Angels of Bataan

Growing up, I heard about Corregidor, the Death March, guerrillas, and late president Ferdinand E. Marcos Sr.’s questionable wartime medals. When I visited Corregidor on a school field trip, I wondered why the story was largely narrated from an American viewpoint that made Filipino participation secondary. Why did Filipinos become “extras” in a theater of war fought in their own backyard?

Our embassy in Washington, located at 1600 Massachusetts Avenue corner Bataan Street, commemorates the estimated 75,000 defenders of Bataan, sometimes referred to as the “Battling Bastards of Bataan.” They held out for three months, not knowing they had no hope for relief or reinforcements. Their sacrifice delayed the Japanese conquest timetable. April 9 is a memorial of defeat given a spin into a Day of Valor. I often wonder what the Bataan Bastards truly felt about Douglas MacArthur’s promise to return to the Philippines, a pledge not made in the tunnels of Corregidor to the men he deserted, but a promise MacArthur made from safety in Australia.

When I first read about the Battling Bastards of Bataan, I wondered why the story of Bataan is largely about men—where were the women? A historical marker in Corregidor commemorates the American nurses in Corregidor, remembered as “The Angels of Bataan and Corregidor.” Their names are etched in bronze in a marker that reads:

“In honor of the valiant Military Women who gave so much of themselves in the early days of World War II. They provided care and comfort to the gallant defenders of Bataan and Corregidor. They lived on a starvation diet, shared the bombing, strafing, sniping, sickness, and disease, while working endless hours of heartbreaking duty. These nurses always had a smile, a tender touch, and a kind word for their patients. They truly earned the name “The Angels of Bataan and Corregidor.”

These American nurses truly deserve honors for giving up precious space on planes and submarines that brought others, like MacArthur, to safe haven in Australia. These nurses chose to stay and tend the sick, wounded, and dying. After Corregidor surrendered, some of the nurses ended up in the University of Santo Tomas campus, which was converted into a prison camp.

There were Filipina nurses on duty, too. They are remembered but not named on the Angels of Bataan marker that concludes:

“We acknowledge with deep appreciation the twenty Philippine nurses who assisted their American friends in both the hospitals of Bataan and Corregidor. Theirs was a job well done. They were a credit to the United States and the Philippines.”

It pains me that the names of the Filipina nurses are not even footnotes to the marker installed in their own country! Dr. Rico Jose, professor emeritus at the University of the Philippines and the authority on World War II in the Philippines, supplied me with a declassified letter from US Surgeon General Norman T. Kirk to Douglas MacArthur on Aug. 11, 1945, enclosing a list of the 31 Filipina nurses who served in Army hospitals of Bataan and Corregidor. “These Filipina nurses,” Kirk said, “unquestionably served loyally and efficiently, and perhaps you may be able to give them some deserved recognition.” I do not know if that was forthcoming, but for the 2026 Araw ng Kagitingan, please bear with me, read out the names, and remember the Filipina Angels of Bataan.

Of the 31 nurses, one was a Filipina mestiza, an American citizen named Maureen Davis. The rest were pure Pinay: Amalia Barrera, Socorro Basan, Gregoria Espinosa, Anna Kayan, Benilda Castañeda, Lucila Barrera, Paula Budano, Lumen Cruz, Feliza Chan, Celopatra Dulay, Herminia Espejo, Salustiana Go, Florencia Gacayan, Adelaida Garcia, Federica Garcia, Bagangsilang Gempesaw, Genoveva Lara, Sustimes Lorenzana, Lida Macasa, Esperanza Ona, Anita Profetana, Perfecta Quintos. Juana Ranada, Beatriz Sarmiento, Caridad Singson, Pura Santa Maria, Rebecca Salvacion, Catalina Tolentino, Marina Villanueva, and Esperanza Valido.

May these names be set in bronze and be installed side by side with their American counterparts in Corregidor.

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Comments are welcome at ambeth.ocampo@inquirer.net

Ambeth R. Ocampo

Ambeth is a Public Historian whose research covers 19th century Philippines: its art, culture, and the people who figure in the birth of the nation. Professor and former Chair, Department of History, Ateneo de Manila University, he writes a widely-read editorial page column for the Philippine Daily Inquirer, and has published over 30 books—the most recent being: Martial Law: Looking Back 15 (Anvil, 2021) and Yaman: History and Heritage in Philippine Money (Bangko Sentral ng Pilipinas, 2021).