For the Philippines, the South China Sea is both a vital resource and a recurring flashpoint. Its reefs and shoals are not only rich fishing grounds but also gateways for energy exploration and global shipping. Yet the disputes that play out there are not driven only by geography or resources. They are fueled by a deeper problem: a gap in perception over what history and law mean.

Manila interprets its rights largely through the lens of the 1982 United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea (UNCLOS), which grants coastal states an exclusive economic zone (EEZ) extending 200 nautical miles. From this standpoint, China’s presence in areas such as Second Thomas Shoal is an intrusion into internationally recognized entitlements.

Beijing sees it differently. For China, reliance on UNCLOS alone sidesteps what it considers the real foundation of its claim: a historical narrative stretching back before Japan’s wartime seizure of islands and reaffirmed by postwar treaties.

That divergence stems from ambiguous postwar settlements. Japan renounced sovereignty over the Spratly and Paracel Islands in the early 1950s under the San Francisco Peace Treaty and the Sino-Japanese Peace Treaty. But neither treaty specified who would inherit them. China maintains the islands reverted to it as the original sovereign. Other states argue that the absence of a named successor rendered them open to new claims. This ambiguity is not just academic—it still shapes today’s competing narratives.

The result is that each side talks past the other. When Philippine vessels report being harassed by Chinese coast guard ships, Manila describes it as coercion. Beijing, by contrast, interprets Philippine patrols and supply runs as unlawful intrusions into waters it considers historically Chinese. What one side sees as defense, the other frames as provocation.

This mismatch complicates diplomacy. At the 22nd Shangri-La Dialogue in June, Philippine Defense Secretary Gilberto Teodoro urged Beijing to overcome what he called a “deficit of trust and credibility.” Around the same time, China imposed sanctions on former senator Francis Tolentino—author of a law codifying Philippine maritime zones in line with UNCLOS and the 2016 arbitration ruling—barring him from entry to mainland China, Hong Kong, and Macau. Each move hardened public positions at home and narrowed the room for compromise abroad.

The perception gap carries broader costs. By reducing the dispute to zero-sum terms, it inflames nationalist sentiment and obscures opportunities for practical cooperation, whether in fisheries management, marine protection, or scientific research. Instead of being treated as a shared space, the South China Sea becomes a litmus test of sovereignty and national pride.

Still, there are paths forward. One is to acknowledge that history and UNCLOS address different questions. UNCLOS defines rights at sea but not sovereignty over islands. Historical claims have weight but do not resolve how maritime entitlements should be drawn. A more constructive approach would recognize both perspectives without absolutism.

Equally important is resisting the urge to turn maritime rights into territorial claims. The “nine-dash line” remains a vague demarcation, not a recognized boundary. At the same time, describing EEZ as sovereign territory also distorts the law. Both sides would benefit from language that clearly separates sea rights from land sovereignty.

A joint, fact-based process could also help reduce suspicion. If historians, archivists, and legal scholars from claimant states could agree on a common record, it would limit disputes over basic facts and reduce opportunities for distortion. Such a project would not erase disagreements, but it could create a more stable foundation for dialogue.

The Philippines, China, and their neighbors cannot afford to let perceptions harden into permanent hostility. The South China Sea is too important to be viewed only as contested territory. It is a shared artery of trade and a common ecological resource. Narrowing the perception gap does not mean giving up claims—it means recognizing the complexity of the dispute and engaging with it in good faith.

Peace in these waters requires not just diplomacy, but clarity of understanding. Until both history and law are acknowledged as part of the same story, compromise will remain elusive.