“They Gain from Forgetting, We Lose from Remembering”
A Reflection Paper for “The War Your American History Teachers Probably Didn't Tell You” by: Agatha
Gan | BAPS 1-3
There is a particular kind of violence in silence—the kind that buries stories, hides wounds, and
allows perpetrators to get away scot-free. Being a Filipino, watching "The War Your American History
Teachers Probably Didn't Tell You About" was not just another learning video. It was like discovering
something sacred—something pilfered from us. It was a confrontation, not merely with facts, but with a
deep, unfinished pain in our past. This reflection attempts to grapple with the silence on the
Philippine-American War and the general effects of American colonization—past and present, both.
The video tried to narrate a tale that's little spoken of, particularly in Western histories: the betrayal of a
recently liberated country under the false impression of freedom. As centuries of suffering from Spanish
colonization had prepared Filipinos to believe that the coming of the Americans would usher in real
independence, but what we received instead was other colonizers and more or worse, traitors. The Treaty
of Paris, signed in 1898 with no Filipino representative, "transferred" our nation like property—without
our consent, without dignity. American soldiers arrived not as friends but as conquerors, labeling Filipinos
as "uncivilized," "barbaric," and "unfit for self-government." The whole villages were torched, civilians
massacred, and individuals rounded up into concentration camps. One general went so far as to declare it
would take the "killing of all Filipinos over the age of ten" to quell the resistance. These were not one-off
events—this was genocide. However, most American classrooms never teach it. As for me, I believe, that
is a deliberate historical erasure. It lets the U.S. continue being seen as a proponent of democracy, yet
keeping under wraps that it once suppressed one. The legacies of American colonization continue to be
ingrained in our systems up to this day. English was imposed as the medium of instruction, our local
history was rewritten in an American perspective, and our value systems started to change. They did not
only take our land but also changed the way we perceived ourselves. We were taught to look up to
whiteness, to desire Western validation, and to erase the richness of our own heritage.
As I was watching the video, I was filled with disgust, sadness, and clarity. The facts were appalling,
yes—but what was more jarring to me was how familiar everything was. I saw how profoundly this
history penetrates our current lives, even when we refuse to call it that. It made me wonder why I grew up
believing American culture was something to be revered. Why I was proud to speak English, but faltered
when speaking my native language. Why we learned about Lincoln and Washington before studying
Bonifacio or Apolinario Mabini. There is a silent rage that builds inside you when you find out that even
your identity has been constructed by systems designed to erase you. I wasn't merely studying history—I
was witnessing the strings behind the puppet show. And those strings weren't cut once the war was over.
They're still tugging on us. Drafting this reflection became more than an assignment—it became a
reckoning. Too long, we've been taught to be thankful for what colonization "gave" us: roads, schooling,
governmental structures. But to what end? Gratitude is not to be used as a silencer. We cannot continue to
act like development makes it okay for its violence to come with it.
Colonization appears differently today, but the mentality left behind hasn't gone away. There is still the
"colonial gaze"—particularly the way Asians, and Southeast Asians specifically, are spoken to globally.
We are still othered, stereotyped, or dismissed. And globally, that racism is largely a product of nations
such as the U.S.—the same nation that erased its own history of colonizing us. From anti-Asian hate
A Reflection Paper for “The War Your American History Teachers Probably Didn't Tell You” by: Agatha
Gan | BAPS 1-3
There is a particular kind of violence in silence—the kind that buries stories, hides wounds, and
allows perpetrators to get away scot-free. Being a Filipino, watching "The War Your American History
Teachers Probably Didn't Tell You About" was not just another learning video. It was like discovering
something sacred—something pilfered from us. It was a confrontation, not merely with facts, but with a
deep, unfinished pain in our past. This reflection attempts to grapple with the silence on the
Philippine-American War and the general effects of American colonization—past and present, both.
The video tried to narrate a tale that's little spoken of, particularly in Western histories: the betrayal of a
recently liberated country under the false impression of freedom. As centuries of suffering from Spanish
colonization had prepared Filipinos to believe that the coming of the Americans would usher in real
independence, but what we received instead was other colonizers and more or worse, traitors. The Treaty
of Paris, signed in 1898 with no Filipino representative, "transferred" our nation like property—without
our consent, without dignity. American soldiers arrived not as friends but as conquerors, labeling Filipinos
as "uncivilized," "barbaric," and "unfit for self-government." The whole villages were torched, civilians
massacred, and individuals rounded up into concentration camps. One general went so far as to declare it
would take the "killing of all Filipinos over the age of ten" to quell the resistance. These were not one-off
events—this was genocide. However, most American classrooms never teach it. As for me, I believe, that
is a deliberate historical erasure. It lets the U.S. continue being seen as a proponent of democracy, yet
keeping under wraps that it once suppressed one. The legacies of American colonization continue to be
ingrained in our systems up to this day. English was imposed as the medium of instruction, our local
history was rewritten in an American perspective, and our value systems started to change. They did not
only take our land but also changed the way we perceived ourselves. We were taught to look up to
whiteness, to desire Western validation, and to erase the richness of our own heritage.
As I was watching the video, I was filled with disgust, sadness, and clarity. The facts were appalling,
yes—but what was more jarring to me was how familiar everything was. I saw how profoundly this
history penetrates our current lives, even when we refuse to call it that. It made me wonder why I grew up
believing American culture was something to be revered. Why I was proud to speak English, but faltered
when speaking my native language. Why we learned about Lincoln and Washington before studying
Bonifacio or Apolinario Mabini. There is a silent rage that builds inside you when you find out that even
your identity has been constructed by systems designed to erase you. I wasn't merely studying history—I
was witnessing the strings behind the puppet show. And those strings weren't cut once the war was over.
They're still tugging on us. Drafting this reflection became more than an assignment—it became a
reckoning. Too long, we've been taught to be thankful for what colonization "gave" us: roads, schooling,
governmental structures. But to what end? Gratitude is not to be used as a silencer. We cannot continue to
act like development makes it okay for its violence to come with it.
Colonization appears differently today, but the mentality left behind hasn't gone away. There is still the
"colonial gaze"—particularly the way Asians, and Southeast Asians specifically, are spoken to globally.
We are still othered, stereotyped, or dismissed. And globally, that racism is largely a product of nations
such as the U.S.—the same nation that erased its own history of colonizing us. From anti-Asian hate
