From the sandy beaches of Thitu Island, blue waters stretch for as far as the eye can see. It feels like a tranquil paradise: there’s no noisy road traffic, air pollution or crowds. But Thitu is not a luxury retreat, it’s a tiny island in the remote Spratly chain and one of the world’s most fiercely contested maritime sites.
Thitu has been occupied by the Philippines since 1974 and is home to 387 civilians. However, China also claims the island and much of the surrounding South China Sea. Thitu and its people are on the frontline of an intensifying struggle against their superpower neighbour.
As is the case for many other features in the South China Sea, even the name of the island is controversial. The Philippines calls it Pag-asa Island (meaning “hope” in Tagalog), while the other claimants, China, Vietnam and Taiwan, use separate names. The name Thitu is used by international courts.
“We will not leave the island, no matter what happens,” says Larry Hugo, the head of the fisherfolk association on Thitu. Over the years he has been chased by Chinese vessels and has seen the number of Chinese boats plying the waters off Thitu grow in number, joined by aircraft and even drones overhead, he says. “It seems like Pag-asa is under surveillance. They are watching over what residents of Pag-asa Island are doing. They are more now than before.”
Residents have lived with the threat of China for years, but recently tensions in the South China Sea have escalated. Earlier this year, Chinese vessels in effect imposed a blockade to stop Philippine resupply missions from reaching troops based at Second Thomas Shoal, which lies 121 nautical miles away from Thitu, with the Philippines repeatedly accusing China of ramming its boats and blasting them with water cannon.
This month, two Filipino coastguard ships were damaged in a collision with Chinese vessels at another site, Sabina Shoal, in the first such incident there in recent memory. Both Sabina and Second Thomas fall within the Philippines’ exclusive economic zone (EEZ). Thitu does not.
On Friday, Chinese state media drew attention to Thitu, saying the Philippines could “stir up trouble” through its presence on the island and accusing Manila of “illegally” occupying it and expanding military infrastructure. Then on Sunday, Philippines and Chinese vessels clashed near Sabina Shoal over what Manila said was a resupply mission for fishers, and what China’s coast guard termed an “illegal” entry into its waters.
China also introduced new regulations in June that empower its coastguard to detain foreigners accused of so-called trespassing. Thitu’s fishers now go out only in larger groups, says Hugo. “We discussed that if one of us is arrested, all of us will join,” he says.
‘We are ready to die here’
Hugo first came to Thitu for work in 2009, when the island was barely touched by development. “We were only 16 people back then, there were no other people in Pag-asa Island,” he says. “There was electricity only in the evening until 11pm. There was no signal.” It was silent on the island, he says. “You wouldn’t even hear the voices of people.”
Hugo was employed building some of the island’s first houses. He is now a fisher, and often films his sightings of Chinese vessels and aircraft, sharing videos on Facebook.
Today, Thitu has a health clinic, a school, a port, a runway, an evacuation centre and a small chapel. There is a basketball court, karaoke (though you must stop crooning before the island’s 10pm curfew), and neighbourhood stores selling fizzy drinks and snacks. A new airport and tourist accommodation is being developed. There is also a naval station, and a newly developed coastguard station to monitor traffic in the strategically important and resource-rich waters.
The population has grown to 387 civilians, including about 98 school-age children, partly owing to incentives such as rice subsidies introduced by the government. This figure does not include construction workers who have moved temporarily for work. “It’s actually much better here,” says Hugo’s 14-year-old daughter, Abegail. The island is small, just a mile long, and so she is allowed to wander around freely.
Thitu is far from bad influences that are found back on the main island of Palawan, she says. “I’d like people to know its beautiful here – it’s happy, a joy to live here.” In her spare time she walks on the beach with friends, plays volleyball and swims in the sea until she is exhausted. Her favourite place, once she has finished her homework, is the island’s wifi centre, where she browses Facebook and TikTok. There is no wifi at home, and mobile data is patchy on the island.
There are things Abegail misses from Palawan. She longs most for vanilla ice-cream, and craves kaldereta, a Philippine stew, and adobo, a dish normally made with pork or chicken. There is a small piggery on Thitu, but just one pig is butchered a month, which does not go far. Sometimes she tires of eating fish every day, she says.
Life on Thitu is simple, and the island, a tiny speck in the sea, is vulnerable to nature. “There isn’t always good weather for fishing. Often it’s raining,” says Nasreen Guarin, a midwife who was deployed to the island in 2020. When a typhoon hit the region in July, it did not stop pouring for three to four weeks, and islanders were forced to rely on stockpiles of tinned foods.
Bad weather does not just stop fishers from going out but also means navy flights from Palawan, which bring regular food supplies including frozen goods, are cancelled. Some vegetables are grown on the island, including a type of string bean, spinach and gourd, but fruit is limited. Guarin misses grapes the most, she says.
There is also no birthing facility on Thitu, and pregnant women must return to Palawan. But resources have improved, the midwife says. The health budget has increased from 50,000 pesos (£675) in 2020 to 1.4m (£18,900) last year. “I had a headache managing with 50,000,” she says.
Living on Thitu makes sense financially for Guarin, 28, and many others on the island. Her pay is the same as in her previous job in Palawan, but it is far easier to save. “There’s no mall, no shopping, no restaurants,” she says. She has benefited from government incentives designed to encourage people to stay on the island. Water is free, she does not pay rent and the authorities give 5kg of rice every 15 days for adults, and 2kg for children.
Such financial assistance is designed to support families based on the frontlines of the South China Sea dispute, and who Philippine officials consider living proof of their country’s claim to Thitu Island. While Vietnam, Taiwan and China all claim Thitu, tensions with China are by far the highest.
“The presence of civilians is very important,” says Lt Cmdr Jheffrie Legaspi, head of the Joint Task Unit Pag-asa. “According to the United Nations, military forces cannot attack any civilian structure since they are noncombatant.”
Guarin hopes to stay until she can take early retirement. She is conscious of the tensions with China, however. Earlier this year, she followed the news as the Philippines repeatedly accused Chinese vessels of aggressive and dangerous behaviour near to Second Thomas Shoal. “My mother-in-law called me and she told me ‘just leave’. Lots of my friends and classmates were chatting with me asking how I was,” she says. She told them it was far away from Thitu.
“I don’t think that they will bomb us because there’s a community, there are people [here in the island]. But we think of when we will be gathered and asked to leave,” she says. “They make their presence felt. They come closer and closer,” Guarin says of the Chinese vessels. In the evening she has also seen the lights of what she believes to be drones flying overhead.
The signs of China’s ambitions in the waters are clear. On maritime patrol flights, which also take residents back and forth to the mainland, the Philippines air force personnel fly close to nearby Chinese-occupied islands, which have been transformed by military construction projects.
Just 12 nautical miles away from Thitu is Subi Reef, one of seven artificial islands China has developed in the South China Sea. It was once just a remote, coral atoll visible only at low tide. Today, China is estimated to have reclaimed 976 acres of land.
It features a 3,000-metre airstrip (big enough to accommodate military aircraft), hangar space for more than 20 combat aircraft, underground storage tunnels (probably for ammunition), a high-frequency radar array (providing protection against air or missile strikes), hardened structures with retractable roofs believed to be shelters for mobile missile launchers, communication facilities and a lighthouse, according to analysis by the Asia Maritime Transparency Initiative.
As the plane flies over features such as Sabina Shoal, which are within the Philippines’ EEZ, a text message from a network provider welcomes you to China, offering data roaming services.
On Thitu, it is people rather than military constructions that underline the Philippines’ claim to the island. “As long as we’re here, we can say that it is ours,” says Rolly Dela Cruz, a fisher.
He is used to seeing Chinese vessels while out in his small wooden boat. Last Sunday he was monitored by Chinese coastguard ships, he says. “They were there around four to five hours. We were fishing and they were observing, and they flew a helicopter around us,” he says.
“Most of us are worried, most people from Palawan are worried,” Dela Cruz adds. “Some of the kids say that when they grow up they want to be a soldier, because they observe our life.’”
Realyn Limbo, a teacher at the island’s school, says children are not afraid but curious about the tensions. “It’s normal for them,” she says. “I tell them not to mind it.” For seven years she was the only teacher on the island, and she stayed because of the children. “I’ve seen the children’s eagerness to learn,” she says. “They have more energy here.” Most of the children will leave when they reach college age, she says.
Abegail will soon finish grade 10 and hopes to attend senior high school in Palawan, where a special strand of classes focused on sciences, technology, engineering and mathematics is offered. She would like to be a flight attendant, or an architect. In the future, she hopes that an extra school will be built so there is greater choice of subjects. “So that parents wouldn’t have difficulty sending their children to the mainland,” she says. She wants to return to the island after her studies, she says.
Her father says it is hard to put into words why he loves Thitu. Life has become more complicated for fishers. Radio exchanges back and forth between the Philippines coastguard and its Chinese counterpart are constant, day and night, Philippine officials say. There are some areas that are simply not accessible to Thitu’s fishing boats any more, because of China’s presence.
“As the years have gone by, I have seen the improvements in the island. That’s why I have stayed so long,” he says. Hugo is determined to stay, no matter what. “We are ready to die here in Pag-asa Island. As long as we can, we will fight.”
