The Philippine Revolution (1896–1898) against Spain was followed by the Philippine-American War (1899–1902). Juan dela Cruz faced a new colonizer. American troops used water torture, scorched-earth campaigns, and concentration zones. Over 200,000 Filipino civilians died. Yet Juan learned English, embraced baseball, and began dreaming of self-rule. The Jones Law (1916) promised eventual independence, but it would take until 1946—interrupted by Japanese occupation during World War II—for the Philippine flag to fly alone.
In 2019, the National Historical Commission of the Philippines unveiled a marker in Tondo, Manila, honoring "Juan dela Cruz" not as a person but as a symbol. The marker reads: “Sa katauhan ni Juan dela Cruz nabubuhay ang alaala ng sambayanang Pilipino—mapagtiis, matapang, at hindi sumusuko.” (In the person of Juan dela Cruz lives the memory of the Filipino people—patient, brave, and never surrendering.)
Thus, the history of Juan dela Cruz is not found in a single birth certificate or grave. It is written in every protest placard, every overseas remittance slip, every whispered prayer before a typhoon, every child’s first lesson in baybayin script. He is the hero without a monument, the nation without a name.
During the Japanese occupation (1942–1945), Juan dela Cruz became a guerrilla fighter, hiding in the jungles of Bataan and Leyte. He endured the Bataan Death March and the bombing of Manila. After the war, the newly independent republic faced corruption, land inequality, and the rise of the Hukbalahap rebellion. The comic-strip Juan of the 1950s, now drawn by artists like Francisco Coching, mirrored these struggles: he was a farmer cheated by a landlord, a worker striking against low wages.
Juan dela Cruz is not a single historical figure but a cultural archetype—the "everyman" of the Philippines. His name, equivalent to "John Doe" in English, appears in textbooks, newspapers, and folk tales as a placeholder for the common Filipino. Yet, over time, the character of Juan dela Cruz has absorbed the collective memory of the nation, becoming a mirror of its colonial past, revolutionary spirit, and modern struggles.