Macrohon: Reimagining Mindanao

“DID you bring balut?” Joked the Immigration Officer. I laughed sheepishly and answered no. “Off you go then,” he cheerfully exclaimed, “Welcome to New York City!”

A majestic entrance music played in my head, the exact same one as when Harry Potter stepped in the Great Hall at Hogwarts for the first time. I then hurried past the throngs of foreigners who like me, were queuing for over an hour, eager to get through the gates, and in to the arrival area of JFK International Airport.

There is a consistent exhilaration in overseas travel, especially when visiting places and cultures that are immensely different. Most often, we are pleasantly overwhelmed.

In comparison, I don’t recall the same magnitude of foreigners in NAIA, as that in JFK. It seems an impossible dream to have that kind of crowd in my hometown’s airport in Zamboanga. After all, no substantial number of foreigners would want to spend precious time and resources in order to gallivant in a city with a range of issues: from eternal power outages, to terrible traffic conditions exacerbated by poor public transport, to unstable peace and order.

On January 30, past midnight, a grenade was thrown in a mosque in one of my hometown’s biggest communities. The location is within close proximity to the city center. Two preachers were killed by the blast in the sacred mosque, while three others were wounded.

Three days prior, during a Sunday Catholic worship, a cathedral in Jolo, Sulu— only three and half hours away by ferry from Zamboanga-- was desecrated by two bombings. The incident cost the lives of at least 21 locals and wounded over 100 more. While these atrocities in Zamboanga and Jolo are gruesome, they are also sadly and regrettably not new in Mindanao.

Almost fourteen thousand kilometers away, at 30 Rockefeller Plaza’s observatory, the troubles that torment Mindanao are distant and irrelevant. The skyscrapers of Manhattan, the bright, flashy LED screens at Times Square, the centuries-old, well-preserved museums and heritage buildings, Central Parl: this sprawling urban landscape manifesting social and cultural progress is an entirely different world. New York seems to be in another dimension; oblivious to the realities on ours.

While New Yorkers waste no time every day to get to their day’s work, surviving and thriving, Patikul, Sulu locals were forced to move out and relocate in order to give way for a military offense against the perpetrators of the cathedral bombings. Over three hundred families were removed from their homes. They had no choice.

In Mindanao, this is a familiar narrative—insurgency unfolding, violence breaking out, wars erupting, displacements happening. Many of those living below the poverty threshold in, such as the 74.3% residents of Lanao del Sur, do not and will probably never know a better life and that a congenial reality.

Our current circumstances are by-products of history, made complicated by the greed and abuse of a few who are in positions of authority and influence. These and other myriad factors make various so-called sustainable and long-lasting solutions seem cliché.

I was in third grade when Ipil was attacked. In my third year in high school, a village, where some of my schoolmates are from, was raided. When working in Makati City after college, a three-week, violent, stand-off back home crippled the entire city and displaced thousands. There have also been bombings, shooting incidents and kidnappings in between.

Although this paints a grim picture, the situation is much worse, and oftentimes, incomparable in many other rural parts of Mindanao.

There have been countless interventions but they seem to be ineffective. This time, it’s Zamboanga and Jolo, next time, another city. Places of worship—a cathedral and mosque—have been terrorized. Schools have been occupied before as well. Are there any safe places left?

The only thing worse than the unending conflict is that even within Mindanao, it can be distant and irrelevant for those not directly impacted by it. One does not need to be in Top of the Rock to feel unaffected by the situation. There will always be no sense of solidarity unless our sense of normalcy is threatened. I know this from experience.

But understandably, the reality is daunting and many issues are way beyond our control. While we may see through the statistics as reported in the media, as not merely numbers but lives, hopes and dreams shattered, our foremost concerns will always be the ones that are personal and pragmatic.

Imagine though, our international airports in Mindanao, constantly full of excited foreigners. Imagine Zamboanga in the west, connected by railway to General Santos, Cagayan de Oro and Butuan in the center, to as far as Davao in the east. Imagine skyscrapers in downtown Jolo or Tawi-Tawi, amid the exquisite and historic mosques and the rich heritage of the Sulu Sultanate marrying progress and tradition.

Imagine Marawi State University, teeming with local and foreign scholars, and transformed to be a cradle of knowledge delving in the ancient and proud history of the Moro people and pre-colonial Philippines.

Imagine an empowered diversity, who make life decisions not based on fear and the instability of their birthplace but by the determination to achieve the universal aspirations—education, financial security and fulfillment—not New York or elsewhere but instead here, in this island.

Imagine conveying this vision of hope to the most forsaken, convincing them of this possibility and committing a helping hand.

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