Kablog2′s Weblog

I was caught in the middle of a gunfight that lasted hours in Tugaya, Lanao del Sur while covering the country’s first-ever automated elections.  I don’t know if being ‘caught in the middle’ is a correct description because I was there as a journalist and had prior knowledge that that town is a poll hotspot.  But I use it nonetheless because I did not want the gunfight to happen, much less witness it up close.

It was an early start for us in the People’s International Observers’ Mission that had me as an imbedded journalist this election day.  Our group was divided into three teams and our team was composed of Canadians Randall Garrison and Carol Crabtree, American Joyce Ann Mercer, Fr Joey Evangelista, Ipe Soco and I, as well as several local colleagues. We first visited Camalig Elementary School in Marantao town, which is right next to Lanao del Sur’s capital Marawi City.  Polling centers were supposed to open at seven o’clock but voting has not started as of 7:30.

We then motored to Tugaya, about 30 or so kilometres farther south.  We first visited the Comelec office where they were still distributing PCOS machines and ballots to election inspectors at past eight in the morning.  Tugaya acting election officer Randawal Rasuman assured us there were no problems.    “Well, everything is smooth. Smooth…We open at eight o’clock” he said.

He was way off the mark.  In the only precinct that started voting as of 8:45 or so everyone was campaigning, vote-buying, vote-coaching and the election inspectors were not doing anything about the situation.  Money changed hands inside the precinct while the so-called assistors for voters claiming illiteracy completely took over the voting process while the voter simply sat on one side clutching the monies from dirty candidates.  Even the poll watchers were vote-buying inside the precinct.  The election inspectors even surrendered the task of putting indelible ink on fingers of voters to a woman who was brazenly campaigning with a loud bag printed with the name of the provincial governor who is again a candidate.  While all these were happening a fisticuff erupted right outside the precinct between guys who had a disagreement over a small pack of Zest-O fruit juice.

One positive note was that the PCOS machine in that precinct was working.  We observed though that there was no effort by the BEI to let the voters reinsert rejected ballots, as provided for by Comelec procedures.

I was challenged by one poll watcher when I was taking a video of him coaching a voter and passing off money.  He asked what was I doing with a camera inside the precinct.  When I showed him my Comelec-accredited media ID he told me to take videos of the persons outside the windows giving monies to voters inside instead.  Still another woman wearing a “Project Hope” ID asked me the same question.  I again flashed my ID and that ended the episode.

Stepping out of the precinct I chanced upon a group of people being directed by a bossy woman.  The woman was writing ballot numbers of candidates on the palms of the people gathered round her.  When I tried to take pictures, she asked who I was and what business did I have taking their picture.  I explained that I am a journalist which she resented.  She verbally assaulted me and menacingly said “Baka ipa-ano kita diyan.” I flashed my best disarming smile this time and pretended I was just taking pictures of the papers they were distributing around.  I even mumbled something like, “Sana ho manalo kayo.” But I felt threatened and beat a hasty retreat.  I found out later that the woman is a daughter in law of the incumbent mayor of Tugaya and that her husband was reputed to have many guns.

A short while later violence erupted in one of the precincts 20 meters away from where our team was standing.  I ran to take videos believing my assistant cameraman Ipe Soco was right behind me.  It was pandemonium.  I did not know where to point my camera as there was simultaneous fighting everywhere.  Guns were then drawn, cocked and trained on the crowd.  Several times, a semi-automatic .45 caliber pistol and an M-16 assault rifle were pointed in my direction as men were grappling for the guns.  I was a meter-and-a-half away from the muzzles.  One of the gunmen even looked at my big camera and then directly at my eyes.  At that moment, I lowered my camera and held my palm outwards to indicate to him that I was no longer filming.  He is the husband of the woman who verbally-assaulted and threatened me; the mayor’s son; the guy who owns many guns. I reached my quota of cuss words in those few seconds.  I thought, “Is this it?”

(While all these were happening, I believed all along that Ipe was right behind me.  It turned out that he entered an adjacent precinct and stuck out Kodao’s flip camera outside the window and filmed me with the gunmen.  This was the video we first released to the national PIOM media center that was picked up by the networks.  It’s interesting to note that it was Ipe’s first video coverage and what a baptism of fire it was for him.)

I followed the gunman, nicknamed Blackman.  I again turned the camera on and started filming.  Shortly after many shots were fired.  Ipe and I both captured it on two different angles. I was soon pushed back by the wave of people scampering away.  It was then I realized my assistant was nowhere near me.  My fear level shot even higher as I now worry for my partner as well.

In the succeeding lull I started looking for Ipe and the rest of the team composed of two Canadians, one American, a Catholic priest and dozens of local volunteers.  I asked people if they have seen white persons but no one was telling me anything.  I was still filming throughout.

It was then that I was spotted by the father of one of our colleagues, a Healing Democracy-PIOM volunteer.  (This colleague and other Tugaya residents who helped us won’t be named in this article for their safety.) He directed me to walk over to the stage where I could be easily spotted while he went off to look for his son and the rest of the team.  I perched myself at the center of the stage and started taking pictures.  Rapid gunfire then erupted behind me.  I jumped off the stage like a bat from hell and flattened myself against a concrete fence nearby.  People followed my example and started piling where I was.  I turned my video camera on, pointed it towards a clump of trees where it sounded they were coming from and made sure that my head is out of the firing line.  People dropped to the wet grass while women were screaming.  I noticed that my colleague’s dad materialized beside me.  He then told me to go with him so we can find a place a little bit safe.

We joined throngs of people leaving the school premises.  All the while, gunshots did not abate.  I remembered Onin Tagaro’s advice to just keep the camera rolling in such situations in the hope of at least getting a good audio recording.

Without noticing it I dropped my DSLR.  People started shouting and pointing at me.  Because I could not understand Maranao I thought they wanted something from me.  It was my colleague’s dad who again came to my rescue and told me about the camera.  I turned around and I saw my beloved camera on the ground.  My colleague’s dad then fetched and carried it for me.

I was breathing heavily at this point.  My savior kept urging me to walk faster.  He then led me to a shortcut and across a stream on a rotten coconut trunk bridge.  We emerged at someone’s backyard and then he told me to take a rest.  He ran to a nearby store and bought for me a bottle of cold water.

While resting, I tried calling Ipe.  But the phone signal was bad.  I texted him and my Kodao colleagues to inform them of the situation we were in.  Karl Ramirez back in Manila called me but had to disconnect because he could not hear me.

When I caught my breath, my savior again told me to go with him to his house where the rest of the team may be holed up.  We again took shortcuts among clumps of trees and reached his house a few minutes later.  There, I was offered cold water by my colleague’s pretty sister who appeared to be welcoming a guest under normal circumstances.  But, in fact, gunfire was heavier followed every so often by grenade explosions.

My savior went off again, despite pleas by his wife, to look for the rest of the team.  After a few minutes, local team members collected me from his house and took us to the house where some team members were holed up.  The foreign delegates were seated on the floor of  just about the safest room in the house while the local volunteers hid under the table in the dining area.  Our two police escorts placed themselves in strategic positions around the house.  I think I was safer at my savior’s house as the place we were in was in the middle of the warring camps and gunfire was very loud.  In one of the rooms a baby was sleeping, seemingly unwilling to be disturbed from her slumber by the loud gunfire.  By this time, a military helicopter was already circling above.

All the while, Ipe and Fr Joey were trapped inside one of the precincts inside the school.  Our police escorts wanted to get them but they were advised not to proceed as they were carrying assault rifles themselves and might be mistaken as enemies and shot at.

The gunfire has been going for hours already and it seemed I could already predict when the opposing camps would fire in response to the other camp’s gun bursts.  I tried to record all these with my video camera.  I was even asked not to poke it out the window as my microphone might be mistaken for a gun and we would be shot at.

It was then that we learned that two of our keeper’s cousins, a Healing Democracy Project volunteer, were injured by a grenade explosion. Nineteen-year old Aslea Panda had her brains blown out of her skull and her body was riddled with shrapnel wounds.  She died four hours later in a hospital in Marawi City just as my other colleague reached the hospital.  Her remains were immediately brought home to Tugaya and buried at seven o’clock in the evening.  Aslea’s brother Sobair Panda had a big abdomen wound.

It was already twelve noon by this time.  The big and beautiful Mosque overlooking the town and the lovely Lake Lanao started broadcasting prayers.  Gunfire immediately ceased.  We took this opportunity to slip away and dash back to Marawi City.  On the highway, we saw three police armoured personnel carriers full of troopers in full battle gear rushing towards Tugaya.

After reporting to the national PIOM secretariat it was decided that I go with the foreign observers on the trip back to Cagayan de Oro for safety considerations.  The warring political clans know of these foreign delegates and are already being blamed for whatever news that may come out of this incident.  They told me that Ipe and I should go with the foreign observers because I was already verbally threatened by a member of one of the warring clans.  There were no other journalists at Tugaya, much less a fat guy with fatter-looking video and still cameras.

The last time I was in Mindanao, to cover a mission at the neighboring Maguindanao province (where 58 persons were killed in the period for the filing of candidacies for this election) I was maligned by narrow-minded journalists from several cities.  I lost my Reuters hat on that trip.  Previous to that, my first DSLR was stolen in Surigao del Sur, also in Mindanao.  This firefight wasn’t my first as a journalist either.  I was in the Manila Peninsula in 2008 when elite PNP forces rammed an armored vehicle into the lobby of the swank hotel and smothered the rebel soldiers and covering journalists with so much gunfire until the rebels surrendered without firing back a single shot.  I lost my golfing umbrella then.  On this coverage, I lost my Dubai cap (a cousin’s gift).  I liked that cap a lot because it allows my scalp to breathe while its double layers make it waterproof.  I would be happy if I would receive word later that my savior is the one using it. #