Rebels of Mindanao

by Tom Anthony

  “I will be occupied with more important matters. I will organize the elections, and be elected.” Kumander Ali continued. “Mahir, you will safeguard the money to be certain I win. I will name the polling places and appoint our representatives at each place to collect the ballots and to pay those who vote. Each man on our list will receive an American ten-dollar bill as he leaves the voting place. That is more than a week’s wages for most of them, if any had work before. Women will not vote, of course; and the men not on our list will be talked to and discouraged, or rather explained the realities of living in their villages after the election with our men mixed together with them. And we must get the men back to their villages, away from our camps, as soon as we achieve one decisive military action in the field. We cannot support them very long, but our troops must think we can. That is why we will give each voter real money, dollars that circulate freely in their world, so the men will vote.”

  “I thought my duty was done when I delivered the money to you. Now you are trusting me to give it all away for you.” Mahir said. “I expected to be leaving tomorrow.” Mahir was still debating his options, looking for Ali to say something that would make his decision to stay easier.

  “You will get a great reward; now, here, back in your home, and in paradise. I have already confirmed to Sheik Kemal that you have done your job. I had a man go to the Internet café in the village and send an e-mail to him. He has acknowledged receipt. Now this you do for Allah. Not for personal vanity, but to stop starvation, not just for this one time but for the future. When we win the election, this huge fruit farm called Mindanao will belong to us. We will feed the people, and we will be rich ourselves, not the Chinese of Davao or the Tagalog of Manila, not the Jew or the American. The wealth of the land will belong to us. As the Emir of Mindanao, I will assign to you personally the rights to all of Europe for the export of the fruits of this land, the fruit of our victory. We will construct a new port in Cotobato City, and I will own that port personally.” Kumander Ali had not really thought out a national development plan to be implemented after their anticipated victory. He was creating it as he spoke; the ideas seemed to come to him directly from Allah.

  As the leaders debated, more wet and exhausted troops straggled into Itig village to join the NPA. They needed rest and food after the long distances they had moved on foot during the last week. The NPA would have to establish a more permanent headquarters than they had in the triangle. Many more recruits would be moving in from Agusan and the Moro territories around Lake Lanao, and Kumander Ali would need to find a place for them.

  From the position he had staked out for himself, Mahir watched at least seventy new men, with their wives, kids and pigs, who had set up shelters in the area around the radio station. About half had guns, the others carried a bolo of some sort. In his new role as exchequer for the NPA, he had the authority to pass out some of the pesos he had obtained at the bank in Bual. He gave each man a hundred pesos and a few pesos to some of the soldiers’ wives to buy rice. They would surely remember when it came time to vote.

  Two men came in from the jungle, carrying between them and lashed upside down on a pole a medium-sized male monkey, the whites of his eyes twinkling brilliant in the dusk. They made a fire while the monkey watched, terrified, head turning quickly back and forth, still tied to the stick, now stuck upright in the ground. When the fire died down to a bed of coals, they disemboweled the monkey, but retained the head on the carcass because the brains would be a delicacy of good eating after all the hair burned off and the body was roasted, the meat tasting sweet, the skin crispy. Some Muslims were invited to join the group but all refused tactfully, citing their religious taboos. Since more than enough goats were available to feed everybody well, nobody went hungry.

  The armed camp grew quiet. Mist began to rise off the ground and the rich aroma of cooked meat hung amid the sounds of sleep. The New Peoples Army was ready.

  30

  Buluwan

  Lake Buluwan is a shallow inland lake, a depression on a plateau filled by muddy streams running out of the surrounding mountains and rimmed by swampland on the three lower sides sloping away from mountains lesser than Mount Apo. Apo, literally “Honored One” in the Visayan dialect, dominates the topography of southwestern Mindanao as Fujiyama does central Japan. Apo rules his land.

  Colonel Reginald Liu’s Task Force Davao would again engage the NPA, now settling in a few miles to the north, but this time a reinforced and reorganized force would exploit the expected victory. Liu had been inspecting his troops at dawn when he was called to the telephone line he had hard-wired into the command post. It was Martin Galan, calling from Manila. Liu was able to report his limited success in the field. Galan listened to the entire report, then said, “Reggie, you have to do more, opposition to our president is growing in the senate, and the United States is pulling back from giving unconditional support. They say they are our allies, but their president has his own problems with global terrorism, and the American voters are tired of the casualty reports coming in from Iraq. Their ambassador has informed me the U.S. can only guarantee new military aid if we demonstrate that we can win the conflict that is now going on in the field, and win big, soon. They won’t trickle in more aid if we get into a stalemate.”

  “Yes, sir, I hear you. But the insurgency of the Bangsomoro communists has gone on for a long time, and the Americans know all about it.” Liu questioned his boss, “How can they expect us to change history overnight? What’s new?”

  “What’s new, Reggie, is that we have all run out of time. The electorates of both countries don’t understand what you’re up against out there in the field. Now listen to me, you get this revolution ended immediately, and then report back to me so I can take positive news to the president and congress. And don’t take this the wrong way. I’m not angry with you, but don’t call me back with bad news. The rebels are in your area. Get to them and take them out!”

  “As I told you before, I will need more troops and artillery, you know. I am already chasing a huge force that far outnumbers my one battalion of troops. You want miracles tomorrow, try sending reinforcements today!”

  “I did.” Galan replied. “They’re on the way now. More than a colonel normally commands, but you will still be the overall commander of the task force.” It was a significant commitment from the National Security Advisor to put Liu in command of a much larger force.

  “I fully understand, Martin. And thanks.” Liu did not often use Galan’s first name in formal communication.

  “Good luck, Reggie.” Galan recognized in his comrade’s tone their sharing of mutual trust, and closed quietly with, “Until we meet again.” Colonel Liu had his marching orders.

  Leaving his command post a few hours later, he saw white thunder-heads billowing high above the horizon, a sign of the rainstorm certain to drench them in the afternoon when the bright day dulled. A jeep approached the command post, driving up the highway. Behind it, canvas-covered trucks towing artillery pieces came into view. The lead jeep stopped.

  The officer riding shotgun addressed Liu, “Lieutenant Colonel De la Rosa reporting, sir.” Salutes were exchanged. “Where should we deploy?” The reinforcements promised by Galan were moving in.

  “North of Lake Buluwan and east of this highway—where you can cover the area from Mount Apo to Itig,” Liu instructed the commander of the 3rd Battalion, 21st Field Artillery of the AFP. He stood tall by the highway with his hands on his hips as three batteries of 105mm Howitzers, eighteen pieces of light artillery, were pulled north.

  While Liu was admiring the last of the artillery units, another jeep bounced forward over the ruts, and Liu was soon instructing a full colonel of infantry to follow De la Rosa’s into positions adjacent to the artillery. Although they were both full colonels, the infantry commander had saluted Liu first and called him sir. They both knew who was in charge of whatever was going to happen next; Galan obviously had sent the message through channels that this was
Liu’s show. Sweat began to soak through the underarms of his uniform, and it was more than the heat of the day that caused his perspiration.

  Liu felt his spirits rise. With bigger authority came bigger responsibilities—and bigger opportunities for success. He started to cross the road, then fell back to watch the rest of the infantry brigade move forward, some in trucks, most on foot. Altogether, over a thousand armed soldiers would be in the infantry brigade that Liu would have available to him. During the next twenty-four hours, two more infantry brigades checked in, their commanders reporting to Liu, and were assigned positions farther north, near the highway, with logistical tails running back to the port of General Santos City. Liu was in command of a force exceeding a full division of infantry, reinforced, and he ended the day walking among his new troops, his insignia of rank unnoticed in the dark.

  The sun rises quickly near the equator. The early rays of the new day’s sun reflected off the polished steel breech locks of the artillery pieces when the crews opened them for Colonel Liu’s morning inspection. He trooped the line of six of the howitzers with their crews lined up and at silent attention in their positions. He went on to visit two more batteries and then the adjacent headquarters of the infantry brigades.

  He was pleased at the quiet efficiency of the newly arrived units. Boxes of ammunition were stacked within a few steps of the howitzers, and beside each stack two rounds were already out of the ammo boxes, the brass-tipped detonators shimmering in the sun, ready to ignite their explosive centers on target. During his inspection tours, the only sounds were the peaceful bells of a Catholic church calling its congregation to early morning Mass and the slow wail of an imam’s chant in Arabic, broadcast from speakers wired into the turret of a mosque in the same village, a village where Christians and Muslims had lived in peace for centuries until both factions began to get help from foreigners.

  The commander had asked the leaders of his subordinate units to meet him in the mess tent for breakfast. Major Hayes was already there—it seemed to Colonel Liu that the American officer was always around his headquarters—and his own officers filled the tent. When he sat down in front of the large map and a blackboard, he told his officers to relax and to smoke with their coffees, if they wished.

  Having arrived early, Major Hayes had a good seat, away from the smokers and beside Colonel Liu’s chair. Before the Colonel started the meeting, Hayes took him aside, “Colonel, I have news. Our intelligence has discovered that the main NPA force has relocated out of the triangle and moved into Itig village.”

  Liu was silent for a moment while it sunk in. “Hum. Logical. They want to use the radio station, so they’ll need to defend it, to put their headquarters there. It will be a nice target, easy for my artillery to determine the exact coordinates.”

  Liu stood up to address the officers, but when Radio Free Mindanao began the news on the half hour he turned up the volume and tuned in the rogue station so they could all hear.

  The commentator reported, “The combined power of the Abu Sayaf with our friends the MNLF have joined forces with our brothers of the NPA, and all those who accept the true God and will declare their faith in public on election day. They will be the ones who will share the riches of our new nation. Together we will drive the foreign soldiers out of Mindanao. Thirty days from today elections will be held in your village. Vote for your voice in the new Islamic Republic of Mindanao. Our legislature will convene in Zamboanga City on the tenth day after that, our new nation, Enshallah, will no longer pay taxes to others. And what we can change in the Philippines; others can change in the world.” The announcer went on to explain the rationale; if the U.S. could invade Iraq and call elections, then the Abu Sayaf and their local supporters, now growing in number, could call elections in Mindanao.

  The Itig radio station held by the NPA had announced, in effect, independence from the Republic of the Philippines, and amplified their proclamation with this shocking call to elections. A copy of the broadcast would be on its way electronically to Manila within the minute, and copies would also be sent directly to General Hargens and Charlie Downs in Washington. Twelve time zones from Mindanao in either direction, the Chairman of the U.S. Joint Chiefs of Staff would hear it on his way to the Pentagon from his home in Fairfax Station, Virginia. It would get to the Oval Office, and the president would not be happy. In America, the turmoil would cause critics to question the direction the president was taking his nation. “Why is he getting us involved in another Iraq?” they would question. The Mindanao war could contribute to regime change in more than one country.

  For the next hour, Liu listened to the recommendations of the other officers as they discussed various alternatives and courses of action. “We don’t know exactly what we’re up against at Itig, but it’s big and getting bigger,” Liu continued his briefing. “Before we finalize our plan and commit our main force to combat, Captain Bautista, get together a patrol of experienced men and probe the area around the radio station. Move toward the center of the NPA encampment without starting a real engagement. Approach as close as you can, determine the strength of their forces, fire some rounds at likely targets, and report what you get fired back at you.”

  Hayes turned to Liu. “I see by the number of new troops and artillery that you have chosen the second option.”

  Colonel Liu let him guess. “Which is?”

  “You’ve massed your firepower; you’re going for the big kill.”

  Liu answered him briefly, as he would be laying out his strategy in a few minutes to his staff in any case. “You got it. No more playing around. After almost forty years, their time is past,” referring to his NPA enemy. “This will be the last time they celebrate the anniversary of their founding.”

  Then Hayes made his request tactfully. “I’d like to see your men in action on this one.”

  “OK with me, Major, but stay out of the way. You’re already a nice, big target, so don’t become a nice big problem, if you know what I mean.” Liu had other things to worry about.

  Against Liu’s advice, Hayes decided to go along on Captain Bautista’s patrol. As it turned out, he should have listened to the colonel.

  31

  Death and Virtue

  Mahir and Kumander Ali entered a house beside a crudely constructed communal basketball court in the center of Itig town. They stood on the open-sided, raised platform porch comfortably shaded by a thatched roof of woven anahaw leaves. From their elevation they could see the intersection below them where a heavily traveled footpath crossed the road leading up a slight incline into Itig. With binoculars, Ali observed two of Liu’s scouts standing near their jeep at the intersection, looking in the town’s direction.

  After a few minutes, a jeep appeared to pick up the scouts and return to their headquarters in time for their meal and to report that there was a straight, open avenue of approach leading directly to the radio station.

  Squatting on the porch, the two NPA leaders spoke in English, the common denominator for communication. They both knew that the Philippine army would soon be coming after them and the radio station. “Brother Mahir, I trust you to protect the station while I am meeting with the tribal leaders. I have to get them started back to their villages with the money to pay the voters before election day,” Ali told Mahir.

  Mahir had achieved the mission he was paid to do—deliver the money to the leaders—but he had been offered a chance to accomplish much more and to embarrass the Philippine government and their foreign allies as a side benefit. The idea appealed to him, and he had his opportunity to commit to jihad, to gain favor with Allah. He had come a long way to leave too soon, so he had accepted Ali’s order to lead a unit made up of recently recruited members of the NPA.

  Mahir had begun to believe in a greater moral mission. Kumander Ali was vocal in his condemnation of the Philippine president for his personal support of the PSI, the Proliferation Security Initiative. The current president and recent ones before him had unintentionally justified
the cause of the insurrection by involving foreign nations in their earlier negotiations with the MNLF and NPA. What happened in Mindanao was none of the business of the foreign capitalists. Mahir wondered how America would react if Russian paratroopers jumped into Arizona to enforce the rights of native American Indians? Now the ironic result of Manila’s request for foreigners to help them fight their own countrymen would be the launching of a movement whose inevitable climax would be the achievement of an independent Mindanao.

  After Ali retired inside the hut, Mahir found Lateef, who was trying to charge his cell phone, but there was no electricity in the village this week. Lateef was privy to Kumander Ali’s ideas and intentions, and Mahir wanted to sound him out. With Lateef were three of his long-time followers, telling obscene jokes about Ugly Maria, how she looked and how she died. Lateef wanted them to change the subject and asked them for ideas about how to collect more revenue after they had control of the province. One of the men suggested burning buses that were engaged in intercity transportation; after a few buses were burned—they would let the passengers out first, of course—the bus companies would agree to pay revolutionary taxes that the new NPA government would levy on each trip, to be collected in cash from the driver at checkpoints. It was a solid plan, the man thought. For certain, Lateef needed cash to support his three wives and their extended families down through second cousins; he was the patriarch, and none of them had ever worked for pay. He and the cause could use extra revenue in the future, after the Syrian investment capital had been spent on the election. Lateef supported the suggestion, and added, “To collect revolutionary taxes, I recommend we blow up some of the heavy equipment of the international mining companies working in the Compostela Valley. That will get them to pay quickly.” The strategists turned to quiet contemplation.