I gathered this small but important bit of information from Mangudadatu himself when he guested in the December 16, 2009 edition of the Club 888 Forum at The Marco Polo, Davao. He mentioned it almost in passing, as if it weren’t so important, but my ears caught it because of the connection it made between the administration and the Ampatuan clan.

Mangudadatu (right) at the Club 888 Forum with forum moderator Tony Ajero (left)

Mangudadatu was detailing the events that preceded the November 23, 2009 Maguindanao massacre, and he told of receiving reports of how the Ampatuan men — led by the governor himself — met a few nights before and planned the mass murder. “The old man was the mastermind,” he said. Governor Ampatuan had wanted the candidacy of his son, Andal Jr., to go uncontested, he said, and the old man would do anything to get rid of any upstart who would actually want to run for governor.

But before actually plotting the murders, Ampatuan coursed his frustration through several channels, including Teodoro. The problem was that Mangudadatu, himself no pushover since his clan is also influential, would not back out and was determined to run for the post.

And so it was that he found himself at the office of Teodoro on July 8, 2009. The topic was his candidacy, and that Andal Sr., a staunch ally of the administration, wanted him to forget the idea. The two prospective candidates — Andal Jr. and Toto — both belonged to the administration party (Lakas-Kampi-CMD), and it would be detrimental to the party for both of them to run for the same post.

I asked Mangudadatu if Teodoro asked him directly to back out, and he said no. “He could not do that because we were on the same side (Magkakampi kami).” But he also said he told Teodoro that he wanted merely to exercise a right that all Filipinos have: to run for public office. “I told him that no one can prevent another person from running for office,” he said. “I told him I must exercise my individual right to run.” In other words, the pressure from Teodoro to give up his ambition of becoming governor of Maguindanao was there, just that Mangudadatu would not buckle under it.

Why is this detail important? Because it was Teodoro brokering a deal between the two parties, accepting both as important elements of the ruling coalition. It was also Teodoro who was giving voice to Governor Ampatuan’s demand that he back out of the race, expressing to Mangudadatu what the old man’s wishes were.

Photo by Dann Pantoja

But when the massacre occurred, Teodoro was among the first persons not only to condemn the killings but also to practically declare the Ampatuans guilty of the crime. Just two days after the massacre, he had the governor, the junior, and another son — ARMM Governor Zaldy Ampatuan — expelled from the party without due process and without waiting for any investigation to be conducted properly. He even went with Mangudadatu when the latter filed his certificate of candidacy (pictured at the top of this page, photo from Sarangani Information Office). Teodoro rode on the prevalent sentiment against the Ampatuans and made sure he was on the right side of public opinion.

It was as if he was too eager to shake off his association with the Ampatuans, and rightly so: as a Presidential candidate, he could not afford to be linked to a clan accused of the worst act of election-related violence in the country’s history. And a link there certainly was: Teodoro was Defense Secretary during the time the Ampatuans allegedly amassed their huge firearms cache and strengthened their private armies. He may not have had a direct hand in creating a monster, but he had command responsibility over it.Random Posts:

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“I was surprised because there were a lot bodyguards,” Fr. Alejo told me at Freedom Park this morning right after a simple candle-lighting ceremony (pictured; Fr. Alejo is at left, Toto Mangudadatu is at center in this photo by Bing Gonzales of the Mindanao Daily Mirror) to commemorate the first month of the November 23, 2009 Maguindanao massacre. “It was Toy who was waiting for me.”

Toy would be ARMM Assemblyman Toy Khadafeeh Mangudadatu, younger brother of Buluan, Maguindanao Vice Mayor Esmael “Toto” Mangudadatu. Fr. Alejo said that was the first time he met a member of the Mangudadatu family.

What did Toy want, I asked, and Fr. Alejo said Toy — and later Toto himself by cell phone — told him the vice mayor was going to go ahead and file his certificate of candidacy at the Commission on Election in Sharif Aguak, Maguindanao. “They said they knew they were going to be killed by the Ampatuans, but they had decided and they were determined. They would not back down.”

Fr. Alejo said this was the backdrop against which Toto’s wife Genalin, his two sisters, and 55 others — 30 of them journalists — made their journey from Buluan to Sharif Aguak just three days later. “It was a conscious decision,” he said, “calculated to avoid violence.” They knew of the threat but they went on anyway, and the supreme irony was that the trip intended to prevent bloodshed ended in one of the worst acts of violence the world had ever seen.

“They were martyrs for peace and democracy,” he said. “All 58 of them. They were doing something that was ordinary in a democracy, the filing of a certificate of candidacy.” But they paid the ultimate price for it.

This is how Fr. Alejo wants all of us to remember the event of November 23. It wasn’t just a massacre but the creation of 58 martyrs, people who made a decision for peace and democracy and paid for it with their lives. May we all be worthy of their sacrifice.Random Posts:

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Interestingly, the poem Fr. Alejo had recited on the night that Toy Mangudadatu had come to see him was “Sanayan Lang Ang Pagpatay.”  Here’s the full text:

Sanayan Lang Ang Pagpatay
(Para sa sektor nating pumapatay ng tao)
ni Paring Bert Alejo, SJ

Pagpatay ng tao? Sanayan lang ‘yan pare.
Parang sa butiki. Sa una siyempre
Ikaw’y nangingimi. Hindi mo masikmurang
Tiradurin o hampasing tulad ng ipis o lamok
Pagkat para bang lagi ‘yang nakadapo
Sa noo ng santo sa altar
At tila may tinig na nagsasabing
Bawal bawal bawal ‘yang pumatay.
Subalit tulad lang ng maraming bagay
Ang pagpatay ay natututuhan din kung magtitiyaga
Kang makinig sa may higit na karanasan.
Nakuha ko sa tiyuhin ko kung paanong balibagin ng tsinelas
O pilantikin ng lampin ang nakatitig na butiki sa aming kisame
At kapag nalaglag na’t nagkikikisay sa sahig
Ay agad ipitin nang hindi makapuslit
Habang dahan-dahang tinitipon ang buong bigat
Sa isang paang nakatingkayad: sabay bagsak.

Magandang pagsasanay ito sapagkat
Hindi mo nakikita, naririnig lamang na lumalangutngot
Ang buo’t bungo ng lintik na butiking hindi na makahalutiktik.
(kung sa bagay, kilabot din ‘yan sa mga gamu-gamo.)
Nang magtagal-tagal ay naging malikhain na rin
Ang aking mga kamay sa pagdukit ng mata,
Pagbleyd ng paa, pagpisa ng itlog sa loob ng tiyan
Hanggang mamilipit ‘yang parang nasa ibabaw ng baga.
O kung panahon ng Pasko’t maraming paputok
Maingat kong sinusubuan ‘yan ng rebentador
Upang sa pagsabog ay magpaalaman ang nguso at buntot.
(Ang hindi ko lamang maintindihan ay kung bakit
Patuloy pa rin ‘yang nadaragdagan.)

Kaya’t ang pagpatay ay nakasasawa rin kung minsan.
Mabuti na lamang at nakaluluwag ng loob
Ang pinto at bintanang kahit hindi mo sinasadya
At may paraan ng pagpuksa ng buhay.
Ganyang lang talaga ang pagpatay:
Kung hindi ako ay iba naman ang babanat;
Kung hindi ngayon ay sa iba namang oras.
Subalit ang higit na nagbibigay sa akin ng lakas ng loob
Ay ang malalim nating pagsasamahan:
Habang ako’y pumapatay, kayo nama’y nanonood.

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Let me start by going straight to the end of the interview: by the time we were over, I was feeling a little overwhelmed by the enormity of the problems we face as a nation. A feeling of pessimism crept up on me, the sense that no mater what we do — and no matter how much we  say that every little bit counts — we mere mortals can’t really effect change because those who have the money and the power will do all they can to thwart us.

But life must go on, and when we stood up after the interview I regained my sense that the future is worth fighting for and that, as Romans 8:28 promises, in all things God works for the good of those who love him. We were put here on earth for a purpose, and while it may seem that the ungodly are winning now, their end is actually destruction (see Philippians 3:19 and Psalm 73).

My colleague and I talked for about an hour, and I’d like to share some of the things we discussed. Here, in no particular order — and as much as I can remember — were the things she asked and how I answered. The following is heavily paraphrased, however, since I cannot reconstruct the entire conversation from memory:

1. What did you feel when I learned about the Maguindanao massacre

I was angry, and I was downhearted. I didn’t know any of the victims on a personal level, but I already knew at the time that some of them were journalists. It wasn’t until a few days later that we learned that the number of journalists in the massacre was 30 — with one missing — which was more than half the number of the victims. I immediately knew, without having to verify, that that was the single worst attack on journalists in history anywhere in the world, and I knew that any doubt about the Philippines being the most dangerous place for journalists was erased that day.

2. Are you now concerned about your safety?

Up to that time we journalists had thought that while our job was dangerous, we could at least count on our being observers as a shield against violence. Even the journalists who had been assassinated over the years were more or less  targeted for something specific they had done or reported on. But the 30 reporters who were with the convoy on their way to Sharif Aguak were only covering an event, something  all journalists do on a regular basis. To our knowledge they weren’t shot because of anything they had written about or reported on: they were killed simply because they were there, and so that, as one witness said, they could not report on what happened.

Whether we like it or not, and whether we believe it or not, a precedent has already been set. That is why it is so important to resolve this case and punish the guilty. If this goes unsolved, then other people would be further emboldened and continue to attack journalists. They know they won’t get punished. That is what the word impunity means, and that is why we rile against it.

3. Are you concerned for your safety even here in Davao City?

I think the events of the past weeks have dispelled the illusion that journalists are safe here in Davao City. The massacre was one incident; add to that the discovery that cocaine was being smuggled through our ports under the noses of the authority and all notion that we are protected goes up in smoke. We are not as secure as we had believed. Armed groups can easily come and stage attacks. Remember that we have a very long shoreline, and it’s very easy to smuggle in anything through them. The authorities have always denied this, but last week’s drug bust in the Maersk compound tells us that they’re not on top of the situation. They’re not on top of anything.

4. You’re originally from Manila, and you still have family there. What did they tell you when they learned of the Maguindanao massacre?

They were concerned for us, of course. Last week I went to General Santos City with my wife and daughter just to visit since I was on leave from work, and when my sisters learned about it from my Facebook status they asked immediately what I was going to do there. I had to assure them that I was just taking a break and our trip had nothing to do with the fact that many of the victims of the massacre were from GenSan.

5. Are you considering moving out of Davao City?

No! I still believe Davao City is the best place in the country in which to raise a family. There are many problems here, and like I said, the illusion of absolute safety has been dispelled for me, but it is still much safe here than in Manila. Here you know which places to avoid, but in Manila your next-door neighbor can be your murderer. And over there you can be shot dead over a simple traffic altercation.

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I had wanted to keep this weekend light for JamBayan, but the developments in Maguindanao dashed all hopes of that. I got wind of the declaration of martial law in Maguindanao Province around 1:15 a.m. on December 5, and even though it was an ungodly hour I sent a text to Secretary Jesus Dureza, Presidential Adviser on Mindanao, asking him to confirm it. I guess he was asleep because his reply did not come until exactly 6:34 a.m.:

“Jon, just saw ur txt. No info on dat. Lets wait. Those decisions are made n d highest level. Am here now n dvo.”

We now know, of course, that less than an hour later Executive Secretary Eduardo Ermita would give a press conference confirming that President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo had indeed declared martial law in Maguindanao through Proclamation 1959.

Now I don’t care how allegedly necessary it was to place the province under military rule, the term “martial law” just distresses me. I was six years old when then-President Ferdinand Marcos placed the entire country under martial law on September 21, 1972, and being a kid I couldn’t really understand what was happening. All I knew was that the grown-ups appeared to be afraid of something, and there was this thing called a karpyu that was frightening them out of their wits and forcing them to come home early. I pictured this karpyu as a monster that prowled the city at night, attacking those who happen to be still out. It was a little later that I realized that the word was “curfew.”

I have heard a number of people say martial law was necessary in Maguindanao because the government could not arrest the prime suspects — members of the powerful Ampatuan clan — in the November 23 massacre any other way. But when I heard the news my brain automatically rushed back to 1986-1987 and recalled that the framers of the new constitution had wanted to place safeguards so that no President could impose martial law in order to perpetuate himself (or herself) in power as Marcos had done.

I googled the 1987 Constitution and, sure enough, this is what Section 18 of Article VII says:

“In case of invasion or rebellion, when the public safety requires it, he may, for a period not exceeding sixty days, suspend the privilege of the writ of habeas corpus or place the Philippines or any part thereof under martial law.”

The rest of Section 18 does not give any other reason for the imposition of martial law: it may only be declared in case of invasion or rebellion. Was there an invasion or a rebellion in Maguindanao? I don’t think anyone is buying Justice Secretary Agnes Devanadera’s statement that government “noticed and observed that there was a rebellion in the offing.” A rebellion is not something one “notices” or “observes.” It is something one is confronted with, an in-your-face uprising that requires an immediate military response.

Senators Noynoy Aquino and Mar Roxas — two men who obviously have a political reason for everything they say these days — nevertheless came up with some very valid points in their joint statement regarding the declaration of martial law in Maguindanao. They say there is “no additional advantage to having a martial law regime – legally and militarily.”

“It does not strengthen the position of government to serve justice to the victims of the massacre. The declaration of martial law can even lead to changing the character of the crimes committed in Maguindanao:

1. The crimes allegedly committed are murder, rape, kidnapping and more. These capital crimes are non-bailable. In a state of martial law, these common crimes may be absorbed into the single crime of rebellion.

2. Except for its leaders, supporters of the rebellion are bailable. And worse, all those charged with rebellion may be subject to amnesty. Are they laying the basis for a political solution to the crimes committed?

3. The other offenses of rape and mutilation are aggravating for a case of multiple murders which results in maximum penalties. These would be overtaken by the absorption into rebellion.

4. The only difference is 36 hours – presently an accused must be charged with capital offenses within 1 ½ days. Under martial law the accused must be charged within 3 days but only with the lesser crime of rebellion. Does this 36-hour difference provide sufficient substantial advantage to justify the imposing of martial law?”

They also pointed out that President Arroyo “need not declare martial law” because:

“She could have swiftly ordered that charges be filed against all those who carried out the lawless orders allegedly of Mayor Andal Ampatuan Jr.

She could have directed that all those charged be preventively suspended.

She could have ensured the filing of non-bailable charges like multiple murder and allowed the succession of local officials under the Local Government Code take effect.”

They closed their statement with an appeal to their colleagues to follow the Constitution and “come together immediately and ascertain the validity of this imposition.” That is, however, becoming less and less probable given that the Speaker of the House, Davao City’s own Rep. Prospero Nograles, has already said there is “no need to convene Congress” because most of its members agree with the President’s decision.

“Joint session [is] needed only if Congress wants to revoke the decision. It’s not needed to go into joint session if we agree with the President,” Nograles said.

Begging your pardon, Mr. Speaker, but the Constitution requires you to convene within 48 hours of the imposition of martial law. If you do not do so, you will not only be breaking the law but you will be setting a precedent for Mrs. Arroyo and future Presidents to follow. They would know they can impose martial law without Congress raising a hoot, and that’s an extremely dangerous thing.Random Posts:

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He was, of course, referring to the name being used to refer to the November 23, 2009 murder of 57 people in Ampatuan, Maguindanao. The media (and almost everyone else) call it the “Maguindanao massacre,” but Delgra — and I guess the IBP — prefer to call it the “Ampatuan massacre.” I’ve also heard this argument from several people, notably Bobby Timonera of MindaNews who, in one Facebook entry, enjoined his friends:

“Everybody, let’s start calling it AMPATUAN MASSACRE, ok? After all, it happened in a place called Ampatuan in Maguindanao. We call it ‘Iligan bombing’ if something explodes in Iligan, righ? Not Lanao bombing.”

Nor, I may add, do we call the infamous “Lipa massacre” the “Batangas massacre,” or the “Antipolo massacre” the “Rizal massacre.”

“There is no intention to drag the names of the accused, but it just so happened that it was committed in the town of Ampatuan in Maguindanao,” Delgra tells reporters.

But I’m not so sure this applies to the massacre in Ampatuan, Maguindanao. It is one thing to be accurate about our labels, especially since Mindanao itself is victim to generalizations and stereotypes, quite another to affix a family’s name to the massacre and practically accuse them of it with each telling of the story. Because that is what most people, especially those unfamiliar with Maguindanao, will think when they read “Ampatuan massacre”: not knowing that there is such a town called Ampatuan, they will conclude that the name refers to the family.

I talked with my fellow editor about this and we at the Mindanao Daily Mirror will stick to “Maguindanao massacre.” But we also won’t edit out statements and interviews that refer to it as the “Ampatuan massacre.” As Mindanaoans, we certainly appreciate the desire to be accurate about the label. Calling it the “Maguindanao massacre” unfairly and unnecessarily drags the entire province into the mess. We feel the same way when so-called national media refer to Mindanao as “war-torn” and “lawless.”

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SECOND UPDATE: NUJP’s final  list of media casualties at the end of the article.

Someone on Facebook asked why people — we journalists, specifically — are saying, “Stop killing journalists” when it should, under the circumstances, be, “Stop killing” – period. That made me think, and I had to admit to myself that in the current case (the “Maguindanao massacre” or, as some colleagues insist, the “Ampatuan massacre” since it happened in the town of Ampatuan), we should really be condemning the fact that innocent people, regardless of their professions, were killed in such a gruesome manner.

If anything, the cry ought to be, “Stop killing women” since many of the victims, including two lawyers and a number of reporters, were women. Buluan Vice Mayor Esmael Mangudadatu had tasked his wife Genalyn as well as two sisters of his to go to the Commission on Election (Comelec) office in Shariff Aquak to file his Certificate of Candidacy (COC) for governor. He had thought that the people who had threatened to harm him if he insisted on filing his candidacy would be good Muslims and not touch the women, but he was wrong.

The killers disregarded the Koranic injunction not to harm women and proceeded to slaughter them; according to some reports, the women were even raped before they were killed. Just how barbaric the killings were were articulated by Vice Mayor Mangudadatu himself, who said his wife was “shot in the mouth, her eyes pierced, her breasts also shot, her legs mutilated, and her private part slashed four times.”

I’ve heard some people blame the vice mayor for the women’s deaths because he had deliberately placed them in harm’s way, but really, who would have thought the killers would be so inhuman? Mangudadatu had obviously intended to confound his enemies by using women as his emissaries to the Comelec, but the beasts responded by doing the unthinkable.

The vehicle of UNTV. Photo courtesy of Dann Pantoja of Peacebuilders Community, Inc.

Unfortunately, the unthinkable was also done to reporters who were brought in to cover the filing of Mangudadatu’s COC. It was an event — after all, he was going to go up against the acknowledged leader of Maguindanao — and as such the journalists were there on legitimate coverage. The vice mayor had also obviously thought his enemies would not try anything because the media were watching, but he was wrong.

If the alleged witness in the carnage is to be believed, then the journalists were also killed “so that no one would talk about the incident.” Which brings me back to the Facebook user’s comment I had mentioned at the beginning of this article. Why do we say “Stop killing journalists,” as if journalists were the only victims of the massacre? I am not justifying it, but I need to say that as a profession, journalists are one of the most targeted groups in the Philippines for attacks. The latest data from the National Union of Journalists of the Philippines (NUJP) show that 104 journalists have been killed since 1986. The worst part is that practically none of the killings have been solved — not to the extent that the masterminds, not just the paid gunmen, were caught and imprisoned.

This is the fear that we journalists have in the Maguindanao massacre. Government claims there will be no sacred cows in the investigation and that the perpetrators will be brought to justice, but we have heard the same thing before. So far, justice has eluded our fallen colleagues.

Photo courtesy of Dann Pantoja of Peacebuilders Community, Inc.

While it may be said that justice eludes everyone in this country, it is especially troublesome if  media are the victims because attacks on our profession are attacks on democracy itself. We are not special by any stretch of the imagination, and we do not enjoy privileges that other people are deprived of. What we are are practitioners of a freedom that all of us are supposed to enjoy but are all too often prevented from doing so. If we are free to speak, then the rest of the country is free. But if we are muzzled, censored, threatened, executed, or summarily killed, everyone’s freedom of expression is compromised. And when freedom of expression is compromised, then our very democracy is in danger.

So we continue to say, “Stop killing journalists” — not because we are the only victims, but because each journalist’s death is a nail driven into the coffin of our freedom and democracy.

Photo by Rene B. Lumawag

UPDATE:

Final tally according to the National Union of Journalists of the Philippines (NUJP):

1. Adolfo, Benjie, Gold Star Daily, Koronadal City
2. Araneta, Henry, Radio DZRH, General Santos City
3. Arriola, Mark Gilbert “Mac-Mac,” UNTV, General Santos City
4. Bataluna, Rubello, Gold Star Daily, Koronadal City
5. Betia, Arturo, Periodico Ini, General Santos City
6. Cabillo, Romeo Jimmy, Midland Review, Tacurong City
7. Cablitas, Marites, News Focus, General Santos City
8. Cachuela, Hannibal, Punto News, Koronadal City
9. Caniban, John, Periodico Ini, General Santos City
10. Dalmacio, Lea, Socsargen News, General Santos City
11. Decina, Noel, Periodico Ini, General Santos City
12. Dela Cruz, Gina, Saksi News, General Santos City
13. Doheilo, Eugene, UNTV, General Santos City
14. Duhay, Jhoy, Gold Star Daily, Tacurong City
15. Gatchalian, Jun, Davao City
16. Legarte, Bienvenido, Jr., Prontiera News, Koronadal City
17. Lupogan, Lindo, News Media Gazette, Davao City
18. Maravilla, Ernesto “Bart,” Bombo Radyo, Koronadal City
19. Merisco, Rey, Periodico Ini, Koronadal City
20. Momay, Reynaldo “Bebot” Momay, Midland Review, Tacurong City
21. Montaño, Marife “Neneng,” Saksi News, General Santos City
22. Morales, Rosell, News Focus, General Santos City
23. Nuñez, Victor, UNTV, General Santos City
24. Perante, Ronnie, Gold Star Daily correspondent, Koronadal City
25. Parcon, Joel, Prontiera News, Koronadal City
26. Razon, Fernando “Rani,” Periodico Ini, General Santos City
27. Reblando, Alejandro “Bong,” Manila Bulletin, General Santos City
28. Salaysay, Napoleon, Mindanao Gazette, Cotabato City
29. Santos, Gatchalian, Davao City (media affiliation not known)
30. Subang, Ian, Socsargen Today, General Santos City
31. Teodoro, Andres “Andy,” Central Mindanao Inquirer, Tacurong City

Additional name from UNTV:
1. Evardo, Jolito

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