The air grew crisper with each door we passed, and walking through the archival room felt more like being in a hospital than a museum. Rows of weapons, and countless artifacts filled the space like the thousands of islands that dot the Pacific Ocean. 

This tour of the Burke Museum, led by collection assistant Gabbie Mangaser and Oceanic and Asian Cultural Collection curator Holly Barker, offered me a rare opportunity to connect with my Filipino culture.

Mangaser pointed out that there are over 4,200 Filipino cultural belongings housed at the Burke. This is no small number in a city with a rich Filipino history and culture. In 2019, Seattle ranked as the ninth largest metropolitan area for Filipinos in the US. Many—like me—left their homeland in search of better opportunities. With the fastest one-way trip to the Philippines taking over 11 hours, it can be challenging for Filipino Americans and immigrants to stay connected to their culture, even during Filipino American History Month.  

But of the 4,200 Filipino artifacts at the Burke, there was one I especially wanted to see. It lay inside an unassuming white box in the middle of the warehouse-size room. The pre–World War I Filipino-American War flag has become a bridge for many Filipinos in Seattle longing to reconnect with their motherland.

Donated in 1912 by Lewis P. Newman, the flag was made from scraps during the war, and captured by American troops during the first battle of Santa Cruz, Laguna, in 1899. Made from cloth scraps of various materials and stained with blood, Mangaser explained that it symbolizes the resourcefulness of Filipinos during the war. However, little is known about Newman or how he obtained the flag. Recordkeeping around 1912 was not substantial, says Barker.

This unusual looking flag follows the design of Philippines' first president, Emilio Aguinaldo, with eight rays of the sun representing the original eight provinces that revolted against Spanish rule, and three stars representing the three main islands of the Philippines. A blue stripe signifies freedom, and a red courage.

To any Pinoy, it would look familiar—this is the same design as the present flag of the Philippines. But with one crucial difference. In times of war, the flag was flown with its red stripe on top.

In the Philippines, the term “lukso ng dugo” (leap of blood) describes an inexplicable bond, a deep connection felt with someone you’ve just met. Upon seeing this flag for the first time, I experienced that bond—not with a person, but with history itself. The reaction was both physical and emotional.

This caught me off guard. I wouldn’t describe myself as being particularly patriotic or longing for a deeper connection to my cultural roots. Yet, Barker assured me that my reaction was not unusual.

“I don't think anybody comes in expecting to have that reaction,” Barker said. “I think that flag has absorbed some tears from visitors, and that kind of seems like an important part of its ongoing story, and it's important to community members.”

For many Filipino Americans, particularly those born in the US or brought here at a young age, that connection to the mother culture can be hard to find. Mangaser, a first-generation Filipino American, says the flag holds deep meaning for her as well.

“I think it's very powerful that it's here and also kind of surprising because I think growing up here, you don't really think about Filipino American history. Like, it's not something that you're necessarily taught. It's just something that I wish we had when we were very younger.”

The bloodstains on the flag only deepen its impact.

In one way, it’s unfortunate that Filipinos might see it and be reminded of how our culture and heritage was bastardized by the Spaniards and Americans, but in another light, Filipinos can reflect on this piece and feel a sense of pride and honor, that despite all odds, our ancestors fought till death, in the name of liberty and justice. 

It’s been 10 years since I immigrated from the Philippines to Seattle, and as much as I may not always be aware of it, there’s always a part of me that longs to be home, a part of me that will always be Filipino. It’s remarkable how history can rekindle a sense of belonging and connection, even when you’re thousands of miles away or centuries apart from it.