Where do we go from here?

By Noralyn Mustafa

ON THE 35TH anniversary of its foundation, the Moro National Liberation Front, or at least a faction of it, believes that the Bangsamoro people have not yet achieved kamahardikaan (freedom, sovereignty), according to Samsula Adju, former chancellor of the Mindanao State University-Sulu.

Adju is an officer of the Sulu Professionals Society, the lead organization in last Tuesday's celebration of what has been called Bangsamoro Freedom Day. It also marks the Jabidah Massacre on Corregidor island on March 18, 1968, which according to founding chair Nur Misuari, gave birth to the MNLF.

"Before (that date) the Muslims in the Philippines were treated like second-class citizens. There were no offices headed by Muslims. We were not recognized in other parts of the world. Because of the MNLF, the world came to know that there were Muslims in Lupah Sug, we were recognized by the OIC (Organization of Islamic Conference)," Adju said over radio dxSM.

March 18 is a special non-working holiday by virtue of an unnumbered proclamation issued by Misuari in 1998 when he was ARMM governor.

The main feature of the day's program was a message from Misuari who is in detention in Santa Rosa, Laguna, while undergoing trial for rebellion after he allegedly ordered the attack on military headquarters and police detachments on Nov. 19, 2001, which resulted in the death of over 100 persons, including civilians.

Adju also said he was "not satisfied with what freedom we have now. Since (the time of) our forefathers, we have to be free. But we cannot do otherwise because we are under the Philippine government as of now, but maybe by the will of Allah and the unity of all of us, in the future we can achieve kamahardikaan."

An insider, however, said that the occasion, which has not been celebrated for the past two years, had been intended to be an anti-Balikatan demonstration, but it was preempted by the announcement that the joint RP-US military training exercises, originally planned to take place in Sulu, would be transferred to another province instead.

Adju's statements, however, raised many disturbing questions among Suluans, who suffered the most from the consequences of the MNLF's "struggle for self-determination."

Thousands lost their lives. Thousands left the province, never to return. Many became impoverished, having lost their homes, property and savings.

None received any reparation in any form.

But the most devastating consequence and the one that had the most far-reaching effect was the depletion of human resources, and capital flight. Almost overnight Sulu underwent what probably no other province in the country has had to suffer, not even as a result of the most catastrophic force of nature: an almost total social transformation.

Like air filling a vacuum, this transformation took place with very little resistance because there was virtually nothing to refer to as a record of past experience, as a basis for continuity. The province had lost its contemporary history; indeed, its very soul.

Landmarks, historical relics and buildings, old residences, official documents, photographs, even heirlooms were lost in the fire or looted.

What had been left of the material evidence of its culture in the countryside was looted and stolen by the military from helpless Tausugs. Truck after truck would return to town, covered by canvass, piled high with brassware, weaponry, handcrafted items like embroidered tadjungs -- anything that caught their fancy, including livestock.

The jewelry, they displayed on their bodies, with the same triumphant aplomb which the Apache Indians wore white men's scalps on their belts.

Yeast-making, molasses production, indigenous food preservation, buras-making (strips of rattan strung together and hand-painted for use as wall-covering), wood-carving, kris and barung blacksmithing-many more-ancient skills that had to be handed down from artisan to apprentice are gone forever because the keepers of such knowledge either died in the crossfire or simply left.

And somewhere along the way of this sorrowful descent, the Tausugs might even have lost some of their dignity.

During the military assault on the province in September 2000, the one person the people of Sulu wanted to see to help them out of their misery was of course the ARMM governor, Nur Misuari.

Arriving in Jolo a month after military operations had ceased, and apparently irked by a radio reporter's comment expressing the constituency's sentiments, Misuari, speaking in Tausug, replied, "Why do I have to be here? I have my deputies here and they know what to do. It's not as if you people have died of starvation."

The MNLF signed a peace accord with the Philippine government on Sept. 2, 1996, with billions in government funds and foreign aid reportedly given to the ARMM to develop the four provinces then comprising the autonomous region.

But Sulu today, with never-ending conflict depleting its creative energy to zero level, and the lack of the most basic requirements to attract investments, remains one of the three poorest provinces in the country. And this apocryphal distinction describes a land that is almost legendary in the richness of its resources, both marine and agricultural, and the not so well-known industry and skill of its people.

After 35 years, with the MNLF splintered into three factions, where do we go from here?

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