The South China Sea isn’t just a patch of water on the map, it’s one of the world’s most valuable crossroads. A third of all global shipping passes through its waters, carrying more than $3.4 trillion in trade every year. Beneath its surface lie what experts believe are vast reserves of oil and natural gas, resources that could fuel nations for decades. Add to that some of the richest fishing grounds on Earth, and you have the recipe for one of the most contested maritime regions in modern history. That’s why the dispute has drawn in not just one or two claimants, but six, China, Vietnam, the Philippines, Malaysia, Brunei, and Taiwan, all staking claims to the same waters.
But one player changed the game. Between 2013 and 2016, China embarked on one of the most ambitious land reclamation campaigns in modern history. Using dredgers and military engineering on an unprecedented scale, Beijing turned reefs and shoals into sprawling artificial fortresses, equipped with runways, missile batteries, and radar systems. Western analysts gave it a name: the “Great Wall of Sand.” And it wasn’t just about sand, it was about power. That expansion shifted the entire strategic landscape, forcing other nations to ask: if China can build, should we build too?
Now, the dispute has entered a dangerous new phase. While China’s artificial islands dominated headlines through the mid-2010s, it is Vietnam that has taken center stage in recent years. Hanoi has quietly accelerated its own island-building campaign, expanding reefs and fortifying outposts in contested waters. It’s a sign that the competition is no longer China versus everyone else, it’s now multiple claimants racing to carve out physical footholds before it’s too late. And with each new dredged reef, the region becomes more complex, more crowded, and more volatile.
That brings us to the central question: what about the Philippines? For years, Manila has relied on diplomacy and international law, leaning on the 2016 Hague ruling that invalidated China’s sweeping “nine-dash line” claims. But as Chinese harassment continues and as Vietnam pushes forward with its own reclamation, should the Philippines rethink its strategy? Should it remain the voice of legality, or join the physical race for territory by accelerating its own island-building campaign? That decision could redefine not only the Philippines’ place in the South China Sea, but the future balance of power in the entire Indo-Pacific.
Vietnam’s Accelerated Island Building: Facts, Figures, and Strategic Rationale
While China’s “Great Wall of Sand” once set the benchmark for land reclamation in the South China Sea, it is Vietnam that has now stepped up with astonishing speed and determination. As of mid-2025, Hanoi has reclaimed over 2,200 acres of new land in the Spratly Islands. To put this in perspective: between 2013 and 2017, China reclaimed around 3,500 acres, an effort that shocked the world and militarized the region. Vietnam’s surge since 2021 makes it the most significant reclamation campaign since then, cementing its position as the second-largest island builder in the South China Sea. According to the Asia Maritime Transparency Initiative (AMTI) at the Center for Strategic and International Studies, Vietnam’s expansion is not only about size, but about transforming reefs into functional military outposts.
Among the most striking projects is Barque Canada Reef. Once just a scatter of shallow shoals, it has now been transformed into one of Vietnam’s most strategic bases. Satellite imagery shows a sprawling platform of reclaimed sand, large enough to support a 3-kilometer runway, the kind of infrastructure that can host fighter jets, maritime patrol aircraft, and even heavy transport planes. This is not a symbolic expansion; it’s the kind of build-up that gives Hanoi the capacity to project air power and respond rapidly to threats in the Spratlys.
Then there is Namyit Island, which has been expanded to nearly 0.83 square kilometers. Once little more than a modest outpost, Namyit now features a newly built harbor and hardened military facilities. These upgrades not only provide shelter for naval and coast guard vessels but also strengthen Vietnam’s logistical lifelines, allowing for sustained operations in contested waters. Meanwhile, Pearson Reef has grown to 1.27 square kilometers, with a reinforced outpost, new housing, and the early stages of a functional harbor. Each site is no longer just a lonely reef on the map, they are evolving into fortified launchpads for patrols, resupply missions, and potentially even missile deployments.
So why is Vietnam racing to build? The motivations are layered and deeply strategic. First and foremost: countering China. For years, Chinese Coast Guard cutters and swarms of maritime militia vessels have shadowed and blocked Vietnamese ships, employing so-called “grey-zone” tactics, operations that stop short of war but steadily erode sovereignty. By expanding its reefs into strongholds, Hanoi is drawing a line in the sand, signaling to Beijing: your dominance ends here. Second, it’s about asserting sovereignty in physical form. Every acre of sand dumped on a reef is a claim made permanent, harder to reverse, and harder to challenge. This is not just political theater, it’s sovereignty materialized in concrete, radar domes, and harbors.
Finally, Vietnam’s reclamation fits neatly into its broader program of military modernization. These new bases are designed not just for presence, but for power. A harbor means patrol craft can dock, refuel, and patrol deeper into disputed waters. A runway means surveillance aircraft can monitor Chinese movements and fighters can launch at a moment’s notice. Hardened shelters and expanded garrisons mean troops can be stationed permanently, armed with coastal defense cruise missiles and surface-to-air systems. In effect, each new island is a mini-fortress, a forward operating base that strengthens Hanoi’s hand in protecting its Exclusive Economic Zone and deterring encroachment.
Taken together, Vietnam’s 2,200 acres are not mere piles of dredged sand. They are statements of intent, carved into the seascape for the world to see. They tell Beijing: China will not have the South China Sea unchallenged. And they ask Manila an uncomfortable but unavoidable question: in a region where sovereignty is increasingly measured not just by law but by concrete runways and radar towers, can the Philippines afford to stand back with only its legal victory and alliances or must it, too, start pouring sand into the sea?
The Philippines’ Current Strategy and the Debate
Unlike China and now Vietnam, the Philippines has so far resisted the race to dredge sand and build artificial islands. Manila’s strategy has been more modest, focused not on new land, but on upgrading what it already holds. The centerpiece of that effort is Thitu Island, better known as Pag-asa Island, 3BV the largest Philippine-held feature in the Spratlys. There, the government has invested in rehabilitating and extending the runway, along with improving housing, power, and communications for the small civilian and military presence. It’s not flashy, but it’s symbolic: Manila is reinforcing what it has, without crossing the line into China-style mega-reclamation.
This cautious approach has been guided by law as much as by pragmatism. The Philippines holds something no other claimant can boast: the 2016 Permanent Court of Arbitration ruling, a legal victory that invalidated China’s sweeping “nine-dash line.” That decision gave Manila the strongest possible diplomatic and legal footing, transforming it from a lone David against a Goliath into the poster child for the “rules-based order.” By not building aggressively, Manila has tried to preserve its moral high ground, using law, diplomacy, and alliances as its shield.
But the debate inside the Philippines is far from settled. Proponents of island-building argue the country cannot rely on legal papers alone. Without a physical presence, they warn, Manila risks losing ground, literally. They point to Vietnam’s 2,200 acres and China’s militarized artificial islands as proof that sand and concrete speak louder than legal briefs. Building new outposts, they say, would provide deterrence, a visible signal of resolve. It would also restore strategic parity, preventing Manila from falling further behind its neighbors. Beyond symbolism, there are practical benefits too: new bases could secure Filipino fishermen, who face harassment daily, and serve as staging points to protect potential oil and gas reserves within the Philippine Exclusive Economic Zone. To advocates, the message is simple: if you don’t build, you fall behind.
Yet the counterarguments are just as strong. First, there’s the issue of costs. Island-building is not just expensive, it’s astronomically expensive. The Philippines would have to divert billions from schools, infrastructure, and social programs to fund massive reclamation projects. And unlike China, it doesn’t have state-owned dredging giants or limitless budgets. Second, there is the environmental toll. Dredging destroys coral reefs, the very foundations of the region’s fisheries. A 2024 study estimated that Vietnam’s reclamation alone has already destroyed more than 567 hectares of coral reef, a catastrophic loss for marine biodiversity and food security. For a country so dependent on fisheries, repeating that damage could be self-defeating. Finally, there is diplomacy. By sticking to the law, the Philippines has rallied allies and international sympathy. If Manila were to follow Vietnam into large-scale reclamation, it could weaken its legal leverage and undercut its role as the “rule of law” champion in the South China Sea.
So the Philippines faces a dilemma. Build islands, and you gain deterrence but risk costs, reefs, and your diplomatic edge. Stick to the legal path, and you maintain credibility but risk falling behind as others pour sand and concrete into the sea. It is a choice between muscle and morality, between sandbars and statutes and whichever path Manila takes will redefine its role in the South China Sea’s next chapter.
Immediate and Future Effects: A Volatile and Unpredictable Future
The future of the South China Sea looks less like calm waters and more like a tinderbox. With both China and Vietnam accelerating island building, the region is sliding into deeper militarization. What were once small reefs are now sprawling outposts, and tomorrow they may bristle with anti-ship missiles, radar stations, and coastal defense systems. Every new runway and weapons platform increases the chance of miscalculation, where one patrol, one warning shot, or one collision could spark something far bigger than intended.
Amid this escalation, voices on both sides are sharpening. In 2024, a Philippine Defense Department spokesperson reaffirmed that “the Philippines will not be swayed by any actions that do not conform to international law.” That statement reflects Manila’s continued reliance on its principled stance, grounded in the 2016 arbitration victory. Yet, across the sea, Beijing responded not with restraint but with hypocrisy. Chinese Foreign Ministry Spokesperson Guo Jiakun blasted Vietnam’s construction, declaring that China “resolutely opposes construction activities on illegally occupied reefs and islands.” The irony is clear, Beijing condemning Hanoi for the very same playbook it perfected a decade earlier.
But beyond geopolitics, there’s another war being waged, this time against nature. Dredging and reclamation gouge deep scars into fragile ecosystems. Scientists warn that coral reefs destroyed by land reclamation could take 10 to 15 years to recover, if they recover at all. That destruction isn’t abstract, it means declining fish stocks, collapsing food chains, and millions of livelihoods at risk across Southeast Asia. For countries like the Philippines, where fisheries sustain coastal communities, the long-term ecological damage may prove as devastating as the military confrontation itself.
The regional implications are equally grim. Every new airstrip and harbor makes it harder to pursue a peaceful resolution. Negotiations for a Code of Conduct (COC) in the South China Sea, once seen as a path to de-escalation, are now floundering. As one analyst from the ISEAS–Yusof Ishak Institute wrote in May 2025, these talks are becoming “increasingly unrealistic” as states double down on unilateral strategies. Diplomacy moves slowly, but militarization races ahead, leaving the region trapped in a cycle where concrete and missiles outpace treaties and trust.
The truth is stark: the South China Sea’s future is volatile and unpredictable. Every new island adds not just land, but tension. Every reef paved over adds not just infrastructure, but instability. And the question for Manila, as it weighs its own options, is whether to join this dangerous race or to remain the lone voice holding out for law in a sea of power plays.
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Conclusion: A Crossroads for the Philippines
The Philippines now stands at a crossroads. On one side lies the path Vietnam has chosen, an aggressive campaign of dredging, reclamation, and militarization, a physical counterweight to China’s fortress islands. It is a strategy that looks pragmatic, a show of resolve built on concrete and runways. But it is also a path fraught with immense risks, costly, environmentally devastating, and dangerously escalatory.
On the other side lies the course Manila has so far pursued: a dual-track approach. Strengthen its own modest defense capabilities, modernize its navy and coast guard, and deepen ties with allies like the United States, Japan, and Australia. At the same time, uphold the high ground of principle, the 2016 Hague ruling, international law, and diplomacy. This strategy may not produce the dramatic visuals of artificial islands rising from the sea, but it offers something far more valuable: legitimacy, sustainability, and the ability to rally the world to the Philippines’ side.
Abandoning that track to join the island-building race would almost certainly drag the region into a dangerous and unsustainable arms race. It would further destabilize the South China Sea, destroy irreplaceable ecosystems, and erode the very legal victory that gave Manila its greatest strategic weapon. In the long run, building islands might win a few reefs, but it would risk losing the narrative, the law, and the coalition of allies that today stand with the Philippines.
At Ren’ai Jiao, at Pag-asa, and across the contested waters, the Philippines faces a defining choice: to follow others into a costly contest of dredgers and missiles, or to stand firm on principle, armed not just with ships and allies, but with the strongest currency of all: the rule of law. And in a sea increasingly dominated by power plays, that may be the Philippines’ most enduring weapon.
