‘Little brown brothers’

In 1900, President William McKinley appointed William Howard Taft, a federal circuit judge, to head a five-man Philippine Commission tasked with preparing the colony for civilian rule. While Taft was opposed to a policy of annexation, he believed it a “sacred duty” to help establish good government in the new possession. With the promise of an eventual seat in the Supreme Court, he accepted the appointment.

Upon his arrival in the Philippines, Taft described his new wards as “a vast mass of ignorant, superstitious people, well-intentioned, light-hearted, temperate, somewhat cruel, domestic, and fond of their families, and deeply wedded to the Catholic Church…” He would also condescendingly refer to them as “little brown brothers.” This attitude did not sit well with the American military establishment that considered Filipinos as “niggers.” Soon after, American soldiers came up with a marching song that said, “They I say I’ve got brown brothers here.” It would end with the refrain, “He may be a brother of Big Bill Taft, but he ain’t no brother of mine.”

In defiance of military social practices, Taft’s wife Nellie made it a rule “that neither politics nor race should influence their hospitality in any way.” Nonetheless, her guest list included only educated Filipinos of wealth and position—the people whose friendship Taft hoped to cultivate and bring into government service. Even as the fight for freedom and self-rule continued, a number of ilustrados would shift their allegiance to the United States. They would form a political party, the Partido Federal, with statehood in the United States a major plank of its platform. In this endeavor Taft gave all-out support to the party—money, monopoly of jobs open for Filipinos, and appointment to the Philippine Commission. He banned the formation of opposition parties and suffrage was limited to the upper 3 percent of society.

With all the perks, benefits, and advantages they enjoyed, the Federalistas were the poster boys for the “little brown brothers” of Asia. However in 1904, their dreams of integration into the Union were rudely shattered when party leaders were informed by Secretary of State Elihu Root that Filipinos were not welcome, bluntly telling them “statehood for Filipinos would only add another serious problem to one we have already.” He was referring to the Negroes in the United States. At that time, Americans considered us as the Pacific Negroes.

Doris Goodwin in her book “The Bully Pulpit,” points out the flaws in Taft’s attempt to build a democracy in the Philippines from the top down. “Reliance upon the elite, refusal to sanction any opposition to the Federal Party, and the policy of granting suffrage to a select minority further entrenched the existing ‘feudal oligarchy,’ thereby expanding the gap between the rich and the poor.”

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In my pantheon of great military leaders of the 20th century, no one occupies a higher place of honor than a fellow Asian, Gen. Võ Nguyên Giáp. With no formal military education, General Giáp led Vietnamese forces in victories over two technologically superior Western powers: France and the United States. His successors continue to fend off Chinese intrusions into their country. In the history of our own struggle for independence—the revolt against Spain, and the ensuing Philippine American War—perhaps, what we lacked were leaders in the mold of Giáp: tenacious, resolute, willing to sacrifice and endure hardships in the face of tremendous difficulties not just for years, but for decades. We had leaders. Some were ilustrados: well-educated gentlemen, schooled in the finest traditions of European society. Unfortunately, they lacked the stomach for the long and arduous struggles required to secure a nation’s freedom. With the arrival of the Americans, a good number simply moved over to the side of the newcomers, thus preserving their dominant influence in society under the new dispensation.

Today we have in our midst “little brown brothers” who continue clinging to Uncle Sam’s coattails, who are reluctant to let go of the perks, the benefits, and the perceived advantages that go with being an ally of the most powerful nation on earth. They forget what happened to South Vietnam, a nation so dependent on the United States for its survival. When Uncle Sam decided it was time to let go, South Vietnam simply disappeared from the community of nations.

Unless we take the difficult and demanding path of fending for ourselves, meager though our resources may be, we shall never discover the true strength of our people. We shall never see fulfillment of our dreams for a truly independent nation.

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