Donate NowTrying to blend into a place like Jolo is like trying to squeeze an elephant through the eye of a needle-or a lobster through a fish net. The last time a pack of reporters came down, some of them got kidnapped by Abu Sayyaf while trying to get access to the European tourists who were snatched from the Malaysian resort island of Sipadan in 2000. The charismatic but misguided Abu Sabaya even held local Filipino photographers hostage for a few hours and stole their cameras and shoes.
Journalists rarely visited Jolo after the 2000 internaional hostage crisis. So when I showed up, I stuck out worse than a sore thumb. Julie Alipala advised me not to check in with the military because they would attempt to restrict my movements. It was a little ironic because the first place she took me to, after eating lunch of course, was a Marine battalion located next to Lake Panamao, Habier Malik's former stronghold. She had befriended the commanding officer over the years, and claimed the Philippine marines were much more media-savy and approachable. The colonel here didn't given us any problems and even provided us with plainclothes escorts on mopeds who "cleared the area" as we drove toward Malik's base.
The Philippine Army in Jolo, however, is an entirely different machine. There are internal politics between the Army and Marines which spills over into the hierarchy of both officers and footsoldiers on both sides. Locals in both Basilan and Jolo also say both the national army and police have turned a blind-eye to kidnapping, and in some cases, tacitly supported it as in the infamous Lamitan siege.
Part of my paranoia, and the fear that plagues many ordinary people living on that island, is premised on concerns about who to trust and not to trust, and whether or not your alleged friends, escorts or guides could try to ransom, behead, or take you on a long walk thru the jungle.
Gen. Ruben Rafael heads up all armed forces operating in Jolo. He launched Operation Ultimatum last August which led to the liquidation of Abu Soleiman and Khaddafy Janjalani.
I don't know if he has been implicated in any abductions. Probably not. What I do know is that he was not happy when he found out I made it onto the island past his gaze.
The second irony in what will probably become a long story is that I called Col. Supnet, Rafael's subordinate, from Manila before even stepping foot on Mindanaon soil to ask if I could make a visit. He said to clear it with my embassy and that I was welcome to drop by. The embassy spokesman initially said fine and informed US soldiers down in Zamboanga that I was flying south. I lost contact with him after Julia Campbell, the American peace corps volunteer who was murdered while hiking on the world famous rice terraces in northern Luzon.
With little time to spare and an elevated desire to photograph the remnants of the fighting around Malik's camp, I rushed down without meeting anyone at the Filipino-run WestMinCom base in Zamboanga. A mistake it turns out.
Julie and I didn't stop by the 104th Brigade till day two. Rafael dodged our request for an interview so I called Supnet and asked him about MNLF integrees, some of whom were fighting the very rebels they once ate rice with. He linked me up with a deputy named Cpt. Sirajan, a former MNLF fighter who joined the AFP after getting tired of earning $10/month from the guerillas and getting bitten by mosquitoes every hour. It wasn't just Sirajan who joined the army he once fought. 7000 other MNLF combatants also grew weary of volunteer revolution and Misuari's poor leadership. Sirajan had a good story, and even drove me around town with two other MNLF integree escorts. We stopped at a detachment managed by Tausug grunts from the Jolo Internal Defense Force (JIDF) where I quickly took pictures, and then boarded a speed boat to travel to a nearby island where other ex-MNLF guys had started a lobster and tuna fishery with USAID money.
On the way there, however, I get a text message from an experienced NGO worker that said I shouldn't trust Sirajan for various reasons which I won't mention here lest he read this.
At any rate, as we get back into town, Sirajan gets a radio call from Rafael who has asked us to report back to camp. I could hear his toe tapping and brow dripping with anger from the port. He sat me down and described in graphic detail what had happened to 7 construction workers. Since I was the only visible foreigner on Jolo without military escorts or guns, Abu Sayyaf apparently considered me a prime catch and would love to drag me thru the jungle for a year. I tried to ask him questions about ASG and the operation against Malik in between his paternalistic rebuke, but he kept on harking about the integrity of my red head.
Out walks Major Kevin Brown and Sgt Rocky Smith who Zamboanga-based Major Redfield asked to coordinate a visit with US troops on Jolo. Brown gently lectured me for another 15 minutes, describing the tense security situation and occasionally deferring to his Filipino counterpart and superior officer every now and then for another round of chastising.
Within 20 minutes I was politely made a persona-non-grata in Jolo and told to leave on the next boat. A French journalist had tried to get in the day before and only lasted 6 hours. Guess three days wasn't bad.
Rafael ordered two military intelligence men to accompany back to my room at Notre Dame University where some freaked out priests and teachers were probably happy to see me leave. I had put my friend Romy Reyes through the same ordeal when I stayed with him back in early 2002. The same thing happened, though back then Col. Aleo said Abu Sayyaf had actually hatched a plan to swipe me from town.
By 1pm I left this tormented island paradise, wondering what the Americans and Filipinos didn't want me to see? I felt muzzled on one hand, but safer on the other. It wasn't wise to stick around there too long. At least 50 Filipino soldiers had been killed while trying to rescue the two American missionaries in 2001. I did not want to put anyone else's life at risk in a possible rescue attempt. A Filipino Marine nearly drowned trying to help me swim across a river with my camera once. I won't risk another man's life again.
But I wonder, given the semi-covert role of US Special Forces and CIA in southwestern Mindanao, as well as tiny parts of the local army who have been lured into the kidnap-for-ransom cottage industry and war profiteering, was there something they didn't want me to find? The Marines already showed me confiscated mortar rounds from Malik's camp which bore US insignia. They themselves were confused about that. Did they know I heard about Sirajan and his sordid past? Are they concerned that I'll write a story about how the Philippine Army calls the shots in Jolo and runs the entire show-from polling during elections to conducting disproportionate warfare to deciding what evacuees get what kind of relief rice and from whom. Hardly. I'd love to, but I couldn't stay there long enough to get concrete proof and sources on record to make a credible report.
In the end, I'm sure it was most likely a genuine concern for my own safety that led to my expulsion. They don't want to send men after me who might potentially return in body bags. I don't want that either. It's not fair to them or their families. Unless they are the ones that take me.
I haven't mentioned it yet, but a Filipino photographer I knew from back in the day was savagely killed while taking photos on the same port where I waited for the boat. His name was Gene Boyd Lumawag. We sang songs and drank beer together several times in Davao City, and even waited countless hours for President Gloria Macapagal Arroyo to show up for a campaign rally. He was a good dude. One theory says that an Abu Sayyaf hitman mistook him for a military spy and shot him in the face. The other theory says his editor had been snooping too deeply into local politics and transparency issues, and the military got scared and sent its own assassin out to silence Gene.
I think it's a combination of both.