By Fr. Rufus Halley mssc

Malabang Marawi

It was Sunday morning in late September. I don’t remember the date, but I’ll never forget the day. Joel was to be buried and the whole parish was in shock and in mourning. Here was a grand young fellow, of deep faith, who was gunned down on his way home for is lunch. Nobody would be picked up for the crime as perpetrator came from an influential Muslim family.

As I rode motorbike I thought how difficult this dialogue between Muslim and Christians was, at time like this you just have no stomach for it. A heaviness, a weariness comes down, almost incapacitating you. But I had made a promise to visit a family that day, a Muslim family who had a girl in our high school, and so I decided to keep going. The family was in bereavement in an unrelated incident, another child, a boy of only 17 years had been shot in an on-going blood feud between two Muslim clans. So, as the director of the school, I was on my way to offer condolences.

Ten-year Feud

Even though I did not know them personally they were most friendly and welcomed me warmly. One of the cousins lived in the first house on the way, and I put this question to him a little diffidently, “Can nothing be done to end this feud amongst you?” To which the reply came back, “Would you help us?” I was speechless. This was the first time I had even been asked- in eighteen years since coming to the Muslims area – to help out in this type of situation. I could not believe my ears .what an honor to be invited! But perhaps I’m in a way over my depth here. What if something goes wrong? Maybe my knowledge of Maranao is not up to scratch. At the same time what an opportunity to help. But if I get one word wrong the whole thing could unravel. Don’t forget, this feud has been going on ten years now, with nearly twenty people dead.

I was eyed for a middleman

Meanwhile I’m brought to other houses though beautiful rolling countryside studded with coconut trees. There are fox holes along the way, wire fences, and earth works thrown up around the houses just in case of an attack. They are just as welcoming here, and before I left, the men asked me again, “Would you help?” “What kind of help?” I countered, “That’s up to you,” they said. “All right,” says I, “I’ll go and visit the other side and see what can be done.” “The one you ask for is Commander Erning,” they suggested. “This is going to be tough one,” I thought. Yes. They were indeed looking for peace but were yet on a war footing, in battle fatigues, carrying every imaginable weapon. For sure there’s a lot of prayer needed here. I thought, a Muslim friend was a delighted as she was surprise at the news. “You know,” she said, “they could not ask another Muslim to do that. It might appear as weakness.”

Peacemaking Task

A few days after, I headed for the other family. I was stopped immediately by a young gun-toting fellow. “Why do you want to see Commander Erning?” “Oh, just a visit.” I ventured, “Alright, I’ll take you.” So, up he hops on e motorbike and off we go. There was a cluster of about eight houses. And there was Commander Erning-longhaired, with an authoritative air about him. The amenities were exchanged. Coffee was brought, and again I was struck by the friendliness of the people. “Ah, you’re the priest from the Our Lady of Peace School?” “Yes, that’s me,” I said. They were satisfied when I said it was just a social visit and so we started talking about their place, ad how fertile the land was- the trees bending under the weight of coconuts. They had many questions on hearing I also was a farmer in Ireland. After what I judged a suitable time, I broached the object of my visit. That I had been with the other side and they were interested in peace. “Would you be interested in peace?” I ventured. The mood changed perceptibly. There was stillness, and on my part, for sure, a tension. How would this be received? Having heard me out nobody said anything till Erning annunciated his position. “Father, all we’re asking for are the seven guns they owe us and payment of an outstanding debt. We’re prepared to settle for that. We are very grateful for your help.” “So, who would we get to negotiate this?” I queried. “We would like the Sultan of Borurao,” they said. “Alright, I’ll go and see him in the next few days,” I said. Sultan Quirino was the one who had negotiated the ceasefire of which there were still three weeks to run. Before seeing the Sultan I had to confirm the other side’s acceptance of the chief negotiator. I approached them, and happily, they agreed.

The Sultan was very surprised to see me especially when I told him what was afoot. “A thousand thanks, my brother, for helping us. You know both sides are related to me, and I’m already working on it. Tell them what you have just told me about how peace has now finally come to Northern Ireland. How they are tired of the killing and why they all want peace. I, with the Vice-Mayor of Matanog, will work on the negotiated settlement. You just keep speaking to them of the benefits of peace to try and lessen the bitterness.

No-win Fight

Meanwhile, as my role clarified I became very excited and saw for the first time the possibility of a settlement. Then followed, visit after visit to each side. What they were asking was not exorbitant. In fact there appeared a real chance of a lasting solution. “Who’s winning in this conflict?” I asked. Silence. They were honest enough to admit that everybody lost out. “Here you are, locked in to your area. If you go to Malabang, something might happen to you. Your boys cannot study in high school or college for the same reason. Yet we have there now a real chance for peace, which may not return again. Don’t just focus on the faults of the other side. We all have faults. Allah is with us. He wants us to live in peace. Don’t squander this opportunity.” Meanwhile, I asked a few sick people in the town who I visit on first Fridays for their help, their prayers. Their mission is very real even though they never though leave their beds that they offer up their sufferings for a negotiated settlement. Sara was the first I asked. “Yes Father, I’ll do that.” (Even though she was ambushed 22 years before by Muslims and I lying in bed paralyzed from the waist down ever since.)

There was a further 15-day extension to the ceasefire. The Sultan reported good progress. And I noticed in both sides a diminution of arms on display and fighting talk. Initially each side warned me to beware of the other. “Don’t trust them” was a recurring them. But now they were even prepared to admit some of their own failures.

The Peace Drama

Things were looking good. I kept up the visits. The ceasefire was extended for another four days. “We’re nearly there,” the Sultan tells me confidentially. “But don’t say anything yet.” After a further and final ceasefire extension of two days, both sides agreed to a singing of peace accord on Tuesday, November 17 in the Municipio. What a day! I’ll never forget it. On the way I noticed extra soldiers and police. Each side would be afraid of an ambush, so every precaution had to be taken. I had been in the Municipio for about one-and-a-half hours when the word went out: “They’re coming.” And sure enough, there was the cavalcade smoking along slowly but surely, led by an army jeep with six armed soldiers. Then followed a big truck carrying Igid and his cohorts. Finally, bringing up the rear was a big amphibian tank. In they came; not a word out of anyone. They smoked and smoked, very tense. We had to wait for an hours before finally the other side arrived. My goodness what an emotional moment. All packed into the hall, perhaps 150, and another hundred outside. Nobody looked at anybody else, but all were pale and tense. And then in a very emotional voice the Sultan voiced his hopes for the future, where peace would triumph and endure. The main leaders he brought out in front of a long table, behind which were seated the Mayor, Vice-Mayor of Matanog, two colonels and myself, and placed on top of the table was the Quran, covered with a Maranao woven cloth.

The Quran was unveiled. Erning and Igid’s hands were placed on it and with there respective followers swore to abide by the terms of agreement. Then both swore to abide by the terms of agreement. Then both were brought to embrace one another-a noble but alas, premature gesture. They could not even look at one another. But the papers nevertheless were signed, photos were taken, and speeches were made. What a wonderful day. It was such a privilege to be part of something so good:

In the next few days I visited each side and gave a sign I had gotten made for each which read, “Abode of War” – a line running diagonally across it crossing it out, as it were. On the other side, also in Arabic was written “Darussalam”, Abode of Peace.

Wonderful Sight

Igid was the second I visited with the sign and one of the fellows, Maitin, told me that the process of peace-making had already started. One of the leaders from the other side was, even as we spoke, visiting them. I was thrilled. This was the real music I wanted to hear. “Come on over and meet him,” he said. Well, I did not need a second invitation. Over we went through the marang and coconut threes, and sure enough, there were Palas, along with alang and Sultan Boribid sitting down and chatting at the side of the house. What a beautiful sight. Yes, this is what it’s all about. It was all very exciting. I think they must have thought I was little daft. We took a few photos, of course, and even coaxed a few of the wives to join in. normally, with a man not of the immediate family present, the women stay out of sight.

Finally, last Saturday at the Parents Day in the school, one of the fathers came up to tell me that he himself had been over to the other side for a cup of coffee. What more can I say? As the good Muslim says in all situations, Alham-dulillah – “All praise to God.” The peace accord was singed on Tuesday afternoon. Sara started getting quite sick on Tuesday, afternoon and died on Thursday morning. Her last assignment accomplished; her last request granted; she was taken home to rest by a grateful and gracious God.