Postscript to the Maguindanao massacre

A small portion of Maguindanao, just a stone’s throw away from where the boundary of Cotabato City and Maguindanao lies, was my childhood playground. I wasn’t born there but my family lived there for more than a decade. It was there where I played patintero, taguan and tumbang preso with the neighborhood children. With them, I climbed aratiles trees, caught dragonfllies and picked gumamela for Flores de Mayo. During summer, we would venture near the bank of Rio Grande where several mango trees bore sweet, golden yellow fruits which we would devour to our hearts content. I walked everyday, from our house to my school which was about a kilometer away. But it never was tiring. I had friends who walked with me and we endlessly talked about crushes and proms and projects as we crossed Quirino Bridge. We would go to church every Sunday and attend religious processions. I never got scared of bombs or kidnappers. At that time, the bombs were in the boondocks of North Cotabato. Not in Maguindanao. Not in Cotabato City. Not anywhere near I lived.

And so that morning when I awoke to the news of the Maguindanao massacre, I cried. I cried because I could not believe that the place so dear to me and which gave me many happy memories has become a killing field. I cried because I could not comprehend why people kill to ensure their hold to power. I cried because the victims were innocent people, unaware of the fate that awaited them when they joined that convoy to the Comelec.

Fifty-eight people, mostly women, died. Shot at close-range. Mercilessly killed. Raped. Shot again when they showed any sign of life. Buried in waiting graves.

I cannot imagine the panic and the terror that they felt from the moment they were accosted to that fateful second their unforgiving killers riddled their bodies with bullets, the anguish of their families, and of the children left motherless because their mama happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I hope that the victims will find justice, and I hope they find it fast.

I hope that the perpetrators and the masterminds will find it in their hearts to admit the crime and face the harshness of the law.

Most of all, I hope that peace will find its way once more to the rich and beautiful province of Maguindanao so that its children will once more be able to climb aratiles and mango trees, cross Quirino bridge and play around the neighborhood without fear of abduction and helplessly dying from high-powered guns of barbaric people.