this story originally appeared in the philippine daily inquirer on March 18, 2004.
As news writer for GMA-7, I have written stories of military-Moro Islamic Liberation Front encounters in Buliok, Pikit, Talitay and other conflict areas in Cotabato and Maguindanao long before I came to the place. In the newsroom, we turn to the story menu for information, and the conflict in these areas would be logged as body count, which camp got it this time, how the fighting ensued, etc.-objective facts.
Last Christmas, I covered GMA Kapuso Foundation’s “Krismas Karavan” for Mel Tiangco’s “Frontpage” (now known as “24 Oras”) segment, “Kapusong Totoo.” I had the chance to go and see, for the first time, the places I wrote about. I thought: finally, the storyteller is face to face with the story-beyond hard facts and statistics.
I was not psychologically prepared for it. It did not occur to me how precarious the situation might still be, after all, we were to enter Buliok Complex, the last MILF stronghold, which, barely a year before the military takeover, was no place for outsiders like us.
Sure, military presence quelled resistance. This place, however, has been Hashim Salamat country for so many years. I realized that the chance of the opposite force staging an attack was still possible.
The military escort that met us at the Davao City International Airport amplified my fear. Commissioned by the 2nd Marine Brigade, some 20 men, in full battle gear, were to secure our four-hour land travel from Davao City to Cotabato.
I tried hard to conceal my consternation. I saw this was the wrong time to be associated with the military because the rebels might misconstrue that we were taking sides.
I called my parents to say I was okay, more to calm myself than them. I also called my insurance agent to make sure my papers were in.
Past many checkpoints, we reached the headquarters in Pikit by nightfall. I did not know we were to be billeted in the headquarters. The place was a virtual powder keg. Not to breach military secrecy, I would simply say I prayed so hard that night.
In my barracks, I recalled how, back in the University of the Philippines, when I was more an activist than a student, I used the term “militarized” to spell out terror, debauchery, abuse. To me, men in uniform wore no human faces.
Brigade commander, Col. Ben Dolorfino and his deputy, Lt. Col. Ram Alivio, received us well. I saw a father in them. Over dinner, we discussed the next day’s itinerary. Colonel Dolorfino mentioned Sitio Bago Inged-home to the defeated Camp Raja Muda-Bulod, Bulol, Buliok I and II. We were to traverse marsh waters from North Cotabato to Maguindanao. One thousand children waited for their piece of Christmas from us.
Now more relaxed and inspired by new learning, I was already excited to meet the children. But then again I stopped: how about bridging the gap war created between these people and the military? How could we possibly reach out to them, when we would ride the same vehicles that drove them away from their homes to the uplands, where children were forced to stop schooling, where food was no more than a few ears of corn? I worried about the next day. I needed a miracle, divine intervention perhaps that will make goodwill shine amid antagonism, hunger and hatred. But whom do I pray to-God or Allah?
Blank stares greeted us. Beneath Muslim veils, the children’s eyes speak of long suffering, of having had enough. Surprise after surprise, they happily scooped out the contents of the Kapuso Package-milk, cookies, corned beef, notebooks, pencils and clean shirts. Thanks received, I said they were welcome but beneath my breath hoped I brought something more.
Reaching the community, I realized I worried more than I had to. This military brigade has touched base with the community so deeply that peace is now decreed between former adversaries. It was hard to believe that only a few months ago they fought with neither side yielding any quarter.
The military men arrived in V-150 commandos. Yet they were welcomed home. GMA Kapuso facilitated games. Children played with the soldiers. Blank stares melted into raucous laughter. Suddenly, the children became children before my eyes. It was because Colonel Dolorfino, himself a Muslim, led the reconstruction of the mosques. It was because these military men served the community, planted corn with them, rebuilt their homes, cleared the bush from the schools. It was because they carried the badge of service on their arms, which weighed more than their rifles.
Colonel Dolorfino said the war was not about religion. The enemy was not the MILF.
It was the quagmire of contending political interests, the pangs of hunger and poverty, the poison of no education, the neglect of the children-these were the common enemies.
And I believe him.
Against these common enemies, we can all unite to fight.
I came to Buliok bringing a piece of Christmas for the children. I came back with their story of peace. This is my contribution to the story menu.
