The Forgotten Histories: Unraveling the Complex Past of U.S. Territories
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When most Americans think of their country, they picture the 50 states stretching from Maine to Hawaii. Few remember that the United States still maintains control over several island territories across the Pacific and Caribbean—places like Guam, American Samoa, the U.S. Virgin Islands, and the Northern Mariana Islands. These territories have rich, often overlooked histories that intersect with contemporary debates about colonialism, climate change, and global power struggles.
The story of U.S. territories begins in the late 19th century, when America joined European powers in the scramble for overseas possessions. The Spanish-American War of 1898 marked a turning point. After defeating Spain, the U.S. acquired Puerto Rico, Guam, and the Philippines (the latter gaining independence in 1946).
In the Caribbean, the U.S. Virgin Islands were purchased from Denmark in 1917 for $25 million—not out of altruism, but to prevent Germany from establishing a naval base during World War I. The islands' sugar plantations, worked by enslaved Africans until 1848, became American assets overnight.
Meanwhile, in the Pacific, American Samoa became a U.S. territory through a series of treaties with local chiefs in 1900. Unlike other territories, American Samoa maintains a unique "unorganized" status, preserving elements of traditional fa'a Samoa (Samoan way of life). This has led to modern legal battles over birthright citizenship—a hot-button issue in immigration debates.
During World War II, Guam suffered under Japanese occupation before being liberated by U.S. forces in 1944. The island's strategic location made it crucial for American military operations, a role it continues to play today. Nearly 30% of Guam's land is occupied by U.S. military bases, including Andersen Air Force Base—a key outpost for potential conflicts with China.
While not a U.S. territory, the Marshall Islands' history is intertwined with American territorial policy. Between 1946 and 1958, the U.S. conducted 67 nuclear tests in these Pacific islands, including the infamous Castle Bravo test in 1954—1,000 times more powerful than Hiroshima. The resulting radiation poisoned generations of Marshallese and contaminated the land. Today, as rising sea levels threaten to drown these atolls, survivors fight for compensation and climate justice.
Residents of U.S. territories are American nationals, but their rights differ dramatically:
- Puerto Ricans are U.S. citizens by birth (since 1917) but cannot vote for president
- American Samoans are U.S. nationals but not automatic citizens
- All territories have non-voting delegates in Congress
This "second-class citizenship" fuels ongoing debates about statehood, independence, or continued territorial status—especially in Puerto Rico, where recent referendums have shown growing support for statehood.
For low-lying Pacific territories, climate change isn't abstract—it's an immediate crisis. The U.S. Army Corps of Engineers predicts Guam could lose 60% of its freshwater lens by 2050 due to saltwater intrusion. In American Samoa, rising temperatures threaten the coral reefs that protect shorelines and sustain fisheries.
Yet these territories have little voice in global climate negotiations. As one Samoan activist told The Guardian: "We didn't cause this crisis, but we're paying the price."
With China expanding its influence in the Pacific, U.S. territories have become frontline assets. The Pentagon plans to spend $8 billion upgrading military infrastructure in Guam by 2026, including a controversial live-fire training range that would destroy 1,000 acres of native forest.
Meanwhile, the Northern Mariana Islands—a U.S. commonwealth—have become a flashpoint. Chinese investors bought major hotels in Saipan before the pandemic, raising concerns about espionage risks just 135 miles from Guam.
Military buildup brings economic benefits but also social disruption. In Guam, the planned relocation of 5,000 Marines from Okinawa has sparked fears of overcrowding and cultural erosion. The island's indigenous Chamorro people, who make up 37% of the population, worry about becoming minorities in their homeland—a scenario already playing out in Hawaii.
Many territories face the loss of indigenous languages:
- Only about 45,000 people still speak Chamorro
- Samoan is stronger but threatened by English dominance
- In the U.S. Virgin Islands, the local Creole (known as "Virgin Islands English") blends African, European, and Caribbean influences
Activists are using TikTok and YouTube to teach these languages to younger generations—a digital twist on cultural preservation.
Pre-pandemic, Guam welcomed 1.6 million tourists annually, mostly from Japan and Korea. The economic lifeline comes with costs: overcrowded beaches, strain on infrastructure, and the commodification of Chamorro culture for luau shows. Similar tensions exist in American Samoa, where traditional tattooing (pe'a for men, malu for women) has become both a cultural anchor and a tourist attraction.
Puerto Rico's $70 billion debt crisis and subsequent PROMESA oversight board exposed the vulnerabilities of territorial economies. With no voting representation in Congress, territories struggle to secure fair federal funding—a disparity highlighted during Hurricane Maria's devastation of Puerto Rico in 2017.
Now, other territories watch nervously. The U.S. Virgin Islands faces its own pension crisis, while Guam's government relies heavily on military spending. The question looms: Are these territories partners in America, or colonial afterthoughts?
Historically self-sufficient, many territories now import over 80% of their food. In American Samoa, the closure of the last tuna cannery in 2009 devastated the economy. Activists are reviving traditional farming methods, but challenges remain:
The movement for food sovereignty intersects with global discussions about sustainability and resilience—issues that take on urgent meaning on small islands.
More Samoans live in the U.S. mainland (especially Hawaii and California) than in American Samoa itself. Guam sees similar outmigration for education and jobs. This brain drain creates workforce shortages back home, even as diaspora communities maintain cultural ties through remittances and social media.
In a twist, some territories now rely on imported labor—Guam recruits teachers from the Philippines, while Saipan became notorious for exploiting Chinese garment workers in the 1990s and early 2000s. These labor patterns echo colonial-era plantations, raising ethical questions about economic dependency.
As territories navigate the 21st century, several scenarios emerge:
Each option carries risks and rewards, complicated by geopolitical realities. One thing is clear: The forgotten histories of these islands will shape their futures—and America's role in an increasingly multipolar world.