Security Philippines Style

Almost half of the population of the world lives in rural regions and mostly in a state of poverty. Such inequalities in human development have been one of the primary reasons for unrest and, in some parts of the world, even violence.

– A.P.J. Abdul Kalam, Indian scientist

“I want to fire a gun,” says Hairy Lynn, Elsa's youngest daughter. I've just asked her why she wants to be a security guard. She takes aim and fires an imaginary gun, blows smoke from the barrel, then twirls and holsters it. My pacifist leanings give me pause for concern. However, I agree to loan her money so she can take the training and get a license. Not a career I would choose for her, but at least, working as a guard brings job security.

You see them at the entrances of all the malls and most other public and private facilities – armed security guards dressed in police uniforms replete with badges, handcuffs, and batons, patting down customers, checking their bags and running people through x-ray machines. The four story department store at Gaisano Mall has entrances on each floor and a couple of security guards stand at each of these entrances. They check your baggage both entering and exiting the stores. Goods purchased at one store cannot be brought into another store, but must be checked in at a baggage counter. 

What's happening here? Too many instances of shoplifting? Over-vigilant attitudes left over from the Marcos martial law period? A concern about terrorism? It is true that the U.S. State Department regularly lists a travel advisory of “extreme caution” when traveling to the island of Mindanao where we live.

“Separatist and terrorist groups across Mindanao continued their violent activities, conducting bombings and kidnappings, attacking civilians and political leaders, and battling Philippine security forces,” according to the advisory. 

 Some say the warnings are an excuse for the U.S. government to keep its foot in the door after the closing of its Philippines military bases. Some 6,000 U.S. troops are deployed in Mindanao, an intervention resented by many.

There are armed battles between the army and Muslim separatists but these occur several hours to the West of us and the numbers involved are very small. The Philippines Army does battle with the rebel National Peoples Army, but these skirmishes occur largely in the surrounding mountains, not in towns or cities. And civilians rarely, if ever, are involved in these actions.

Our everyday life seems untouched by these concerns. Still, there are occasional reminders that the threat of violence lies behind this mask of quietude. 

One evening, Pare Udong has just finished fixing the toilet in our bathroom and is in the courtyard talking to Elsa when there's a rapid fire pop pop pop and a burst of fire in the sky. Udong and Elsa make a dash for the bushes and hide behind them. They're afraid the Army is engaging the New People's Army in a pitched battle. But it's only the fireworks display from the opening ceremonies of the Batang Pinoy Games at the sports complex down the road.

Checkpoint in Lanao, Mindanao. Image: Mindanews, September 15 2011

Another day, we take a bus to the Bureau of Immigration in Davao; we need to update my visa. Just outside the city, we approach a barricade and armed soldiers motion us over. The bus pulls to the side of the road and all the male passengers exit to a waiting shed while a soldier climbs on board and checks the bus. He's looking for bombs. I'm not sure why they don't ask women or children to exit; maybe they don't think they could be terrorists. Every time we travel to Davao, we go through the same routine. Overkill, I think until one day, I read in the paper that ten people were killed and 30 injured in a bus bombing in Bukidnon, a province a couple of hours north of Davao.

Still, this seems to be an isolated instance, and these violent instances seem small compared to the large number of extrajudicial killings that occur in the area. In Davao and Tagum City, there have been over a thousand instances of thugs driving by on motorcycles, pulling out pistols and shooting unarmed civilians. You might compare them to the drive by shootings that occur in gang ridden areas of the U.S.A. The difference? These drive-by's are not so random; they are sanctioned by, and some would say, ordered by local government officials. Locally, the press refers to the hired killers as members of death squads. The victims of these death squads are suspected criminals, often drug dealers with the occasional innocent civilian killed by mistake – or not. Sometimes the victims are political opponents or journalists. The Philippines has the world's third most killing of journalists. Elsa's brother Manny, a Davao radio commentator, regularly receives death threats.

One day, on our way to Elsa's home in Montevista, we stop at the bus terminal in Nabunturan and take a tricycle up the main road to conduct business at a local bank when a car caravan goes by. I think it's a funeral procession, but there are placards hanging from cars and tricycles proclaiming, “Justice for Claudio” and “Who Killed Claudio?”

“Who is Claudio,” I ask Elsa. She tells me Claudio Martin Larrazabal was a Leyte town Vice Mayor assassinated a few days previously. He was a popular local mayor, she says, adding that she suspects political opponents killed him. In a local newspaper, I read that Vice Mayors’ League of the Philippines (VMLP) President Isko Moreno calls the killing election-related. In the article, he reported that 19 vice mayors died because of election-related violence during the May 2013 elections, and that he suspected the killing of Larrazabal could be a preview of more such incidents in the 2016 elections. A month later, four men were arrested and charged with Larrazabal's murder. One of the suspects tells the police that the killing was, indeed, politically motivated. 

Bodies recovered from mass grave following Maguindanao massacre.
Image: file photo, philstar.com, November 22, 2014.

Such incidents are not uncommon. In 2009, 58 members of the Manguadadatu family, lawyers, journalists and other civilians were kidnapped and brutally killed on their way to a political rally in the Maguindanao province of Mindanao where Esmael Mangudadatu, the Vice Mayor of Bulan, planned to announce his candidacy for governor. At least five of the women victims were raped and most of the women had been shot in their genitals and beheaded. The perpetrators attempted to bury the victims in a mass grave but a military helicopter flying overhead discovered them in the act. They escaped, but the evidence pointed toward the involvement of the governor's son, Andal Ampatuan Jr. He was arrested and charged with the murders although never tried. Trials are rare in such cases. At least 34 journalists were killed in the Maguinanao Massacre and the Committee to Protect Journalists (CPJ) has called this affair the single deadliest event for journalists in history.

Despite these horrific incidents, the level of violence in the Philippines is sometimes overstated. The homicide rate here is only slightly higher than the U.S.A. – six per 100,000 versus five per 100,000 in the U.S.A. – much lower than that in many Latin American countries, including Ecuador, the new retirement haven for Americans, which has three times the homicide rate of the Philippines. However, in Southeast Asia, only Indonesia has a higher homicide rate. Japan and Singapore have homicide rates of 0.3 per 100,000; China, Vietnam, and Malaysia all have homicide rates of two per 100,000 or less. And with international drug syndicates increasingly using the Philippines as a transit hub for the illegal drug trade, there is some concern that the level of violence will increase here.

So with some uneasiness, I'm advancing the money to Hairy Lynn, hoping that she was just joking about wanting to fire a gun and that her enthusiasm for her new career doesn't reflect some sort of gunslinger mentality. Maybe she's just been watching too many American westerns. The classic “Frontier Justice” anthology comes to mind.  

Meeting New People

"If a man does not make new acquaintance as he advances through life, he will soon find himself left alone.”

– Samuel Johnson

Elsa and I soon establish a routine. We rise every morning around 5 a.m. and take a walk up to Capitol Road and down the street to the Davao Del Norte Sports Complex across from the provincial government buildings.

“Maayong Buntag,” we greet the guard at the gate. He nods and we head over to a synthetic rubberized track that we circle for a half hour or so while listening to popular music blaring from huge loudspeakers set up in the stands. We're usually joined on the track by another 100 or so other walkers and joggers. After a few laps around the track, we watch the sun rise over the mountains to the south of the city. The track heats up and we quickly finish our jaunt and return home for a big breakfast served by Elsa's nephew Vladimir, who has agreed to cook and keep house for us.

After breakfast we shop at the public market for fresh fish, fruits and vegetables or go to Gaisano Mall. Later friends visit or we visit friends. I write or call friends back in the U.S. or we sing along to the karaoke machine. On weekends, we take the bus to Montevista and spend Saturday and Sunday with Elsa's daughters and grandchildren.

****

On our walks around the track, we often meet friends and former associates of Elsa's. One day, we run into Dr. Bagani, a physician now retired.

“Ay, you are out jogging?” he asks. I consider our walk a leisurely stroll, but Filipinos call this jogging. Three or four times a week, I break up our walk with 15 or 20 minutes of race walking.

“Pas pas lakaw,” Elsa says. “Fast walk.”

Dr. Bagani now runs a bar and he invites us to visit. Elsa and I agree, but neither of us drink, so the visit never happens. Another day, we run in to Father Arnauld Tiplaca, the rector of the local college seminary.

“You are out jogging?” he also asks. Father Tiplaca has visited the U.S. and speaks English well. “How do you like the Philippines?” Another question I am asked frequently. Elsa talks to him in Cebuano. He nods and then heads out the gate. I ask Elsa what they talked about. She tells me she asked him about the prospects of me teaching English at the seminary. Father Tiplaca sees the value of having a native English speaker teaching the seminarians (most English teachers in the area speak Cebuano with English, at best, a poor second, and usually a third or fourth language). He says he will discuss it with his staff. I'm not sure that I want to teach any longer, but about a year later, the discussion comes up again and I finally take a job teaching English one day a week at the seminary.

After our walk, we return home for breakfast. Vladimir, thin, and taller than most of he family, is about 40 and teaches primary school. He's taking a continuing education program on food service management and wants to master American as well as Filipino cuisine. He agrees to cook for us, provided I promise to teach him how to cook some American dishes. I agree. The first dish I teach him is that grand old American standby Bombay Shrimp Curry (at least it's an old standby for me – the first dish I learned to cook for guests). He does an admirable job preparing it and decides to cook this dish for his course final. Vladimir also cleans the house and washes our clothes all for the princely sum of $10 a week, plus room and board. He sleeps on the floor in Vising's third house on the property.

Lorna with Elsa

Every morning, following our walk, we return home to the large meals he prepares for breakfast, which usually include potatoes, rice, fresh vegetables, dried fish or salted fish, salted eggs, toast, and desert such as pineapple in sugar sauce on toast. After breakfast, he heads out to school and returns in the evenings to cook dinner. He often returns to his room to study, but sometimes enjoys sitting in the sala (living room) to watch and discuss American movies and culture with me. One day he serves red snapper (known as maya maya in Cebuano) for breakfast.

“Would you like the head and eyes?” he asks me. I shake my head and Elsa scoops them up on her plate and takes a bite.

“Delicious,” she says. I cringe, but Filipinos don't waste any food and consider the head and eyes of fish, pigs, and chicken as well as pig's intestine and chicken blood to be delicacies. I ask Vladimir if he knows any chicken dishes.

“Bring a live one home from the market and I will butcher it,” he says.

“No thanks,” I tell him again cringing at the thought of a live chicken butchered in our home. But Elsa finds a dressed chicken at the market and brings it home for Vladimir to cook.

Visitors often drop by the house. A frequent visitor is Lorna who lives nearby in the capitol. Like Elsa, Lorna is a widow. An educated woman, she was trained as a chemical engineer but since her husband's death,, lives on the income from her sari sari store and the commissions she earns from brokering deals – sales of cars, furnishings, houses and other items. Lorna, offers to help us with major purchases like these although I am not really in the market for any of these.

“Elsa is my best friend,” she tells me when we first meet. Many of Elsa's friends I meet over the next few months tell me the same thing. “Elsa is my best friend.” She has many best friends. Elsa met Lorna through her Women's Council activities. Lorna was the president of a barangay Women's Council and Elsa was the women's organizer for the Compostela Valley provincial government. Lorna is a little heavy like many of the more educated middle class, middle-aged women I am soon to meet in the Philippines.

“I would like to be fat,” says Elsa. She weighs a scant 100 pounds and mentions this to me several times. Being heavier is a sign of health or being better off than those who are skinny. Filipinas seem to be less obsessed with weight than Americans, maybe because women here rarely, if ever, read the women's beauty magazines so prevalent in the U.S. Still, it's rare that I see any truly obese people here apart from American expats. Instead, the beauty obsession seems to be around white skin. All the skin care products boast that they contain whitening agents and all the ads for them on TV emphasize this feature.

“Do you know any American men who would like to meet Lorna,” Elsa asks me – a question that comes up whenever she introduces me to one of the several widows I meet over the coming days. I tell all of them most of my friends are married or not looking to move overseas.

One day, a middle-aged woman comes to the door selling soaps. I don't want to buy anything, but Elsa tells me the woman is a friend of Lorna's and so it's an insult not to offer her snacks and purchase some product. I reluctantly agree to purchase a bar of papaya soap. I'm annoyed because uninvited guests and particularly salespeople are never welcomed in the U.S. Here it is different. Hospitality is expected and to not be hospitable brings shame.

Shame or 'Hiya' is a core value here in the Philippines and Elsa frequently refers to it to explain situations such as relatives not speaking to me – because it would bring shame for them not to speak English correctly or daughters not telling me about an upcoming event because they feel ashamed to ask me to attend or take them to the affair.

We have no living room furniture, and Lorna tells us she has a friend who is selling hers.

I'm a little wary, but agree when Lorna offers to accompany us to her friend's house to inspect the furniture. A friend of hers drives the three of us in an Isuzu Elf truck up the road to a small house on a side street in the next major town, Panabo. The owner tells us she is moving back to Manila and wants to sell her furniture before leaving. The furniture includes a sofa and two arm chairs made of a beautiful polished high gloss nara wood also known as New Guinea Rosewood or red sandalwood. It's the national tree and can no longer be logged – at least not legally although there is much illegal logging happening in Mindanao. There is also an apparador (clothes closet), dining room table and accompanying chairs, and two nara wood side tables and a nara coffee table all for a total cost about $1,000. It seems a reasonable price and so I make the purchase – one of many unanticipated expenses over the next few months.

Lorna also offers to take us to various properties to see about buying a house. We visit one home that I like in a new gated community, Camellia Homes. It's a two story with modern western appliances and relatively inexpensive compared to American homes. Still, it would require financing on my part. I consider it, but then Elsa finds out that financing is not available for anyone over 60 and so we decide against it.

Lorna offers to help us buy a car, too. I'm a little concerned about exhausting my savings and don't want to buy a car right now. Nevertheless, Lorna drops by on a couple of occasions with men who bring their cars to show to me. They rev up their engines and offer to take me for a spin. I politely look under the hood, give a few nods of appreciation, but really am not interested. Elsa is interested in us buying a car. During the recent Typhoon Pablo which caused so much devastation in Compostela Valley, people were unable to evacuate and Elsa wants to avoid this in the future.

“If we buy a car, will you help drive it?” I ask her.

“I've never driven a car,” she says. She doesn't even have a license. Her daughter Risa later tells me that her father tried to teach Elsa to drive a motorcycle, but gave up after six months of repeated failures.

“She's too nervous,” says Risa.

Mare Vising visits while Lorna is there and, when she finds out Lorna had brought around two cars owners seeking to make a sale, asks me if I want to take over the payments on her six month old car – only 28,000 pesos a month or a little over $600 a month.

“No thank you,” I tell her.

Lorna and Mare Vising also ask me if I want to invest in a gold mine. Lorna owns some property and she's sure there's gold on it.

“No thank you,” I tell her. Vising also suggests I invest in a gas station or a pawn shop. “No, thank you,” I tell her again. “It's too early for me to make an investment.” It's clear they perceive me to be a rich American even though I'm living on a pension. Still, even someone living on a meager American pension seems prosperous to many Filipinos. I'm finding that prosperity, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder.