The Murillo Bulletin Issue No. 16

The Murillo Bulletin Journal of PHIMCOS The Philippine Map Collectors Society

Issue No. 16

November 2023

In this issue  A draft of the 1734 Murillo Velarde map?   Japanese WWII Propaganda Leaflets and Posters   Conquering the Pacific  Rhubarb, Marmots & Plague  Colour Meets Map 

Mapa de las Islas Filipinas | Pedro de Gongora y Lujan de Almodovar | 1790 | hand-coloured copper engraving | 38.5 x 31 cm

3/F Glorietta 4 Artspace, Ayala Center, Makati City, Metro Manila, Philippines • T (+63 2) 7729-8168 • Fax 8824-3770 gallery@gop.com.ph www.gop.com.ph

The only Gallery in the Philippines exclusively selling antique prints and antiquarian books before 1900.

The Murillo Bulletin Issue No. 16

November 2023 In this issue

PHIMCOS News & Events

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Obituary: Christian Perez (1949–2023)

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Our Cover: A manuscript draft of the 1734 Murillo Velarde map? by Peter Geldart

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‘You are Our Pals’: Japanese WWII Propaganda Leaflets and Posters by Ricardo Trota Jose

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Conquering the Pacific: book review by Margarita V. Binamira

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Rhubarb, Marmots & Plague: book review by Margarita V. Binamira

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Colour Meets Map: exhibition catalogue review by Felice Noelle Rodriguez

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PHIMCOS Trustees, Members & Committee Members

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About PHIMCOS The Philippine Map Collectors Society (PHIMCOS) was established in 2007 in Manila as the first club for collectors of antique maps and prints in the Philippines. Membership of the Society, which has grown to a current total of 43 individual members, 7 joint members, and 2 corporate members (with two nominees each), is open to anyone interested in collecting, analysing or appreciating historical maps, charts, prints, paintings, photographs, postcards and books of the Philippines.

PHIMCOS holds regular meetings at which members and their guests discuss cartographic news and give after-dinner presentations on topics such as maps of particular interest, famous cartographers, the mapping and history of the Philippines, or the lives of prominent Filipino collectors and artists. The Society also arranges and sponsors webinars on similar topics. The talks are recorded and can be accessed by members through our website. A major focus for PHIMCOS is the sponsorship of exhibitions, lectures and other events designed to educate the public about the importance of cartography as a way of learning both the geography and the history of the Philippines. The Murillo Bulletin, the Society’s journal, is normally published twice a year, and copies are made available to the public on our website.

PHIMCOS welcomes new members. The annual fees, application procedures, and additional information on PHIMCOS are available on our website: www.phimcos.org Front Cover: A manuscript map believed to be a draft of Fr. Pedro Murillo Velarde’s 1734 Carta Hydrographica y Chorographica delas Yslas Filipinas (image courtesy of Bibliothèque nationale de France)

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16 NOV 2023 – 17 MAR 2024 ASI AN C IV IL ISAT IO N S MU SE U M Manila Galleon explores a trade that connected Asia to the Americas and Europe.

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Featuring over 130 extraordinary works of art from the 16th to 20th century, the exhibition reveals how people, goods, and ideas circulating through the Philippines and Mexico created a distinctive shared cultural and artistic heritage. Looking at Manila as a precursor of Singapore, it reflects the unique qualities of Singapore’s own blended society and the important role port cities have played in trade and cultural exchanges that shaped the world.

Organised by

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PHIMCOS News & Events

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N 19 JULY, 2023 PHIMCOS held its second meeting of the year, which was also our Annual General Membership Meeting, attended by 23 members and 9 guests either in person or online via Zoom. Having established the presence of a quorum of members in good standing (including proxies), the meeting proceeded to approve the minutes of the previous meetings; approve the Society’s amended By-Laws (summarised below); elect the new Trustees to the board and the Society’s officers for 2023-24; and ratify the resolutions and acts of management for 2022-23.

After dinner Mark Dizon, an assistant professor in the Department of History at Ateneo de Manila University, gave a lively presentation on ‘The Human Element in Fr. Alejandro Cacho’s Missionary Maps’. In his talk, Mark explored the relationship between missionary cartography and ethnography by showing how the Augustinian missionary’s maps of the Montes de Pantabangán y Caranglán (dated 18 February, 1723) and of northern Luzon (c.1740) emphasise the human elements in the landscape by

depicting mission towns and the everyday activities of the inhabitants.

The following general meeting took place on 16 August. The first of two presentations, with 20 members and 18 guests in personal or virtual attendance, was ‘Towards Mapping Marginalization: A Reading Through a Mapping Site’ by Marian Pastor Roces. Marian, the author of the seminal book about Philippine textiles Sinaunang Habi: Philippine Ancestral Weave, spoke of the Philippines in the context of shared languages. Austronesian people moving across Asia and from the Pacific to the Indian oceans were united linguistically but, although we are all related, historical events divided us culturally, by religion or race. Consequently, we have a poor understanding of our own history because of the lack of a sufficient material cultural heritage (such as textiles and weaponry) in the Philippines. Marian hopes to rectify this through ‘Mapping Philippine Material Culture’, an online project with Dr. Maria Cristina Juan of the School of Oriental and African Studies (SOAS) at the University of London.

Mapa de los pueblos existentes en los Montes de Pantabangán y Caranglán, entre las provincias de Pampanga, Pangasinan y Cagayán, pertenecientes a las misiones de los religiosos de San Agustín by Fr. Alejandro Cacho (image courtesy of Archivo General de Indias, MP-FILIPINAS,148) 3

The evening’s second presentation was a handson exhibition in which our member Eddie Jose displayed his many years of experience in restoring paper and textiles in Japan, the U.S. and Bhutan to show us how to use traditional Japanese techniques and materials to restore old maps, especially those damaged by the heat, humidity and insects found in the Philippines.

Having restored Asian art collections from various museums worldwide, including the Asian Art Museum of San Francisco, the Art Institute of Chicago, the East Asian Art Museum in Cologne, and the Ashmolean in Oxford, Eddie established a thangka conservation centre in Bhutan where the monks are restoring Buddhist paintings; he now teaches art conservation at De La Salle University ‒ Dasmarinas.

Our fourth and final meeting of the year was held on 18 October, with 21 members and 16 guests present either in person or on Zoom.

Again, we enjoyed two presentations. Daniele Quaggiotto is a lawyer, member of the Board of the Società Dante Alighieri di Manila, and an independent scholar researching the studies and activities undertaken by European missionaries in the Philippines in the 17th and 18th centuries. In his talk ‘Between Sultans and China: Three Italian Missionaries in Manila 1637-1750’ Daniele described the roles played

by Fr. Marcello Mastrilli, S.J., who took part in the expedition mounted by Governor Hortado Corquera against Sultan Kudarat in Mindanao; Fr. Vittorio Ricci, O.P., who was sent by the pirate Koxinga as a diplomatic envoy to the Spanish in Manila and, in his spare time, drew one of the earliest maps of Australia; and Fr. Fulcherio di Spilimbergo, S.J., who was involved in the attempt to convert the Sultan of Sulu, Muhammad Azim ud-Din I, to Christianity.

The second presentation, on the contribution of Filipinos to the history of WWII, was given by Marie Silva Vallejo. Her book Dauntless ‒ The Untold Story of the U.S. Army's 1st and 2nd Filipino Infantry Regiments describes how the Japanese invasion of the Philippines catalysed the formation of the U.S. Army's First Filipino Battalion to fight for their motherland, and explains why top-secret missions went behind enemy lines on the islands for over two years before their liberation. Marie, who has a degree in Education, pursued graduate studies in Psychology, and was on the board of the

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American Historical Collection, also wrote Battle of Ising: The untold Story of the 130th Infantry Regime in the Liberation of Davao and Mindanao. She has spearheaded the scanning of the files of the Guerrilla Recognition Program in the Philippine Archives Collection at the U.S. National Archives and Records Administration.

   The substantive changes made in the Amended By-Laws of PHIMCOS approved by the AGM on 19 July, 2023 can be summarized as follows:  Meetings are to be held quarterly, usually on a Wednesday, with the meeting in the first quarter to be the Annual General Meeting called for the purpose of electing Trustees.  Meetings may be held in person or through any means of remote communication, including videoconferencing and teleconferencing.  A quorum shall consist of a majority of the voting members in good standing.  Voting may be made in person or by proxy.  Individual Members are entitled to one vote; a Joint Member shall consist of two people, each considered a member, but shall be entitled to only one vote; and a Corporate Member shall be entitled to nominate two members but shall be entitled to only one vote.  All Trustees are entitled to one vote; in the case of a tie, the President has the deciding vote.  One Trustee shall be replaced each year, with all Trustees other than the President subject to the term limits set out in the Amended By-Laws.  The President must be a Trustee, and all other Officers must be members of the Society in good standing but are not required to be Trustees.  The President shall present the annual budget together with the Treasurer.  The By-Laws may be amended or repealed by a simple majority vote of the voting members, and by a majority vote of the Trustees.

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Events hosted by other organisations to which PHIMCOS members were invited included ‘1762: The Cultural Sack of Manila during the British Occupation’ by Dr. Christina H. Lee, at the Instituto Cervantes in Manila; and ‘1898: U.S. Imperial Visions and Revisions’, the 2023 Edgar P. Richardson Symposium at the National Portrait Gallery in Washington, D.C. .

Christian Perez (1949‒2023)

Explorer, collector, author and cartophile

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HRISTIAN PEREZ, one of the longest and most active members of PHIMCOS, died on 18 July, 2023 at the age of 73 after a brave struggle with multiple myeloma.

Christian was born in Gers, France and was a graduate of the École Nationale Supérieure de l'Aéronautique et de l'Espace (ISAE-SUPAERO) in Toulouse. He first visited the Philippines in 1975 and spent a year travelling around the archipelago. From 1976 to 1979 he worked for the government’s Technology Resource Center, and then joined the Asian Development Bank, where he worked in information technology, becoming the Director of the ADB’s Office of Information Systems and Technology prior to his retirement in 2006. In 1985 he married the late Gigi Angeles, and their daughter Daniele was born the following year. Through his marriage to Gigi Christian also had two stepchildren, Carlo Navarro and Nika Navarro Williams.

Aside from his family and his work, Christian’s great passions were exploration and climbing, bird watching, photography and collecting. He visited every province in the Philippines and explored the remotest of mountains and islands, including the Cordillera, Mount Malindang in Mindanao, the northernmost Batanes islands, the Babuyanes, Ticao, Palmas (aka Miangas), Jolo (with a military escort), and the Tubbataha Reefs. He also travelled extensively overseas, visiting places as far away as Pitcairn Island, the Sakhalin Peninsula, Antarctica, Nova Zembla, and the Lofoten Islands.

Christian was an enthusiastic member of the Wild Bird Club of the Philippines (WBCP) and personally saw, recorded and (when possible) photographed over 500 species of birds in the Philippines. For the WBCP’s newsletter eBON he wrote A Short History of Philippine Bird Books (in seven parts), available online at: https://ebonph.wordpress.com/2014/10/01/ashort-history-of-philippine-bird-books-part-1/

As a collector Christian’s interests were eclectic: coins, banknotes, old books, prints (especially of birds), postcards, photographs and, first-andforemost, maps and charts. As Daniele recalls: “Mine was a childhood growing up surrounded by maps ‒ in the house, in the car, at events ‒ as well as regular visits to the flea markets across Europe trying to find the elusive hidden gems.”

In 2002 Christian authored a Catalogue of Philippine Stereoviews, the first serious work on the subject. Stereoviews, pairs of photographs mounted on cardboard cards that appear threedimensional when seen through a special viewer, became popular in the Philippines with the arrival of the Americans; in his catalogue he listed some 1400 images dating up to c.1930. In reviewing the book, Jonathan Best recalls that when he asked why he collected and catalogued Philippine stereoviews, Christian was quick to reply ‘because I love the Philippines’.

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At the invitation of Nito Cacho and Alberto Montilla, Christian joined PHIMCOS soon after its foundation in 2007 and immediately began to play an active role in our Society, serving as a board member from 2011 to 2015. Whenever possible he attended PHIMCOS meetings, brought interesting maps to show members, and made after-dinner presentations ‒ on the mapping of Philippine provinces, the restoration of a rare example of the 1788 edition of the Murillo Velarde map, the charting of the Batanes islands, the Anglo-French naval battle of San Jacinto in 1805, and the Croquis de la Isla de Mindanao published in Havana in 1898.

Christian lent items from his collection to PHIMCOS exhibitions and, together with Alfredo Roca, curated our ‘Three Hundred Years of Philippine Maps’ exhibition at the Metropolitan Museum of Manila in 2012, for which he wrote the captions in the catalogue. He also played the lead role in developing the PHIMCOS website and, after having passed on his responsibilities as webmaster, remained an active member of the Communications Committee.

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When in 2015 the board decided that PHIMCOS should publish a journal it was Christian who suggested the title The Murillo Bulletin. He then supported this publication in many ways ‒ contributing a number of articles based on his presentations, giving copies to his friends, and making every effort to help the editor by reading each issue from cover to cover in order to provide feedback, make constructive comments, and identify the inevitable errors.

Given his ever-active involvement with our Society Christian Perez will long be remembered by his many friends at PHIMCOS. He will indeed be missed.

Our Cover A manuscript draft of the 1734 Murillo Velarde map?

by Peter Geldart

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HE Bibliothèque nationale de France (BnF) holds an undated, manuscript map of the Philippines that at first impression appears to be a poorly-executed copy of the great Carta Hydrographica y Chorographica delas Yslas Filipinas published in 1734 by Fr. Pedro Murillo Velarde, S.J. and engraved by Nicolas de la Cruz Bagay. Or is it? Could this in fact be a previouslyunidentified working draft produced by the scribes working on Murillo Velarde’s map?

Unfortunately, the map has the reference number GE SH 18 PF 185 DIV 2 P 8 but does not appear in the BnF's general catalogue because it is held in the collection of maps transferred from the Service hydrographique de la Marine, which has not been fully catalogued. However, a digital image of the map can be viewed at https://images.bnf.fr/#/detail/812173/1 and a high-resolution image can be ordered from the library’s Department of Image and Digital Services. In the top-left corner it carries the stamp of the Dépôt des Cartes, Plans et Journaux de la Marine, enclosing an anchor with the letters EF on either side. These stand for Empire Français and indicate that the map was either acquired or first catalogued by the Dépôt between 1804 and 1814. On the verso the shelf mark is written in an early hand ‒ big and florid.

The manuscript measures 118 x 86 cm (on a sheet 132 x 112 cm), slightly larger than the published map (108 x 71 cm). Kate Hunter of Daniel Crouch Rare Books has examined the map in person and provided a detailed description.

Drawn on two sheets of lightweight wove paper, with no chain lines or discernible water-mark, the map is heavily creased, with many short and long tears. Wove paper, first created in the East, was not manufactured in Europe before the 1750s, and no paper was made in the Philippines until the 20th century although, since pre-Hispanic times, the country has a tradition of using local plant fibres for other purposes. However, starting from the end of the 16th century, the

Spanish in Manila imported both laid paper from Spain (used for official and legal documents) and large quantities of lesser-quality but cheaper wove paper from China.

There is a significant area of paper loss in the topleft corner of the manuscript and along the top margin to the top-right corner; these areas were probably largely blank, although continuations of the missing borders and two of the rhumb lines have been drawn in. In the 20th century the map was pressed, cleaned, and laid down on linen, and Kate thinks the map may have been stored rolled-up, so the outer edge frayed before it was laid down. Many of the coasts, islands and topographical features have been coloured in shades of yellow, blue, beige, pink, grey and green. The colouring is relatively artistic but appears to be random, and its significance and whether it was contemporary or a later addition is not evident.

Detail from the manuscript’s title cartouche

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Manuscript map believed to be a draft of Murillo Velarde’s 1734 Carta Hydrographica y Chorographica delas Yslas Filipinas (image courtesy of Bibliothèque nationale de France) 8

The manuscript map is by no means an exact copy of the map published in 1734 (or later editions). The area covered by the two maps is essentially the same, from the Babuyanes islands to the north of Luzon to part of ‘Borney’ (Borneo) and Mindanao in the south, and the topographic profiles are similar but not identical. For example, the shape of Palawan is different, the large ‘Isla de San Juan’ on the manuscript has become the much smaller ‘Isla de Siargao’ on the published map, and there is greater and more accurate detail of the coasts and rivers on the latter. There are significant differences between the two maps, including the number, orthography and placement of the toponyms; many details that appear on one but not on the other, or vice versa; and some of the iconography.

Most of the toponyms written on the manuscript map appear on the published map, although not necessarily with the same spelling, and these are often (but not always) in approximately the same location on both maps. However, the 1734 map has two or three times as many toponyms as the manuscript. An important difference is that, unlike the careful lettering engraved on the published map, the calligraphy used on the manuscript is quite poor and has been written by at least three different hands. As noted by Kate: “There is no overall uniform style to the hand-

Detail of central Luzon from the manuscript

writing. Much of the lettering is hesitant, as if the scribes needed to keep checking what they were writing, rather than being practiced or knowing; some toponyms have been added with more ‘care’ than others.” In the inscription on Leyte, on the manuscript the date has been corrected from ‘1743’ to ‘1543’, with capitalisation introduced on the published map.

Detail of Panay, Negros and Zebu from the manuscript (left) and the map published in 1734 (right) 9

The inscription on Leyte, with the date corrected

In terms of the iconography, the rather rough, simple title cartouche on the manuscript map is quite different from the two far more elaborate cartouches on the 1734 map ‒ both the title cartouche, with its full Bourbon coat of arms and allegorical figures, and the descriptive cartouche surmounted by a crowned lion holding a sword and a candle at lower left (which was used as the title cartouche for the 1744 edition of the map).

The manuscript map’s title cartouche, within a floral border scroll, has been left empty but is surmounted by the lesser or abbreviated coat of arms of the Spanish monarch within a lozenge, the coat of arms of Manila in a teardrop pendant, and the name Filiphinas (sic).

On the manuscript map lines of soundings are shown in a number of locations: off Bigan (Vigan) in Ilocos, along the eastern side of the gulf of Lingayen, off the west coast of Mindoro, along the east coast of Panay, in Malampaya bay, off the southwest coast of Palawan and the island of Balaba, off the south coast of the Zamboanga peninsula, and near the islands of Basilan and Jolo. These soundings are not included on the published map, although five compass roses and several anchorages appear on both, presumably because Murillo Velarde (contrary to the opinion expressed by Carlos Quirino in his book Philippine Cartography) did not intend his finished map to be used as a working sea chart.

The coat of arms of Manila ‒ consisting of a castle beneath a crown and above a sea-lion ‘half lion half dolphin’ holding in its paw an unsheathed sword ‒ is drawn crudely on the manuscript; the sea-lion is missing its sword. This coat of arms, granted to the city of Manila by Philip II in 1596, appears on earlier maps, such as the 1727 map of the Philippines by Francisco Diaz Romero and Antonio Ghandia (aka Echeandia). As explained

by Dr. Carlos Madrid (to whom I am indebted for his comments), it was not included on Murillo Velarde’s maps published in 1734 and 1744, but was added in the revised title cartouche used for the edition published in 1788 in the Historia General de Philipinas by Juan de la Concepción.

The position of the compass roses is essentially identical on the manuscript and on the 1734 map, although the ones on the latter have 32 points instead of just eight, and Murillo Velarde replaced the one in the centre with a sun in splendour. The ship to the southwest of Manila and the two ships to the east of the Embocadero de San Bernardino are quite similar on both maps, implying that they were copied one from the other, but the ships to the northwest of Luzon are not quite as similar to each other. The published map has 11 more vessels than the manuscript, including Magellan’s ship the Victoria, and the highly ornate and descriptive cartouche inserted in the space between Palawan and Mindanao by Murillo Velarde does not appear on the manuscript.

Detail of the soundings around southwestern Palawan and Balaba on the manuscript

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Another, rather surprising, difference between the two maps is the scale of longitude along the bottom border. The scales of latitude, shown in the two side borders, are the same on both maps

Details of two of the ships and a compass rose from the manuscript (above) and Murillo Velarde’s map published in 1734 (right)

‒ from 20o North down to 6o North ‒ but on the manuscript map the longitudes are shown from 115o to 124o East from an unidentified prime meridian, whereas on the published map the longitudes are shown from 157o to 165o East, also from an unidentified prime meridian.

I cannot definitively refute the suggestion that the manuscript is a later, low-quality version of Murillo Velarde’s map, with many differences, whether copied from the original published in 1734, or from one of the quarter-size versions produced in 1744 and 1788, or indeed from one of the many later versions of the original published by other mapmakers. However, this explanation gives rise to a number of questions to which I cannot provide satisfactory answers. o Why would a copy have been produced in which quite a few details ‒ including much of the topography, the ships and the compass roses ‒ are copied faithfully from the Murillo Velarde map, but other details, especially many of the toponyms, are either copied inaccurately or left out altogether? o Why would details such as the soundings that do not appear on the published map have been added to the copy or, in the case of the scale of longitude, changed? o Why would such a poor copy have been made by a team of draughtsmen, of varying skill? o When was the copy commissioned, where was it made, by whom and for what purpose? o And why was the manuscript, as a copy, left unfinished?

I believe the far more likely ‒ and interesting ‒ explanation is that the manuscript is not a copy but an early working draft of the published map, a precursor to a more complete draft that Bagay would later use to engrave his masterpiece.

We know that in June, 1732 Murillo Velarde received his royal commission to prepare the map from Governor-General Valdés Tamón, although (according to Quirino, who quotes the historian T.H. Pardo de Tavera) he ‘had his map finished or pretty nearly so when the royal order came’. In a letter he sent to the Spanish court in July 1734 Valdés Tamón explained the process for producing the map. First, under Murillo Velarde’s direction, all the maps that had previously been made of the islands were reviewed; for those parts that were unclear or doubtful, either experts were sent to survey the terrain or officials in the far provinces were asked to clarify any details. Based on these reviews, clarifications and validations, the map was drawn and copper plates were engraved. Some copies of the engraved map were then printed and sent out for further correction, as can be seen from the toponyms that have been burnished out and re-engraved on at least two different states of the published map.

‘Reviews, clarifications and validations’ would explain why this manuscript map was an interim working draft, quite possibly one of a number of such drafts. As and when they were received from the experts and officials in the field, the different draftsmen would progressively have added the toponyms and other details to an early draft of the map which used topography from 11

older maps. The draft(s) would then be subject to further review and corrections before the copper plates were engraved. In this context, a significant detail is the notation ‘Cotte V II o16.’ to the top left of the manuscript, signed with two sets of initials. Was this perhaps a control reference to record the place of this draft within a sequence of drafts, and are the initials those of the authors of the additions?

We cannot say whether or not Bagay was one of the draughtsmen. The line at bottom right on the manuscript ‘Le esculpio [misspelled] Nicolas dela Cruz Bagay Indio Tagalo en Manila. Año 1734.’ cannot be taken as evidence of his direct involvement with the draft (since the manuscript was not engraved). It could have been added, possibly by Bagay, to show where his signature and designation, and the date, would be placed on the map when engraved. Or it could be a subsequent enhancement, especially if the manuscript is in fact a copy of the published map.

We have not been able to do any research on the shelf mark, and the BnF has not been able to clarify the provenance of the manuscript, or confirm when, where or by whom it was acquired. However, two obvious differences between the manuscript and the published maps give rise to a tentative but interesting hypothesis.

The first of these differences is the name used for the island of Palawan: Paragoas on the manuscript and Paragua on the published map.

The latter was the toponym commonly used on 17th and 18th century Spanish maps, including Los Bajos de Paragua (to the west of the island) on

the manuscript itself, although Paragoa does appear on 17th century maps by Willem Blaeu, Arnold Colom and Hendrick Doncker, and both Panagoa and Paragoya are used on other 17th century Dutch and French maps.

Another noticeable difference between the two maps is the large Isla de San Juan that is shown to the northeast of Mindanao on the manuscript but is missing on the published version. Many early maps show an illusory island called St. John (or the equivalent in other languages) of different sizes and in various locations around the Philippines. Perhaps confused with the island of Siargao, by the 17th century St. John is depicted on most European maps as a large island northeast of Mindanao, but Murillo Velarde established that it did not exist as such and it is not shown on his 1734 map.

In 1721 the French navy assigned the French cartographer Jacques-Nicolas Bellin to the newlycreated Dépôt des Cartes et Plans de la Marine, the first national hydrographic office in Europe.

In 1741 he succeeded Philippe Buache as the first Hydrographer of the Dépôt and began to compile charts from the data assembled at the Dépôt. In 1752 Bellin published his Carte Réduite des Isles Philippines Pour servir aux Vaisseaux du Roy (see back cover). Although ‘reduced’, the chart is still large (87cm x 55cm), and is by no means an exact copy of the Murillo Velarde map.

As the ‘Remarque’ below the title cartouche on Bellin’s map states: “Cette Carte a été dressée sur la Carte Espagnole du R. P. Pierre Murillo de Velarde de la Compagnie de Jesus, gravée a Manille en 1744”; an additional note states: “Cette Carte cy n’est point une Copie servile de celle du P. Murillo.” Having referred specifically to the 1744 edition of the Murillo Velarde map, in his separate seven-page monograph ‘Remarques Sur la Carte réduite des Isles Philippines’, also published in 1752, Bellin makes the comment that the original map was made in

Detail of Le esculpio Nicolas dela Cruz Bagay Indio Tagalo en Manila. Año 1734 on the manuscript

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1734. However, he goes on to say: “En 1744 le P. Murillo fit à Manille une nouvelle Edition de sa Carte, mais il la mit en plus petit point, pour la joindre à son Histoire des Philippines qu’il publia en 1749 dont il a passé quelques Exemplaires en France.”

Bellin may well have copied the name Isle de Paragoa for Palawan and the large I. St. Jean from 17th century maps, but there is another possibility. It may be significant that Bellin writes that it was copies of the 1744 edition of the map that were sent to France. For most of the 18th century (until 1785) French ships are known to have visited Cavite for repairs and supplies. Could it be that, having failed to acquire one of the closely-guarded original copies of the 1734 Murillo Velarde map, the French navy managed to obtain the manuscript draft instead and sent it to the Dépôt de la Marine? Bellin could then have used the manuscript as one of the sources for his map, believing it to be accurate, and it was only subsequently catalogued and stamped by the Dépôt, to be retained in the collection of the Service hydrographique de la Marine.

Unless further information on the manuscript’s provenance were to surface in the BnF or the French Archives nationales, a definitive answer to the question of whether the manuscript is a working draft or a copy will remain debateable.

Based on the circumstantial evidence that can be

Detail of the large I. St. Jean on J.-N. Bellin’s 1752 Carte Réduite des Isles Philippines

gleaned from a close examination of the document I believe the manuscript to be a working draft, but will welcome our readers’ opinions on the matter. The hypothesis that it could have been acquired by Bellin is, of course, more conjectural. Please let me know if you disagree with my analysis, or have other comments on this fascinating map. All images are courtesy of Bibliothèque nationale de France.

Detail of Mindanao, with the big Isla de San Juan to the northeast, from the manuscript 13

‘You are Our Pals’ Japanese World War II Propaganda Leaflets and Posters in the Philippines

by Ricardo Trota Jose, Ph.D. Department of History, University of the Philippines, Diliman

P

ROPAGANDA in World War II was highly developed, especially in the field of visual propaganda through leaflets and posters. This had benefitted from the developments in advertising and the experience of World War I, which saw an abundance of leaflets and posters used on all sides. By World War II the propaganda campaign had become a sophisticated part of psychological warfare to win hearts and minds and contribute to victory.

Printed materials ‒ leaflets, handbills, posters, well-illustrated magazines and newspapers ‒ were supplemented by radio and audio broadcasts, cinema and theater to help win the war and defeat the enemy without fighting.

The propaganda war was to win the people, in this case the Filipinos, over to the other (Japanese) side. This could be done by emphasizing the Japanese war aims, albeit slanted to show a more selfless ambition.

Japan’s goal in the war was shown as the liberation of Asia from Western colonialism, while avoiding the Japanese expansionist polices that had been adopted in mainland Asia since the beginning of the 1930s.

The Japanese Propaganda Corps at work

The Propaganda Corps with nurses on a truck

Leaflets being dropped on Filipinos in Manila, 1942

Japan’s need for oil and other strategic natural resources was played down and Japan’s antiWestern colonial stance was given prominence: the Japanese were ‘liberating’ the Philippines from the evils of American colonial rule. Japan did not want to fight the Filipinos; the real enemy was America, and thus Japan’s soldiers were friends of the Philippines.

The U.S. would be demonized in the propaganda campaign as evil, selfish and discriminatory against Filipinos. Filipinos were reminded of past American atrocities in the PhilippineAmerican War. Japanese military and economic strength was highlighted, and military victories given prominence. Propaganda could also be used to boost morale; with Japan’s help, cooperation and hard work would build the country. Stability was to be enabled by showing

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Katsuya Tomishige and Capt. Hitomi Junsuke, among others, and made a part of the Japanese 14th Army, destined for the Philippines. Katsuya and Hitomi did not have much experience in propaganda but had seen service in the SinoJapanese war. Katsuya had not previously been involved in propaganda but had worked with the bureau of information in occupied China and was familiar with the potential for the dissemination of information in occupied areas.

The men were well aware of the importance of winning the local people over to the Japanese cause and crushing any resistance without the use of guns.

Detail from a leaflet describing the ’17,000 Filipino Men Women & Children Slaughtered May 1900’ (image courtesy of the Vargas Museum)

how the guerrillas only undermined Japan’s attempts at re-establishing normality.

Some artists, such as Mukai Junkichi and Tanaka Saichirō, had already seen action in China and had produced war art, but others were new to the propaganda effort. The men assigned to the Philippines were well-known in Japan and were chosen because the Japanese high command knew that the Filipinos would be a tough nut to crack compared to other Southeast Asian colonized peoples, given their relatively high level of education, nationalism, cordial relations with Americans, and the promise they had been given for independence in 1946.

In previous articles, I have shown how the U.S. used leaflets to persuade the Japanese in the Philippines to surrender, and how the Japanese used postcards to get the message about life on the battle-front and in the Japanese-occupied country to their recipients, particularly Japanese on the home front. This article focuses on the leaflets and posters issued by Japan and the Japanese-sponsored Philippine government to push forward their propaganda policies among both Filipinos and Americans.

Propaganda in the Philippines during WWII The Japanese Army’s propaganda apparatus was originally called the Sendenbu (宣伝部) (Propaganda Corps). Because of the unsavory implication of the term propaganda, the unit was later renamed Hōdōbu (報道部) or the Department of Information. It had been organized in November 1941, just before the war in the Philippines broke out, when groups of artists, writers, photographers, interpreters, and others were assembled in Tokyo and divided into groups placed under Japanese Army officers. One group was placed under Lt. Col.

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The billboard next to the Metropolitan Theater being painted, with Japanese officer gloating at the map

An early war leaflet

Bataan leaflet: President Quezon as FDR's puppet

Leaflet dramatizing Japan's military strength

‘Japan’s man power is unimaginably great’

‘Remember’: sex appeal in a Bataan leaflet

Japanese flag distributed to civilians to greet the Japanese

‘Peace Returned to the Philippines’ poster

‘One Flag - One Country - One Language’ poster

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Corregidor leaflet (image courtesy of the Vargas Museum)

Early war leaflet (image courtesy of the Vargas Museum)

‘Way to the permanent peace’ Bataan leaflet (image courtesy of the Vargas Museum)

‘Destiny’ Bataan leaflet

The Hitomi platoon entered Manila when the Japanese forces took the city in the evening of January 2, 1942. They immediately made contact with perceived friends - a photo taken the following day shows Hitomi and his platoon with Italian residents of Manila. Italy, a member of the Axis powers, was an ally of Japan, and thus these Italian residents were seen as friendly.

The main objectives of the Japanese army of occupation were to establish a system of selfsustenance for the Japanese soldiers in the Philippines; to secure strategic resources necessary for Japan’s war effort; and to restore peace and order in the occupied areas. The Propaganda Corps mobilized nurses, doctors and anyone pro-Japanese to urge Filipinos to return to their homes and farms, harvest their crops and cooperate with the Japanese.

Japanese artists with the Propaganda Corps sketched and painted their leaflets and posters with what materials they had, and also looked for art materials and printing presses to supplement what they had brought.

‘You are Our Pals’ Bataan leaflet

The mission of the Propaganda Corps was to spread propaganda through leaflets, posters, and other media and, together with the Kempeitai (Japanese Military Police), to impose censorship in the print media, radio programs, movies and the theater. Some leaflets were printed before the war started and were dropped from Japanese planes over the Philippines from the start of the invasion; leaflets are recorded as having been recovered in Baguio and Manila on the first day of the war, December 8, 1941.

Members of the Propaganda Corps landed with the assault forces, and brought leaflets with them that had been on board the ships in crates marked Top Secret. These leaflets attempted to persuade Filipinos that the Japanese were not the enemy; that Japan was fighting the U.S. and not the Filipinos. Hitomi and his men began distributing leaflets to the first Filipinos they saw, in a town that had been abandoned ‒ not knowing that the people they met were actually looters taking advantage of the absence of the townspeople who had evacuated to the mountains.

‘Come, Friends’ Bataan leaflet (image courtesy of the Vargas Museum)

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Propaganda lines in the early part of the war

Hakkō (‘eight corners’) Japanese Army cigarette wrapper showing the reach of Japan's empire

Since full-scale fighting was going on in various parts of Luzon, soon to be focused on the Bataan Peninsula, Corregidor and the other harbor forts defending Manila Bay, antiJapanese sentiment had to be subdued.

Supplementing the military campaign was the psychological offensive. As Filipinos and Americans hunkered down in their defense positions, Filipinos in particular had to be won over. Loudspeakers in the front lines broadcast nostalgic pre-war tunes which aimed to make Filipinos homesick. Messages purportedly from mothers and wives tried to convince the Filipino soldiers that the Japanese were their friends, and that normality had returned to Manila and other occupied cities. In Manila, the Japanese quickly reopened one radio station, KZRH, and had selected newspapers come out regularly. All these were censored, allowing only news of Japanese victories and Allied defeats to be broadcast or published.

Leaflets and posters were supposed to play a significant role in this psychological campaign.

The Japanese considered them as ‘paper bullets’, no less effective than actual weapons of war. With convincing texts and appealing illustrations, the Propaganda Corps could undermine the Filipinos’ will to fight, sabotage their reliance on the U.S., and win Filipinos over to the Japanese side.

Posters placed in strategic locations and leaflets scattered across Manila and over the battlefields of Bataan were easy to produce, at little cost. A large map showing Japanese victories was painted on the prominent billboard next to the Manila Metropolitan Theater. Leaflets were scattered over the battlefields by aircraft, or from hydrogen balloons which drifted over the lines of the United States Army Forces in the Far East (USAFFE).

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The Japanese had distinct propaganda lines as part of a more comprehensive propaganda plan.

In the initial part of the war, when Filipinos and Americans resisted in Bataan and Corregidor, and much of the Visayas and Mindanao had not yet been taken by Japanese forces, the priority was to depict the Japanese as friends and the U.S. as Japan’s enemy. Leaflets claimed that Filipinos were not Japan’s enemies, and had been duped by American propaganda. The U.S. and its allies were depicted as selfish and evil.

The unbeatable strength of Japan was highlighted, and therefore it was useless to resist the Japanese juggernaut. Although this was a period of war, the Propaganda Corps emphasized that the occupied areas had returned to normal under Japanese rule, and that it was wise to stop fighting a senseless struggle and return to loved ones at home.

Filipinos who surrendered would be treated fairly, as friends.

Other leaflets reminded Filipinos of American atrocities during the Philippine-American War, and alleged that Filipinos were being used as cannon fodder while American soldiers relaxed in the safety of the rear lines. When the Japanese were unable to end the Bataan campaign quickly, and the fighting dragged on through February until April 1942, the Propaganda Corps added two more propaganda lines: sex appeal and food. Leaflets featuring nearly naked women or sensuous lips called on Filipinos to come back to their lovers and enjoy the joys of the flesh. As food became scarce and soldiers grew hungry, leaflets showed Corregidor surrounded by sumptuous foods; menus of well-known Manila restaurants were also dropped over the foxholes.

Sin Seiki locally-made cigarette wrapper using Japanese propaganda line

Most of the leaflets fell on deaf ears; the Filipinos in the trenches used them as toilet paper. Filipinos recognized propaganda for what it was, and ridiculed the crudeness of some of the messages in broken English, Tagalog or Spanish. These rendered the leaflets ineffective, particularly since USAFFE headquarters circulated their own propaganda, stating that a relief convoy was on the way. The sex appeal line fell flat: soldiers had no appetite for sensual pleasures amidst hunger and continuous shelling. The food line was more effective, as Filipinos at the front suffered from pangs of hunger and dreamed of sumptuous meals ‒ but not at the expense of leaving their comrades and going over to the Japanese lines. News had spread that bodies of Filipinos, some tortured, had been found behind the lines. This made a mockery of the good conduct the surrender leaflets promised.

The Japanese received fresh reinforcements and launched a major offensive in April 1942.

Exhausted, sick and hungry, the defenders fell back and Bataan surrendered on April 9, 1942.

With the fall of Corregidor, a month later organized resistance ended throughout the Philippines.

Japanese propaganda during the occupation With the end of organized military resistance, Japanese propaganda leaflets and posters maintained several of their initial lines: the unbeatable military strength of Japan, the futility of waiting for the return of the U.S., and consequently the meaninglessness of guerrilla resistance. Leaflets pointed to the surrender or capture of various guerrilla leaders.

With conditions in occupied cities and towns more stable, Japanese culture could be spread: Nippongo (Japanese language), Japanese spirit and Japanese discipline, making Japan the leader of Asia. The strength of the Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere ‒ all of Asia under Japan ‒ was touted; this was now ‘Asia for the Asiatics’, free of the White Man’s domination.

Japan’s traditions were shown as far superior to those of the West. Japanese marches were taught in schools and played over the radio.

Japanese early morning calisthenics, guided by an unseen announcer on Radio Taiso, were required in all schools and government offices; pamphlets with these exercises were distributed.

Radio Taiso exercise pamphlet

Historical linkages between the Philippines and Japan were emphasized, such as the ties of Catholicism over the years. Simultaneously, Philippine traditional culture was extolled as the real character of Filipinos, free from Western influence. This line pushed Filipinos to rediscover their roots and distance themselves from Western materialism and individualism ‒ thus bringing the Philippines back into Asia.

The Japanese promised that if Filipinos collaborated with Japan sincerely, then the ‘honor of independence’ could be granted to them even before the date promised by the Americans.

Besides, since there was no certainty that the Americans could come back, there was no guarantee that independence in 1946 would become a reality. Posters and leaflets were issued showing Japan’s benevolence in offering to grant the Philippines independence, and urging stronger collaboration in order to make independence a reality.

José Rizal’s dream could now be achieved, said some leaflets.

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Besides leaflets and posters, the Japanese propaganda machine also utilized bus tickets and cigarette wrappers as conveyors of propaganda lines. Movies which romanticized Japan’s wartime discipline and teamwork were shown, along with movies which demonized the West’s treatment of China in the Opium War. Movie flyers and advertisements brought the message home to those who were unable to watch the films themselves.

Filipino participation in the Propaganda War The Philippine Executive Commission, staffed by Filipinos, was organized under the Japanese Military Administration in January 1942 to handle day-to-day operations of the government under the Japanese. While the Propaganda Corps produced most of the leaflets and posters, an office organized under the Executive Commission produced its own set of leaflets and posters. In the middle of 1943, the Executive Commission created the Bureau of Information and Public Security (BIPS), staffed by well-known Filipino writers and artists but subject to direct Japanese censorship; in early 1944, under the Second Philippine Republic, it was replaced by the Bureau of Information.

Bus tickets commemorating the war’s anniversary

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Rizal Day leaflet

Both the BIPS and the Bureau of Information built up strong pro-Philippine lines, while staying away from outright pro-Japanese propaganda. Their leaflets and posters called on Filipinos to support Philippines independence, to have confidence in and strengthen the Philippine Republic under President Jose P. Laurel, and to build up the Philippine nation.

Accepted symbols of Philippine nationalism such as the Philippine flag, the Rizal monument, and the Katipunan monument were used.

One leaflet, published on the occasion of National Heroes Day, ironically featured the monument to Filipinos who died as prisoners of war in Camp O’Donnell, Tarlac, equating those Filipino casualties with the pantheon of heroes in Philippine history. The national language was given particular focus, and unity under Laurel was seen as key to the survival of the Philippines. Posters were issued to attract Filipinos to join the Constabulary. Other posters and leaflets urged Filipinos to work hard and produce food, thus alleviating the food shortage, and discouraged Filipinos from getting involved in looting ‒ which was not only illegal but could result in one’s death.

These Filipino-staffed offices did not glorify Japan, although some of the artists were Japanese. The only calendar to come out in color during the occupation, that for 1944, contained the same messages as noted above, and also a painting enjoining cooperation with Japan. But the Japanese censored all other illustrations, one censor even ordering a shift to a pointing finger (in the leaflet ‘You are a Filipino’) so it would not be too direct.

According to the censor, the original art work was too sexy, with the finger looking like a pistol.

Philippines accepted!’ cried the poster/leaflet, which was issued shortly after the first American air raid on Manila on September 21, 1944.

When American planes reappeared over Philippine skies in late 1944, and Manila and other cities were subjected to bombing, the Japanese propagandists issued a poster and leaflet showing a mother tending her injured boy while the father clenches his fist against the American marauders. ‘America challenged! The

As American troops neared the Philippines, propaganda leaflets warned Filipinos of the dangers of American ‘doughboys’ and ‘gobs’ (soldiers and sailors) coming to Philippine shores as they were only interested in anyone with a skirt. Filipinos were reminded of 1898 when the Philippines, having already proclaimed independence, was conquered by the Americans. President Manuel Quezon, pictured as a puppet of U.S. President Franklin D. Roosevelt, was tossed away after he died only to be replaced by another puppet, President Sergio Osmeña. Both Presidents were expendable, according to one leaflet.

Indiscriminate bombing by the Americans would only result in death and destruction in the Philippines.

Detail from the 1944 calendar

Detail from the 1944 calendar

Leaflet claiming the supply line would be broken

‘America Challenged! The Philippines Accepted!’

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With the return of war conditions, posters announced Laurel’s proclamation of Martial Law, and his subsequent declaration of a state of war against the U.S. ‒ but without conscription. The weakness of the Laurel government was revealed by other posters which announced that the Japanese military would punish by death anyone who impeded the Army’s operations.

Propaganda against the returning Americans As the Americans returned to the Philippines ‒ first to Leyte in October 1944, then to Mindoro in December 1944, and on to Luzon in January 1945 ‒ the Japanese propaganda machine in the Philippines published leaflets aimed at weakening the American GI’s will to fight.

Leaflets showed Filipinos willing to defend the independent Philippines; the inevitability of death if the American soldier landed in the Philippines; the long, exposed supply line that was vulnerable to Japanese ships, planes and submarines; and the ‘triple threat’ in Mindoro: Anopheles sp. mosquitoes, fierce tamaraws (wild buffalo), and Japanese soldiers.

Other leaflets questioned why Americans could no longer enjoy turkey for Thanksgiving, and claimed that those who really benefitted from the war were the capitalists. Some nostalgia came in the form of Christmas cards which announced that the true meaning of Christmas was peace on earth. Sex appeal reappeared in Christmas cards featuring the then-popular images of sexy pin-up girls (painted by Alberto Vargas) who missed their lovers and asked them to stop fighting and come home.

Conclusion In the end, the Japanese propaganda effort failed miserably. For propaganda to be successful, it had to be believable and convincing. If lies and fabrications had to be resorted to, they must at least be supported by some evidence. Japan’s claims of endless victories were quickly exposed as false.

Alternative news sources ‒ shortwave radios and guerrilla newspapers ‒ exposed the lies.

Even the Japanese-controlled media could not hide the reverses in the Pacific. This led Filipinos and Americans to make fun of the Japanese leaflets and posters.

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1944 Christmas card with Vargas girls

The leaflet/poster showing the angry Filipino father clenching his fist at American planes was an outright fabrication; Filipinos in Manila were instead dancing for joy, even if exposed to the dangers of an air raid, at the sight of the stars and bars on the wings of the planes.

Filipinos would not defend the Laurel Republic against the Americans; instead, they welcomed their return. American soldiers actually enjoyed turkey in their Thanksgiving dinners in Leyte and elsewhere. And Japanese claims of brotherhood and friendship as shown in the leaflets clashed with the reality of brutal sentries who slapped innocent civilians and the feared Kempeitai who tortured suspected guerrillas even without proof. Most of the Japanese propaganda lines were thus shown to be false, and no matter how many leaflets and posters were churned out, they were not taken seriously.

The nationalist Filipino line put out by BIPS and the Laurel government could have been more effective during better days. But at a time of severe food shortage, uncontrollable inflation and Japanese cruelty making a mockery of Philippine independence, Filipinos saw through the propaganda. The idea of the Philippines being a member of a greater Asia was ahead of its time. Because of the difficulties of life under Japanese rule, and the promise of prosperity once the Americans returned, the idea of joining an Asian regional body was far from the thoughts of most Filipinos.

Furthermore, American and Filipino guerrilla counter-propaganda was more persuasive, even if produced in cruder formats. Guerrilla newspapers, U.S. leaflets and simple word-of-mouth news made Filipinos aware of the American victories and the inevitability of Japan’s defeat.

This article is based on the presentation given to PHIMCOS by the author on August 10, 2022. Unless otherwise stated, the leaflets, posters and propaganda material illustrated are from the author’s collection. As well as the sources listed below, the author has used interviews with Filipino veterans in Bataan, including Gen. Dionisio Ojeda and Gen. Felix Pestana, and an interview with Hitomi Junsuke (Kyoto, August 13, 1986). He has also consulted the collections of leaflets and posters in the Lopez Memorial Library, Manila; the Philippine National Library, Manila (Angeles Santos collection); the University of the Philippines, Quezon City; the Vargas Museum, University of the Philippines, Quezon City; Tokyo University, Tokyo; the U.S. National Archives, College Park, Maryland (Record Group 407, Philippine Archives Collection); and the Hoover Institution Library and Archives, Stanford University, California.

Bibliography and sources Heiwa Hakubutsukan o Soru Kai [Association to support the Peace Museum], Kami no Senso Dentan [Paper Bullets of the War of Paper], Emiru Sha, Tokyo, 1990.

Ricardo Trota Jose, ’The Tribune during the Japanese Occupation’, in Philippine Studies, Vol. 38, No.1, Ateneo de Manila University, Manila, 1990.

— —, ‘The Tribune as a Tool of Japanese Propaganda, 1942-1945’, in Philippine Studies, Vol. 38, No.2, Ateneo de Manila University, Manila, 1990.

— —, ‘Visual Propaganda in the Philippines during the Second World War and Japanese Occupation, 1941-1945’, in Japan and Southeast Asia: Continuity and Change in Modern Times, edited by Teow See Heng et al., Ateneo de Manila University Press, Quezon City, 2014.

— —, ‘Crushed Jewels ‒ A Look into the Japanese Side of the Battle of Manila 1945’, in The Murillo Bulletin, Special World War II Issue, PHIMCOS, Manila, August 2020.

— —, ’Yesterday’s Enemies are Today’s Friends ‒ The Leaflets of the Psychological Warfare Branch, 1944-45’, in The Murillo Bulletin, Special World War II Issue, PHIMCOS, Manila, August 2020.

— —, ’Postcards at War: Artworks on Japanese World War II Philippine propaganda postcards’, in The Murillo Bulletin, Issue No. 13, PHIMCOS, Manila, May 2022.

E. Arsenio Manuel, The Arsenio Manuel Collection of Japanese Occupation Posters, typescript, Manila, 1997.

Morton J. Netzorg, The Philippines in World War II and to Independence (December 8, 1941 ‒ July 4, 1946): An Annotated Bibliography, Cellar Book Shop Press, Detroit, 1995.

Santiago A. Pilar, ‘The Visual Arts (1941-1945): Orientalism and the Larger War’, in Panahon ng Hapon: Sining sa Digmaan, Digmaan sa Sining [Studies on Philippine Art and Society], edited by Gina V. Barte, Sentrong Pangkultura ng Pilipinas, Manila, 1992.

Angeles Santos, ’Pro-Japanese Propaganda Materials’, in Ang Malabon: kaipunang ng mahahalagang kasulatan tungkol sa Bayang Malabon, Lalawigan ng Riza, Epifanio de los Santos Press, Malabon, 1975.

Rafaelita Hilario Soriano, Japanese Occupation of the Philippines, with special reference to Japanese Propaganda, 1941-1945, Ph.D. dissertation, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, 1948.

Motoe Terami-Wada, The Cultural Front in the Philippines, 1942-1945: Japanese Propaganda and Filipino Resistance in Mass Media, M.A. thesis, University of the Philippines, Manila, 1984.

— —, ‘Strategy in Culture: Cultural Policy and Propaganda in the Philippines, 1942-1945’, in Panahon ng Hapon: Sining sa Digmaan, Digmaan sa Sining [Studies on Philippine Art and Society], edited by Gina V. Barte, Sentrong Pangkultura ng Pilipinas, Manila, 1992.

— —, ‘The Propaganda Corps in the Philippines’, in Philippine Studies, Vol. 38, No. 3, Ateneo de Manila University, Manila, 1990.

Watari Shudan Hodobu [Watari Group Department of Information], Dai Juyon Gun Gun Sendenhan Senden Kosaku Shiryo Shu [Compilation of Propaganda Operations Records of the 14th Army Propaganda Corps], Ryukei Shosha, Tokyo, 1996.

Zvybek Zeman, Selling the War: Art and Propaganda in World War II, Orbis Publishing, London, 1978.

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SCHENK, Petrus. Nova totius Asiae tabula. Amsterdam, [c1710].

Daniel Crouch Rare Books info@crouchrarebooks.com crouchrarebooks.com

London 4 Bury Street, St James’s London SW1Y 6AB +44 (0)20 7042 0240

New York PO Box 329, Larchmont NY 10538-2945, USA +1 (212) 602 1779

Conquering the Pacific reviewed by Margarita V. Binamira Conquering the Pacific: An Unknown Mariner and the Final Great Voyage of the Age of Discovery

by Andrés Reséndez Boston / New York: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2021; HB ISBN 9781328515971; xiii + 283 pp

L

OPE MARTÍN, ALONSO DE ARELLANO and the San Lucas are not names as famous as Sebastián Elcano, Ferdinand Magellan and the Victoria. Martín and Arellano did not discover new lands for King Philip II of Spain, but they did achieve what previous expeditions to the Philippines from New Spain could not: return to where they came from. In 1565 they were the first explorers to sail back to Mexico from the Philippines. Yet this tornaviaje (return trip) is largely credited to the Augustinian friar Andrés de Urdaneta, who sailed as the pilot for Miguel López de Legazpi’s 1564 expedition to the Philippines. In Conquering the Pacific Andrés Reséndez, a professor of history at the University of California, Davis, explains why recognition for this astounding feat should be given as much to Martín as to Urdaneta.

Reséndez sets the backdrop of such an incredible voyage. The Age of Exploration was at its height in the 16th century. Europe was discovering the globe and a race was on for exotic goods from the new worlds ‒ spices, silk, ceramics and, more importantly, the gold and silver needed to fund the enlarged empires. The overland Silk Road had been the primary means of trading commodities between the East and the West until it was closed off by the Ottomans in the mid-15th century. A different way to reach the East had to be found, and Portugal turned to the sea. Having found a maritime route to the Spice Islands by sailing around Africa, Portugal was ahead of any European empire at the time.

Not to be outdone, Spain began to send out explorers to find different routes to bring back precious cargo. In 1492 Christopher Columbus, sailing under the Spanish flag, believed that he could reach the East by sailing west and found himself in the Caribbean, with a whole continent standing in his way to Asia. Discovery of the

Americas, however, put Portugal on notice and the two nations decided to divide the New World into two equal ’spheres of influence’. By drawing an imaginary line north to south in the Atlantic Ocean 370 leagues west of the Cape Verde Islands, the Treaty of Tordesillas gave Portugal all lands east of the treaty line and Spain all lands to the west, including most of the Americas. Neither was allowed to cross the treaty line by land or by sea, and to reach its newly-conquered lands Spain could only sail westwards from Europe.

In 1556 Charles I of Spain abdicated and his son Philip II became emperor. The following year, one of Philip’s early edicts was to order the Viceroy of New Spain in Mexico City, Don Luis de Velasco, ‘to explore the Islas del Poniente (Islands of the West), and colonize them, and put them in good order’. This gave Velasco carte blanche to prepare for the large task ahead.

From the time the order was given in 1557 until the expedition set sail in 1564, the town of Navidad on the western coast of Mexico became the hub of preparations for the

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expedition. Reséndez recounts the intrigue, nepotism and corruption that went into the planning and organization of the trip. A total of four ships, the flagship San Pedro, the San Pablo, the San Juan and the San Lucas were constructed in this port town.

Instead of Juan Pablo de Carrión, a larger-thanlife adventurer who had become Don Luis’s primary advisor, the viceroy named Miguel López de Legazpi as the commander of the expedition. Legazpi, a scribe and accounting official at the Casa de Moneda (Mint) in Mexico, was a surprising choice; Carrión commented that ‘he has no experience in exploration and doesn’t know the first thing about navigation’.

Legazpi’s friend Andrés de Urdaneta, an Augustinian friar, explorer and navigator who had been on previous expeditions to Asia, was named as the navigator. Don Luis expected Urdaneta to be ‘the person who will in fact direct and guide the voyage’.

For the smallest ship, the San Lucas, Legazpi chose Don Alonso de Arellano as the captain and recruited Lope Martín as the pilot. Arellano was a well-connected, socially prominent nobleman who happened to be in the right place at the right time. Martín, a mulato (mixed race) of Afro-Portuguese descent, had risen through the ranks, had become a licensed pilot from his many years of sailing experience, and was given the opportunity to move to Mexico and pilot the San Lucas because of the scarcity of pilots in New Spain.

The four ships of the Legazpi expedition finally set sail from Navidad in November 1564. Barely a few weeks later, the San Lucas sailed ahead of the fleet and lost all contact with the other ships. Aboard the Don Pedro, Legazpi and Urdaneta suspected that the San Lucas deliberately abandoned the fleet in order to reach the Philippines ahead of the others and reap the riches of the islands. Arellano in later accounts insisted that they tried to rejoin the other ships at their designated island rendezvous but were not able to. Reséndez also points out that with navigation instruments not as precise as they are now, any slight miscalculation meant that as the ships sailed apart and the distances between them grew, it became almost impossible to correct the readings.

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The San Lucas continued to the Philippines as planned and arrived in Mindanao in January 1565, about two weeks before Legazpi and the rest of the fleet reached Samar. After sailing through the various islands and not catching sight of each other, both Arellano and Martín decided to try to return to Mexico. By this time Martín was the de facto leader of the San Lucas and he planned the return route. Sailing out from the San Bernardino Strait, the San Lucas ventured far north and, catching favorable winds and currents eastwards, went deeper into the North Pacific than any previous European vessel. Three months and 20 days later, they arrived in Mexico, back where they had started.

If Arellano and Martín were expecting fame and glory, it was short-lived. Two months later, Urdaneta arrived in Mexico aboard the Don Pedro on his separate vuelta (return), quite upset that the San Lucas had gotten back first.

Accusing them of treason and insubordination, Legazpi (who had remained in the Philippines) and Urdaneta demanded that the captain and pilot of the San Lucas appear before Legazpi to answer for their conduct. An investigation was launched but deemed inconclusive. Arellano continued on to Spain, where he was supposed to meet the king, while Martín was ordered to pilot another ship, the San Jerónimo, back to the Philippines.

Once aboard the San Jerónimo Martín, who had learned that Legazpi had orders to execute him upon arrival, orchestrated a mutiny but found himself stranded on a coral atoll, likely Ujelang Atoll in the Marshall Islands. Reséndez suggests the existence of evidence that Martín and those of his men who remained loyal survived, went on to live long lives in Micronesia, and may have descendants to prove it.

It is certain that Arellano and Martín completed the tornaviaje ahead of Urdaneta, yet this feat has been relegated to a footnote in history. In telling the story Reséndez attempts to both correct that misconception and relate the travails of sea travel in the 16th century.

Sometimes light, yet sometimes heavy with somewhat irrelevant and distracting scientific detail such as a discussion of continental drift, the fauna on both sides of the Pacific Ocean and magnetic declination, the book does cover some topics that I found interesting.

Reséndez gives rather detailed explanations of how pilots navigated in the 16th century. While latitude was relatively easy to ascertain, a precise method for measuring longitude would be established only after 1735 when John Harrison invented the marine chronometer.

Until then, mariners used dead reckoning to estimate, as best as possible, their location east or west of a chosen meridian and the particular timezone they were in.

Recognized but not yet mastered were the ocean gyres, large systems of ocean currents formed by wind patterns, the rotation of the earth, and the location of the earth’s land masses. Portuguese sailors were the first to notice these currents in the Atlantic Ocean: sailing down the western coast of Africa south to the bulge was easy, but when they tried to return and sail north, they were inevitably carried deep into the Atlantic by strong westward winds and currents until they hit a latitude of variable winds that allowed them to return to Portugal. Today the existence of these gyres, rotating across all the great oceans clockwise above and counter-clockwise below the equator, is well known. For Martín and Urdaneta, although they did not understand it at the time, the North Pacific gyre played a pivotal role in the success of their respective tornaviajes.

What I found most interesting in the book were the effects the voyage of the San Lucas had on cartography at the time. Reséndez recounts that Urdaneta made sure that Arellano’s credibility was ruined, and consequently he was never able to meet the king while in Spain. Reséndez speculates that to acquire some form of compensation for his time at sea, where he risked life and limb, Arellano may have met with the leading cartographers of the time who were all interested in what the nobleman had to report.

As the San Lucas sailed ahead of the other ships, they maintained their course within their planned 9°N latitude while Legazpi’s vessels accidentally drifted to 10°N and eventually 13°N latitude, thereby eliminating any chance of reuniting with the San Lucas. As was common at that time when sailing in uncharted waters, the navigators would name their discoveries according to the characteristics of the islands

they found or their inhabitants, or after a person or saint.

On January 7, 1595 the San Lucas happened upon an island that was scarcely inhabited. Lope Martín observed that only two families lived there, so he named it Isla de Dos Vecinos (Island of the Two Neighbors). The next day they arrived at a smaller but more densely populated island where many of the inhabitants swam out to meet the San Lucas as she dropped anchor. Clearly stronger swimmers than the Spanish seamen, Arellano named the island Isla de los Nadadores (Island of the Swimmers).

Sailing further west, Martín named another island Miracomo Vaz (Watch How You Go) because he said that ‘it would be convenient for later navigators passing near there to know’.

Reséndez states that the earliest published maps to show these islands are those of Petrus Plancius (1594), Richard Hakluyt (1599) and Gabriel Tatton (1600). The maps even show an Isla de Don Alonço, named to honor Avellano.

These toponyms continued to appear in charts until the 18th century.

Regardless of the circumstances and of who completed the tornaviaje first, Reséndez emphasizes that its significance was monumental. Finding the route east from the Philippines back to Mexico opened up the Pacific Ocean for trade as the East was now connected to the West in both directions. For the next 250 years, the Manila and Acapulco galleons would ply the Pacific, bringing goods, ideas and people across the ocean. To set the record straight, Reséndez gives credit where it has long been overdue: to Lope Martín, Alonso de Arellano, and the San Lucas.

Detail from the ‘Spice Map’ by Petrus Plancius (1594) showing Miracomo Vaz and the Isla de los Nadadores (from a private collection)

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Rhubarb, Marmots & Plague reviewed by Margarita V. Binamira Rhubarb, Marmots & Plague: Curious Coincidences

by Richard Thomas Jackson Mauritius: Lambert Academic Publishing, 2020; SB ISBN 9786202798013; 139 pp In a spirited presentation to PHIMCOS in February 2016 and his subsequent article ‘Rhubarb and the European Mapping of Central Asia’ (The Murillo Bulletin Issue No. 2), Richard Jackson, put into our minds a possible link between rhubarb, marmots and the plague. He also displayed the 16th and early-17th century maps by inter alia Giacomo Gastaldi, Abraham Ortelius and Willem Janszoon Blaeu that show Succuir (Suchow, in present-day Gansu province) and Tangut as the source of ‘true rhubarb’. Now, in his book Rhubarb, Marmots and Plague: Curious Coincidences, Jackson has used his lifetime of research on the subject and a cornucopia of references to set out his thesis in detail.

There are many species of rhubarb, but those that are used as medicine (Rheum palmatum, R. undulatum and R. officinale), as opposed to those cultivated as our familiar ‘winter fruit’, were and still are plentiful in the areas of Central Asia and Mongolia where the Asiatic marmots Marmota sibirica and M. himalayana abound. In burrowing, the marmots break up the ground and allow the rhubarb to sprout amidst the tall grasses. However, marmots also host the fleas that carry the bacterium, Yersinia pestis, which causes plague. As humans gathered wild rhubarb they came into contact with marmots, thereby increasing the chances of the zoonotic spread of plague from animals to humans.

Jackson goes several steps further and gives a brief history of medicinal rhubarb and its uses ‒ veterinary uses for Mongols and Tartars, but predominantly human uses for Europeans, for whom large dosages provoked a laxative ‘purge’ while small dosages had the opposite effect. He discusses rhubarb’s etymology in various languages, assesses its demand among the people of different cultures, and presents two ‘coincidences’. The first of these is that the onset

of the Second Plague Pandemic, known in Europe as the Black Death of 1347-53, occurred after the return of Marco Polo from his travels in the East.

The second ‘coincidence’ is that the occurrence of plague in Europe tapered off after Russia expanded into Asia and entered into the treaties of Nerchinsk in 1689 and Kiakhta in 1727 which regulated its trade with China.

So important was medicinal rhubarb to Europeans that, in the account of his travels that first appeared in manuscript in c.1320 and was circulated widely in Europe, Marco Polo noted that around Suchow: “… throughout all the mountainous parts of it, the most excellent kind of rhubarb is produced in large quantities, and the merchants who procure loadings of it on the spot convey it to all parts of the world … .” Over the next few centuries, wild rhubarb continued to be gathered in these predominantly high elevations far from population centers ‒ the habitat of the marmots that were the hosts to the plague-bearing fleas ‒ and was taken overland to Europe, principally by merchants from Bokhara.

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As the trade in rhubarb increased after Marco Polo’s revelation of its origin, the merchants and dealers along the Silk Road could thus have allowed the plague to reach Europe; Jackson believes the onset of the Black Death in 1347 was not a coincidence.

Jackson then goes into the geopolitics of the following centuries. The Russians, through strict quality control, built up a reputation for sourcing and sending the best rhubarb to Europe, especially after entering their trade treaties with China in the early 18th century. By then, rhubarb was being cultivated in the more-southerly province of Szechwan and exported by river and the coastal ports of eastern China and other transit points. Cultivated rhubarb increasingly displaced the wild plant, and human contact with the marmot habitats waned. Medical advances

and hygiene improvement also helped to reduce the incidence of plague worldwide.

Consequently, Jackson believes that neither the introduction of the plague in the 14th century nor the decline of the Second Plague Pandemic in the mid-18th century was a coincidence. He concludes his book with another possible ‘coincidence’ and speculates about the possible transmission of the Covid-19 virus from bats to humans from a copper mine in Yunnan province, and the subsequent spread of the pandemic via Wuhan across the world.

I found Rhubarb, Marmots and Plague to be an interesting and entertaining read, but one thing is for sure: as I reach for my second helping of strawberry rhubarb pie, I will never again look at rhubarb’s benign appearance in the same way!

The image on the cover of the book shows a detail of marmots apparently nibbling rhubarb roots, from a painting by Gustav Mutzel published in c.1867 in Brehms Thierleben by Alfred Edmund Brehm

WATTIS FINE ART Est. 1988 Specialist Antique & Art Dealers

India Orient. by Philip Galle, printed by Christophe Plantin, Antwerp 1595

www.wattis.com.hk 35th annual Mapping of Asia exhibition 1561-1984 opens 21 November 2023

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Colour Meets Map reviewed by Felice Noelle Rodriguez Colour Meets Map exhibition catalogue, edited

by Kathrin Enzel, Oliver Hahn, Susanne Knödel and Jochen Schlüter; manuscript cultures No. 16, Centre for the Study of Manuscript Cultures, Universität Hamburg, Hamburg, 2021; 392 pp; bilingual German / English; ISSN 1867–9617

E

VERY map tells a story. Usually we look at the cartouche, with its title description, names of the cartographer and perhaps the publisher, and decorative iconography. Most times we marvel at the engraving, the curves of the coastlines, the topography of the land, and the toponyms which together reflect the articulation of space by the people who occupy it. In the Colour Meets Map exhibition catalogue we are introduced to another aspect of maps – the colours used in cartography and the meaning these colours hold.

The exhibition Farbe trifft Landkarte / Colour Meets Map, held at the Museum am Rothenbaum ‒ Kulturen und Künste der Welt (MARKK) in Hamburg from 27 August, 2021 to 30 January, 2022, displayed maps from the 15th to the 20th centuries from the inventory of the Stiftung Hanseatisches Wirtschaftsarchiv (Hanseatic Business Archive Foundation) and the Commerzbibliothek (Library of Commerce), and from the collection of East Asian maps at the MARKK. The maps were selected as part of a three-year project that investigated the sources of colours and their possibly significance, in both maps from Europe (in one section) from East Asia (in the other).

To quote from the book’s Preface: “The project focused first and foremost on the colours used, in order to gain insights into knowledge transfer between East Asia and Europe through examining their composition and meanings.”

This is a fascinating book. What I found to be of particular interest is that it teaches us to ‘read’ the colours a map uses to tell its story. The Introduction notes that ‘colours have become an inseparable attribute of most maps’, and goes on to explain:

Colour is an important key to understanding the function and use of maps. The use of colours, the choice of where to assign them and the meaning given to them has accordingly never been static, but has changed over time. Studying the colours on maps can help us to better understand these changes.

On top of this, material scientific analysis makes it possible to find out more about the material composition of colours on maps.

‘Reading’ colours in this way gives a glimpse into the social lives of the mapmakers as well as the map users. Over and above this, it reveals the complexity of the historical and social context in which the maps were produced.

Both the natural sciences and the humanities were involved in this study, which follows a ‘culture-comparative and material scientific approach’. As such, the institutions involved were the Centre for the Study of Manuscript Cultures (CSMC) of the Universität Hamburg, the Mineralogisches Museum des Centrums für Naturkunde (Mineralogical Museum at the Centre of Natural History (CeNak)), and the above-mentioned institutions holding the maps.

The book is divided into four sections: the

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Introduction, which explains the background to the project; Material Science and Technology, covering the study of the pigments and dyes used in colouring maps; European Maps; and East-Asian Maps. The catalogue concludes with lists of references, picture credits, lenders and contributors.

The text provides thorough and detailed explanations of the technical side of the process of analysing the colourants in manuscript maps and hand-coloured printed maps. Fully discussed, in a clear manner, are the processes whereby surfaces were first checked under normal light and then, more importantly, other standard methods for the chemical identifycation of materials were employed: X-ray fluorescence analysis, infrared or vibrational spectroscopy, and Raman spectroscopy.

For me, the sources of pigments and dyes used in the maps were the most interesting to read about. Reds included vermilion (from cinnabar, a form of mercury sulphide), minium (which contains lead), red ochre or raddle (red limestone), madder (from the perennial plant Rubia tinctorum), and carmine aka cochineal, often used in European maps and also found in one of the East Asian maps: Carmine was extracted from scale insects of the genera Dactylopius (in America) and Porphyrophora (in Asia and Europe). The female insects store the pigment carmine in their bodies as a defensive mechanism against predatory insects. The colouration comes especially from the carmine itself as well as from Kermes acid, which is also secreted in different proportions by various species of scale insects. To obtain the pigment, the insects are killed and dried. The dye is then extracted from the insects in an alkaline solution.

Since the sixteenth century, ‘cochineal’, which gives a more intensive tone, was imported from Mexico, and this gradually displaced the pigment kermes, extracted from indigenous European scale insects, from the 1520s on. The Spanish crown held a monopoly on the production of true carmine up to the beginning of the nineteenth century, [and] from the sixteenth century onwards Mexican cochineal was exported to East Asia via the Spanish Philippines.

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Blue pigments consisted of the copper mineral azurite; Prussian Blue, discovered by German scientists at the beginning of the 18th century and synthetically produced; indigo, extracted from the plant Indigofera tinctoria, grown in India and also in the Philippines; cobalt blue, a form of ground cobalt glass known as smalt; and ultramarine, made from the rock lapis lazuli from Afghanistan ‒ until the 19th century the highest quality but most expensive blue.

Until the 19th century the ubiquitous yellow colourant on European maps was stil de grain, aka sap green, a pigment derived from the berries of the buckthorn Rhamnus saxatilis.

Orpiment, a naturally-occurring arsenic mineral, was frequently used as a yellow pigment in East Asia. Yellow ochre, chrome yellow, luteolin (extracted from Reseda luteola, known as dyer’s weed), saffron, and occasionally gold leaf were also used to colour maps yellow. White came from white lead (lead carbonate), zinc white (sold in the 19th century as ‘Chinese white’), or limestone (calcium carbonate).

‘Copper green’ pigments were produced from minerals such as malachite or, artificially, by treating copper sheets to produce verdis hispanicum (Spanish Green). Carbon black, used above all in printer’s ink, was occasionally used for colouring maps by hand; this could be either carbon black made from soot or the ’Chinese / Indian ink’ traditionally produced as charcoal from the burning of oak and pine wood. Some maps have a high quantity of iron in blackishbrown areas that could be iron gall ink.

Preferred in Europe and the Middle East, this ink was a ferro-gallate complex, obtained by mixing iron sulphate and oak apples (the growths produced on oak leaves by the eggs laid by the gall wasp, genus Cynipidae).

In the catalogue more than 50 European maps and 28 East Asian maps are fully studied and colour-analysed. These include some of my favourites, such as the c.1713 world map Carte tres Curieuse de la Mer du Sud, by Nicolas de Fer. The map shows ‘not only the Ports and Islands of this Sea, but also the most important Countries of both North and South America, with the Names and Routes of the Voyagers by whom they were discovered’. Benjamin van der Linde, an author of the catalogue’s section on Coloured Maps in Europe, describes it well:

This map shows the voyages of discovery of European mariners, which is why the two oceans, Pacific and Atlantic, take centre stage.

The various countries on the continents are depicted with colours, revealing a specific colour scheme, since another map in the National Library in Paris shows an identical use of the colours. The perspective here is that of the discovery of the world as seen by Europeans: As announced in the title, the names and voyages of the European travellers who ‘discovered’ the places, lands and islands are given – irrespective of whether people were already living there and that the regions were ‘unknown’ only to Europeans.

Plants, animals, town and street maps as well as scenes with their inhabitants are depicted in cartouches and secondary images. The routes of eleven voyages of discovery are also shown on the map. This map was acclaimed by contemporaries for the accuracy of its execution. The exactitude of the coastlines was especially praised.

The colouring of this copy is striking because, although the borders between countries are often missing, it reproduces more exact divisions. In Europe the Netherlands are specifically subdivided, even if the Republic and also the southern Spanish Netherlands are both coloured green. France is in yellow. Portugal is set off from Spain with a different colour. The colour scheme of the Americas similarly shows a differentiated colour code to take account of the ownership of territories because of British, Spanish and French colonisation. In Asia, too, political borders are clearly demarcated by coloured lines.

Another map I find fascinating is Asia noviter delineata Auctore Guiljelmo Blaeu, a typical Dutch carte à figures with illustrations of the peoples of Asia. The map, first published by Willem Blaeu in 1617, was included in the Atlas Major produced in Amsterdam in 1665 by Joan Blaeu, Willem’s son. Van der Linde describes it as follows: In the centre is a view of Asia subdivided into political and administrative entities by means of coloured border lines. Korea is shown as an island. The map is heavily embellished [with] a

lion in Africa, an elephant to the north of India, and a nomad with a camel in the Gobi Desert.

Details such as the Great Wall of China are also prominent.

The decoration which frames the map is particularly flamboyant; on the left and right are pictured couples wearing typical costumes of the various populations from Asia: from Syria, Arabia, Armenia and Persia; Balaguatans (Balaguata was a kingdom in India); from Sumatra, Java, the Moluccas and the Banda Islands; from China, Russia and Tartary. Nine cities in Asia are depicted in the frieze at the top: Kandy (Candy) on Sri Lanka, Kozhikode (Calicut) in today’s India, Goa (India), Damascus in Syria, Jerusalem, Hormus (on an island off the Persian coast), Bantam on Java (today’s Indonesia), Aden in Yemen as well as Macau in China. All these cities were important trading cities for the Dutch at the time.

The colouring, as in the entire Atlas Major, is very sumptuous. This extends to the map sheet as well as the scenes in the margins: whereas green, yellow and mauve are used for the border lines, the decorative elements have orange, blue, red, green and mauve.

The final section of the catalogue looks at East Asian maps, traditionally unique in their production and delivery. It discusses the differences from European maps in terms not only of the colours used but also their style, paper and binders. I find the Korean late-18th century Yeojido hand atlas of 13 manuscript maps just amazing in its execution. As Diana Langue explains: “Although only three colours were used in all (red, blue, and yellow) on the maps, the draughtsman found ingenious methods to convey a great bandwidth of information by skilfully combining the colours.”

Although the exhibition has closed, this catalogue allows us to look further into the maps and take in all the rich information the study has to offer. After reading the work one may look at maps with a fresh understanding of their colours and origins, and appreciate the culture and environment in which the mapmakers worked.

The Colour Meets Map exhibition catalogue is available for purchase at the MARKK, or as a free PDF from: https://www.csmc.uni-hamburg.de/publications/mc/mc16.html

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PHIMCOS Board of Trustees Mariano M. Cacho, Jr. Honorary Chairman Emeritus

Jaime C. González President

Lisa Ongpin Periquet Vice President

Margarita V. Binamira Secretary

Hans B. Sicat Treasurer

Andoni F. Aboitiz Trustee

Edwin R. Bautista Trustee

Peter Geldart Trustee

Felice Noelle Rodriguez Trustee

PHIMCOS Members Individual members Victor Abad*

Andoni F. Aboitiz

Robert Bezuijen

Margarita V. Binamira

William Brandenburg

Robin Bridge

Mariano M. Cacho, Jr.

Julian Candiah

Gilles Pierre Kleber Collin*

Raul Consunji

Jan Mikael David

Jose J. Deduque

Augusto Dizon*

Raymond Dizon*

Michael A. Gibb

Ian Gill

Richard Jackson

Ephraim Jose

Jaime C. Laya

Elizabeth Lietz

Rudolf J.H. Lietz

Mark Lim

Raphael P.M. Lotilla

José L. Mabilangan

Gonzalo Mac-Crohon

Carlos Madrid

William-Alain Miailhe de Burgh

Francisco Romero Milán

Jorge Mojarro

Alberto Montilla

Juan José Morales

Ambeth Ocampo

Maria Isabel Ongpin

Vincent S. Pérez

Lisa Ongpin Periquet

Michael G. Price

Daniele Quaggiotto

Dieter Reichert

Alfredo Roca

Felice Noelle Rodriguez

Emmanuel A. Ticzon

Jonathan Wattis

Hans Clifford Yao

* new member

Joint members Angelica & Edwin R. Bautista

Marinela & Maria Paz K. Fabella

Ernestine D. Villareal-Fernando & Marcelo Cordero Fernando Jr. Ma. Fedeliz & Peter Geldart

Marie Constance Y. & Jaime C. González

Felice & Andres Sta. Maria

Junever Mahilum-West & John Robert West Corporate members

Legispro Corp. (nominees: Hans B. Sicat & Regina F. Sicat) Ortigas Foundation, Inc. (nominees: Jonathan Best & Beatriz V. Lalana)

PHIMCOS Committee Members Communications Committee

Education Committee

Finance Committee

Membership Committee

Margarita V. Binamira*

Andoni F. Aboitiz*

Jaime C. González*

Hans B. Sicat*

Jan Mikael David

Edwin R. Bautista*

Vincent S. Pérez

Lisa Ongpin Periquet

Peter Geldart*

Jaime C. Laya

Hans B. Sicat

Alfredo Roca

Felice Noelle Rodriguez

Regina F. Sicat

Emmanuel A. Ticzon

*Chair / Co-Chair *Editor, The Murillo Bulletin 36

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