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I haven’t always been a sucker for national anthems. Time was, in fact, when I was a long-haired radical who thought that feelings surrounding nations and their flags were sentimental, childish and naïve. Boy, have those times changed. Yesterday I was overcome by emotion at the renditions of, not one, but four national anthems all in a row; those of Japan, the United States, Australia, and the Philippines.
The occasion was the 74th annual commemoration of the Battle of Surigao Strait at the Lipata ferry terminal in Surigao. The grandstand of honor was filled with important dignitaries including the city’s mayor, several council members, a spokesman for the provincial governor, various esteemed veterans and representatives of the U.S. and Australian embassies, as well as the nation of Japan. And seated right there among them was none other than yours truly, this humble correspondent.
How on earth, you might wonder, did that happen? It’s an excellent question, and exactly what I’d be wondering myself if I were you. In fact, it happened for one reason and one reason only; because my house directly overlooks the waters in which the historic battle was fought.
That was in 1944 when the battleships of America and Japan played an elaborate game of tag using live ammunition. In the end, Japan limped away badly injured, helping turn the tide of the war in the Pacific and setting the stage for the liberation of the Philippines the following year. Thousands lost their lives, including Americans, Japanese, Australians, and Filipinos. And it was the last great naval battle, not only of World War II but of history itself.
We knew none of this when we purchased our lot in 2013. All we knew was that the place had the most incredible view we’d ever seen. And that a voice inside of us kept shouting “build it here,” and so we did.
It wasn’t long, of course, before we began hearing stories about the spot’s historic significance. The following year, the Philippine government purchased the lot right next to ours to construct a Naval coastal watch station, now manned by four Philippine Coast Guard officers 24/7. It’s also guarded by several Army guys charged with providing security for what’s considered the gateway to Mindanao. In fact, our house sits on the northernmost point of Mindanao from which Leyte is clearly visible in the distance.
And now, directly below and across the road from us, the city is building the Battle of Surigao Strait Memorial Shrine, a magnificent structure overlooking the water that will eventually include a museum, memorial wall, and flag poles displaying the colors of all four nations involved.
It was the solemn raising of those colors that most stirred me during yesterday’s ceremony at the terminal. It wasn’t patriotism that resonated so deeply, but rather a new appreciation for the sacrifices of the past, an almost mournful recognition regarding the significance of those long-ago events and of the place I have chosen to live.
The keynote speaker was a man named David Mattiske, a 93-year-old Australian World War II veteran and one of the last surviving participants of the Battle of Surigao Strait. “Let us pray,” he said, “that we never have another world war.”
Next year’s commemoration, I’m told, will be held at the shrine itself. But tonight, as I peer through my window into the dark waters beyond, I can’t help but feel a kinship with the men who fought here and died. They, truly, are the ghostly guardians of the gate that hugs my house.