After 365: Returning to paradise lost

After 365 days: Returning to paradise lost

Story by Eunice Lei Wu

Photos by Inna Cabel and Eunice Lei Wu

The diminutive woman stood strong in her purple bandana and bright red skirt. She cried her passionate plea, unfazed by the ceaseless beating of the late morning sun’s glare.

The steps of the University of the Philippines - Diliman’s (UPD) Palma Hall and Roxas street before it teemed with the press of many attentive red and green clad bodies. They bore signs and banners of who they are, of their calls to action.

Josephine Pagalan gave her remarks in a voice that seemed on the constant verge of breaking under the strength of emotion. She was the representative speaker of the Lumad for the Kampuhan sa Diliman Welcome Program last Friday and is the spokesperson of the Kahugpungan sa mga Lumadnong Organisasyon-Caraga (KASALO-Caraga).

“Hanggang patuloy na inaatake ang ating mga naipundar na paaralan, hanggang patuloy ang pagpatay ng ating mga lider, ang mga trumped-up charges sa ating mga lider, patuloy tayong lalaban,” she cried.

It has been a year—more than that for many—since paramilitary and military troops had plagued the peaceful lives of the Lumad, the non-Muslim indigenous people of Mindanao.

A year since the executive director of the Alternative Learning Center for Agricultural and Livelihood Development (ALCADEV), Emerico Samarca, was tied up, stabbed and had his throat cut.

A year since the leaders of the Diatagon, Surigao del Sur community, Dionel Campos and his cousin Datu Bello Sinzo, were gunned down in front of their people.

They were far from being the only victims in this conflict that has raged across the face of Mindanao. Its consequences were far-reaching, its effects reverberating through time and casting its ominous shadow upon some 3,000 Lumad, of whom only around 2,000 have just reclaimed their ancestral lands this September.

Victory, it seemed, was bittersweet. They have returned to destroyed homes, decimated school buildings, and perhaps worst of all, ruined crops. No yield meant no food.

They have not been without support. Many schools, among them UPD and St. Scholastica, organizations, and church groups have been constant in lending their aid to the evacuees, Pagalan said in an interview.

“Hindi lang sa Surigao [del] Sur, hindi lang sa rehiyon kung ‘di buong Pilipinas ay talagang sumusuporta sa amin,” she said.

And neither have various government agencies, foremost of which is the Department of Social Welfare and Development, been idle.

However, what they truly desire from government authorities, what they have invariably called for from the beginning was for the arrest of the paramilitary troops, who up to now revel in the safety impunity provides.

True justice for the three fallen leaders can only be realized the moment the paramilitary are disarmed, disbanded, captured and imprisoned, said Pagalan.

For the students of ALCADEV, the joy of homecoming is poisoned by a climate of fear and uncertainty cultivated by their aggressors.

lider, ito po ang magsisindi sa amin, kung bakit tuloy tuloy ang aming laban para sa aming lupa, sa sariling pagpapasya, sa lahat ng naipundar ng mga katutubong Lumad,” Pagalan said.

For the will of the Lumad is strong and from adversity springs the resolve to carry on with the struggle. They have never been a people to shy away from asserting what to them is due. And this applies not only to holding the paramilitary forces accountable.

“Kung dumating man yung mga paaralan sa aming komunidad, hindi ito basta na lamang sumulpot, kung ‘di nire-request ito ng mga mamamayang Lumad dahil karapatan namin na magkaroon ng edukasyon ang aming mga anak,” said Pagalan.

Even the year spent in evacuation centers had not hindered their will to pursue an education, to the extent that recognition and graduation ceremonies had been held even as they were, in their words, “bakwit.”

Yet this was a mere consolation prize for the genuine ALCADEV experience the students once enjoyed. Unfavorable weather conditions had sowed an air of discontent among the children who had to continue their studies in the evacuation centers, said Sheena Campos.

The walls of ALCADEV still stand, yet are peppered with bullet holes. The benches and tables are broken. Another school in the community was even burned down. But Pagalan believed that with the proper amount of resources, full rehabilitation could easily and quickly be achieved.

It was the planting that posed a more pressing problem. Crops would need months of fostering before any viable yield could be reaped. It would take anywhere from five to six months before food could be obtained. For now, they bank on the support of institutions keen enough to provide donations.

“Taos-puso po naming pinapaabot ang aming pasasalamat sa Unibersidad ng Pilipinas at sa buong Pilipinas na patuloy na sumusuporta sa amin habang isang taon na nasa bakwit kami at hanggang ngayon patuloy pa rin.” said Pagalan.

A year has come and gone and another will again. For the generations to come, the tragedy of Diatagon will pass into the status a mere story moving from the hands of mother to daughter, of father to son. But neither the ebb and flow of time nor the measured pace of the Lumad in reclaiming their old lives can kill the spirit of justice and the fight for self-determination.

13-year-old Sheena Campos recounted the night the Lumad leaders were killed. She slid a finger from one side of her neck to the other, at a loss for words to describe what had been done to Emerico Samarca.

She sat amongst a group of girls around her age in the Dagohoy basketball court, which served as a temporary Lumad camp, in UPD. They, for the most part, wore matching red shirts with KASALO-Caraga printed in bold white font on the back.

Dionel Campos was Sheena’s father.

When the paramilitary forces came to their community in the small hours of that fateful September morning in 2015, they had left with not only a wake of bodies and the chaos of destruction. They also left with a warning.

“Sabi kasi nila pag babalik daw kami sa aming komunidad, hindi lang tatlo ang aming dalang patay kung ‘di marami,” said Angela, 14, one of Sheena’s friends. “Kaya patuloy pa rin. Hindi pa rin maiwasan ang takot.”

It was still clear in Pagalan’s mind how the paramilitary had said their leaders were killed as punishment for their obstinacy, for their staunch opposition to letting mining and logging corporations have their way with their ancestral lands.

“Pero nagkamali sila. Dahil ang dugo po ng aming mga leader na dinidilig sa amin, ang nakikita namin na mga dugo na aming mga