For travelers flying into the tiny island of Thitu, the reality of China’s territorial ambition becomes instantly clear. There they are: dozens of Chinese ships surrounding a speck of land that a few hundred Filipinos call home.
For now though, life is mostly peaceful and slow on the island. Small wooden fishing boats line a white sand beach on the eastern shore. Rough houses pieced together from plywood, scrap lumber and tarps are the main form of shelter. On a recent evening, a few people gathered near the beach to debone fish, while others waded into tide pools with fishing spears.
But the calm belies the fact that Thitu is contested land. Nearby, China has stationed a flotilla of coast guard ships and maritime militia vessels. On a neighboring reef, it has constructed a military base whose lights shimmer at night like a city. The intensifying Chinese presence has startled the Philippines, which has occupied Thitu for nearly half a century. So it is upgrading its crumbling military facilities that lie on the island’s southern end.
And it is encouraging more Filipinos to move in, betting more residents will strengthen its claim to Thitu, which it calls Pag-asa, or hope, and reduce hostilities with China.
These civilians are the only ones in the Spratly Islands — a chain of 100 or so atolls, reefs and cays in the South China Sea that may have significant oil reserves and is claimed by six countries. And they find themselves in the middle of a tense geopolitical dispute.
Marjorie Ganizo and her husband, Junie Antonio Ganizo, moved here with their eight children in November despite what they saw as the risk of a Chinese invasion.
“In the end, we had to ask ourselves: hunger or fear?” Ms. Ganizo, 36, said. “No matter where you are, if it’s your time to die, it’s your time to die.”
Tensions have flared between Beijing and Manila, which has a mutual defense treaty with the United States.
Two years ago, residents heard multiple blasts that jolted the island, and feared a war was breaking out. But the altercation — between Philippine and Chinese sailors, over falling debris from a Chinese space rocket — soon subsided.
In June, in another section of the Spratlys, a Chinese Coast Guard vessel rammed and punctured some Philippine military boats, severely injuring a soldier. Tensions have de-escalated in recent weeks, but even a small miscalculation on either side could trigger a conflict with global ramifications, as the South China Sea is a crucial waterway for international trade.
For the residents of Thitu, a stretch of roughly 90 acres of land, the Chinese blockade has narrowed their area for fishing, shrinking a key source of food.
But, for some, life is better here.
Mr. Ganizo now earns as much as $350 a month as a welder, compared with the $80 he made in Palawan, the Philippine province roughly 300 miles away that is closest to Thitu. The Chinese mainland lies more than twice as far to the northwest.
He is one of many civilians working on Thitu’s military facilities. Caught off guard by Beijing’s buildup in the region, Manila began upgrading the island’s facilities in 2018. It now has a sheltered port, years after town officials asked for it. Its once-muddy runway, usually unusable after light rain, has been upgraded to concrete. An aircraft hangar, a control tower, military barracks, health center and school building are under construction.
All supplies on the island — rice, flour, eggs, meat, livestock and medicines — have to be ferried in from the mainland. A lot of the food is given free to civilians, part of the lure of the island. But bad weather can thwart these supply trips and cause food shortages.
Until this year, there was no doctor on the island, and pregnant women are still required to move to the mainland for their third trimester. Electricity is available for a fee from a diesel power plant, but houses have no running water.
Sometimes it takes a certain kind of desperation to move to Thitu. Emmanuel Greganda came from Luzon, the country’s main island, in 2016, he said, to escape former President Rodrigo Duterte’s brutal war on drugs, which killed tens of thousands of people.
“I still wanted to live and change,” Mr. Greganda, 43, a former drug user, said while making wooden boat souvenirs outside his house. “My family and I were very scared because some of my friends were already killed.”
Like other male residents of Thitu, Mr. Greganda has been taught how to fire guns, to prepare for a Chinese incursion.
In 2021, Larry Hugo, the president of a fishermen’s group, was sailing to a sandbar near Thitu to fish when a big China Coast Guard ship blocked him, coming as close as 100 yards. Chinese ships regularly chase, shadow and drive away Filipino fishermen near Thitu and other parts of the South China Sea.
This June, a colleague and I spent five days on Thitu, after getting approval from the Philippine government. We flew in on a military plane and stayed with a family in their house facing the eastern shore, mostly eating fresh fish and other seafood. Last year, the government opened Thitu and other Philippine-occupied reefs and atolls in the Spratly Islands to tourists. Some residents have turned their houses into homestays for visitors.
More than 200 settlers, comprising about 65 families, live on the island. There are also about 150 workers brought here to upgrade the military facilities. Officials say roughly 100 soldiers, coast guard members and firefighters are stationed here.
While some experts say the presence of Filipinos in Thitu strengthens the country’s claim to the island, its mayor, Roberto del Mundo, said he was concerned about settlers freeloading.
“Many of them are abusing the generosity of the government,” said Mr. Del Mundo, a former air force soldier who was stationed on the island in the 1980s and 1990s. He recently cut the monthly food subsidy to only a few kilos of rice per person.
Still, many like Ms. Ganizo, the newcomer who was anxious about moving to the island, are happy to be here. Her children, including 13-year-old Jessa Mae, attend a school here, which now has 14 teachers catering to about 80 students. While some teachers are concerned that they don’t have the resources to prepare children adequately, others are thankful for jobs.
One recent evening, residents sang their hearts out on a karaoke machine, played billiards or basketball and drank alcohol. Many teenagers, glued to their smartphones watching TikTok and Facebook videos, hung out near the school for the free Wi-Fi.
Mr. Hugo, the fishermen’s group leader, moved to the island in 2011. He said the pace of life was perfect. “This is my home,” he said. “I’ll leave this island only when I’m dead.”
