As the end of the 19th century drew near, America had fulfilled its manifest destiny and settled the vast American continent. Homesteading had become the norm, and the introduction of barbed wire signaled the end of the wide open range. The surrender of Geronimo in 1886 and the defeat of the Sioux at Wounded Knee in 1891 brought about the end of the Indian Wars. As the seminal Western historian Frederick Jackson Turner put it, it was the end of the American frontier (see the Wild Wild West and the American Psyche).

Social Darwinism set the philosophical tone of the era. Horatio Alger's rags-to-riches tales sold like hotcakes, while the term "survival of the fittest" was quickly adapted to explain the rightful dominance of the white race. Although America didn't have colonies like the European powers, there was an acute awareness of the importance of expanding American markets and projecting American power-especially into the exotic lands across the Pacific. Under the influence of the Naval historian Alfred Thayer Mahan and Teddy Roosevelt, Uncle Sam had already built a powerful naval fleet, which would of course eventually require a network of strategically located deep water naval ports in good harbors, and plenty of places to refuel wherever we might sail around the world.

The Splendid Little War

While America was looking for opportunities to expand, some of the older colonial empires were fraying badly at the seams. By 1895, the Spanish faced increasingly vocal nationalist movements in Cuba and the Philippines. Americans were generally sympathetic to the Cuban nationalists, spurred by sensationalistic media portrayals of the cruelty of the Spanish rulers to the poor downtrodden Cubanos. President McKinley, following the national mood, sent the USS Maine on a "courtesy call" to Havana harbor to show support for the nationalists. It promptly exploded, killing over 250 American sailors. Although later proven to be a boiler room explosion, the deed was promptly blamed on the Spanish, with the American press and rabid politicians jumping on the incident as justification for invading Cuba ("Remember the Maine, the hell with Spain"). (For more details, see An Oversimplified History Lesson and The Wild West and the American Psyche).

The Spanish-American war, referred to by Secretary of State John Hay as a "splendid little war," was quite popular with the American people-after all, it was the first time since the Civil War that the country had banded together, with boys from North and South marching together into battle. The war itself was a cakewalk, Teddy Roosevelt became the new American hero, and a new era of American dominance seemed assured.

While a Senate resolution mandated that Cuba be given its independence, nobody quite knew what to do with the Philippines. There were vitriolic debates in Congress between those who felt that America had to remain true to its ideals and grant freedom to the Philippines and those who saw the defeat of the Spanish as a God-given sign that America should now become a colonial power. McKinley himself went down on his knees and…

"prayed to Almighty God for light and guidance on more than one night. And one night it came to me…that there was nothing left for us to do but to take them all, and to educate the Filipinos, and uplift and civilize and Christianize them, and by God's grace do the very best we could by them, as our fellowmen for whom Christ died."

Never mind his blissful ignorance of the fact that the Spanish had already converted the great majority of Filipinos to Catholicism or that he couldn't find the Philippines on a globe, McKinley just wanted the Filipino people to enjoy "the blessings of freedom, of civil and religious liberty, of education, and of homes, and whose children's children shall for ages hence bless the American republic because it emancipated their fatherland, and set them in the pathway of the world's best civilization."

After Commodore Dewey steamed into Manila Bay and whipped up on the dilapidated Spanish fleet, in a quick morning's work and with nary the loss of a sailor, the US could have chosen to set up a protectorate, an option that Dewey himself supported. Indeed, the Philippines insurectos had assumed that America-the great America of the Revolutionary War and the Declaration of Independence-would do precisely that. However, the advocates of annexation were well organized and the groundswell of public opinion, fueled by the media, made it a fait accompli that America would have its very own colony.

The anti-Imperialist league, led by luminaries like Mark Twain and William James, did all it could to martial public opinion against American foreign policy in the Philippines-to no avail. Mark Twain suggested that maybe they ought to redesign the stars and stripes and make the stripes black rather than red and replace the stars with a skull and crossbones.

The insurectos, bitterly disappointed, fought back. By mid-1900, there were 75,000 American troops on the ground in the Philippines, representing fully two-thirds of the US army. The guerilla war that followed, which many have called a precursor to Vietnam, led to American losses far greater than in Cuba (over 4000 troops killed), as well as a huge human toll on the Filipino side (an estimated 20,000 soldiers and 200,000 civilians). Atrocities were widespread on both sides, although most historians have concluded that the Americans exhibited the most brutish behavior. War is always hell.

The St. Louis World's Fair

America suddenly found itself with its very own bona fide colony. Over the next 40 years the colonial administration bestowed on the Philippines American-style institutions, including most notably a set of democratic government institutions and universal English-language education (see Strange Brew: The Filipino-Yankee Rojak). However, the early colonial administrators knew precious little about the Philippines and were often contemptuous of their "Little Brown Brothers." Filipinos were perceived as stupid and lazy, ideal candidates to be saved by the great white bwana Americans.

At the same time, however, the Americans-the new kids on the colonial block, so to speak-were determined to show that they were far superior to the oppressive European imperialists. And what better forum to show off their uniqueness than at a World's Fair? World's Fairs had become major events over the preceding decades, with American cities having hosted numerous such exhibitions-particularly impressive were those in Chicago (1893) and Buffalo (1901). These huge events provided a shared cultural experience in those days before modern mass media, a phantasmagoric chance for rubes from around the country to experience the latest technology (electric lights, refrigeration, telephones, x-rays) and try out newly invented cheap thrills (Ferris wheels, ice cream cones, hot dogs, the latest dance crazes).

More specifically, the Saint Louis World's Fair (1904), celebrating the Centennial of the Louisiana Purchase, provided an ideal forum for showing America's progressive ideals. It also provided an opportunity to educate the American people about their new colony in the Far East and to drum up support for America's now-expansionist foreign policy. Saint Louis was to be the grandest fair of all, with some 75 buildings and 70,000 exhibits spread over 12,000 acres. The whole event was draped in patriotism, with John Philip Sousa's marches providing the appropriate martial soundtrack for Uncle Sam's coming out party as a global power.

The Division of Anthropology was the real star of the show. World's Fairs always featured large numbers of exhibits showcasing non-Western societies and cultures - everything from African villages to Arab bazaars to mysterious Asian pagodas. The most popular exhibit at Saint Louis turned out to be none other than the "Philippine Reservation" featuring imported Filipinos from different parts of the archipelago. The reservation featured reconstructed habitats for "barbaric tribes" of Negritos and Igorots, the "semi-civilized" Bagobos and Moros, and the "fully civilized" Visayans. There were even classical musical concerts by the highly cultured, Spanish speaking Visayans and a re-creation of an America schools in the Philippines.

But the absolute highlight turned out to be Dogtown, a portion of the reservation featuring Igorots-indigenous people from Central Luzon - the northern island in the Philippines, who very much still lived in a pre-civilized state. Beginning in late 1903, Igorots from five mountain tribes were shipped across the Pacific, then put on a train to cross the American content with no idea of where they were headed. They were exposed to winter weather for the first time and more than a few froze to death before they arrived in Saint Louis. The American press followed the story with great interest, writing of the "head hunters" coming to the heartland ("war is their sport"). The rival tribes were kept strictly segregated on the theory that they were always trying to get each other's heads.

The Igorot exhibit proved to be by far the most popular exhibit at the entire World's Fair-albeit for somewhat perverse reasons. Seems that the Igorots, like many other indigenous tribes, liked to dine on dogmeat once in a while. During ritual celebrations, they would butcher, roast, and feast on canines. In reality, the staples in their diet were pork and sweet potatoes, with dog being a culinary delicacy reserved for special occasions.

However, the organizers quickly seized on this cultural predilection and began supplying each Igorot tribe with a fresh dog each and every night. The Igorots dutifully butchered the poor beasts, roasted them on a spit, and consumed them heartily for the benefit of the rubes and press. The rubes ate it up, while the media, always sensationalistic, quickly let the world know that the Igorots absolutely had to have their dogmeat each and every day.

It was that image of depraved savages, rather than the cultured Visayans or the American school reconstruction, that dominated portrayals of Filipinos during the first decade of the 20th century.

Of course, Oriental stereotypes are nothing new - think inscrutable Charlie Chan, Jack Lord in Hawaii Five-O locked in a battle of wits to defeat criminal mastermind Wo Fat or Bruce Lee as the Green Hornet's faithful Kato. Or one could refer to General Westmoreland's rationale for the always-escalating bombing campaigns in Nam: "The Oriental doesn't put the same high price on life as does a Westerner. Life is plentiful. Life is cheap in the Orient." Indeed, stereotypes of Asian culture as mystical and somehow different are still pervasive; just think of the caricatures of Asian women as exotic and submissive (an estimated 35% of the pornographic images on the web are of Asian women).

It might also be worth mentioning the remarks made by the current American President when he addressed the Filipino Congress during his 2003 visit, a visit during which he effusively thanked President Arroyo for her early ardent support for the global war on terror. It was shortly after the invasion of Iraq, and Dubya couldn't resist referring to how the United States had liberated the Philippines from tyranny and that it surely wouldn't be long before Iraq would follow along that same path of freedom and democracy:

"Some say the culture of the Middle East will not sustain the institutions of democracy…the same doubts were once expressed about the culture of Asia. Those doubts were proven wrong nearly six decades ago."

Holy cognitive dissonance. Guess the more things change, the more they stay the same…