manila, philippines
—
Two cemeteries less than 10 miles apart in this crowded and bustling Asian metropolis of 14 million people testify to the horrors, sacrifices, and history of World War II.
Once there, you can see the names and read the stories of the more than 17,000 soldiers buried there, nearly all of whom died in battle across the Pacific between 1941 and 1945.
Their tombstones — 16,938 Latin crosses and 175 Stars of David — are neatly arranged on the meticulously manicured lawns of the Manila American Cemetery’s 152 acres.
On the other side, a lone white cross can be seen a short distance from a hole in the ground that leads to the dungeon of an old Spanish stone fortress.
At its base is inscribed: “This cross marks the final resting place of approximately 600 Filipinos and Americans who were victims of atrocities during the last days of February 1945.”
There are no individual stories here, but local legend says that the spirits of those who died in the dungeons of Fort Santiago remain and occasionally make themselves known to visitors.
Ghostly and sacred. These are the last vestiges of global conflict in Manila.
Located just steps away from the glittering skyscrapers of the Philippine capital’s Bonifacio Global City district, the Manila American Cemetery is an oasis of calm in one of the world’s most densely populated cities.
Manila’s notorious traffic noise subsides immediately after I pass through the cemetery gates. No scooter noises, no jeepney engines, no constant car horns. The comfortable silence is broken only by the occasional jetliner or the groundskeeper’s golf cart from Manila International Airport, three miles to the west.
A total of 17,111 headstones line the gentle slopes of the hilltop, making it the largest single burial site for American casualties of World War II.
At the top of the hill, there is a circular memorial to the remains undiscovered after the war, with the names of 36,286 people carved into a huge limestone slab.
About 3,000 of the gravestones are marked as belonging to “unknown soldiers,” or “comrades in arms known to none but God.”
The rest have identified the people buried beneath them, some of whom have histories of fallen soldiers.
Private First Class Alfred Davenport was one of the first people I ever saw. Mr. Davenport, who was buried near the entrance to the cemetery, was a black infantryman from Plymouth, North Carolina, who died from wounds sustained in Bougainville, Solomon Islands, in June 1944. According to his biography, he was 20 years old.
Although Davenport served in a segregated unit for black soldiers, “he and his comrades are buried side by side, regardless of class, race, religion, sex, or national origin,” the biography says.
From Davenport’s grave, we walked up the hill to the Missing Persons Memorial. The U.S. Navy section features five brothers from Iowa: George, Francis, Joseph, Madison, and Albert Sullivan. They were all killed in the 1942 Battle of Guadalcanal, also in the Solomon Islands, when the light cruiser USS Juneau, to which they belonged, was sunk by a Japanese torpedo attack.
Their deaths represent the largest loss to a family in U.S. military history, according to the Naval Museum Development Foundation.
The Sullivan family is not the only brother memorialized in this cemetery. Below the site, the remains of 21 pairs of brothers are buried side by side.
The Manila American Cemetery is more than just a place of remembrance. It also makes for an immersive history lesson.
The wall of the circular memorial features a mosaic map of the Pacific War, from specific battles like the game-changing Battle of Midway to long-standing operations like how U.S. submarines fought in the Pacific, including a list of the 49 boats that never made it home.
The mosaic is colorful and filled with charts and diagrams of combat movements. For a military history buff like me, these are worth hours of attention.
Across the driveway from the monument is a modern visitor center with exhibits, personal stories and memorabilia, and details about the Pacific War.
The visitor center offers free tours of the grounds for those interested.
Dungeons and Filipino Heroes
A 9-mile drive from the cemetery (note: it can easily take over an hour in Manila traffic) is Fort Santiago. The fort was built by Spanish colonists in the late 1500s and expanded and renovated at various times under Spanish, British, American, and Japanese rule in the Philippines.
Located at the northern tip of the walled region of Intramuros, this place is a must-stop for foreign tourists and Filipinos alike. Because this is where patriot Jose Rizal, considered one of the fathers of Philippine autonomy, spent his final days before facing the firing squad of colonial Spain in 1896.
A small museum chronicles Rizal’s time here, including the recitation of his moving last letter to friends and family.
But on a weekday morning, it’s clear that Rizal’s cell is not the main attraction here.
A few dozen feet away, on the walls of Fort Santiago on the banks of the Pasig River, near the entrance to a dungeon beneath the Santa Barbara Weir, stands a large white cross marking a mass grave.
Schoolchildren in uniform on a school trip crowd around the cross and head single file to the dungeons. They are not restrained, but they are certainly respectful as they stoop through the entrance and enter the space where hundreds died at the hands of Japanese occupation forces near the end of World War II.
I followed the school group, otherwise I would have been cut off at chest height because the entrance was so low, so I crouched down to follow.
“After the Battle of Manila in 1945, layers of corpses representing approximately 600 prisoners of war were found locked in a dungeon and left by the Japanese military, suffering from starvation and suffocation,” a sign inside the dungeon reads.
There are authentic photos of what the U.S. military found when they liberated the fort, as well as statues that recreate some of the wartime conditions. Even in this tourist area, it’s humid, cramped and uncomfortable. After a few minutes, you’ll want to go outside and get some fresh air. I did that.
There are numerous reports of paranormal activity, especially around the fort and dungeons. Visitors report sudden temperature changes, strange winds, whispering sounds, and even tactile sensations during their visits.
Some even say that the spirit of Rizal himself still walks the grounds.
South of the fortress into the walled city of Intramuros, you will find another monument said to be haunted by spirits, Memorare Manila 1945.
The statue was erected in 1995 to honor the 100,000 civilians who died during the month-long Battle of Manila in early 1945.
“They are mainly victims of heinous acts by the Japanese Imperial Army and casualties of heavy shelling by the American military,” the National Historical Commission of the Philippines said on its website.
Some say that the spirits of the dead gather here, similar to the dungeons of Fort Santiago.
A nearby plaque lists 36 sites of Japanese military massacres around Manila.
I didn’t see any ghosts at Fort Santiago or Intramuros, but there were moments when I remembered the American Cemetery and had to stop and wonder.
The afternoon sun hit my face as I walked alone among the rows of cross-shaped tombstones. But when I looked down, my shadow was clearly in front of me. I was surprised.
When I turned around to look for the light source, I saw the sun reflecting off the glass walls beyond the high-rise office buildings of Bonifacio Global City and onto the cemetery.
Maybe it wasn’t an omen, but it was certainly an amazing coincidence.
The shadow lasted less than a minute. On a cloudless day, what are the chances that I’ll be in that exact spot where the sun is just positioned to reflect off a building and cast my shadow in the sunlight?
ghost? No. Is it sacred? Of course not.
But mentally? Mystical? Hmmm.
