On the edge of hope: Life on the Philippines' quiet frontline in the South China Sea

Straits Times

3 hours ago

On Thitu Island, some 335 Filipino civilians reside on the frontlines of the South China Sea dispute. ST PHOTOS: MARA CEPEDA
On the edge of hope: Life on the Philippines' quiet frontline in the South China Sea
THITU ISLAND, SOUTH CHINA SEA – Every morning at 7am, Filipino government worker Elmer Bania steps into his office and looks out the window facing the sea. Just beyond the horizon, he spots the gray and white silhouettes of Chinese-flagged vessels – uninvited yet expected.
But the 62-year-old does not flinch at the sight.
It's just another day on Thitu Island, where some 335 Filipino civilians reside on the frontlines of the South China Sea dispute. Locals call this place Pag-asa, the Filipino word for hope – it lies about 500km west of Palawan island province, within the cluster of atolls, reefs and cays comprising the Spratly Islands that is claimed by six countries, including the Philippines.
These contested waters, a major fishing ground that is also believed to be rich in oil and natural gas reserves, have long been shadowed by China's sweeping maritime claims. Filipinos have their own name for the Spratlys archipelago – the Kalayaan island group, meaning freedom in the Filipino language.
For settlers like Mr Bania, their presence on Thitu is a quiet act of patriotism.
Hope, he tells The Straits Times, is both the name of his island home and a peaceful form of defiance in the face of a global superpower.
'We're not going to let China take over Pag-asa. This is our home! Filipinos do not yield to anyone,' he said.
The Bania family has called Thitu Island home in the last 13 years. They have no plans of leaving anytime soon.
ST PHOTO: MARA CEPEDA
Hope amid a sea of tension
The Straits Times was among a handful of media outlets invited by the Armed Forces of the Philippines (AFP) to join a rare five-day patrol across the Spratlys, a journey timed just before the country marks its 126th Independence Day on June 12. We flew in on a military aircraft that landed on Pag-asa Island's airstrip, then clambered into rubber boats to reach the naval ship waiting offshore that would take us around the rest of the Philippine-held features in the Spratlys.
As we bounced over 1.6-metre swells, seawater drenched our gear and boots thudded against the deck with every hard landing. The journey was as unforgiving as the terrain, a visceral introduction to life in the South China Sea.
The Philippines seized Thitu from Taiwan in 1971, after a typhoon forced the latter's garrison to retreat. Manila formally annexed the island in 1978 and opened it to civilians in 2002 in a bid to bolster its sovereign claim. Since then, a small but resilient community has taken root, coexisting with an undisclosed number of Filipino military personnel.
Today, their lives are deeply intertwined. Civilians ride in military aircraft and boats for free. Soldiers help unload supplies, fix power lines and even build schools. In emergencies, residents must rely on the military to fly them out.
Soldiers unloading supplies for Thitu residents on June 3.
ST PHOTO: MARA CEPEDA
Life hums quietly these days on Thitu's 37ha, where fishing is a mainstay. Here, homes are patched together from plywood, cement and scrap metal. Fishing boats rest along the white sand beaches in the eastern shore. In the afternoons, children play dodgeball on dusty roads, while their fathers shoot pool and mothers watch their favourite dramas.
Mr Bania moved here in 2012 with his family, drawn by the simple, low-cost life that contrasted with the bustle and strife of his hometown in Taytay, northern Palawan.
'There were only a few houses when I first came to Pag-asa, but I felt at peace. And the island is beautiful, so my family decided to stay here,' he said.
But just beyond the lull of island routines, tension simmers. Chinese ships are a constant presence, often shadowing local fishing boats, sometimes idling near the pier. Mr Bania remembers the early days when Chinese vessels dredged coral reefs just a few miles offshore.
'We couldn't do anything then.' he said. 'We were too few.'
Today, he says, civilians are more prepared. Male residents have received basic military training from soldiers stationed on Thitu. Visiting military officials would sometimes hold lectures about the environmental and geopolitical issues involving their island home.
'The AFP (Armed Forces of the Philippines) trained us. If foreigners land here, we know what to do,' Mr Bania said, recalling how locals once blocked the airstrip with fuel drums after hearing a rumour of a foreign plane landing.
Armed Forces of the Philippines spokesperson Colonel Francel Padilla giving a lecture to Thitu residents about the geopolitical importance of the South China Sea on June 3.
ST PHOTO: MARA CEPEDA
Even children on Thitu want to serve the country, like Mr Bania's 14-year-old grandson Yans. Born in Taytay but raised on Thitu, Yans dreams of joining the Philippine Air Force someday.
'I want to defend our motherland,' he told ST.
The Banias are not scared if ever tensions flare between the Philippines and China, confident that Filipino troops will protect them.
'They won't let anything happen to us,' Mr Bania said.
La Vida Thitu
The island's isolation comes with hard realities. All supplies are shipped or flown in. A single trip from the mainland can cost hundreds of thousands of pesos. Groceries are more expensive, and flights depend on the weather.
Still, the Banias makes it work. The family runs a small store, and both Mr Bania and his wife work at the municipal hall. Their household income is modest, but it goes a long way on the island. Their teenage grandson attends lessons in a modest schoolhouse in a corner of Thitu, where 15 teachers oversee a cohort of half a dozen youngsters up to high-school level.
Health services are limited. There is a health centre with a nurse and midwife on call, and a doctor occasionally visits from nearby Puerto Princesa City on the mainland. But for emergencies, residents must be flown out.
Thitu Island was opened to tourists in 2023, marking another quiet milestone in its transformation from a remote military outpost to a slowly thriving community. A few residents have turned their modest homes into homestays, offering basic accommodations to visitors curious enough to see the westernmost edge of Philippine civilian life.
Children play dodgeball outside their homes on Thitu on June 3.
ST PHOTO: MARA CEPEDA
For fishermen like Fernan Lozada, 36, who moved here during the Covid-19 pandemic, Thitu offered stability. Like Mr Bania, he came from Taytay town in the mainland where he struggled to find buyers for his daily catch from the bay.
'Here in Thitu, at least we can make a living,' he said.
But he says fishermen now steer clear of the western waters off Thitu, where Chinese vessels often tail the local fishing boats. The area near Sandy Cay – a sandbar just two nautical miles away – has become particularly tense. In April, Chinese coast guard officers planted their national flag there, prompting Filipino sailors to return days later and raise the Philippine flag in response.
'We learned to adjust to China. We're just small fisherfolk; we can't fight back,' Mr Lozada said.
A soldier's oath
Filipino troops stationed across the Spratlys also endure isolation, spartan quarters and unforgiving seas – all in the name of defending Philippine sovereignty.
Apart from Thitu, reporters embedded in the AFP's maritime patrol were able to set foot on West York Island, locally known as Likas, meaning natural in Filipino. At 18ha, it is the second largest Philippine-occupied feature in the Spratlys.
Like in Thitu, the island is ringed by white sand beaches and scattered with low vegetation. But West York has no civilian life, only soldiers stationed in outposts cobbled together from timber and salvaged sheet metal.
Filipino troops standing guard at West York Island, one of the Philippine-occupied features in the disputed South China Sea, on June 5.
ST PHOTO: MARA CEPEDA
The scant force – the military does not disclose how many troops are deployed due to security reasons – relies on periodic resupply missions for food and water, though they have managed to draw from a deep well on the island. Power comes from a lone generator. Internet exists, barely – enough to send requisite messages or make short calls home. To pass the time, soldiers shoot hoops on a makeshift court where the backboard is little more than worn plywood nailed to rusted poles.
Despite the remoteness and harsh living conditions, soldiers like Technical Sergeant Nino Calbog wear their deployment as a badge of honour.
'We took an oath to defend this land. This is part of our duty,' he said.
'Marooned' on remote island outposts, Filipino soldiers deployed in the Spratlys battle loneliness and harsh living conditions.
ST PHOTO: MARA CEPEDA
That same resolve echoes across the ranks. AFP spokesperson Colonel Francel Padilla said it is vital for Manila to not only maintain a foothold in the Spratlys, but to steadily build on it.
'We have to really affirm our sovereignty in all the features that we have. We must maintain the presence of thriving communities in the area,' Ms Padilla told reporters.
Still a long way to go
But resolve alone is not enough to effectively counter a more assertive Beijing.
While China has transformed once-submerged reefs into sprawling military outposts that glow like cities after dark, the Philippines lags behind in this respect as budgetary constraints and logistical bottlenecks make tangible progress slow and costly. Development here comes in increments, not by leaps and bounds.
But strides have been made. On Thitu, the Philippines has built a 1.3km runway, military barracks, a pier, beaching ramp and a sheltered port – modest but vital infrastructure for an island so far removed. Construction is ongoing for a runway extension, aircraft hangar, control tower, new government offices, a larger school, and a synoptic station to improve weather forecasts.
Fishermen Fernan Lozada (left) and Roy Cajamco repairing their boat as construction works continue on Thitu on June 3.
ST PHOTO: MARA CEPEDA
For now, Thitu Island remains a quiet frontline for the Philippines, a sliver of land where civilians and soldiers hold the line with their resilient presence.
And for Filipinos like Mr Bania, that is reason enough to stay.
'I have already built a life in Pag-asa. My grandchildren are growing up here. We're already here,' Mr Bania said. 'We're not leaving anytime soon.'
Mara Cepeda is Philippines correspondent for The Straits Times
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