meetings in stark terms, saying, “Manchukuo must be admitted; otherwise no Japanese athlete [will] be sent to Manila next May.”5 The first round of the heavyweight boardroom bout had set the stage for the ensuing rounds. However, in Shanghai on April 9, in the highly anticipated second round of the barnstorming boardroom tour, Japan’s lead negotiator Hiranuma Ryō zō (平沼亮三) unexpectedly clinched his opponent, ending the round prematurely. Was he throwing the match? Enter player three. Chinese negotiators refused to sit idly by while Japan attempted to legitimize their landgrab. In fact, Chinese representatives threatened a boycott of their own if Manchukuo joined into the Far Eastern Athletic Association, applying pressure on the Philippines to ignore Japanese overtures. And their pressure worked, at least momentarily, as Japan temporarily abandoned their boycott threat. Defending the Philippine decision to side with China in refusing to allow Manchukuo to join the organization, Vargas reported, “In view of the existing rules . . . the Philippines had to take the action taken in 4

5

For a chronology of key events, see Goodman, “Japan, the Philippines, and the Far Eastern Olympics of 1934,” 23–33. According to some reports, Japan began lobbying for the entry of Manchukuo as early as October of 1933. See Zhou Zudao, “Di shi jie Yuandong yundonghui jiyao,” 49. Tribune (Manila), March 22, 1934, quoted in Goodman, “Japan, the Philippines, and the Far Eastern Olympics of 1934,” 26.

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Shanghai.”6 Meanwhile, according to Chinese reports, while the Japanese “galloped quickly, and their strength can’t be ridiculed,” China eventually triumphed over the “enemy’s rampant strength.”7 Oops, we accidentally slipped back to the soccer match, which took place a month after the Shanghai negotiations. Let us linger there for a moment before returning to the boardrooms. After torching the Philippines 2 to 0 earlier in the tournament, China defeated Japan 4 to 3 in a grueling match, resulting in yet another trophy in their soccer war chest.8 Of the Chinese teams that took to the fields in Manila for the Far Eastern Championship Games in May, perhaps none carried more swagger than the group of famous footballers from Hong Kong. The Philippines, despite sustained efforts to improve their national soccer team, including inviting several elite Chinese soccer squads to the archipelago in 1932 and 1933, was clearly out of its league.9 The soccer field favored China, as did the early boardroom negotiations. Jumping back to the negotiating table in Shanghai a month prior, it appeared that Filipino negotiators had occupied an equally tenuous position. The Philippines was caught between a rock and a hard place in the Manchukuo negotiations because the government had already raised and allocated vast sums for the Games, and if either Japan or China had followed through with their threats to withdraw, they would have absorbed huge fiscal and reputational losses.10 So, the fact that the Philippines stuck to its guns in siding with China during the Shanghai meeting appeared like a noble and potentially costly gesture. But perhaps, as pundits would later speculate, this audacity was merely theater, as Japan and the Philippines had already struck a secret deal on Manchukuo.11 6

7 9

10

11

Japan Advertiser, April 12, 1934, quoted in Goodman, “Japan, the Philippines, and the Far Eastern Olympics of 1934,” 28. For more on the Philippine position in Shanghai, see “Yuandong xiaoxi: di shijie yuandong yundonghui tekan zai 遠東消息 : 第十届遠東運動 會特刊载 [Far Eastern News: The Tenth Far Eastern Championship Games Special Report],” Zhejiang tiyu yuekan 浙江體育月刊 [Zhejiang Sports Monthly] 10 (1934): 79. 8 Gan Bun Cho, “Zuqiu jinbiao,” 32. Ibid., 25. “Chinese Play 3rd Tilt Today,” The Tribune, February 2, 1932; “Visiting Eleven Cops Its 4th Game in a Row,” The Tribune, February 5, 1932; and Chen Jinjiang 陳錦江, “Zhengfei ji 征菲記 [Tour of the Philippines],” Donghua tiyu zhoukan 動畫體育周刊 [Tung Hwa Sports Digest] 1, no. 2 (1933): 8–9 and 16–19. Yun Chen reported the investment at 1 million pesos. Yun Chen 雲塵, “Yuandong yundonghui zhi guoqu yu xianzai 遠東運動會之過去與現在 [The Past and the Present of the Far Eastern Championship Games],” Beichen Zazhi 北辰雜志 [Beichen Magazine] 59 (1934): 4. A. V. H. Hartendorp, “Stupidity – Nothing More or Less,” Philippine Magazine 31, no. 6 (1934): 237; and William Z. L. Sung (Shen Siliang 沈嗣良), “Chuxi Yuanyunhui ge daibiao tanhua 出席遠運會各代表談話 [Discussion by Representatives of the Far Eastern Championship Games],” Qinfen tiyu yuebao 勤奮體育月報 [Chin Fen Sports Monthly] 1, no. 9 (1934): 9.

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According to newspaper reports after the Games, in exchange for Japan’s attendance in Manila, Filipino negotiators had agreed to stand with Japan on the issue of Manchukuo at the final round of the boardroom bout, which was scheduled to coincide with the conclusion of the competitions.12 Before that boardroom finale took place, however, thanks to Japan’s acquiescence in Shanghai, the athletes finally took to the fields for the competitions, while the negotiators took a break from the boardroom to tour the banquet halls and implement their charm offensives. The Charm Offensives Instead of borrowing a coast guard ship like the Philippine team had done in 1921, Chinese athletes and coaches disembarked for the Philippines on the President McKinley – one of the Dollar Steamships that we encountered in Chapter 2.13 After arriving in Manila six days later but still before the start of the Games, Chinese coaches, athletes, and delegates prepared for the critical pre-competition ceremony circuit, which required charisma, tact, and subtlety. The vice-president of the Philippine Amateur Athletic Federation Jorge Vargas laid out the stakes of the banquets, declaring, “We do not lose sight of the fact that complete success shall not be attained if [the Games] fail to foster friendly feeling with the other nations participating in the meet.”14 Fortunately for China, seasoned diplomat Chengting Thomas Wang, who headed the Chinese delegation, and famous swimmer Yeung Sau-king (Yang Xiuqiong 楊秀瓊), who headed the Chinese swim team, led the charge. With champagne glasses clinking and laughter reverberating through elegant halls, everything seemed to be falling into place for China. According to reports, when the shining star of China’s athletic world, Yeung Sau-king, entered the Great Harmony Club, “it felt like the entire party increased in vigor.”15 Although the Bank of China director and head of the Chinese Chamber of Commerce in the Philippines, Alfonso Sycip (Xue Fenshi 薛芬士), whom we encountered briefly in the previous chapter, gave a gracious toast, and Chengting Thomas Wang followed with a honed diplomatic speech, the “Chinese Mermaid,” as Yeung became known, stole the show, wowing the over 600 athletes, journalists,

12 14 15

Ibid. 13 Zhou Zudao, “Di shi jie Yuandong yundonghui jiyao,” 50. Vargas, “Vargas Appeals for Cooperation and Patronage,” 11. Gan Bun Cho (Yan Wenchu 顏文初), “Yuandong huizhong san da yanhui ji 遠東會中三 大讌會紀 [Record of Three Banquets at the Far Eastern Games],” Qinfen tiyu yuebao 勤 奮體育月報 [Chin Fen Sports Monthly] 1, no. 9 (1934): 77.

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and well-to-do politicians and businesspeople in attendance on the sixth floor of the China Banking Corporation building.16 Several days later, on May 16, 1934, at 5:15 PM, Yeung Sau-king slipped into the waters of the newly constructed Philippine aquatic center to compete in the fifty-meter freestyle final.17 According to reports, the “competition between Chinese and Filipino athletes was extremely fierce.”18 Dispelling any potential anxieties of readers back home, one Chinese reporter described how the “expeditionary women’s force (遠征 之娘子軍),” or the Chinese swim team, left the “local Filipino women’s team in their wakes.”19 But for Yeung Sau-king and her fellow swimmers, victory in the pool was the easy part, and her new Chinese record of 36.93 seconds almost seemed like an afterthought.20 As observed in Chapter 7, female athletes carried an extra burden as both competitors and symbols of femininity, and they felt it necessary to develop “numerous and often competing strategies to cope with the dissonance between masculine sport and feminine womanhood,” as sports historian Susan Cahn explains.21 A strong physical performance in the pool, which set athletes apart from their Carnival Queen sisters, necessitated an exaggerated performance of femininity in the banquet circuit to assuage fickle male reporters and onlookers. Back at the opening ceremony four days before, Yeung Sau-king and her compatriots had weathered unabashed male ogling.22 Gan Bun Cho (Yan Wenchu 顏文初), one such ogler who appears elsewhere in this book, directed his gaze at the Chinese women athletes who followed the flag bearers in the procession at the opening ceremony, writing, “For our healthy, strong, and beautiful female athletes, their facial features, skin, and muscles were all exceedingly exemplary.”23 Male Filipino pundits, for their part, shared Gan’s obsession, especially when discussing Filipina swimmers. One commentator, for instance, 16

17

18 19 21 22 23

For more on Yeung Sau-king, see Gao, Sporting Gender, 166–207; Morris, “The Me in the Mirror,” 107–125; and Hsiao-Pei Yen, “Body Politics, Modernity and National Salvation: The Modern Girl and the New Life Movement,” Asian Studies Review 29 (2005): 180. For more on the construction of this and other stadiums for the games, see Gan Bun Cho (Yan Wenchu 顏文初), “Di shi jie Yuandong yundonghui kaimu shengkuang 第十届遠東 運動會開幕盛況 [The Spectacular Opening Ceremony of the Tenth Far Eastern Championship Games],” Qinfen tiyu yuebao 勤奮體育月報 [Chin Fen Sports Monthly] 1, no. 9 (1934): 22. “Nüzi youyong biaoyan 女子游泳表演 [Women’s Swimming Performance],” Qinfen tiyu yuebao 勤奮體育月報 [Chin Fen Sports Monthly] 1, no. 9 (1934): 64. Ibid. 20 “Nüzi youyong biaoyan,” 64. Susan K. Cahn, Coming on Strong: Gender and Sexuality in Women’s Sport (Champaign: University of Illinois Press, 2015), 4. For more on ogling in sports, see Morris, “Me in the Mirror,” 111. Gan Bun Cho, “Di shi jie Yuandong yundonghui kaimu shengkuang,” 22.

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described how the “tanksplashers who are educated enough not to be ashamed to appear before the public” were a “novelty to see.”24 Meanwhile, Filipino lawmakers infused the ceremony with the pomp of a country on the verge of independence, raising the performative responsibilities of female and male athletes alike. The opening ceremony featured school children singing the national anthem in a brand-new stadium with flags flying and crowds cheering.25 On this international stage, the “proper” gendered performance was paramount. With this in mind, Gan assured his readers in China that Filipino and American spectators allocated appropriate applause to Chinese representatives.26 Back at the pool, the Filipino athlete some called the “king of the pool,” male swimmer Teófilo Yldefonso, who was the first Filipino to win an Olympic medal, anchored the Filipino men’s swimming team.27 As in years past, he secured the gold in the 200-meter breaststroke at the Games. Yldefonso no doubt garnered the respect of the home audience, but the Japanese men carried away the hardware for most of the men’s aquatic events, “breaking all existing records of the Far East except the 200-meter breaststroke.”28 Filipino women didn’t fare much better than their male compatriots. Although they came in a close second in the 50meter and 100-meter freestyle competitions, they simply couldn’t keep up with Chinese stars Liu Guizhen (劉桂珍) and Yeung Sau-king. Before the Filipino “king of the pool” added another medal to his collection at the Games, back during the banquet circuit several days earlier, the Filipino “king of the banquet,” Senate President and soon-tobe Commonwealth President Manuel L. Quezon had stepped up to the podium to impress all with his elocution.29 At yet another banquet at the Pan-Pacific Association of China on Calle Herran, Quezon no doubt earned the respect of attendees, but the chair of the Japanese Amateur Athletic Federation, Hiranuma Ryō zō , left his own indelible mark by 24 25 26 27

28 29

F. N. Carl, “Watch Our Girls!” in Tenth Far Eastern Olympiad (Manila: The Sports Review, 1934), 64. Gan Bun Cho, “Di shi jie Yuandong yundonghui kaimu shengkuang,” 22–24. Ibid. Pedro D. Villanueva, “The Xth Far Eastern Championship Games,” Philippine Magazine 31, no. 6 (1934): 233. For more on Teófilo Yldefonso and Philippine Olympic records, see John Grasso, Bill Mallon, and Jeroen Heijmans, Historical Dictionary of the Olympic Movement (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2015), 473–474. Villanueva, “The Xth Far Eastern Championship Games,” 233. For Quezon’s invitation and thank-you letter, see, Gregorio Nieva, letter to Manuel L. Quezon, May 10, 1934, series 7, box 77, Pres. Manuel Luis Quezon Papers, National Library of the Philippines; and Hawada, letter to Manuel L. Quezon, May 14, 1934, series 7, box 77, Pres. Manuel Luis Quezon Papers, National Library of the Philippines. See also Manuel L. Quezon, “President Quezon Greets Olympians,” in Tenth Far Eastern Olympiad (Manila: The Sports Review, 1934), 9.

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delivering his speech entirely in Japanese to a confused audience.30 However, it was Chengting Thomas Wang – who had been outclassed by Yeung Sau-king at the previous banquet but settled into his element in this more formal evening banquet – who blew everyone away, stating, “after the Philippines gains independence and you [Quezon] are elected the first president, we will have the opportunity to all meet together again in the Malacañang” – the presidential palace of the Philippines.31 Charm accomplished. The pool and the party flowed together. The ceremony and the competition became one. Wang, or the social “merman,” as one might call him, swam through the ceremony circuit with the grace of a fish, charming his hosts and capturing hearts. Meanwhile, Yeung outclassed her Filipino competitors in the pool and even put Wang to shame in the banquet circuit, charming her hosts and satisfying oglers. While the Filipino old hats Quezon and Yldefonso still demanded respect with their long and storied careers, it became clear to attendees that the Chinese visitors were the stars of this show. Unfortunately for the “Chinese mermaid” and the “Chinese merman,” however, the basketball court and the boardroom, which would decide the fate of the Far Eastern Games and Far Eastern Athletic Association respectively, were the turf of the “Filipino Islanders,” and the visitors became fish out of water. The Triangle Offense Chapter 7 began with a stunning Chinese basketball triumph in 1921, so it is only fitting that Chapter 9 ends with a controversial Philippine victory that mirrored a far more controversial Philippine boardroom betrayal in 1934. The new Philippine basketball team featured breakout stars, including Jacinto Ciria Cruz, who would also lead the team in Berlin two years later; Bibiano Ouano, the “foremost basketball center in the Islands”; and old timers, like Mariano Filomeno, who had competed for the Islanders in every Far Eastern Championship Games since 1923.32 But China had its own bevy of stars with Wang Yuzeng (王玉增), Tang Baokun (唐寳堃), and team captain Chen Shikun (陳實坤) leading the 30

31

32

Gan Bun Cho, “Yuandong huizhong san da yanhui ji,” 77. Ryō zō did the same thing at the opening ceremony; see, Gan Bun Cho “Di shi jie Yuandong yundonghui kaimu shengkuang,” 24. Gan Bun Cho, “Yuandong huizhong san da yanhui ji,” 77. The Malacañang is the presidential palace in the Philippines where the president currently resides and where the governor-general used to reside. Bocobo and Celis, Legends and Heroes, 57 and 72; Ignacio F. Lim, “The Turn of the Tide,” in Tenth Far Eastern Olympiad (Manila: The Sports Review, 1934), 86; and Villanueva, “The Xth Far Eastern Championship Games,” 234.

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way.33 These superstars led China and the Philippines to separate victories over Japan to start the competition, setting the stage for their first head to head match.34 According to a Filipino reporter, the first game between China and the Philippines took place in front of the “biggest crowd known in the history of the sport in the Far East.”35 A Chinese reporter explained that an extra seven to eight hundred ticketless spectators squeezed into the overflowing stadium, causing police to lose control of the crowd.36 Needless to say, spectators and journalists were psyched for this heavyweight matchup. But while the metaphysical stage was set for the competition between the Philippines and China, the physical stage was not. Delayed construction funds, which poured out only four months before the start of the Games, prevented the builders from pouring out the concrete for the basketball stadium.37 As a result, Chinese and Filipino players met on a temporary wooden court setup on the open-air tennis court, which had just hosted a tennis match a few hours before.38 Meanwhile, after the board meetings of the Far Eastern Athletic Association in Shanghai in April, and after the ceremony circuit at the start of the Games in Manila, the stage was also set for the final boardroom bash in Manila, but the question of Manchukuo continued to hang over the deliberations like a storm cloud over an uncovered basketball court. The Chinese and Philippine diplomatic delegations, just like their star-studded basketball teams, carried a plethora of diplomatic all-stars. Chengting Thomas Wang of banquet-circuit fame and William Z. L. Sung (Shen Siliang 沈嗣良), Secretary of the China National Amateur Athletic Federation, led the charge for China. On the other side, Senate President Manuel L. Quezon, also from the prestigious banquet circuit, and Jorge B. Vargas, Vice-President of the Philippine Amateur Athletic Federation, headed up the Philippine delegation. Springfield College alumni and fellow 33 34 35 36

37

38

Zhou Zudao, “Di shi jie Yuandong yundonghui jiyao, 51. “Lanqiu jinbiao 籃球錦標 [The Basketball Title],” Qinfen tiyu yuebao 勤奮體育月報 [Chin Fen Sports Monthly] 1, no. 9 (1934): 40. Villanueva, “The Xth Far Eastern Championship Games,” 234. “Zhongfei lanqiu zhankuang 中菲籃球戰況 [Sino–Philippine Basketball Battle Situation],” Di shi jie Yuandong yundonghui tekan 第十届遠東運動會特刊 [Tenth Far Eastern Championship Games Special Magazine], 31. Gan Bun Cho, “Di shi jie Yuandong yundonghui kaimu shengkuang,” 22. The money was released in June of 1933 and construction began on a new soccer stadium, swimming complex, basketball arena, and tennis stadium in January. Yun Chen, “Yuandong yundonghui zhi guoqu yu xianzai,” 4. For an aerial image of the courts and a schedule of matches, see “Di shi jie Yuandong yundonghui zong zhixubiao 第十届遠東運動會總秩序表 [General Program of the Tenth Far Eastern Championship Games],” Di shi jie Yuandong yundonghui tekan 第十届遠東運動會特刊 [Tenth Far Eastern Championship Games Special Magazine], 6.

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Figure 9.1 Springfield Reunion at the Japan Far Eastern Championship Games, 1931

boardroom delegates Regino Ylanan, Hoh Gunsun, and John Mo played critical, hands-on roles in the negotiations as well (Figure 9.1).39 Three days earlier, on the basketball/tennis court, uncooperative weather interrupted the Chinese and Filipino basketball stars. At halftime, with the Philippines up 26 to 12, the weather gods intervened, ordering a monsoon storm over the uncovered wooden court.40 The head coach of the Philippine team, Alfredo del Rosario, swayed by the halftime score, lobbied to finish the game, waterlogged court be damned, while Chinese delegate William Z. L. Sung called for postponement given the unsafe conditions.41 The referees initially awarded victory to the Islanders in the 39

40 41

For the rosters of attendees, see Regino R. Ylanan, ed., Official Rule and Handbook, 1936– 1937 (Manila: Philippine Amateur Athletic Association, 1937), 6–7; and “Ri jiesan Yuandong yundonghui zhi jingguo 日解散遠東運動會之經過 [How Japan Dismantled the Far Eastern Championship Games],” Di shi jie Yuandong yundonghui tekan 第十届遠 東運動會特刊 [Tenth Far Eastern Championship Games Special Magazine], 47. “Zhongfei lanqiu zhankuang,” 31. “Lanqiu jinbiao,” 41. According to the rules adopted before the Games commenced, if rain fell before a basketball game, the game would be moved indoors to the University of Santo Tomas, but if it rained during a game then the game would be rescheduled.

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abbreviated match before Far Eastern Athletic Association officials intervened to overturn their decision and reschedule the game. The frustrated coaches and players then returned to their drawing boards to draft new game plans that accounted for key missing players. China had lost star Wang Yuzeng and the Philippines had lost Bibiano Ouano to injury during the game.42 Back at the meetings, China and the Philippines also proceeded without star diplomats Chengting Thomas Wang and Manuel L. Quezon, who both called in sick.43 Perhaps this was no coincidence, as the first board meeting ended in an impasse and the second meeting, which reportedly had an “exceedingly intense atmosphere,” dragged on for four hours, only ending when the Chinese delegation walked out in frustration.44 After failing to reach a decision on Manchukuo, with China refusing to recognize the new member for obvious reasons, the Japanese delegation began to broach the possibility of disbanding the Far Eastern Athletic Federation altogether and replacing it with a new organization to circumvent China’s protests.45 To this proposal, William Z. L. Sung vented his frustration, complaining that Japan “wanted to seduce the Philippines into recognizing the false organization.”46 The temperature of the room increased, as it is wont to do on a summer day in Manila. Back at the basketball court, after the actual storm had passed, the Islanders continued their winning streak with a less controversial defeat of China in the second round on May 18. Addressing the defeat, one Chinese commentator, in a column rife with racialized imagery, wrote, “in the second half the Philippine offense increased in speed and intensity, [with players] advancing in all directions like monkeys.”47 With more 42

43

44 45 46

47

“Lanqiu jinbiao,” 41; “Far Eastern Games in Manila,” The North-China Herald [Zilin xingqi zhoukan 字林星期周刊], May 23, 1934, 277–278; and Villanueva, “The Xth Far Eastern Championship Games,” 234. Wang Yuzeng was only out for this game, whereas Ouano was out for the series with a broken wrist. William Z. L. Sung, “Chuxi Yuanyunhui ge daibiao tanhua,” 9. Another journalist described how some Chinese athletes also got sick due to the unfamiliar food and climate in the Philippines. See Zhou Jiaqi 周家騏, “Yuandong yundonghui tanzuo 遠東運動會談 座 [Discussion on the Far Eastern Championship Games],” Huamei 華美 [Hwa Mei Weekly] 1, no. 3 (1934): 4. “Ri jiesan Yuandong yundonghui,” 47. See also Sung, “Chuxi Yuanyunhui,” 9. Goodman, “Japan, the Philippines, and the Far Eastern Olympics of 1934,” 30. William Z. L. Sung (Shen Siliang 沈嗣良), “Yuandong yundonghui tanzuo 遠東運動會 談座 [Discussion on the Far Eastern Championship Games],” Huamei 華美 [Hwa Mei Weekly] 1, no. 3 (1934): 2. In more gendered language, he also purportedly said, “it seems that the Philippines are pretty well tied to Japan’s apron strings.” See “Result of Manila Games Quarrels,” The North-China Herald [Zilin xingqi zhoukan 字林星期周刊], May 30, 1934, 318. “Zhongfei lanqiu zhankuang 中菲之戰詳記 [Detailed Record of the Sino–Philippine Battle],” Di shi jie Yuandong yundonghui tekan 第十届遠東運動會特刊 [Tenth Far Eastern Championship Games Special Magazine], 31.

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poise and introspection, Springfield alum Thomas H. Suvoong, who served as the assistant coach of the Chinese athletic delegation, explained that inexperience playing in the tropics hampered the otherwise gallant Chinese performance.48 After this routine Philippine victory, however, something shocking happened on the basketball courts. The Islanders fell to the Japanese team that they had soundly defeated days before, stunning the crowds in Manila.49 An even more shocking event in the boardroom stunned newspaper readers in Manila and around the world a few days later. The Philippines also succumbed to Japan at the negotiation table. Hiranuma Ryō zō and the Japanese delegation, on May 21, their planned day of departure, scheduled a last-minute board meeting to decide the fate of the Far Eastern Athletic Association. According to conflicting reports, representatives from Japan and the Philippines tried and failed to reach a member of the Chinese delegation to inform them of the meeting.50 With no Chinese representative present, Japan and the Philippines proceeded as a committee of two. Together, they agreed to disband the Far Eastern Athletic Association and replace it with a brand-new organization, the Amateur Athletic Association of the Orient, with Manchukuo as a member. They also scheduled a new athletic competition for Tokyo in 1938.51 Fresh off the boat back in China, William Z. L. Sung reportedly called this “nothing less than a farce.”52 The final basketball match between China and the Philippines had likewise been rescheduled to May 20, but unlike the last-minute board meeting, Chinese players actually received the memo and took to the court. The result for China was similar, however, as the Philippines pulled away with the victory, forty-four to thirty-three. Chinese observers cried foul, complaining that the four early fouls on star Tang Baokun, which sidelined him just like his boardroom compatriots, reflected a larger pattern of unfair officiating by the refs.53 On the court and in the boardroom, things began to fall apart for China, but boardroom negotiators still held out hope for a last-minute intervention from the 48

49 50

51 52

Thomas Suvoong (Shu Hong 舒鴻), “Yuandong yundonghui tanzuo 遠東運動會談座 [Discussion on the Far Eastern Championship Games],” Huamei 華美 [Hwa Mei Weekly] 1, no. 3 (1934): 5. Fellow Springfield alum S. Y. Tung (Dong Shouyi 董守義) was the basketball coach at the Far Eastern Championship Games. See Zhou Zudao, “Di shijie Yuandong yundonghui jiyao,” 151. “Lanqiu jinbiao,” 43. “Result of the Manila Games Quarrels,” 318; and Villanueva, “The Xth Far Eastern Championship Games,” 256. William Z. L. Sung testified that the Chinese negotiators never received word of the meeting. See Sung, “Yuandong yundonghui tanzuo,” 2. Villanueva, “The Xth Far Eastern Championship Games,” 256. Sung, “Yuandong yundonghui tanzuo,” 2. 53 “Lanqiu jinbiao,” 45.

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boardroom referee, Manuel Quezon. Was it possible that, as with the overturning of the referee’s decision in the first rain-shortened Sino– Philippine basketball match, the powers above would intervene and reestablish order and fairness in the final round of the boardroom bout? The absent Manuel Quezon became the man of the hour, and his silence on the negotiations allowed Chinese and Japanese representatives, just like sports talking heads interpreting the silence of an athlete on a social media purge today, to play the speculation game. William Z. L. Sung reported that he had sent an appeal to Quezon, noting that the senate president was the “only person who clearly understood the situation.”54 Japanese representatives of the Japanese Amateur Athletic Federation, on the other hand, apparently believed that Quezon was on their side because they sent a congratulatory telegram to the recovering statesman, writing “most hearty thanks” for “your supreme decision” on admitting Manchukuo.55 In the end, the silence remained unbroken. Manuel Quezon and the government of the Philippines, which had informally recognized Chiang Kai-shek’s Nationalist regime in 1927 before almost any other country with a semi-official visit, as outlined in Chapter 6, ended up providing a similar recognition to Manchukuo in 1934, thereby becoming “the first government, outside of Japan, to recognize that Manchukuo was not a part of China.”56 In other words, unlike the first basketball match when officials intervened at the eleventh hour to restore some semblance of fairness for Chinese athletes, Quezon offered no such intervention for Chinese delegates in their boardroom bout. Reflecting back on the Games as a whole, one Filipino pundit lamented, “Years ago, we could beat the Japanese in almost any game and at any time . . . but today, for the Filipinos to win over the Japanese in any sport is for an hippopotamus to pass through the eye of a needle.”57 Despite their continued supremacy in basketball and a surprise victory over Japan in baseball, Filipino athletes on the whole underperformed. In the track and field events, for instance, which the Philippines had previously dominated, Japan left with an overwhelming victory, fifty-one points to nineteen points.58 For the Philippines, the decision to side with Japan in boardroom negotiations was not a proud one, but it was a practical one. And pundits naturally disagreed. 54 55 56 57 58

William Z. L. Sung, “Yuandong yundonghui tanzuo,” 2. Nippon Delegation, radiogram telegram to Manuel L. Quezon, May 22, 1934, series 7, box 77, Pres. Manuel Luis Quezon Papers, National Library of the Philippines. Philippines Free Press, May 1934, quoted in Goodman, “Athletics as Politics,” 31. Lim, “The Turn of the Tide,” 86. Villanueva, “The Xth Far Eastern Championship Games,” 233.

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Commentators from the Philippines and China skewered members of the Philippine Amateur Athletic Federation for their perceived capitulation to Japan. The influential editor of the Philippine Magazine, for instance, called the action “a piece of unmatchable stupidity.”59 Springfield alum Hoh Gunsun, who knew several of his Filipino counterparts from the Philippine Amateur Athletic Federation from their Springfield days, similarly pulled no punches, uppercutting the Philippine delegation by condescendingly inquiring how they could sell out their autonomy to Japan if their goal was to prove that they could defend their independence from Japan.60 Hoh, showing familiarity with the political situation in the archipelago, located a weak spot for the Philippines because, just like in 1921, Filipinos had independence on their minds due to the recent passage of the Tydings-McDuffie Act, which established a framework for Philippine independence. With Japan waiting in the wings, however, many were questioning the wisdom of cutting ties with the United States. Lead negotiator for the Philippines, Jorge Vargas, who had stood firm on the Manchukuo question in Shanghai, attempted to deflect some of the criticism with discursive gymnastics, writing, “we have nothing but the highest esteem and respect for our Chinese friends and we wish to assure them that our position has been dictated only by an impartial desire to adhere strictly to the language of the Constitution.”61 Unfortunately for Vargas, gymnastics was not one of the recognized sports of the Far Eastern Championship Games. One Filipino commentator, who went by the name Putakte, or wasp, quipped, “Wouldn’t it be a good idea to send our athletes to Shanghai and Secretary Vargas to Tokyo to represent the Philippines in 1938?”62 On the other hand, back in China, Springfield alumnus John Mo, who had served as the head coach of the Chinese athletic delegation, struck a diplomatic tone by avoiding the controversy of the boardroom altogether, instead highlighting the accomplishments and failures of athletes on the field.63 When sports become inexorably tied up in politics, the 59 60

61 62 63

Hartendorp, “Stupidity – Nothing More or Less,” 237. Hoh Gunsun (Hao Gengsheng 郝更生) et al., “Yuandong yundonghui tanzuo 遠東運動 會談座 [Discussion on the Far Eastern Championship Games],” Huamei 華美 [Hwa Mei Weekly] 1, no. 3 (1934): 3. For more on Hoh Gunsun’s role in the deliberations, see also Feng Youzhen 冯有真, “Di shijie yuandong yundonghui jixiang 第十届远东运动会记详 [Record of the Tenth Far Eastern Championship Games],” Shishi yuebao 时事月报 [Current Events] 11, no. 1 (1934): 41. Jorge Vargas, quoted in Villanueva, “The Xth Far Eastern Championship Games,” 256. Putakte, “With Charity to All,” Philippine Magazine 31, no. 6 (1934): 238. John Mo (Ma Yuehan 馬約翰), “Chuxi yuanyunhui ge daibiao tanhua 出席遠運會各代表 談話 [Discussion by Representatives of the Far Eastern Championship Games],” Qinfen tiyu yuebao 勤奮體育月報 [Chin Fen Sports Monthly] 1, no. 9 (1934): 9.

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wise coach knows how to channel their inner Houdini. Diplomat Chengting Thomas Wang, meanwhile, also sounded a positive note upon his return to China, saying, “Our country and the Philippines maintain extremely friendly relations, and though the Philippines has been duped by Japan, they will soon realize and regret this decision.”64 When negotiations appear unreconcilable, the wise diplomat likewise knows how to leave open a side door. Two sweltering weeks under the Manila summer sun were merely the trailer for the calamities of the next decade. Though the events of the weeks faded into the pages of history, the lessons echoed through the ages like the reverberations of a well-struck baseball in a hushed stadium. It would be impossible for the Philippines to remain neutral in the conflict between China and Japan in sports disputes and in war. The athletes themselves would learn that lesson, of course, as most of them ended up serving during the war, trading jerseys for a different kind of uniform, meeting their old foes on a different type of battlefield.65 It also provided a lesson that perhaps all of us should heed: beware when using war metaphors in sports because those metaphors might come back to haunt you. Part IV Conclusion, Game Over Before the 1934 Games took place, a commentator in an obscure Chinese journal, perhaps with the early boardroom bouts in mind, wondered aloud whether the Far Eastern Championship Games would die of natural causes before the 1938 meeting in Tokyo.66 History ended up confirming the author’s suspicions as the controversial Games never took place due to the Second Sino–Japanese War. It was an inglorious end to an organization that had brought together athletes, coaches, and organizers from the Japan–China–Philippines sports triangle multiple times over the course of two decades. After the war, however, the Springfield crew were at it again. Regino Ylanan, Candido Bartolome, and Gunsun Hoh met in Manila in June of 64

65

66

Chengting Thomas Wang (Wang Zhengting 王正廷), “Chuxi yuanyunhui ge daibiao tanhua 出席遠運會各代表談話 [Discussion by Representatives of the Far Eastern Championship Games],” Qinfen tiyu yuebao 勤奮體育月報 [Chin Fen Sports Monthly] 1, no. 9 (1934): 8. For a brief history of Springfield alumni Serafin Aquino, Pedro Ablan, and Geronimo Suva, and their role in World War II, see “Class of 1920,” August 10, 1945, Springfield College Archives; and The 50th Reunion of the Class of 1921, June 4, 1971, Springfield: Springfield College. Mao 茂, “Yi zhou shishi pingshu: Yuandong yundonghui siwang 一週時事評述 : 遠東運 動會死亡 [Comments on Current Affairs This Week: Death of the Far Eastern Championship Games],” Huzhu 互助 [Mutual Assistance] 1, no. 7 (1934): 167.

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1948 to reestablish the Far Eastern Athletic Association.67 They agreed to formalize the arrangement at the London Olympics later that year, but when the Olympics came around, they adjusted their plans, agreeing instead to join the new Asian Games Federation, trading the sports triangle for a broader regional conglomeration. The Games would be reborn as the Asian Games in 1951 under the patronage of a new shining star in the Asian banquet circuit, Indian president Jawaharlal Nehru.68 At the new Games, some things remained the same, like Filipino domination in basketball, but the larger more decentralized event had a different feel than the intimate triangle of old.69 Sports bridged many divides in Asia. It linked athletes, coaches, and educators from China, the Philippine, and Japan, making visible the intense world of contact that crossed over area studies boundaries. Sports also linked together two critical sporting events in 1921 and 1934, which represented a peak and a nadir, though by no means the totality, of the broader Sino–Philippine link. The Springfield College interregnum offered a captivating contingency that enhanced the connections established during the Far Eastern Championship Games and the drama of its dissolution. Sports exposed the extensive entanglements between politics and society, as boardroom antics spilled into the arenas below, and as former athletes moved to the boardrooms above. In the end, it is important to recognize the awesome power of sports. In a 1930 article about Filipino national hero José Rizal that appeared in a Chinese research journal, the writer noted that, if readers “just take a look at their [Filipinos’] record from the previous Far Eastern Championship Games, those who don’t know much about the character of Filipinos, can surmise that they are arduously working to improve their circumstances.”70 In other words, this Chinese author, in an article designed to teach about Philippine history and society, used sports as the common language to engage the reader. You might not know about this fellow called Bill Clinton, but you must have heard about the legend that is Michael Jordan?

67 68

69 70

Ylanan and Ylanan, Physical Education and Sports, 137. Huebner, Pan-Asian Sports, 102–124. Guru Dutt Sondhi and Anthony S. de Mello played more important roles in the foundation of the games, but President Nehru brought his star power. For more on Philippine basketball success in the 1950s, see Bocobo and Celis, Legends and Heroes, 20. Chen Zongshan 陳宗山, “Feilübin de guofu – Lisha 菲律賓的國父 – 李沙 [Father of the Philippines – Rizal],” Nanyang yanjiu 南洋研究 [The Nanyang Research] 3, no. 2 (1930): 85.

Conclusions: The Ghosts of the Present

Chinese and Filipinos, China and the Philippines, though racially and geographically close to one another, can really have no vital relations, no worthwhile cooperation between them unless there is vital exchange.1 Dean Francisco Benitez, 1940

Why did he choose to plunge into nothingness, into the void of faceless faces, of soundless voices, lying outside history? I tried to step away and look at it from a distance of words read in books, half-remembered. For history records the patterns of men’s lives . . . . All things, it is said, are duly recorded – all things of importance, that is. But not quite, for actually it is only the known, the seen, the heard and only those events that the recorder regards as important that are put down, those lies his keepers keep their power by.2 Ralph Ellison, 1952

American novelist Ralph Ellison, in the epigraph that appears above, articulates how historians play critical roles in sustaining systems of power and privilege. In his novel, Invisible Man, he pulls down the magician’s curtains, exposing how the “keepers” of records shape and mold memory. Although many historians have attempted to recover and restore voices lost to time and archives, many others have intentionally or unknowingly sped past the graves of those who didn’t fit into their narratives. After all, selection is a key task of historians and other channelers of the past, and the act of selection by its very nature necessitates omission. Selecting one testimony or story means leaving out many others. This act of censure is one that we all take part in, but it takes different forms, channels different agendas, and holds different consequences. Ignoring is perhaps the most stinging form of omission. Overlooking or ignoring comes not from an active effort to undermine, deplatform, or distort some disputed reality, but from a lazy privilege and carefree obliviousness. Contrast ignoring with a more active form of erasure, 1 2

Dean Francisco Benitez, “Our Oriental Relations – With China,” Sino-Philippine Research Journal [Zhongfei yanjiu jikan 中菲研究季刊] 1, no. 1 (1940): 15–19. Ralph Ellison, Invisible Man (New York: Vintage Books, 1995), 439.

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such as efforts by some in Japan to obfuscate or downplay the scale of the Nanjing Massacre of 1937 in school curricula.3 As Tomoko Hamada notes, “a written national history is a powerful ideological tool that can be used for the mobilization of citizens for the service of the collective (imagined) community.”4 Some textbook authors in Japan, like textbook authors everywhere, molded history to fulfill a specific and practicable purpose: creating a palatable imagined community from a shared, albeit distorted, past. Even though many outsiders would denounce the result of the narratives the authors conjured, those detractors can at least derive some righteous frustration knowing that the authors acted with intent and purpose. The nefariousness of ignoring lies in its indifference, brazenness, and complete dissociation from costs. Geoff Eley describes how the past can become “both therapy and distraction, a source of familiarity and predictability, even as the actual ground of the present ceases to be reliable.”5 Yet the history of the ignored doesn’t even have the chance to distract from or invoke nostalgias of real or imagined pasts. It is obscured with little thought but serious consequence. The history of the Sino– Philippine link, although enjoying thoughtful treatment in some scholarly circles, largely fits into this category. China and the Philippines have had a rocky relationship over the past decade despite growing more and more economically integrated. Aside from brief honeymoon periods when President Rodrigo Duterte temporarily pivoted toward China early in his administration, and when President Ferdinand Marcos Jr. briefly offered an olive branch, the Philippines and China have appeared to be “sleepwalking into old-new nightmares,” as Dan Steinbock recently observed.6 The strange thing about these nightmares, however, and Steinbock captures it well with his “old-new” phrasing, are their confused chronology. Normally ghosts of the past haunt the present, as seen in the case of the Nanjing Massacre and textbooks mentioned previously, but with China and the Philippines, it would perhaps be more accurate to say that the ghosts of the present 3 4

5 6

For more on this topic, see Wakabayashi, The Nanking Atrocity. Tomoko Hamada, “Contested Memories of the Imperial Sun: History Textbook Controversy in Japan,” American Asian Review 20, no. 4 (2002): 36. See also Zheng Wang, “Old Wounds, New Narratives: Joint History Textbook Writing and Peacebuilding in Asia,” History & Memory 21, no. 1 (2009): 101–126. Geoff Eley, “The Past Under Erasure? History, Memory, and the Contemporary,” Journal of Contemporary History 46, no. 3 (2011): 556. Dan Steinbock, “PH 2022 Getting Ugly: Deep Divides, Xenophobia, US–China Tensions,” The Manila Times, December 6, 2021, www.manilatimes.net/2021/12/06/opi nion/columns/ph-2022-getting-ugly-deep-divides-xenophobia-us-china-tensions/ 1824860.

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haunt the past, which in turn unsettles and confuses the anxieties of the present and future. Rocky relations between China and the Philippines over the past decade and during the height of the Cold War, coupled with the many ingrained research blinders highlighted in the introduction, have led people to overlook a complex and integrated past in the early twentieth century. The rich history of Sino–Philippine interaction that we have explored in this book, as well as the many colorful characters who spearheaded those interactions, have, for the most part, disappeared from popular knowledge. Present anxieties haunt past memories. Turning back to Eley’s quote, for China and the Philippines, the present is indeed distorted, not by the therapy and distraction of the past, but by its absence. When former senator Panfilo “Ping” Lacson recently traveled to Pag-asa (Thitu) Island in the West Philippine/South China Sea to condemn Chinese incursions in the area and boldly plant the Philippine flag, he did not invoke a warlord trope, communist trope, or any historical episode for that matter. He talked about fishing and national security.7 While anti-Chinese discrimination and anti-China sentiments have persisted and realigned for many decades in the Philippines, they also don’t feel very rooted in any past – at least not the pasts that appear in the pages of this monograph.8 They appear more like an old reflex than anything connected to history. In fact, the Sino–Philippine relationship today feels very fleeting and superficial despite geographical proximity and deep historical ties. Politicians on both sides of the strait seem to enjoy the emptiness because it allows them to conjure their own convenient demons and xenophobias. In 1930, Filipino Senator Jose A. Clarin wrote, “it is hoped that, when China attains the height of her power, she will use it for the benefit of weak peoples and for the abolishment of those barriers established through racial prejudice.”9 Like Dean Francisco Benitez, whose epigraph begins this chapter, the senator saw promise in China and reason for the Philippines to pursue a policy of engagement with that country. If elected 7

8

9

Richa Noriega, “Lacson Raises Philippine Flags on Pag-asa Island Amid West Philippine Sea Tensions,” GMA News, November 20, 2021, www.gmanetwork.com/news/topstories/ nation/811650/lacson-raises-philippine-flags-on-pag-asa-island-amid-west-philippine-seatensions/story/. Patricia Lourdes Viray, “Filipinos See US as Top Ally, China as Greatest Threat – Poll,” Philstar.com, December 6, 2019, www.philstar.com/headlines/2019/12/06/1974842/fili pinos-see-us-top-ally-china-greatest-threat-poll. Jose A. Clarin (Ren Luqu 仁魯瞿), “My Message to the Chinese People [Wei Huayou zhu 為華友祝],” in The Fookien Times Special Edition Commemorating Its Fourth Anniversary, 1926–30 [Xinmin ribao sizhou jinian Yuandan tekan 新閩日報四週紀念元旦特刊] (Manila: Fookien Times Publishing Company, 1930), unnumbered.

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leaders in the Philippines today had as much curiosity about China and the Philippines in the past as Senator Jose A. Clarin did about China and the Philippines in the future, and if Chinese leaders and global scholars shared a similar curiosity, perhaps we all could have a more productive and peaceful present. This book set out to get lost in an interdisciplinary, decolonial, connected history of the Philippines and China in the early twentieth century. It engaged with, challenged, and redesigned inspiring transnational, world, and global history approaches, and it followed equally inspiring and innovative historical agents. It navigated the dual oceans of history and historiography to uncover a world of intimate contact and mutual influence. It is my hope that the characters who appeared in these pages, who carried so much optimism and dedication, and who demonstrated the ability to survive and thrive despite the odds stacked against them, can inspire you as much as they inspired me. Thank you for reading my book.

Appendix: Glossary of Names

Ablan, Pedro “Pete” (1891–1974) → Physical educator from the Philippines who studied at Springfield College. Africa, Candido M. (1895–1945) → Prominent doctor, researcher, and scholar who became the head of the Department of Parasitology at University of the Philippines in 1932. He advocated for Asian collaboration in medical research. Ahern, George Patrick (1859–1940) → First chief of the Philippine Bureau of Forestry. He founded the Forestry Department at the Agricultural College of Los Baños in 1909 and helped organize Chinese student exchanges to the school. Alindada, José (unknown) → Famous Filipino jazz musician in Shanghai and alumnus of Ateneo de Manila. He helped organize the Filipino Musicians Union of Shanghai. Alzona, Encarnacion (1895–2001) → Scholar who served as the chair of the Department of History at the University of the Philippines. She was a prominent historian of women’s history, advocate for women’s suffrage, and founder of the Philippine Historical Association. Aquino, Serafin (unknown) → Filipino athlete and Director of Physical Education of public schools in Manila and supervisor of the Philippine Amateur Athletic Federation. He studied at Springfield College. Bau, Helen Vonglin (Bao Fenglin 鮑鳳林) (unknown–1935) → PhilippineChinese leader, musician, and graduate of Oberlin College. She was the wife of Albino Z. Sycip. Benitez, Conrado O. (1889–1971) → Well-known journalist and author who served as dean of the College of Liberal Arts at the University of the Philippines. He coauthored several popular textbooks and edited the Philippines Herald. Benitez, Francisco F. (1887–1951) → Instructor and dean of the School of Education at the University of the Philippines. He coauthored

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Appendix: Glossary of Names

219

textbooks with his brother Conrado and published several monographs on education. Beyer, H. Otley (1883–1966) → American anthropologist who taught at the University of the Philippines for over forty years. Under his direction, several Filipino students studied Chinese history and anthropology. Cai Tingkai 蔡廷鍇 (1892–1968) → Famous general and politician of the 19th Route Army who helped defend Shanghai from the Japanese army in 1932, participated in the anti-communist encirclement campaign, and helped establish the Fujian People’s Revolutionary Government. Cai Yuanpei 蔡元培 (1868–1940) → Prominent Chinese educator who served as president of Peking University and helped found the Academia Sinica. He dispatched study tours to the Philippines and supported adopting some Philippine educational strategies. Calibo, F. M. (unknown) → Well-regarded Filipino member of the Shanghai Municipal Orchestra who played the piano and clarinet for over thirty years from 1905 to 1942. Celis, Agapito Y. (unknown) → Filipino musician in Shanghai who served as president of the Filipino Musician Union of Shanghai and served as a captain in the Philippine Company of the Shanghai Volunteer Corps. Chen Guohui 陳國輝 (1898–1932) → Militant active in Fujian in the 1920s who was the target of animosity of Hokkien overseas. The 19th Route Army captured and executed him in 1932. Chen, K. P. (Chen Guangfu 陳光甫) (1880–1976) → Prominent Shanghai banker who directed the Shanghai Commercial and Savings Bank and started the China Travel Service. With his colleague Albino Sycip, he helped orchestrate a diplomatic exchange between Chiang Kai-shek and Manuel Quezon. Chen Yousong 陳友鬆 (1899–1992) → Chinese educator from Hubei who studied at the University of the Philippines and later wrote about his experiences there. Chiang Kai-shek (Jiang Jieshi 蔣介石) (1887–1975) → Leader of the Nationalist Kuomintang Party after the death of Sun Yatsen and de facto leader of the Republic of China from 1928 to 1975. He met with Philippine Senate President Manuel Quezon in 1927. Co Seteng, Eduardo (Xu Youchao 許友超) (1900–1963) → One-time president of the Manila Chinese Chamber of Commerce who made his fortune in the lumber industry. He served as a mayor and governor under the Fujian People’s Revolutionary Government in 1932.

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Appendix: Glossary of Names

Cu Unjieng, Guillermo A. (Qiu Yunheng 邱允衡) (1866–1953) → Promin ent Philippine-Chinese banker and founder of the Philippine Chinese Chamber of Commerce. He was one of the directors of the China Banking Corporation. de Castro, C. (unknown) → Filipino assistant conductor of the Shanghai Municipal Orchestra. de Veyra, Jaime C. (1873–1963) → Filipino senator and Resident Commissioner who pushed for the passage of Bookkeeping Act and supported the foundation of the School of Forestry in Los Baños. Dee C. Chuan (Li Qingquan 李清泉) (1888–1940) → Prominent Philippine-Chinese banker and lumber tycoon who served as President of the Philippine Chinese Chamber of Commerce on several occasions and helped lead the community in the 1920s and 1930s. He cofounded the China Banking Corporation. Duan Qirui 段祺瑞 (1865–1936) → Ruler of the Beiyang Government and Army after the death of Yuan Shikai. He ordered Li Houji to attack Kuomintang general Chen Jiongming as part of the ZhiliAnhui War in 1920, earning the animosity of many Chinese in the Philippines. Duran, Pio S. (1900–1961) → Professor of law at the University of the Philippines and pan-Asianist who admired China for its “pure” civilization. Evangelista, Honorio Canciller (unknown) → Filipino veterinarian and the captain of the Philippine Company of the Shanghai Volunteer Corps. His wife was Nancy Ting Evangelista. Evangelista, Nancy Ting (unknown) → Chinese-Filipino from Shanghai who fled to the United States in 1950 with her husband, Honorio Canciller Evangelista. Ezpeleta, Mariano (unknown) → Lawyer and diplomat who served as ambassador to several countries, including the Republic of China in Shanghai. He wrote two books about his short service in Shanghai. Fu Huan Kuang (Fu Huanguang 傅煥光) (1892–1972) → Graduate of the School of Forestry in Los Baños in the Philippines who designed the Sun Yatsen Mausoleum Park in Nanjing and advocated for forest preservation and soil conservation. Gan Bun Cho (Yan Wenchu 顏文初) (1882–1962) → Philippine-Chinese educator and author who published and edited numerous books, journals, and articles on education and conditions in the Philippines. He was the longtime principal of the Anglo-Chinese School.

Appendix: Glossary of Names

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Go Tauco, Rafael M. (Wu Kecheng 吳克誠) (1872–1931) → PhilippineChinese leader and lawyer in the lumber industry. He aided in the campaign against the Bookkeeping Act. Han, Ngan (Han An 韓安) (1883–1961) → Chinese forester who, with the support of George Patrick Ahern, developed an exchange program between the forestry schools at the University of Nanking and the Agricultural College in Los Baños. Hartendorp, A. V. H. (1893–1975) → Dutch journalist and educator who edited the Philippine Magazine and the Manila Times. He was known for his sharp critiques of Japan. Hiranuma Ryō zō 平沼亮三 (1879–1959) → Japanese diplomat and president of the Japan Amateur Sports Association. He orchestrated the disbandment of the Far Eastern Athletic Association and the end to the Far Eastern Championship Games. Hoh Gunsun (Hao Gengsheng 郝更生) (1899–1976) → Leading physical educator and sports advocate from China who studied at Springfield College. He published a book on sports in China based on his Springfield dissertation. Hu Hanmin 胡漢民 (1879–1936) → Chinese statesman and Kuomintang member who visited the Philippines on several occasions. He was a harsh critic of Japanese militarism. Huang Yanpei 黃炎培 (1878–1965) → Politician and educator who advocated for vocational education in China. He took several tours to the Philippines to examine their educational system and later wrote monographs and articles about his findings. Kalaw, Maximo (1891–1955) → Political science professor at the University of the Philippines and prominent pan-Asianist who published several Philippine textbooks. Kiang Kang-hu (Jiang Kanghu 江亢虎) (1883–1954) → Chinese socialist iconoclast who penned a memoir about his global travels. He critiqued wealthy Chinese in the Philippines and the Exclusion Act. Konoe Atsumaro 近衛篤麿 (1863–1904) → Japanese politician and panAsianist who called for greater Japanese educational engagement with China. Kung, H. H. (Kong Xiangxi 孔祥熙) (1881–1967) → Wealthy banker who served as the Minister of Finance in the Kuomintang Government. He helped sponsor a Chinese exposition at the Manila Carnival. Kuo Ping-Wen (Guo Bingwen 郭秉文) (1880–1969) → Influential Chinese educator who took study tours to the Philippines and wrote about education in China.

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Appendix: Glossary of Names

Kwong, K. L. (Kuang Guanglin 鄺光林) (1897–1955) → Chinese Consul General to the Philippines who worked for the Commercial Press in Shanghai. Legaspi, Claro (1874–unknown) → Long-serving trombonist of the Shanghai Municipal Orchestra who also directed the school orchestra at Jinan University in Shanghai. Li Changfu 李長傅 (1899–1966) → Renowned historian and scholar of Southeast Asia who published several important monographs on the region. He was a leading member of the Bureau for Nanyang Cultural Activities. Li Houji 李厚基 (1869–1942) → The military leader in Fujian from 1917 to 1922. Chinese in the Philippines became disillusioned by his heavy tax burden and perceived misrule. Lim, Chu Cong (C. C. Lim, Lin Zhuguang 林珠光) (1901–1975) → Director of the Chinese YMCA in Manila who founded the Xiamen Double Ten Business School and advocated for physical education. Lin Yu (Lin You 林幽) → Editor of the China Critic who critiqued the treatment of Chinese in the Philippines. Lin Yunti 林雲梯 (1866–1918) → Prominent Chinese businessperson from the Philippines who founded the Yunti School in Fujian. He was the father of Lim Chu Cong. Liu Shimu 劉士木 (1889–1952) → Renowned Chinese scholar who led the Bureau for Nanyang Cultural Activities, a group that specialized in Southeast Asia research. He helped relocate the archives of the Bureau to Singapore during World War II. Mo, John (Ma Yuehan 馬約翰) (1882–1966) → Chinese athlete and physical educator who taught for a long time at Tsinghua University. He studied at Springfield College. Natividad, P. (unknown–1933) → Filipino musician who played two instruments for the Shanghai Municipal Orchestra. After he died in 1933, Filipinos in Shanghai rallied to support his family. Oei Tjoe (Huang Yizhu 黃奕住) (1868–1945) → Well-known Chinese businessperson from the Dutch East Indies who cofounded the China Banking Corporation. He was also a major proponent of constructing a railway in Fujian Province. Ouano, Bibiano (1915–1960) → Filipino basketball player who led the Philippine basketball team to victory at the Far Eastern Championship Games in 1934 and competed in the 1936 Olympic Games in Berlin. Osias, Camilo (1889–1976) → Leading educator and politician who served as the President of the National University of the Philippines and Assistant Director of the Bureau of Education in

Appendix: Glossary of Names

223

the Philippines. He became an ally of Chinese educator Huang Yanpei. Osmeña, Sergio (1878–1961) → Prominent Filipino politician and public servant who served as senator, vice president, and president. Paci, Mario (1878–1946) → Italian conductor who oversaw the Shanghai Municipal Orchestra between World War I and World War II. He instituted the whitewashing policy of the Orchestra. Palanca Tan Guin Lay, Carlos (Chen Yinglai 陳迎來) (1869–1950) → Leading Chinese businessperson from the Philippines who founded and directed the Philippine Chinese Educational Association. He was a cofounder of the China Banking Corporation. Pardo de Tavera, Trinidad H. (1857–1925) → Filipino intellectual who studied the Tagalog language and argued for closer integration with the United States. He also advocated for Chinese migration rights to the Philippines and authored the Pensionado Act. Quezon, Manuel (1878–1944) → One of the most prominent Filipino politicians in the colonial and commonwealth periods. He served as president of the Philippine Senate and the Commonwealth of the Philippines. He visited China on multiple occasions, and during one of those visits met with Chiang Kai-shek. Rizal, José (1861–1896) → Filipino nationalist hero who wrote several classic anti-imperial novels and practiced medicine. Chinese scholars wrote extensively about him. Sado, Benito C. (unknown) → Filipino musician who played the violin and tromba for the Shanghai Municipal Orchestra. He died suddenly while still serving on the Orchestra. He was the husband of Mary Kou Sado. Sado, Mary Kou (unknown) → Fought with the Shanghai Municipal Council to receive compensation after her husband, Benito C. Sado, died while playing for the Shanghai Municipal Orchestra. Shu Xincheng 舒新城 (1893–1960) → Chinese educator and editor who published and modified several important dictionaries. He was a vocal critic of study abroad. Sun Li-jen (Sun Liren 孫立人) (1900–1990) → Kuomintang general who is known for his service during the Second Sino–Japanese War and the Civil War. He represented China in the basketball tournament of the 1921 Far Eastern Championship Games. Sun Yatsen (Sun Zhongshan 孫中山, Sun Yixian 孫逸仙) (1866–1925) → Chinese revolutionary leader and founder of the Tongmenghui and Kuomintang. He is regarded as the “father” of the Republic of China.

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Appendix: Glossary of Names

Sung, William Z. L. (Shen Siliang 沈嗣良) (1896–1967) → Chinese physical educator who worked as the Secretary for the China National Amateur Athletic Federation. He denounced the Philippines and Japan for disbanding the Far Eastern Athletic Association. Suvoong, Thomas H. (Shu Hong 舒鴻) (1894–1964) → Physical educator from China who attended Springfield College. He was the first Chinese referee at the Olympics in 1936. Sycip, Albino Zarate (Xue Minlao 薛敏老) (1887–1978) → Chinese lawyer and businessperson from the Philippines who cofounded the China Banking Corporation and helped orchestrate a meeting between Chiang Kai-shek and Manuel Quezon. He was the husband of Helen Vonglin Bau. Sycip, Alfonso (Xue Fenshi 薛芬士) (1883–1869) → Well-known Chinese leader and businessperson from the Philippines. He served as the director of the Philippine Chinese Chamber of Commerce. He was the brother of Albino Sycip. Tan, George G. (Chen Zhang’e 陈掌谔) (1897–1981) → Chinese athlete who competed in the decathlon at the Far Eastern Championship Games in 1919 and attended Springfield College. Tee Han Kee (Zheng Hanqi 鄭漢淇) (1881–1943) → Chinese banker and Kuomintang organizer from the Philippines. Albino Sycip introduced him to K. P. Chen in 1929. Uychutin, Luis P. (Huang Kaizong 黃開宗) (unknown) → Exchange professor at the University of the Philippines who later taught in the Literature Department at Xiamen University. He edited the trilingual Philippine journal, The Oriental Brothers. Wang, Cheng Look (unknown) → Secretary of the Philippine Chinese Students’ Association who tried to recruit Chinese to Philippine schools. Wang, Chengting Thomas (Wang Zhengting 王正廷) (1882–1961) → Famous Chinese diplomat and physical education advocate who represented China at the Far Eastern Championship Games in 1934. Wang Yuzeng 王玉增 (1912–2009) → Chinese basketball player who helped anchor the Chinese team at the 1934 Far Eastern Championship Games and 1936 Berlin Olympics. Wu Hanfang 鄔翰芳 (unknown) → Chinese author from Zhejiang who visited the Philippines 1929 and taught at the Cebu Chinese School for a brief period. He wrote several articles and books about the Philippines. Wu Ting Fang (Wu Tingfang 伍廷芳) (1842–1922) → Famous Chinese diplomat and politician who served as the acting president of the

Appendix: Glossary of Names

225

southern government in China. He welcomed visiting Filipino educators in 1921. Yang, T. P. (Yang Dunfu 楊敦甫) (unknown) → Colleague of banker K. P. Chen and leader of the Shanghai Commercial and Savings Bank. He corresponded with Albino Sycip and Dee C. Chuan in the 1920s and 1930s. Yangco, Teodoro R. (1861–1939) → Prominent businessperson from the Philippines who served as the Resident Commissioner to the United States. He visited Wu Ting Fang in 1921 to discuss education and economic exchanges. Yeung Sau-king (Yang Xiuqiong 楊秀瓊) (1919–1982) → Famous Hong Kong swimmer who competed in the 1936 Olympics. She represented China at the tenth Far Eastern Championship Games in Manila. Ylanan, Regino R. (1889–1963) → Filipino athlete and physical educator who published several books and worked at the University of the Philippines. He studied at Springfield College. Yldefonso, Teófilo (1903–1942) → Famous Filipino swimmer who was the first to receive an Olympic medal. He competed in multiple Far Eastern Championship Games. Yokomitsu Riichi 横光利一 (1898–1947) → Japanese novelist who lived in Shanghai for some time and wrote a novel inspired by his experience. Yu Cong Eng (Yang Kongying 楊孔鶯) (unknown) → Chinese merchant in the Philippines who sued the Philippine government for discrimination based on the Bookkeeping Act. With the support of Albino Sycip and Rafael Go Tauco, Yu Cong Eng won his case. Yuan Shikai 袁世凱 (1859–1916) → Leader of the Beiyang Army who served as the first president of the Republic of China. To the chagrin of many, he declared himself emperor in 1915. Zheng Min 鄭民 (unknown) → Chinese lawyer and author who attended the International Bar Association meeting in Manila in 1923 and published a research monograph on the Philippines.

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Index

Ablan, Pedro “Pete,” 194–195, 196 Africa, Candido M., 3–4 Ahern, George Patrick, 113–115 Alindada, José, 53, 64 Alzona, Encarnacion, 95, 105, 113, 115 Americanization, 108 Aquino, Serafin, 188, 192–195, 196 archives, xv, 13, 17, 33 area studies, 213 Asian Games, 213 Ateneo de Manila, 90, 92, 96 banquets education tours, 79, 82–83 Great Harmony Club, Manila 1934, 202–203 Pan-Pacific Association, Manila 1934, 204–205 Bau, Helen Vonglin, 151 beauty standards, 181–183 Before a Vast Ocean, 2 Beiyang government, 127, 141–142 Benitez, Conrado O., 69, 105, 106 Benitez, Francisco F., 214 Beyer, H. Otley, 109 Bookkeeping Act campaign against, 58–60 description of, 56–58 Supreme Court ruling on, 61 Boxer Rebellion Indemnity, 134 Bustamante, steamship, 165, 171, 185 cabecilla, 40 Cai Tingkai, 120, 143–146 Cai Yuanpei, 78–81 Calibo, F. M., 51–52 Celis, Agapito Y., 22, 63 census, 35–36, 42–43, 95–97 Chamber of Commerce, Philippine Chinese, 43, 126, 156 Chen Guohui, 127 Chen, K. P., 153, 155, 156–157, 162

Chen Yousong, 84 Chiang Kai-shek, 120, 127, 135, 143–146, 159–161 China Banking Corporation, 119–120, 131, 144 citizenship, 37, 42, 66, 158–159 Clarin, Jose A., 216 Co Seteng, Eduardo, 145–147 coalescence, 166, 183–186 Cold War, 64–66 Combined Meeting of the National Association of Educators, 81, 83 compadrazgo, 40, 120, 155–156 Cosmopolitan Club, 196–197 Cu Unjieng, Guillermo A., 120, 155 compadre, 156 youth, 155–156 cultural tributarism, 74, 100, 105, 106 de Castro, C., 51 de Veyra, Jaime C., 56, 113–114 deculturalization, 103 Dee C. Chuan, 59, 120, 134, 144, 147, 155, 156, 160, 162, 163 fictive family, 157–159 hometown investment, 85–86, 129–130, 132 leadership, 139–140, 141–142, 145 youth, 128–129 Dewey, John, 108 disintegration, 9, 18–19, 212 Dollar Steamships, 38, 202 Duan Qirui, 126 Duran, Pio S., 1, 105 Duterte, Rodrigo, 215 education as soft power, 69 Chinese schools founded by Chinese from the Philippines, 85 exchanges, 69, 97, 114 Japanese influence, 89

271

272

Index

education (cont.) language, 93 pragmatic, 81 studying in the Philippines, 92–101 vocational, 77–83, 102–103 Ellison, Ralph, 214 Encirclement Campaign, 127, 144 erasure, historical, 29, 47, 67, 214–215 Evangelista, Honorio Canciller, 21–23, 34, 36, 62, 64 Evangelista, Nancy Ting, 36, 64 Exclusion Act 1888, 42, 54–57, 100–101 Ezpeleta, Mariano, 35–37, 52, 64 Far Eastern Athletic Association, 166, 172, 200, 209, 213 Far Eastern Championship Games basketball, 174–178, 205–210 dissolution of, 209, 212 Fifth 1921, 171–183 origins, 172 soccer, 176–177, 201 swimming, 202–204 Tenth 1934, 199–212 Feiqiao, 27, 54 Filipinism, 105 Filipinization, 104, 110 flexible citizenship, 121, 158 Fookien Times, 4, 128 forestry, 111–115 Founders, 119–120 blind spots of, 136, 142, 163 savior complex, 19, 120, 124 Fu Huan Kuang, 111–113, 115 Fujian, 125–127 Fujian People’s Revolutionary Government, 145–146 Gan Bun Cho, 60, 63, 83–84, 138 exclusion, 101 on education, 85, 92 sports writing, 203 Go Tauco, Rafael M., 59–60, 136 Gulangyu, 132 meeting, 133, 136, 139–140 villas, 130 Han, Ngan, 114–115 Hartendorp, A. V. H., 109 Hiranuma Ryō zō , 200, 204, 209 history connected, 7–9, 14, 15–16, 37 decolonial, 17, 109, 110 event, 166, 168–170 gender, 178–183 global, 8–19

interdisciplinary, 9, 168 maritime, 38, 169 migration, 24–25, 26, 27 New Qing, 12 race, 138, 173–174, 186 South–South, 9, 15, 181 sports, 167, 174, 194–195, 213 translocal, 16, 123, 126 transnational, 8, 11–12, 16–17 urban, 24–25, 34–35, 39 world, 8–19 Hoh Gunsun, 173, 207, 211 Hokkien overseas, 41, 127, 138 Hu Hanmin, 154, 160 Huang Yanpei, 183 study tours, 77–81, 84–85, 111 vocational education, 77–78, 81 youth, 77 Hukbalahaps, 65 investment, hometown, 129–131, 132–133 jazz, 44–45, 52–54 Kalaw, Maximo, 105 Kiang Kang-hu, 101, 151, 183 Konoe Atsumaro, 87, 89 Kung, H. H., 152–153 Kuo Ping-Wen, 78–79, 83, 110 Kuomintang, 126, 142, 149, 153–154, 157, 161 Kwong, K. L., 3, 4 laboratory of modernity, 19, 70, 73, 74, 88, 102 Laguatan, Felipe, 165, 167 Legaspi, Claro, 48–50, 52 lekin runners, 29 leprosy, 117–118 lexical defiance, 110–111 Li Changfu, 105 Li Houji, 126, 136 Li Minxing Company, 128, 129 liberalism, 70, 106–109 Lim, Chu Cong, 86, 129, 195 Lim, Edward C., 69, 96, 101 Lin Huixiang, Thomas, 100, 109 Lin Yu, 3–4 Lin Yunti, 86 Liu Shimu, 184 Los Baños, School of Forestry, 111–115 Makiling Men, 115 Manchukuo entry into Far Eastern Athletic Association, 200–202, 208, 210

273

Index Manila, 37–42 Manila Carnival Association, 128 Carnival Queen, 181–183 trade expositions, 152–153 Manila galleon trade, 6, 39 marriage, mixed, 24, 36–37, 42–43 metaphors imagination, 121 sports, 167, 175, 212 world history, 8–9 Minnan, 41, 125 mirrored diaspora, 23, 24, 26, 68 Mo, John, 189, 190–192, 194, 196, 207, 211 mobile societies, 14, 25, 54 Naismith, James, 178, 190 Nanjing Massacre, 215 Nanyang, 168 National Salvation Movement, 162 nationalism, 121–123 Chinese, 149–150, 154 Hokkien, 122–123, 138–139 overlapping, 120, 149, 163 Natividad, P., 50–51 Nineteenth Route Army defense of Shanghai, 134, 143–144 in Fujian, 135, 144–146 Northern Expedition, 51, 142, 160, 161 Oei Tjoe, 120, 142, 160 railway, 133–135, 140, 144 youth, 131–132 ogling athletes, 180–181 Carnival Queens, 181–183 Orientalism, 173 Osias, Camilo, 105 Deweyan educator, 108 Far Eastern Championship Games representative, 183–184 study tour, 83, 87 Osmeña, Sergio, 150, 158 Ouano, Bibiano, 205, 208 Paci, Mario, 46–48, 49, 66 padrinazgo, 40, 158 Palanca Tan Guin Lay, Carlos, 120, 135–137, 139–141, 142, 151, 155 Pardo de Tavera, Trinidad H., 104 Parián, 40 parochialism, 122, 138 pedagogy, Philippine, 79, 85, 98–99, 112–113

pensionado, 102, 104, 107 Philippine Amateur Athletic Federation, 174, 200, 202, 206, 211 Philippine model, 70–71, 74, 86–87, 118 unique, 75, 109–110 Philippine Normal School, 79, 84 Quezon, Manuel L., 119, 120, 158, 185 and the Far Eastern Championship Games, 204–205, 206, 210 meeting with Chiang Kai-shek, 159–161 youth, 159 race, 189 Chinese conceptions of, 173–174 Hokkien, 139 martial, 24 Philippine conceptions of, 174, 186 railway, 120, 135, 140, 144 destruction of, 135 funding, 133–135 Longyan–Xiamen, 131, 133, 135 Zhangzhou–Xiamen, 132 reciprocal comparisons, 15–16 remittances, 129, 130 Rizal, José, 43, 67, 106, 109, 213 Sado, Benito C., 50–51 Sado, Mary Kou, 50–51 Shanghai, 22–23, 44–54 Shanghai Municipal Orchestra early years, 46 private events, 52 records, 17, 37, 48 whitewashing, 48, 66–67 Shanghai Volunteer Corps, 52, 64 formation of, 30–31 Philippine Company, 30, 34 rifle competitions, 31 training exercise, 21–23 Shenbao, 60, 77, 172 Shu Xincheng, 95 siloing, disciplinary and methodological, 9, 14 Sinology, 71 Southeast Asian Hokkien Overseas Save the Hometown Association, 136–142 sportspersonship, 167, 174, 185 Springfield College and the Far Eastern Championship Games, 206, 211 establishment of, 189–190 international orientation of, 189–190, 191, 196–197

274

Index

Springfield College (cont.) research, 190–195 reunions, 197–198, 212 subaltern studies, 9, 13 sub-imperial, 32 Sun Li-jen, 175 Sun Yatsen, 41, 154 Sun Yatsen Mausoleum, 112 Sung, William Z. L., 206–208, 209, 210 Suvoong, Thomas H., 187–188, 190, 192, 196, 209 Sycip, Albino Z., 60, 184 and the Bookkeeping Act, 58–59 and the Manila Carnival, 153 education banquet, 79 network, 120, 128, 134, 152 World War II, 62–63 youth, 150–151 Sycip, Alfonso, 62–63, 157, 159, 162 Taiping Civil War, 22–23, 30–31, 131, 148 Tan, George G., 194 Tee Han Kee, 153 textbooks, 215 Chinese use of Philippine, 85, 105 Philippine, 105, 106 Tongmenghui, 41, 153 triangle offense, 195–196, 205–213 tributary “system,” 6, 72–74, 82, 88–89, 94, 106 Tsinoy, 68 Tyding–McDuffie Act, 211

University of the Philippines, 90, 93, 96–99, 105, 109 Uychutin, Luis P., 97, 100 Wack Wack Golf Club, 128, 151 Wang Yuzeng, 205, 208 Wang, Cheng Look, 92–93 Wang, Chengting Thomas, 83, 171, 202, 205, 206 warlordism, 136, 148 World War II, 32, 33, 62–64, 96, 148 Wu Hanfang, 180, 182 Wu Ting Fang, 69–70 Xiamen, 125 investment, 129–131, 132 proximity of, 37, 93 schools, 86, 128, 132 Xiamen Overseas Chinese Bureau, 130 Yamamoto Tadaoki, 200 Yang, T. P., 157 Yangco, Teodoro R., 69 Yeung Sau-king, 202–203, 204–205 Ylanan, Regino R., 189, 190–192, 194, 196, 200, 207 Yldefonso, Teófilo, 204, 205 YMCA, 172, 189, 195 Yokomitsu Riichi, 44, 53 Yu Cong Eng, 60 Yuan Shikai, 154 Zheng Min, 116