On Episode 7 of Inheriting, we hear the story of Leialani Wihongi-Santos, who is CHamoru, Māori, Korean and German and grew up on the island of Guam. Wihongi-Santos’ paternal grandfather, Joseph Aflleje-Santos, tells her stories passed down to him from an older generation – about how their family survived years of occupation, violence, and cultural erasure during Imperial Japan’s occupation.
That’s why July 21 is celebrated on Guam as Liberation Day, as the day the U.S. military saved the island. Except, as Wihongi-Santos learns, that’s not entirely true. Wihongi-Santos has come to the realization that the legacy of cultural erasure and land confiscation has continued under the U.S. military.
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Inheriting is a show about Asian American and Pacific Islander families, which explores how one event in history can ripple through generations. In doing so, the show seeks to break apart the AAPI monolith and tell a fuller story of these communities. Learn more at LAist.com/Inheriting.
Spaces like the Pacific Island Ethnic Arts Museum are showing her how to heed the voices of her ancestors and protect CHamoru culture. Ultimately, she’s trying to figure out what kind of descendant she wants to be, as a student of library sciences committed to knowing the truth about the past.
Meet Leialani Wihongi-Santos
Wihongi-Santos is CHamoru and German on her father’s side, and Korean and Māori on her mother’s side. Growing up on Guam, she learned about Imperial Japan’s occupation of the island and was taught that the CHamoru people were rescued when U.S. forces overpowered Japan’s military at the end of World War II.
“The emphasis is America saved us, and so that was kind of like the main message,” she says.
Later, while attending college in the U.S., Wihongi-Santos began to question this simplistic narrative. She realized her Asian American peers were unaware of this history – of CHamoru and other Pacific Islander experiences. So, Wihongi-Santos sought out mentors and dove into books written by CHamoru authors, like Julian Aguon. The CHamoru human rights lawyer has passionately denounced the cultural and environmental impact of the U.S. military, which owns one third of the land on Guam.
“After the Americans came in, they ruined the land; they bought out all our land; they tore everything down,” Wihongi-Santos says. “I didn't hear that story until I was older.”
After World War II, nearly 11,000 CHamorus – half the population at the time – lost their property to the U.S. military. The military was confiscating land to build infrastructure around the island. This led to a class action lawsuit in the 1980s for a settlement of $40 million, which many still believe is not enough compensation.
Wihongi-Santos, who is 24, now wants to hear the full story of how the war and the war’s aftermath affected her family. She’s doing that by recording her grandfather’s stories, his CHamoru perspective – what he witnessed and the details of their family’s history that were passed down to him.
A brief history of Wihongi-Santos’ family and Imperial Japan’s occupation of Guam
Aflleje-Santos, Wihongi-Santos’ grandfather, was born after the end of World War II. His elders recalled that during Japan’s occupation from 1941 to 1944, authorities set out to erase the culture of Guam. Even speaking the CHamoru language was forbidden.
“CHamorus were forced to speak Japanese during the occupation of Japan,” Aflleje-Santos says. “I've had a couple uncles that were beheaded by the Japanese because of not complying.”
Imperial Japan’s military also set up and carried out a system of sexual slavery and institutional rape before and during World War II. The euphemism for these victims is “comfort women.” Members of Aflleje-Santos’ family were forced to become comfort women.
“It's something [the family] didn't really want to talk so much about, because they [wanted] to leave it behind,” Aflleje-Santos says.
His family also played a role in the resistance to occupation. Aflleje-Santos’ grandmother, Anna Chargulaf Salas, risked her life to defy Imperial Japan as an important member of this movement. She would swim supplies to the CHamoru-led resistance forces. “[The resistance] would oil [Anna] down with coconut oil, so she wouldn't get cold,” Aflleje-Santos says. “And [she’d] be dragging rafts built out of coconut because the coconuts float.”
Wihongi-Santos is the last of her generation in the family to be raised on Guam. Though she doesn’t live on the island anymore, she’s searching for ways to pass this knowledge about CHamoru history and culture to the next generation, so it is not forgotten.
“What do you think my generation needs to do in order to pass on CHamoru culture and heritage?” she asks her grandfather Aflleje-Santos on Inheriting. He answers, “‘Practice it. Actually live in that way.’”
This mission to safeguard CHamoru and Māori cultures is a big part of why Wihongi-Santos is pursuing a master’s degree in library and information sciences. She’s interested in oral histories and in repatriation work. Ultimately, she aspires to carve a path that will allow her to uplift Pacific Islander cultures.
“There's so much that our community needs and that isn't gonna be achieved without us specifically spearheading it,” Wihongi-Santos says.
How can I listen to more of this story? Hear episode 7 of Inheriting:
Where does the AAPI term come from?
Wihongi-Santos and Aflleje-Santos are among the more than 1 million native Pacific Islander Americans in the U.S. But Pacific Islanders are often pulled into the same identity group as Asian Americans, especially when using umbrella labels like AAPI, which stands for Asian American and Pacific Islander.
In a special episode of Inheriting, we explore what the acronym AAPI actually represents, its purpose, and its limitations.
Hear Episode 8 of Inheriting:
New episodes of Inheriting publish every Thursday wherever you get your podcasts and on LAist.com/Inheriting.
