By Ron Rocky Coloma
Alfred Flores wasn’t born on Guam, but the island is woven into his identity. His father, a CHamoru serving in the U.S. Army, met his Korean mother while stationed in Seoul, South Korea, where Flores was born. Today, as a historian and professor, Flores is telling Guam’s story—one that’s deeply tied to his family history and cultural roots.
“My clan names are Kabesa and Kulo,” he said, reflecting on his connection to the island. “I still have relatives and friends on Guam, even though I didn’t grow up there.”
It’s this bond, alongside years of academic study, that led Flores to write “Tip of the Spear: Land, Labor, and U.S. Settler Militarism in Guåhan, 1944–1962.” The book dives into one of the most transformative—and turbulent—periods in Guam’s history, examining the U.S. military’s growing presence on the island and its impact on the CHamoru people.
The years between 1944 and 1962 brought seismic changes to Guam. World War II had just ended, and the U.S. military began solidifying its control over the island, reshaping its economy, environment and social structure in the process.
“This period marked one of the most drastic eras of economic, environmental, political and social change on the island,” Flores said. But his book isn’t just about loss or upheaval. It’s also about survival. He noted that CHamoru custom and culture persisted amid all the changes.
Flores credits his mentors with helping him uncover these stories of resilience. At UC Riverside, he studied under Native American historians who shaped his understanding of indigeneity and historical research. Later, at UCLA, CHamoru scholar Keith L. Camacho and Japanese American historian Valerie Matsumoto introduced him to Pacific Islander and Asian American studies, paving the way for his deep dive into Guam’s history.
Now a professor at Harvey Mudd College, part of the Claremont Colleges in California, Flores brings Guam’s history to life. He teaches “Pacific Islander History and Culture through Life Writing” and “Militarization and Decolonization in Asia and the Pacific Islands.” His classes examine the connections between Guam, other Pacific Islands and broader themes like colonialism, militarization and cultural resilience.
“My home department is the Intercollegiate Department of Asian American Studies, but I also work with the Intercollegiate American Studies Program and Claremont Graduate University’s History Department,” Flores said. His interdisciplinary approach reflects the complexity of the histories he explores.
For many, Guam is synonymous with its role in U.S. defense strategy, but Flores wants readers to look deeper. Beneath the surface, he says, militarization has had profound—and often overlooked—impacts on the island’s people.
“There are many insidious ways that military bases impact places like Guam,” he said. “At times, larger celebrations and commemorations overshadow the individual ways people have been harmed by the military.”
One example is the U.S. liberation of Guam from Japanese occupation in World War II. While the event is celebrated annually, less attention was given to what came next.
“The U.S. military condemned or coerced CHamorus off their lands right after the war,” Flores said. Those stories, he argues, are just as important to remember, especially as the military continues to expand its footprint on the island.
Flores’ book doesn’t just document the challenges CHamorus faced—it also highlights their resilience. From filing lawsuits and circulating petitions to continuing cultural traditions like farming and land stewardship, the CHamoru people have found ways to push back and preserve their heritage.
“In some cases, CHamorus openly transgressed military policies and U.S. government laws,” Flores said. But resilience also appeared in quieter forms, like maintaining family ties through the land.
He reflects on his own childhood memories of his grandparents’ lancho (ranch) in Perris, California. “The land was a place for families to come together and build relationships with each other and their ancestors,” he said.
These traditions, both in Guam and beyond, remain a cornerstone of CHamoru identity.
Flores also wants readers to understand that Guam’s story is part of a larger picture. The U.S. military’s presence in Guam is closely tied to its operations in other parts of Oceania and Asia, from Hawaii to Okinawa.
“The U.S. military’s largest footprints in Oceania are in Hawaii and Guam,” Flores said. He notes that massive training exercises like RIMPAC in Hawaii and Operation Valiant Shield in the Mariana Islands demonstrate how militarization connects these regions.
“Guam’s experience isn’t isolated,” he said. “It’s linked to what’s happening in other places throughout Asia, Oceania and the western hemisphere.”
Flores is optimistic about the future of CHamoru advocacy. He believes the fight for indigenous rights will continue, particularly as Guam grapples with its political status as an unincorporated U.S. territory.
“CHamorus and their allies will never stop advocating and fighting for their rights as indigenous people,” he said.
The island’s future, he argued, is tied to the ongoing conversation about decolonization and self-determination.
In academic circles, the book has been praised for its focus on Guam’s political economy, including the shift from an agrarian subsistence economy to a wage labor economy. It earned an honorable mention from the Native American and Indigenous Studies Association’s first book award.
For Flores, telling Guam’s story is more than documenting history—it’s about understanding how the past shapes the present and future.
“The militarization of Guam is not an isolated moment or process,” he said. “It’s connected to global and regional events, and what has happened—and might happen—to people living in Guam is tied to these broader dynamics.”
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