In Guam, the US military presence is in full view

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In the North Atlantic, a tropical cyclone is called a hurricane. In the western Pacific, it is a typhoon.

I learned this as I prepared to travel to the US territory of Guam in May. Typhoon Mawar had just swept through the island, stripping the bark from trees, flooding the power station and leaving many without electricity for nearly a month.

I was there to photograph life on Guam for a New York Times Magazine article written by Sarah A. Topol. The article examines how the US military is building up its forces on Guam and other Pacific regions as tensions with China rise. Guam’s strategic location in the Pacific Ocean—it’s closer to the Philippines than it is to Hawaii—has led to centuries of exploitation, colonization, and militarization, something I only really began to understand during my visit.

I wanted to document the military buildup on Guam and how the operations affected the lives of the people there.

The first week I drove around. Some days the island felt like a suburb of San Diego, with beige apartments and Taco Bells. Other days were painfully beautiful, with turquoise lagoons along the coast and flashing downpours that spawned gigantic rainbows.

I also spent time with veterans and activists. I learned how the CHamoru language of the indigenous people of Guam and their culture had been decimated by outside occupiers. I saw what it meant to fight small battles against invaders – and maintain your sense of self through the struggles.

Ten days after I arrived, I was able to tour the US military bases accompanied by public affairs officers. At Naval Base Guam, I boarded a nuclear-powered submarine. I took to the water with the Coast Guard as it simulated an information system failure. I photographed members of the US Navy’s elite explosive ordnance disposal team as they jumped out of helicopters.

I took small planes and visited two of the nearby Northern Mariana Islands, Saipan and Tinian, each of which is smaller than Guam but has similar political histories. These three small islands have played a central role in global affairs since the days of the Spanish maritime empire. The American planes that dropped atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki during World War II departed from Tinian. And on these islands, America is now gathering troops and building massive infrastructure to prepare for potential conflict.

I spent three weeks in Guam – longer than planned due to the typhoon. By the time I left, leaves were already sprouting from the battered trees. Here are just some of the photos I took, with background information behind them.

I stayed in Tumon Bay, an area where tourists usually come. Many of the hotels suffered so much damage that they were closed for weeks. After the typhoon, emergency workers and families from all over the island, desperate for air conditioning, quickly filled the remaining hotels. The hotel I planned to stay at was closed; I called hotel after hotel, looking for a place that had a room. I finally found one and felt grateful to stay there, despite poor phone service and a power outage.

Michael Lujan Bevacqua, father of a newborn and three other children, had no electricity, but he still made time to show me around the southern part of Guam. He brought along Lulai, his third child, whose name translates to “fishing by moonlight.” Mr. Bevacqua is a history professor, a museum curator, and a CHamoru activist and language teacher. During the worst days of the coronavirus pandemic, his online classes helped hundreds of participants learn the language of their ancestors. He explained to me that CHamoru does not use any other word for daughter and son, nor for mother and father. The standard is a gender neutral word for parent and child.

Three merchant ships are permanently stationed off the coast of Saipan. These are pre-positioned ships, with extensive supplies and resources ready to support the military stationed on each island. It’s hard to capture the scale of these giant boats. I wanted to get closer to take pictures but was told they fire warning shots at any boat that gets too close. I went on a canoe with 500 Sails (a group that promotes traditional CHamoru maritime culture), unsure of what “too close” actually meant. We managed to get a few frames and made it back to shore without incident.

The Explosive Ordnance Ordnance Disposal Team is stationed at Naval Base Guam and trains for complicated missions, including missions where landing a helicopter can be difficult. The workaround to avoid landing is to drop the troops from a helicopter called “the bird” and take them off as a group. As the team got ready for exercise, the troops practiced pointing their thumbs up to the side so that anyone looking down from the bird could see their status.

After the troops jumped from the helicopter into the water, they had to swim to the safety boats with their parachutes. Each boat had a safety swimmer to assist. When one of the troops struggled with a tangled parachute, a swimmer jumped in to help. I shot from a second safety boat, bracing myself against the waves and wind from the helicopters.

When I was on the USS Springfield, a nuclear-powered submarine, the captain let me see through the periscope. This periscope used mirrors and prisms; newer ones use digital optics. The world glowed and glittered through it. At first I was told I couldn’t photograph the view through the periscope. After my visit I asked if there was any chance I could try a photo. With the help of a public affairs officer, I was allowed to return and take a few with me.

The USS Springfield is 110 meters long, carries 12 Tomahawk cruise missiles and can remain submerged for months with a crew of 100. The photo above is of the main dining room, which can be disinfected and converted into a medical clinic if necessary. Every inch of the submarine is used, with crew members sleeping in “hot beds” on a varying schedule. One bed is nestled directly against a Tomahawk.

Being on Guam and the Northern Mariana Islands sometimes gave me whiplash: One minute I was looking at gun ranges and ammunition; the next time I was immersed in the magical nature. On Tinian, the porous limestone rock formed jagged, emerald-colored tide pools and a very special blowhole, where ocean water can spurt 20 feet or more into the air. In the late afternoon, if you’re lucky, the sun shines on the spot at an angle creating a veritable rainbow factory; wave after wave leaves only a fraction of a second of color.

Reporting for this project was supported by the International Women’s Media Foundation’s Howard G. Buffett Fund for Women Journalists.