Victims

I just came back from ARMM. Scenes that I saw 2 years back were the same scenes that greeted me at Awang airport in Cotabato: soldiers in their type A uniform, endless checkpoints, military tanks, rebel camps, and helicopters flying so low I could almost see the pilot.

Then I saw the call for justice in Notre Dame of Midsayap for a girl who got killed for the same reason you probably have heard 3 or more decades ago. On my second day in Cotabato, classes were cancelled as a sign of protest for some operations mishaps by the military. A child was caught dead.

While doing the interview, I was surprised to see our farmer-cooperator in Maguindanao, referred to me as a successful farmer, sleeping in the makeshift classroom we built for the project. I learned later that his relatives were occupying his house, as they were displaced by war 2 weeks ago. Evacuation centers, distraught evacuees, lines for claiming relief goods did not escape my vision. They were everywhere.

I continued with my search for success stories. I saw hope, perseverance in the eyes of the farmers I interviewed. They all wanted to get out of the shackles of poverty that have long entrapped them.

I was teary eyed during my interviews. One of them that struck me was an MNLF commander in Lanao del Sur. He spoke flawless English, and called himself a genius when I asked him how he learned to use the computer. The man was in his 50s, and probably was tired of the seemed endless assaults between them and the military. He had high hopes that through rice farming their lives could change for the better. When we were about to leave, the man was close to tears saying, “I hope that you could help us spread the word.”[That we are here eager to help ourselves. We can do this, and that someone out there might help us in our quest].

As the plane took off on my way back to Manila, ARMM became smaller and smaller. Until I noticed that I was one with the clouds. Poverty is just down there. It will never haunt those who have positioned themselves at the tip of the social triangle.

I got numbed. I saw hope. I saw people eager to help themselves. But then, I have lots of fears. I can’t help but think when will the next bomb explode and blow these people away from their areas--the time when they, once again, have to run for their lives?

Now let me ask the same question posted perhaps by our grandparents during their tender years: When can ARMM people live peaceful lives?