The warlords' wayAfter the massacre, the show goes on
Feb 18th 2010 | Shariff Aguak
IN THE Philippines politics is always local and often thuggish. Small-time politicians aspire to be warlords, using hired muscle to deter rivals and rustle up votes. But few could boast the wealth, firepower and sheer audacity of the Ampatuans, the dominant clan in the southern province of Maguindanao. The massacre of 58 people there last November, allegedly ordered by the clan’s patriarch—and former governor of the province—Andal Ampatuan senior, shocked the nation and brought the declaration of martial law in the province. On February 9th prosecutors charged 197 suspects, including Mr Ampatuan senior, with multiple counts of conspiracy to murder. Charges of rebellion, over the clan’s maintenance of a militia, are pending.
But it would be premature to write off the Ampatuans. The reach of “the old man” is too strong, says a local businessman, who predicts an eventual comeback. Ordinary people are careful to toe the line. “The Ampatuans are our political leaders. We’re not afraid of them,” says Noriah Dalamba, a village official, with a sideways glance. Indeed, the Ampatuans have not gone away. At least 50 candidates standing in local elections on May 10th are clansmen, 23 of them directly related to the old man himself, who is running for vice-governor from his jail cell—common Philippine practice. Several other candidates hail from the rival Mangudadatu clan, whose womenfolk were among those massacred in November. Such deadly rivalries make for a nervous campaign.
National politicians are watching carefully. This semi-autonomous, Muslim-majority part of Mindanao is notorious for its inflated voter rolls and improbable majorities, which warlords like the Ampatuans can deliver to the right candidate. In a tight race Maguindanao’s 300,000 or so votes could be crucial, as they were to President Gloria Arroyo’s re-election in 2004. In the Ampatuans’ districts she received a helpful 99% of votes. In some towns her rival, who elsewhere was a close contender, secured precisely no votes. Suspicions of fraud intensified with the leak of taped phone calls between an election commissioner and what sounded like Mrs Arroyo’s voice, discussing vote-rigging. She denied any wrongdoing.
The Ampatuans have enjoyed Mrs Arroyo’s indulgence as they expanded their private army and acquired a fearsome arsenal. The army looked on in envy at the state-of-the-art firearms wielded by their 2,400 militiamen, weapons handy for extortion as well as for keeping rivals at bay. But any warlord worth his salt also knows how to plunder official booty. The Ampatuans carved their fief into bite-sized pieces. Between 1995 and 2009, Maguindanao went from having 18 municipalities to 36, nearly every one headed by an Ampatuan. This meant more jobs for the boys and more grants from Manila, to be recycled into ever more guns.
On a hill overlooking Shariff Aguak, the provincial capital, sits the newly minted town of “Datu Unsay”, bearing the nickname of Andal Ampatuan junior, the prime suspect in November’s killings. The town’s namesake, a scowling, gun-toting, high-school drop-out, is adored by his father. “What Unsay wants, Unsay gets,” says a security official. The massacre’s victims were driven to a clearing nearby, where they were shot dead and heaped into pits. The Ampatuans are suspected of scores of other killings, but relatives of the missing tend to be reluctant to speak up.
The rival clan’s leader, Esmail Mangudadatu, should benefit from the detention of his rivals as he campaigns for provincial governor, and perhaps also from public sympathy. It was his wife and relatives who were waylaid en route to Shariff Aguak. Whether his election might bring change to Maguindanao is unclear, though he appears a more benign sort of boss. A bigger question is how far the national government is prepared to go to disarm all the warlords’ armies, as it has promised. Whoever triumphs at the polls in Maguindanao will have to watch his back.
But it would be premature to write off the Ampatuans. The reach of “the old man” is too strong, says a local businessman, who predicts an eventual comeback. Ordinary people are careful to toe the line. “The Ampatuans are our political leaders. We’re not afraid of them,” says Noriah Dalamba, a village official, with a sideways glance. Indeed, the Ampatuans have not gone away. At least 50 candidates standing in local elections on May 10th are clansmen, 23 of them directly related to the old man himself, who is running for vice-governor from his jail cell—common Philippine practice. Several other candidates hail from the rival Mangudadatu clan, whose womenfolk were among those massacred in November. Such deadly rivalries make for a nervous campaign.
National politicians are watching carefully. This semi-autonomous, Muslim-majority part of Mindanao is notorious for its inflated voter rolls and improbable majorities, which warlords like the Ampatuans can deliver to the right candidate. In a tight race Maguindanao’s 300,000 or so votes could be crucial, as they were to President Gloria Arroyo’s re-election in 2004. In the Ampatuans’ districts she received a helpful 99% of votes. In some towns her rival, who elsewhere was a close contender, secured precisely no votes. Suspicions of fraud intensified with the leak of taped phone calls between an election commissioner and what sounded like Mrs Arroyo’s voice, discussing vote-rigging. She denied any wrongdoing.
The Ampatuans have enjoyed Mrs Arroyo’s indulgence as they expanded their private army and acquired a fearsome arsenal. The army looked on in envy at the state-of-the-art firearms wielded by their 2,400 militiamen, weapons handy for extortion as well as for keeping rivals at bay. But any warlord worth his salt also knows how to plunder official booty. The Ampatuans carved their fief into bite-sized pieces. Between 1995 and 2009, Maguindanao went from having 18 municipalities to 36, nearly every one headed by an Ampatuan. This meant more jobs for the boys and more grants from Manila, to be recycled into ever more guns.
On a hill overlooking Shariff Aguak, the provincial capital, sits the newly minted town of “Datu Unsay”, bearing the nickname of Andal Ampatuan junior, the prime suspect in November’s killings. The town’s namesake, a scowling, gun-toting, high-school drop-out, is adored by his father. “What Unsay wants, Unsay gets,” says a security official. The massacre’s victims were driven to a clearing nearby, where they were shot dead and heaped into pits. The Ampatuans are suspected of scores of other killings, but relatives of the missing tend to be reluctant to speak up.
The rival clan’s leader, Esmail Mangudadatu, should benefit from the detention of his rivals as he campaigns for provincial governor, and perhaps also from public sympathy. It was his wife and relatives who were waylaid en route to Shariff Aguak. Whether his election might bring change to Maguindanao is unclear, though he appears a more benign sort of boss. A bigger question is how far the national government is prepared to go to disarm all the warlords’ armies, as it has promised. Whoever triumphs at the polls in Maguindanao will have to watch his back.
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