War and stories
(First of a series. Read the second part here.)
The battle for Marawi made the headlines for most of 2017. The terror attack in a southern Philippine city shook everyone. I can still vividly remember how I learned about the incident.
It was the 23rd of May. I met a friend whom I had just met from a yoga retreat in Danjugan Island, Negros Occidental. Since I was staying in Bacolod with nary any plan in mind, we figured I could go to Iloilo, his hometown, for a quick day tour. It was, after all, an hour away from where I had been staying.
In Iloilo, we tried the popular local delicacy, batchoy. We shopped for butterscotch and a bunch of other sweet treats. I got myself a tattoo.
^ The original batchoy in La Paz
That evening, as I was cooling down and thanking the universe for the goodness of people and the joy of new experiences, I decided to turn on the television — quite an extraordinary thing for me to do because, even if I am working for a broadcasting company, I am not a “viewer”.
It was a few hours before midnight. The ABS-CBN News Channel was airing a breaking story. The details were still blurry at the time, and the reporters were trying to get as much information as they can from their sources, residents of Marawi City who were hiding out of fear from what seems to be an city-wide terror attack.
Of course, we know now what happened.
The Islamic State-inspired Maute Group led the attack, just in time for the Muslim holiday Ramadan. Led by brothers Omar and Abdullah Maute, as well as Isnilon Hapilon, leader of the Abu Sayyaf Group who was later named by the IS as its emir in Southeast Asia, the local terror group aimed to establish a caliphate in Southeast Asia. And what place could be any more strategic for them to attack than the so-called Islamic City of a pre-dominantly Catholic nation?
New York Times: Duterte, focused on drug users in Philippines, ignored rise of ISIS
TIME: The battle for Marawi City
Thing is, conflict reporting had always fascinated me. Some people think it’s because of the grit and the glory that comes with the assignment that draws journalists to this sort of stories, but it was never the case for me.
^ With Maria Ressa, during the first Philippine Model Congress in 2012
Seeing Maria Ressa, a female investigative journalist who focused on terrorism, lead the CNN Jakarta Bureau was inspiring. Her stint as the news chief of ABS-CBN moved me that even if I’ve never worked under her — and I wasn’t even working during her tenure in the office — I would keep whatever note I could find from her to keep my passion for truth-telling alive.
^ With Ed Lingao (left) and Julius Mariveles (right),
during the PCIJ multimedia desk inuman session I gatecrashed in 2014
Likewise, learning from Ed Lingao, as his intern albeit only for a few months, was a slice of encouraging pie that I’ve been holding on to so dearly. We’ve had brief chit-chats in the past, and every time, I would learn something of great importance in the practice of journalism: ethics and humanity.
While I knew I wanted to be a conflict reporter like these veteran journos, I am fully aware that I am not fit for the daily grind. Long-form, investigative documentaries is my medium and format. When the events on May 23 happened, I thought the siege of Marawi City could be a start. I had hoped our team could produce a documentary about it and that I would become part of it.
Mukha (Faces)
A month after the siege, I was asked to produce a special episode on Mukha, which tells the story of Marawi. At the time, the public needed answers. Media companies were still wary of sending large teams for the coverage because no one knew how safe or how dangerous it could be.
I had to make do with file footage available in our archives. I told the story through the eyes of senior reporters Jeff Canoy and Chiara Zambrano, both of whom I admire and respect for their work. Their narrative and insights validated things I knew — vicariously — about conflict reporting: that wars bring out the best and the worst in humanity; that, ultimately, we all end up as losers.
I had only three days to make a story structure, interview both journalists, transcribe, write and revise scripts, find video materials, and secure the permission to use them. I literally camped out in the office until we finished the two-day editing. Now that I’m thinking about it, I wonder how I survived.
It took five days to make this feature happen, when, ideally, an episode in Mukha is given a production timeframe of three to four weeks. The opportunity to tell the story mattered to me, and I am glad that even if some people at work thought it to be a “major boo-boo” — I wouldn’t call this a “major” one though — this special made it as a finalist in the New York Festivals.
'Di Ka Pasisiil (Never Shall Be Conquered)
In August, three months since the siege of Marawi began, we aired a full-length documentary on the same subject. This time, though, we went right into the frontlines.
We weaved the stories of various people, representing the different sectors affected by this terror attack: 1Lt. Gerardo Alvarez, one of the first responders during the siege; “Abdul,” not his real name, a child fighter trained by the Mautes themselves; Amer Hamza, resident of Marawi, who was Omar’s classmate; Loloy and Gracia Dando, residents trapped during the siege (Gracia was Omar's former high school teacher).
This documentary won a Gold World Medal at the 2018 New York Festivals, and we are damn proud of the work we did here.
^ Our documentarists, Jeff and Chiara
Borrowing the words of Chiara Zambrano, one of our documentarists:
Paglayang Minamahal (Glorious Liberty)
A week after the Philippine government declared that the Marawi siege is over, it was my turn to go. I am grateful for the opportunity. Finally, I thought, I can tell stories lifted from my own firsthand experiences, and not rely on other people’s memories and understanding of the war.
It was safer when I got there, of course. But the dangers still exist.
During our coverage inside the main battle area, supposedly already cleared at the time, our team had an encounter with a straggler. Nonie Sales, our director of photography, and Jeff Canoy and Kori Quintos, two of our three documentarists in this project, were walking along an empty street, looking for an area where we can shoot spiels.
They saw a lean, long-haired man, wearing a black shirt, jump off one of the buildings. He ran away, and the soldiers who accompanied us — including Col. Romeo Brawner, Jr., deputy commander of Task Force Marawi — went after him. Meanwhile, our cameramen, photojournalists, and Raph Bosano, one of our documentarists in this project and the assigned reporter for that day, went with the troops. This was an exclusive, after all.
Left in the army truck with me were Jeff, Kori, and our drone operator Gian. We were ducking, trying to be calm, while the rest of our group were in the face of possible danger. It was only in hindsight when I realized the four of us weren’t exactly “safe” at that particular moment. Who knew if there were other stragglers hiding near us, waiting for a chance to close in on us?
The documentary we produced this time was of hope and healing. We covered the sectors that were most affected by this siege: those displaced from their homes and had been living for months in evacuation centers, those hostaged by the Maute fighters, and those who had been putting their lives at risk to help protect the nation.
* * *
My work on these documentaries keep me grounded. The stories I tell remind me why I am in journalism: to tell stories that matter, stories that will make people think, feel, and act.
I am proud of the work I do, and the awards and recognition that come with it are mere bonuses. •
The battle for Marawi made the headlines for most of 2017. The terror attack in a southern Philippine city shook everyone. I can still vividly remember how I learned about the incident.
It was the 23rd of May. I met a friend whom I had just met from a yoga retreat in Danjugan Island, Negros Occidental. Since I was staying in Bacolod with nary any plan in mind, we figured I could go to Iloilo, his hometown, for a quick day tour. It was, after all, an hour away from where I had been staying.
In Iloilo, we tried the popular local delicacy, batchoy. We shopped for butterscotch and a bunch of other sweet treats. I got myself a tattoo.
^ The original batchoy in La Paz
That evening, as I was cooling down and thanking the universe for the goodness of people and the joy of new experiences, I decided to turn on the television — quite an extraordinary thing for me to do because, even if I am working for a broadcasting company, I am not a “viewer”.
It was a few hours before midnight. The ABS-CBN News Channel was airing a breaking story. The details were still blurry at the time, and the reporters were trying to get as much information as they can from their sources, residents of Marawi City who were hiding out of fear from what seems to be an city-wide terror attack.
Of course, we know now what happened.
The Islamic State-inspired Maute Group led the attack, just in time for the Muslim holiday Ramadan. Led by brothers Omar and Abdullah Maute, as well as Isnilon Hapilon, leader of the Abu Sayyaf Group who was later named by the IS as its emir in Southeast Asia, the local terror group aimed to establish a caliphate in Southeast Asia. And what place could be any more strategic for them to attack than the so-called Islamic City of a pre-dominantly Catholic nation?
New York Times: Duterte, focused on drug users in Philippines, ignored rise of ISIS
TIME: The battle for Marawi City
Thing is, conflict reporting had always fascinated me. Some people think it’s because of the grit and the glory that comes with the assignment that draws journalists to this sort of stories, but it was never the case for me.
^ With Maria Ressa, during the first Philippine Model Congress in 2012
Seeing Maria Ressa, a female investigative journalist who focused on terrorism, lead the CNN Jakarta Bureau was inspiring. Her stint as the news chief of ABS-CBN moved me that even if I’ve never worked under her — and I wasn’t even working during her tenure in the office — I would keep whatever note I could find from her to keep my passion for truth-telling alive.
^ With Ed Lingao (left) and Julius Mariveles (right),
during the PCIJ multimedia desk inuman session I gatecrashed in 2014
Likewise, learning from Ed Lingao, as his intern albeit only for a few months, was a slice of encouraging pie that I’ve been holding on to so dearly. We’ve had brief chit-chats in the past, and every time, I would learn something of great importance in the practice of journalism: ethics and humanity.
While I knew I wanted to be a conflict reporter like these veteran journos, I am fully aware that I am not fit for the daily grind. Long-form, investigative documentaries is my medium and format. When the events on May 23 happened, I thought the siege of Marawi City could be a start. I had hoped our team could produce a documentary about it and that I would become part of it.
Mukha (Faces)
A month after the siege, I was asked to produce a special episode on Mukha, which tells the story of Marawi. At the time, the public needed answers. Media companies were still wary of sending large teams for the coverage because no one knew how safe or how dangerous it could be.
I had to make do with file footage available in our archives. I told the story through the eyes of senior reporters Jeff Canoy and Chiara Zambrano, both of whom I admire and respect for their work. Their narrative and insights validated things I knew — vicariously — about conflict reporting: that wars bring out the best and the worst in humanity; that, ultimately, we all end up as losers.
I had only three days to make a story structure, interview both journalists, transcribe, write and revise scripts, find video materials, and secure the permission to use them. I literally camped out in the office until we finished the two-day editing. Now that I’m thinking about it, I wonder how I survived.
It took five days to make this feature happen, when, ideally, an episode in Mukha is given a production timeframe of three to four weeks. The opportunity to tell the story mattered to me, and I am glad that even if some people at work thought it to be a “major boo-boo” — I wouldn’t call this a “major” one though — this special made it as a finalist in the New York Festivals.
'Di Ka Pasisiil (Never Shall Be Conquered)
In August, three months since the siege of Marawi began, we aired a full-length documentary on the same subject. This time, though, we went right into the frontlines.
We weaved the stories of various people, representing the different sectors affected by this terror attack: 1Lt. Gerardo Alvarez, one of the first responders during the siege; “Abdul,” not his real name, a child fighter trained by the Mautes themselves; Amer Hamza, resident of Marawi, who was Omar’s classmate; Loloy and Gracia Dando, residents trapped during the siege (Gracia was Omar's former high school teacher).
This documentary won a Gold World Medal at the 2018 New York Festivals, and we are damn proud of the work we did here.
^ Our documentarists, Jeff and Chiara
Borrowing the words of Chiara Zambrano, one of our documentarists:
What I love about ‘Di Ka Pasisiil is that we did it right. More than a story well told, it was a solid piece of journalism at the very core. No corners cut, no rehearsed scenes, no embellishments, even when no one was looking. We respected the story of Lanao del Sur enough to not add anything else to it. We respected the audience enough to give them a truthful depiction of what was out there, and why.
This documentary was put together with the help of people who simply shared that same vision. That people need to know. People need to see. People need to understand. Nothing more than that. These are men and women in uniform, and civilians both Muslim and Christian. People who must be named. And friends who must never be named.
For that reason alone, DKP (as we fondly call it) was always golden in my eyes. That the New York Festivals saw it in the same way is surreal, and @#*$÷&@&$ awesome.
Paglayang Minamahal (Glorious Liberty)
A week after the Philippine government declared that the Marawi siege is over, it was my turn to go. I am grateful for the opportunity. Finally, I thought, I can tell stories lifted from my own firsthand experiences, and not rely on other people’s memories and understanding of the war.
It was safer when I got there, of course. But the dangers still exist.
During our coverage inside the main battle area, supposedly already cleared at the time, our team had an encounter with a straggler. Nonie Sales, our director of photography, and Jeff Canoy and Kori Quintos, two of our three documentarists in this project, were walking along an empty street, looking for an area where we can shoot spiels.
They saw a lean, long-haired man, wearing a black shirt, jump off one of the buildings. He ran away, and the soldiers who accompanied us — including Col. Romeo Brawner, Jr., deputy commander of Task Force Marawi — went after him. Meanwhile, our cameramen, photojournalists, and Raph Bosano, one of our documentarists in this project and the assigned reporter for that day, went with the troops. This was an exclusive, after all.
Left in the army truck with me were Jeff, Kori, and our drone operator Gian. We were ducking, trying to be calm, while the rest of our group were in the face of possible danger. It was only in hindsight when I realized the four of us weren’t exactly “safe” at that particular moment. Who knew if there were other stragglers hiding near us, waiting for a chance to close in on us?
The documentary we produced this time was of hope and healing. We covered the sectors that were most affected by this siege: those displaced from their homes and had been living for months in evacuation centers, those hostaged by the Maute fighters, and those who had been putting their lives at risk to help protect the nation.
My work on these documentaries keep me grounded. The stories I tell remind me why I am in journalism: to tell stories that matter, stories that will make people think, feel, and act.
I am proud of the work I do, and the awards and recognition that come with it are mere bonuses. •