On a Tiny Island in the Middle of Nowhere, 250 People Are Fending Off China
The weather can be wild and very little grows on Thitu, but Chinese ships are ever-present on the horizon
Romio Malaguit is among the many residents of Thitu Island intent on staying despite China’s growing presence near the island’s surrounding waters.
By Fruhlein Chrys EconarFollow
| Photographs and additional reporting by Rosem Morton for The Wall Street Journal
Updated Dec. 2, 2023 12:24 am ET
From the remote speck of land they call home, the residents of Thitu Island have watched China’s presence creep closer, and grow more assertive, over the past decade.
Boats belonging to China’s fishing militia regularly swarm the waters near Thitu, which lies in the South China Sea and is controlled by the Philippines. On pitch-dark nights, the Filipino islanders can see lights flicker on the horizon, emanating from a Chinese military base that didn’t exist 10 years ago.
Thitu’s tiny civilian population of 255 people is on the front line of Manila’s efforts to fend off Beijing’s growing control over the South China Sea. China claims much of the strategic waterway, including Thitu, and accuses the Philippines of illegally occupying the island.
Philippines soldiers are garrisoned on Thitu, but the country is relying in large part on a nonmilitary strategy to bolster its position: keeping civilians there, against all odds.
Boats in China’s fishing militia are a regular sight from Thitu Island’s coast. As many as 45 vessels were spotted around the island in November.
There were no paved roads, cell towers or schools when the earliest settlers arrived two decades ago.
It’s important “that we can really project that the island is able to accommodate normal community life,” said Cmdr. Ariel Joseph Coloma, spokesman for the Philippine military’s Western Command, which is tasked with protecting the country’s interests in the waters where Thitu lies. That sends a clear message it is part of Philippines territory, he said.
Wi-Fi arrived in the past few years, and Thitu now has paved roads. Renovations are nearly complete on a decades-old airstrip, which will make it easier to get on and off the island, located about 300 miles from the Philippines mainland. Authorities are building a sheltered port that will accommodate bigger boats.
The government doles out rice, which must be shipped in. It is the island’s main employer, offering construction jobs and hiring locals for the upkeep of facilities such as Thitu’s water-filtration system and vegetable garden.
Many residents are subsistence fishermen who catch just enough to feed their families and occasionally sell to military personnel stationed on the island.
Fishermen have learned to avoid nearby fishing grounds where Chinese vessels now linger.
Daisy Cojamco tended the vegetable garden, which was started to augment the island's food supply. The yield is rationed among residents.
Family and friends celebrated the birthday of Mary Joy Gonzales, 15. Only two people have ever been born on Thitu, which has limited health services.
For the first time this year, a group of tourists visited Thitu and other spots the Philippines controls in the area—part of an effort by the local administration to spur development. Lawmakers, including the speaker of the House of Representatives, traveled to the island in October and pledged to increase funding for local projects such as a storm shelter for fishermen during typhoons and a solar power plant.
Still, life on Thitu—known in the Philippines as Pag-asa—is far from easy.
Very little grows on the scorching, nearly 81-acre island. A powerful cyclone in 2021 left a trail of destruction, tearing the roofs off homes and wrecking the local coast-guard station. The nearest major city is a two-to-three-day boat ride away. No commercial flights operate there, and getting on and off the island usually means hitching a ride with the Philippines military.
Thitu has a health clinic, with midwives and a nurse but no doctor. Women are advised to travel to the mainland for childbirth, and only two children have ever been born on the island.
Then there are the security risks. Chinese militia boats have in recent years gathered around Thitu in large numbers—some 40 or 45 in November—lingering for days or weeks at a time, often backed up by Chinese coast-guard ships. Thitu fishermen no longer wander too far from their home shores, they said, because they know they are being watched and will likely be blocked.
A trip to Thitu used to take days but now takes a few hours, because of the recently renovated airstrip where planes can land reliably.
Thitu residents often gather in spots where the free Wi-Fi connection is strongest.
Thitu's population is made up of civilians, local government workers and stationed military personnel.
Authorities are building a sheltered port for bigger boats. Construction on the island has previously drawn attention from China.
Tensions between the Philippines and China have soared this year at hot spots across the South China Sea. Chinese ships collided with Philippines vessels in October near a reef called Second Thomas Shoal. President Ferdinand Marcos Jr. has pushed back against Chinese maneuvers and doubled down on his country’s security alliance with the U.S.
The U.S. and Philippines militaries conducted joint air and maritime patrols in the South China Sea last week.
Residents of Thitu remember a time when Chinese boats weren’t a constant presence around the island. Vessels began showing up, persistently, after Beijing transformed the nearby Subi Reef starting around 2014, first into an artificial island and then a base, bristling with military hardware.
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The island’s first settlers in the early 2000s brought livestock including pigs and goats.
Fiery Cross Reef, one of several in the South China Sea that are occupied by China, as seen from an Armed Forces of the Philippines aircraft on maritime patrol.
Chinese coast guard and militia ships rest and refuel at Subi Reef, allowing them to spend longer periods in the area without having to return to ports in China. They linger close to some of the sandbars near Thitu, and Filipinos fishing in the area for tuna and mackerel have learned to avoid those spots, residents said.
“We’re a bit scared to go there now because their boats are there blocking the way,” said Reny Magbanua, one of Thitu’s first settlers.
The effort to foster a community on Thitu—which Manila has controlled since the 1970s—began two decades ago. At the time, just a small group of Filipino soldiers were posted on the island. In 2002, to strengthen the Philippines’s claims, the local administration sent 80 families to live there.
The families brought livestock with them, including goats and pigs, on a boat local officials dubbed “Noah’s Ark.” But back then, there were no facilities on Thitu: no cell towers or schools, and no reliable sources of food except for fish from the surrounding waters.
In 2003, the government launched a food-subsidy program, offering free rice and other provisions. Still, life was hard and most of the families eventually left.
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To make it more viable for families to live on Thitu, authorities built a school in 2012. People gradually trickled back in, often arriving for short-term construction work and staying.
Thitu's sole school serves children through junior high. Students have to finish senior high school, grades 11 and 12, on the Philippines mainland.
Thitu is building homestay accommodations for tourists as part of a local effort to boost the economy.
Maria Dacumos, far left, recalls there were very few women living in Thitu when she arrived in 2011.
Residents are still recovering from a cyclone that left a trail of destruction in 2021.
People had to be incentivized to stay, said Dina Balofiños, an official tasked with planning and development. “Nobody will choose to live there on their own because there’s no hospital, no shops, no regular transport,” she said.
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Thitu’s population has slowly inched upward despite the risks.
While out fishing in 2021, Larry Hugo said he was tailed by a Chinese coast-guard ship. Spooked, he stayed on land for two weeks and encouraged others to avoid the area. Now, few fishermen venture past the two sandbars closest to Thitu and their catch has suffered for it.
Still, Hugo said, he wouldn’t leave.
“This island is ours,” he said. “This is why we live here. This is why Filipinos are here.”
A Thitu resident sitting up in his bed that overlooks the beach.
Rosem Morton’s reporting was supported by the International Women’s Media Foundation’s Howard G. Buffett Fund for Women Journalists.
