We are not afraid of you—written in the posture of a commander's feet.
In the contested waters of the South China Sea, the United States and China are waging a war of images and gestures — each side performing confidence for an audience that includes allies, adversaries, and history itself. A photograph of relaxed American commanders watching a Chinese carrier pass, paired with the quiet resumption of US-Philippine military exercises, signals that Washington is reasserting its presence in a region where Beijing has grown increasingly bold. At the center of this contest lies Whitsun Reef, where hundreds of Chinese vessels remain despite Philippine demands to leave, and where a 70-year-old mutual defense treaty now faces its most serious test in decades.
- The US Navy released a carefully staged photograph of American officers watching China's Liaoning carrier with their feet up — a wordless declaration that Washington does not fear Beijing's military projection.
- Hundreds of Chinese maritime militia vessels remain anchored at Whitsun Reef inside Philippine waters, refusing to leave despite repeated diplomatic protests from Manila.
- US Defense Secretary Austin called his Philippine counterpart to propose deeper intelligence-sharing and situational awareness cooperation, signaling Washington's intent to stand firm on treaty commitments.
- The Balikatan exercises resumed at a fraction of their usual scale — a symbolic but deliberate act of alliance maintenance under the twin shadows of pandemic and Duterte's long flirtation with Beijing.
- The Mutual Defense Treaty was publicly invoked by the State Department, placing the weight of a 70-year commitment behind any future armed confrontation in Philippine waters.
- The deeper question hanging over every gesture is whether these calibrated displays of resolve can slow a Chinese advance that has already begun to redraw the strategic map of the Indo-Pacific.
On April 4, the US Navy released a photograph taken in the Philippine Sea — two American commanders in the pilothouse of the guided-missile destroyer USS Mustin, watching China's aircraft carrier Liaoning pass at close range. One of them had his feet up. The image was not candid; it was composed. Analysts described it as cognitive warfare: a contest of perception in which posture and imagery substitute for firepower, and the goal is to shape how the world reads the balance of power.
The photograph circulated on the same day the Armed Forces of the Philippines announced the resumption of Balikatan exercises with American troops — drills suspended the previous year due to the pandemic. The scale was modest, roughly 700 American soldiers and 1,300 Filipino troops, about a quarter of previous years, blending virtual and in-person formats. But the symbolism mattered: the alliance was still breathing.
Hours before that announcement, US Defense Secretary Lloyd Austin had spoken by phone with Philippine Defense Secretary Delfin Lorenzana, who was recovering from COVID-19. Their conversation focused on Whitsun Reef, where hundreds of Chinese maritime militia vessels had massed inside the Philippines' exclusive economic zone. Manila had repeatedly demanded their withdrawal. Beijing refused, calling them fishing boats sheltering from weather. The US proposed enhanced situational awareness cooperation — a diplomatic phrase for better intelligence-sharing about what China was doing in Philippine waters.
State Department spokesman Ned Price made Washington's position explicit: an armed attack on Philippine forces or vessels in the South China Sea would invoke the Mutual Defense Treaty, a commitment nearly 70 years old. The reminder was measured but unmistakable.
Complicating everything was President Duterte, who had spent years drifting toward Beijing and had once moved to terminate the Visiting Forces Agreement that underpins joint military operations. That plan was suspended but never buried. The alliance carried the weight of colonial history and competing interests, and Duterte's ambivalence had left Washington uncertain about the regional balance it could count on.
And yet the exercises began. Commanders met. Phone calls were made. Photographs were released. In a region where every gesture is read as signal, these acts of recommitment were not nothing — even if the larger question remained unanswered: whether displays of resolve could hold a line that China had already begun, quietly and persistently, to move.
On a Monday in April, the United States released a photograph that was meant to say something without words. It showed two American naval commanders, Robert J. Briggs and Richard D. Slye, stationed in the pilothouse of the guided-missile destroyer USS Mustin. They were watching the Chinese aircraft carrier Liaoning pass by—just a few thousand meters away—and in the image, Briggs had his feet up, relaxed, almost casual. The message was deliberate: we are not afraid of you.
This was what analysts called cognitive warfare—a contest not of missiles but of perception, of who could convince the world they held the advantage without firing a shot. The photograph had been taken on April 4 in the Philippine Sea, and by releasing it publicly, the US Navy was staging a kind of theater. A former instructor at Taiwan's Naval Academy, Lu Li-shih, read the image as a calculated display of American confidence. The posture of the commanders, their apparent indifference to the Chinese vessel nearby, was meant to signal that Washington did not view the People's Liberation Army as an immediate threat. It was a way of speaking through imagery in waters where words had become less reliable than gestures.
The timing was not accidental. On the same day the photograph circulated, the Armed Forces of the Philippines announced they would resume joint military exercises with American troops—drills that had been suspended the previous year due to the coronavirus pandemic. These were the Balikatan exercises, an annual ritual of alliance that had been scaled down considerably. Instead of the usual participation numbers, this year would see roughly 700 American soldiers and up to 1,300 Filipino troops, about a quarter of what previous iterations had drawn. The exercises would be a hybrid of virtual and physical activities, a compromise between maintaining the alliance and respecting pandemic constraints. Lt. Gen. Cirilito Sobejana, chief of the Armed Forces of the Philippines, described it as a way to keep the contact alive between the two militaries, a low-key affair designed to signal continuity rather than escalation.
But the exercises were not happening in a vacuum. Hours before the announcement, US Defense Secretary Lloyd Austin had spoken by phone with his Philippine counterpart, Delfin Lorenzana, who had recently tested positive for coronavirus. Their conversation centered on the South China Sea and a specific crisis: hundreds of Chinese maritime militia vessels had massed at Whitsun Reef, also known as Julian Felipe Reef, in the Spratly Islands. This was territory claimed by multiple nations, including the Philippines, and the Chinese presence there had become a flashpoint. Austin proposed deepening defense cooperation by enhancing what he called situational awareness of threats in the region—a careful phrase that meant the US wanted better intelligence and coordination with Manila on what was happening in Philippine waters.
The reef itself sat within the Philippines' exclusive economic zone, and Manila had repeatedly asked Beijing to withdraw the vessels. China refused, claiming they were fishing boats sheltering from bad weather. The Philippines saw it differently: an unlawful incursion into their sovereign waters, a test of how far they could push. The United States, meanwhile, had made its position clear. State Department spokesman Ned Price told reporters that Washington took its treaty obligations seriously. An armed attack on Philippine forces or vessels in the South China Sea would trigger the Mutual Defense Treaty signed nearly 70 years earlier. It was a reminder, delivered in diplomatic language, that the US had skin in this game.
The complications ran deeper than the immediate crisis. President Rodrigo Duterte, who had taken office in 2016, had spent years tilting toward China, away from the United States. More than a year earlier, he had announced plans to terminate the Visiting Forces Agreement, the foundational document that made hundreds of joint military exercises possible each year. That plan had been suspended, but it had never been fully abandoned, and it hung over the alliance like a question mark. The Philippines and the United States had a nearly 70-year relationship, but it was a relationship born of colonialism and complicated by geography and competing interests. Duterte's ambivalence about the American partnership had raised fears in Washington that the regional balance of power could shift decisively toward Beijing.
Yet here they were, resuming exercises, releasing photographs, making phone calls, reaffirming commitments. The Balikatan exercises formally began on Monday with 736 Filipino soldiers and 225 American troops. Meetings between Philippine military leadership and the Joint US Military Advisory Group focused on how the two nations could respond to events in the Philippine exclusive economic zone. Both sides agreed to continue talking, to keep the dialogue open. It was a modest recommitment, but in a region where every gesture carried weight, it was not nothing. The question now was whether these displays of unity and resolve would be enough to deter further Chinese moves, or whether they would simply accelerate a competition that had already begun to reshape the balance of power in one of the world's most strategically important bodies of water.
Citações Notáveis
This staged photograph is definitely 'cognitive warfare' to show the US doesn't regard the PLA as an immediate threat.— Lu Li-shih, former instructor at Taiwan's Naval Academy
An armed attack against the Philippines' armed forces, public vessels or aircraft in the Pacific, including in the South China Sea, will trigger our obligations under the US-Philippines Mutual Defense Treaty.— Ned Price, US State Department spokesman
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
Why release that photograph of the commanders watching the Chinese carrier? Why not just keep it classified?
Because the point wasn't to gather intelligence—it was to send a message. The US wanted Beijing to see that they were watching, and that they weren't worried. That's cognitive warfare. You're fighting with perception.
But couldn't China read that the same way—as provocation?
Absolutely. That's the risk. But from the American perspective, they're trying to reassure the Philippines and other regional allies that the US is still present and confident. The photograph does that work.
Why are the exercises so small this year? Wouldn't larger drills send a stronger message?
The pandemic is real, but so is the politics. Duterte has been skeptical of the American alliance. A massive show of force might have pushed him further away. This smaller, quieter approach keeps the relationship alive without looking like provocation.
So the US is trying to thread a needle—staying committed to the Philippines while not antagonizing Duterte?
Exactly. And meanwhile, China is testing how far it can push with those vessels at Whitsun Reef. Everyone is watching everyone else, trying to figure out what the other side will actually do.