‘We could have been killed together’
CARRYING THE TORCH FOR REMEMBERING Students and media groups participate in a torch parade condemning the slow pace of the trial of the 197 suspects in the Maguindanao massacre on Friday, ahead of the fifth anniversary of the killings on Sunday. Fifty-eight people, including 32 media workers, were killed in the worst political violence in Philippine history. AFP
(First of a series)
MASALAY, Maguindanao— The same old feelings—indignation and pain—engulf me every time I set foot on the exact site where the 58 victims, 32 of them media workers, were mercilessly mowed down with bullets by some 100 men, allegedly led by Andal Ampatuan Jr.
It has become a recurring trauma.
Many of the media workers were my close friends. For years, we’d been together in various news coverages.
How can I ever forget the likes of Alejandro “Bong” Reblando and Francisco “Ian” Subang?
Article continues after this advertisementI used to call Reblando “Pareng Bong,” as we stood as godfathers at the baptism of the youngest daughter of a close colleague.
Article continues after this advertisementI still vividly recall how supportive and concerned Pareng Bong was at the height of the first death threat I received in August 2004.
One time, after I failed to answer his phone calls, Bong called up the highest police official in the region in the middle of the night and requested to send policemen to check on my situation.
Retired Chief Supt. Antonio Billones, then the Central Mindanao Police regional director, called me up, saying: “I sent a team of policemen to conduct patrol in your area after Bong Reblando woke me up. He was in a panic because you’re not answering his calls.”
Untimely deaths
A police official, one of the suspects in the Maguindanao massacre case, told a journalist that Reblando died trying to save the lives of his colleagues.
“The vehicle he was riding was allowed to proceed but he went back upon seeing that the convoy was diverted toward another direction,” the police official said.
Subang, the jester among local journalists, worked with me when I was editor of the first media cooperative-run newspaper in General Santos City.
Their untimely deaths left a void no one could ever fill in my heart and in my life.
It was Henry Araneta of dxRH radio who invited the media workers on behalf of then Buluan Vice Mayor Esmael “Toto” Mangudadatu to cover the filing of Mangudadatu’s certificate of candidacy in the Maguindanao gubernatorial race against Andal Jr.
Araneta claimed that he was designated as media coordinator by Mangudadatu and I was among those invited.
“Toto Mangudadatu is running for governor in Maguindanao against Andal Ampatuan Sr. Toto is requesting media coverage,” Araneta said.
Big news
I sensed that it was big news. And so, even without an invitation, I would have decided to cover the activity.
Whether journalists were invited, to me, was no big deal.
Fourteen journalists invited by Araneta were billeted at BF Lodge, located along the National Highway in Tacurong City, Sultan Kudarat province, a drive of about 20 minutes from Buluan town.
There, we were told by Araneta to proceed early the following day to Buluan to discuss “some security concerns.”
Reblando, Bandera photographer Paul Bernaldez and I joined Joseph Jubelag, then a correspondent for Malaya, in his car.
We arrived in Buluan around 7 a.m. Immediately upon arrival, we were asked to go into the house of Khadafee “Thuy” Mangudadatu, assemblyman in the Autonomous Region in Muslim Mindanao and the younger brother of Toto.
The five of us—Thuy, Reblando, Jubelag, Bernaldez and me—discussed the security aspect of the convoy.
No help from PNP, AFP
Thuy, who claimed his elder brother was still on his way home from Davao City, said police and the military turned down their requests for security escort.
The younger Mangudadatu requested us to pull some strings to ensure the safety of the convoy tasked to carry the certificate of candidacy of Mangudadatu.
Reblando requested Mangudadatu to provide a separate vehicle for journalists covering the event for security reasons.
“We will not ride in the same vehicles with the family and supporters of Mangudadatu to avoid giving the Ampatuans an impression that we are biased,” Reblando said.
Mangudadatu explained that without security escort, they had two options in mind: to not proceed with the filing or to send an all-woman and unarmed contingent with full press coverage.
Is it safe?
He emphasized the need to secure security clearance from the highest military officer in the region before sending the convoy off to Shariff Aguak town.
Reblando turned to me and said: “Pare, you are close to General Cayton. Can you please call him up and ask if the route leading to Shariff Aguak is safe?”
He was referring to retired Maj. Gen. Alfredo Cayton, then the division commander of the Army’s 6th Infantry Division based in Barangay Awang, Datu Odin Sinsuat town, in Maguindanao.
I contacted Cayton thrice through his mobile phone but he did not answer.
After a few minutes, my cell phone rang. It was Cayton.
“Sorry, I failed to take your call, as I was on stage in a send-off ceremony for the 46th [Infantry Battalion]. The troops will be transferred to Samar,” he said.
Cayton then asked me in a Visayan dialect why I called.
I replied: “Many journalists will be joining the convoy of Toto Mangudadatu to file his certificate of candidacy at the Comelec (Commission on Election) provincial office in Shariff Aguak. May we know the security situation along the route? Is it safe?”
Cayton said that for almost a month, he had not received any intelligence report on the presence of threat groups in the area.
And so I asked again, “So, it is safe to travel along the route?”
He said, “Yes.”
Miscalculation
Who would ever think that the police, backed by friendly forces like the Civilian Armed Forces Geographical Unit (Cafgu) and the Civilian Volunteers Organization (CVO), would do the unspeakable?
Who would consider “force multipliers” like the Cafgu and the CVO as threat groups?
I asked Cayton why the military refused to provide security to Mangudadatu and he replied: “There is an existing memorandum of agreement between the [Armed Forces of the Philippines, the Comelec, the Philippine National Police and the Department of the Interior and Local Government] regarding requests for security escorts by politicians. The requesting party should [make the request] to the PNP and the Comelec. Then, the Comelec will be the one to request us.”
The convoy proceeded in the belief that the Ampatuans would not harm Muslim women and media workers.
Unfortunately, we miscalculated the audacity and ruthlessness of the Ampatuans.
Before the convoy departed, the riders were asked to bow their heads and pray.
Changing rides
I was riding with Bernaldez on a UNTV van, which was designated the lead vehicle.
While on the way to a Petron gasoline station, hair-raising thoughts kept crossing my mind. I was uneasy. My heart was pumping hard and I felt as if my head was puffing up.
The four of us who rode in the same vehicle all the way from General Santos City to Buluan took separate vehicles. Reblando rode in a van provided by the Mangudadatus, Bernaldez joined me in the UNTV van and Jubelag brought his own vehicle.
The UNTV van was the first to fuel up before it parked ahead on the road side to give way to other vehicles in the convoy.
UNTV reporter Victor Nuñez, one of those who would be killed in the carnage, told me, “Sir, I’ve learned that Joseph Jubelag would drive to Shariff Aguak alone.”
Nuñez’s statement jolted me, so I asked Bernaldez to come with me and the two of us got off the UNTV van to join Jubelag in his car.
In 2007, Jubelag became a target after he wrote a story about corruption in Maguindanao under the administration of the Ampatuan patriarch. Jubelag went into hiding for about a year.
That was the reason why Nuñez and I could not allow Jubegal to ride alone to Shariff Aguak. And that was the turning point that saved our lives that day.
The convoy drove away and we were left behind, as we were still fueling up.
After gassing up, we went on our way. I received a text message from Reblando saying the convoy was already at the rotunda in Isulan town, Sultan Kudarat.
Upon reaching Tacurong City, Jubelag said, “I’d like to drop by the hotel (BF Lodge) to use the comfort room.”
I was mad, as we were in a hurry to catch up with the convoy. But since it was a personal necessity, I told him to make it quick.
I asked Bernaldez to stay in the car and be alert. Because of death threats, Jubelag and I were observing security precautions.
Two men on a motorcycle
As we were about to leave, a hotel employee informed us that about three minutes before we arrived, two men wearing jackets and riding on a motorcycle came looking for us.
The employee said the two men wanted to get all the names of the journalists who slept in the hotel the night before. But the hotel staff turned down the request, the employee said.
We were alarmed. Jubelag and I decided that it was no longer safe to travel to Shariff Aguak.
We decided to return to Buluan and just wait for the press conference after the filing of Mangudadatu’s certificate of candidacy.
On the way back to Buluan, around 9:55 a.m., I tried to contact Reblando and some other colleagues in the convoy, but their mobile phones could no longer be reached.
An eerie feeling engulfed me. I didn’t want to leave our safety to chance. We had to defend ourselves at all costs.
I left my licensed handgun at home because I didn’t want to provoke anybody in Shariff Aguak. So I asked Jubelag if he brought his gun.
He said yes and pointed to where it was. There was not just one but two .45-caliber handguns there. I felt relieved.
I grabbed one, cocked it and gave it to him. I took the other and cocked it. I felt my ears burning and my throat drying up.
Upon arriving in Buluan, we were told to meet Toto at dxBL, where he was being interviewed.
Convoy seized
There, Toto informed us after his interview that his wife Genalin had called, telling him that the convoy was seized by “more than one hundred armed men led by Datu Unsay Mayor Andal Ampatuan Jr.”
Again, I tried calling up Reblando. His mobile phone was turned off. I tried Bart Maravilla of Bombo Radyo-Koronadal. A stranger was answering his phone.
For the first time in my life, I didn’t know what to do. My mind was drifting. I was thinking about my mom, who was hypertensive, and my 10-year-old son.
I thought about my dear colleagues who, just a few hours back, were alive and exchanging jokes with us.
We were supposed to be with them in the convoy. We could have been killed together with them.
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