The Lone Marine Who Spoke Japanese — And Saved Hundreds on Saipan
In June 1944, as the brutal realities of World War II unfolded on the cliffs of Saipan, a remarkable story of courage, compassion, and humanity emerged from the chaos. This is the story of Private First Class Guy Gabaldon, a young Marine whose ability to speak Japanese transformed him into a bridge of trust between terrified Japanese civilians and advancing American forces.
The Scene of Despair
As U.S. Marines closed in on Saipan, the island echoed with the sounds of gunfire, explosions, and the fearful murmurs of civilians trapped in a nightmare. Among them were a group of Japanese women huddled in a cave, their children clinging to them, faces pale with terror. They had been told that Americans were merciless monsters, and now, as the Marines approached, the fear of capture loomed over them like a dark cloud.
On this fateful day, something unexpected happened. Amid the chaos, one Marine stepped forward, alone and unarmed. His name was Guy Gabaldon, a 19-year-old from Los Angeles. Speaking flawless Japanese, he called gently into the darkness, “Minakita Kudasai,” which means “Please, everyone listen.” What followed was an extraordinary act of human connection that would resonate throughout the Pacific War.
A Unique Background
To understand how Gabaldon became the voice of hope for these terrified civilians, we must look back at his upbringing. Born to a Mexican-American family in East Los Angeles, Gabaldon was unofficially adopted by the Nakano family, a Japanese-American household. He grew up sharing meals at their table, learning their customs, and immersing himself in their culture. By the age of 14, he spoke Japanese fluently, even mimicking regional accents.
When Pearl Harbor was attacked, Gabaldon watched in anguish as the Nakano family was sent to an internment camp by their own government. Furious and heartbroken, he vowed that if he ever served in the Pacific, he would use the language they taught him to save lives, not take them. Two years later, he enlisted in the Marines and found himself on the shores of Saipan.
The Courage to Connect
Assigned as a scout, Gabaldon developed a habit that frustrated his superiors: he would sneak out at night into Japanese-held territory. But instead of engaging in combat, he chose to talk. He persuaded Japanese soldiers and civilians to surrender peacefully, achieving results that no other Marine had ever accomplished on such a scale.
As the battle raged on, Gabaldon’s most emotionally powerful moment unfolded deep inside a cave on the slopes of Saipan’s Mt. Tapochau. As the Marines advanced, Japanese defenders retreated, leaving behind civilians caught in the crossfire. Many believed that capture by Americans meant torture or death, and some were prepared to take their own lives rather than face that fate.
The Plea for Safety
Gabaldon approached the cave alone, while other Marines hesitated, whispering that he was insane. Inside, he could hear the shuffling of feet and hushed cries, as the women urged each other not to surrender. Raising his voice, he spoke gently, “Anatachi anzendes,” meaning “You are safe. Please come out. I promise you will not be harmed.”
For long moments, silence enveloped the cave, broken only by the distant rumble of artillery. Then, a child began to cry, panic-stricken and inconsolable. Gabaldon softened his tone even further, assuring them, “I know you are afraid. I know what you’ve been told about us, but I give you my word. You will not be touched. You will not be separated. I will stay with you until you are safe.”
In a moment that would change everything, he added, “I was raised by a Japanese family. I honor them by protecting you now.” Inside the cave, hope began to pierce through the fear. The eldest woman, trembling, asked, “Doite nazhongo?” — “Why? Why do you speak Japanese?” Gabaldon replied, “Because the people who taught me your language were good, loving people, and so are you. Please let me help you.”
A Breakthrough
Slowly, hands began to emerge from the darkness, holding white cloths as a sign of surrender. One by one, twelve women stepped into the sunlight, shaking and clutching their children. Many were barefoot, some were bleeding, but all were terrified. Gabaldon signaled the Marines to lower their weapons. The women gasped as American rifles pointed downward—this was not what they had been taught to expect.
A younger woman asked quietly, “Will my children live?” Gabaldon knelt to meet her three-year-old son’s gaze and assured her, “Yes, they will live, and they will be treated with respect.” Then, in a gesture of profound respect, he bowed deeply, a traditional Japanese bow that conveyed honor and humility.
This simple act shattered the barriers of fear that propaganda had built. The women burst into tears, some collapsing to their knees, while others hugged their children tightly. One woman repeatedly whispered, “Arigato, arigato,” as if those words alone could secure their safety.
The Journey to Safety
Gabaldon guided the women away from the cliffs, shielding them from the horrors of the battlefield. He continued to speak softly, reassuring them about what to expect when they reached the Marine lines: food, water, medical treatment, and no separation. When they finally reached the American perimeter, the sight stunned the Marines. An entire column of Japanese women and children walked calmly behind a single 19-year-old Marine, trusting him completely.
A sergeant stared in disbelief and muttered, “What in God’s name?” Gabaldon simply replied, “They were scared. Someone just had to tell them the truth.” Word of his actions spread quickly. More civilians hiding in caves began listening for the young Marine who spoke their language. Many called him “the boy who speaks like home.”
Over the coming days, Gabaldon talked hundreds more out of caves, off cliff edges, and away from suicide grenades. He told them, “You deserve to see tomorrow. War is for soldiers. Civilians should not die here.” Women who had been taught that surrender was shameful began stepping into American custody, not with shame, but with relief.
A Legacy of Compassion
Historians estimate that during the Saipan and Tinian campaigns, Gabaldon personally persuaded more than 1,300 civilians and soldiers to surrender, an achievement unmatched by any other Marine in the Pacific War. But it was the moment he stood before those first terrified women in the cave that exemplified his extraordinary courage—not with a rifle, but with compassion and understanding.
Many years later, survivors of Saipan would remember Gabaldon not as an enemy, but as a young man who emerged from the smoke of war, speaking their mother tongue and offering safety when they believed none existed. Gabaldon continued his missions, talking frightened civilians out of caves and persuading soldiers who were ready to die.
On one occasion, he approached another cluster of caves, this time larger and filled with families clutching grenades. Gabaldon called out, “Please listen. The war has reached you, but that does not mean you must die for it. Your children need you. Come out peacefully, and I will walk with you.” When a man inside shouted angrily, Gabaldon didn’t waver. He spoke with conviction, urging them to choose life over death.
The Power of Language
As he continued to rescue civilians, Gabaldon faced the emotional burden that most soldiers never encountered. He had witnessed the aftermath of banzai charges and the desperation of families clutching grenades. He refused to let those tragedies repeat themselves. After the war, he reunited with the Nakano family, the very people who had given him the language and cultural understanding that saved so many lives.
In later interviews, Gabaldon reflected on his wartime actions with humility. “I didn’t think of myself as brave,” he said. “I just couldn’t stand the thought of civilians dying because no one told them the truth. If I could talk them out of dying, that’s what I was going to do.”
His ability to communicate, empathize, and build trust in the midst of chaos stands as one of the greatest humanitarian achievements of the Pacific War. He received the Silver Star, which was later upgraded to the Navy Cross, one of the highest honors awarded by the Marines. Many believe he deserved the Medal of Honor, but Gabaldon cared more about the lives he saved than about accolades.
Conclusion: A Lasting Impact
The story of Guy Gabaldon is a powerful reminder that compassion can achieve what firepower cannot. It illustrates that understanding can overcome fear and that sometimes the bravest act on a battlefield is not taking a life, but saving one. Gabaldon’s legacy lives on as a testament to the power of empathy and the profound impact one individual can have in the face of overwhelming adversity.
As we remember the great battles of the Pacific, we should also honor the young Marine who walked alone into caves filled with terror, speaking softly in the language of the people he hoped to save. In a war defined by destruction, Gabaldon proved that one voice, one promise, and one act of courage can change the fate of hundreds. His story is a beacon of hope, reminding us that even in the darkest moments of history, humanity still has the power to shine through.
