Marawi has a special place in my heart. I have visited this city many times in the course of my involvement with community women and my former political party. It is the home of friends and comrades, women and men I have worked with for decades.
Many of them were former leaders and active Moro National Liberation Front fighters under Nur Misuari. The women were members of the MNLF Women’s Committee. I became friends with many, calling them by their real names, not knowing their “nom de guerre.” It turned out that among my friends that I would spend time joking and laughing with, were “legendary” fighters who were feared by many. I only discovered this when other Moro friends told me that so-and-so was actually the feared so-and-so. Often, such information came as a big surprise because they were really kind, gentle, jolly men.
We did numerous training among Maranao women. We talked about gender sensitivity, violence against women, women’s political participation, and sexual and reproductive health and rights at a time when organizing Moro women was virtually unheard of. I personally learned a lot about the Maranao culture from my sisters in Marawi. (Well, they also revealed their skin regimen when I wondered aloud about their fair, smooth skin). Oh, we had many beautiful and happy times together!
Marawi is where I learned to eat and like “palapa,” which I still crave to this day. Each time, along the road from Cagayan de Oro City going there, I would check if I could get Durian or Marang. Whenever available, my Moro sisters and brothers would oblige to get me some that I would consume during the trip. They knew how much I liked these fruits.
Marawi was also where I would get my beautiful handwoven Malongs, shawls, and scarves. My sisters would bring me to their friends’ shops and would haggle for me for items I wanted to buy.
By the time that we were beginning to organize these women in Lanao de Sur, I was already familiar with the long-standing Mindanao problem. The many first-hand stories of injustice I got from my comrades taught me many valuable lessons, including why they wanted to be called Moros rather than Muslims. My own readings and our political discussions on the struggle of the Moro people were given substance by those who actually experienced how they, as a people, were abused and discriminated against for many decades. Thus, organizing the women was something that I became passionate about.
Marawi was our base. This was a not-so-safe-time to go because of reports of kidnappings and fighting in the area. We knew the danger but we were confident that we were adequately protected. We would fly to Cagayan de Oro City and would be fetched from there. We were not allowed to directly go to, or leave Marawi on our own. I knew that each time we travelled, the men with us were armed but they were always very discreet. We never really got to see any guns, at least, I did not in these instances.
For the duration of our visits, we were not supposed to go out without companions no matter if we were just going to walk around their area.
We were told that most, if not all homes and families in Marawi had guns. This was just how things were, and I guess, still are. We would stay in the homes of our women leaders when we were there. One night, while my companions were fast asleep, I needed to go to the toilet which was outside our room. As soon as I was out of the door, I was surprised to see a group of at least five heavily armed men huddled over a radio transmitter (mobile phones were still rare then). They smiled at me as these were men I personally knew and was friends with. It was my first time to see them armed and it was a bit disconcerting. In the morning I told the homeowner what I saw. She smiled and said that the men where securing us, and that there were always at least two with, or near us for protection. This was how they operated when friends, especially non-Moro ones, come over.
This set-up went on for a few years. At some point, I guess it was when things were much better, our brothers and sisters felt confident that we could already safely go on our own to Marawi, and we did. After the women’s groups were established and operational on their own, my visits became less frequent. Over the past years, I only got to see my sisters when they went to Manila.
This year, I have plans of going back to meet with the groups there. And then Maute happened. When I first heard about the ISIS flag being displayed in Marawi, I immediately contacted the daughter of one of our leaders and she confirmed that things are bad. My Maranao sisters and brothers are always on my mind as I follow the horrific events happening there. I can only hope that they are all unharmed.
It saddens and angers me that innocent people are getting killed, families are forced to leave their homes for their dear life, and that the city has become a warzone. When I heard that Maranaos were hiding Christians in their homes to keep them safe, I got emotional and memories of having been protected by my Moro sisters and brothers came back like it only happened yesterday.
The Moro people have always been at the receiving end of injustice. This so called Mindanao problem is caused by long-standing social injustice. I do not pretend to have the solution but I do know that Maranaos do not deserve what is happening to their city.
Set Marawi free.
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