In a Restive Philippine Province, a Quiet Handover of the Implements of War
CAMP SIONGCO, Philippines — On a humid Tuesday morning in Maguindanao del Sur, a province long synonymous with insurgency and political violence, the implements of war were laid out in silence. Ten men, once aligned with local extremist groups, stepped forward at a Philippine Army compound here and surrendered the weapons that had defined their lives for years—assault rifles, machine guns, and two 60-millimeter mortars capable of raining devastation on civilian communities.
The handover took place at the headquarters of the 90th Infantry Battalion in the village of Kabengi, a place that has seen cycles of armed confrontation ebb and flow with uneasy regularity. For military officials, the moment represented more than a routine surrender. It was, they said, a small but meaningful marker in the Philippines’ long effort to secure lasting peace in the southern island of Mindanao.
Among the weapons surrendered were heavy-caliber mortars—tools of indiscriminate violence whose presence in private hands underscored the lingering danger posed by splinter groups that survived earlier peace accords. Laid on wooden tables and catalogued by soldiers, the weapons were photographed, logged, and removed from circulation, an act officials described as both symbolic and practical.
The surrender was the culmination of months of discreet negotiations involving community elders, local government officials, and military intermediaries. Rather than a battlefield defeat, the men’s decision reflected a broader shift in strategy by the Philippine state: replacing attrition warfare with community-driven reintegration, economic incentives, and local mediation.
“This did not happen overnight,” said Loqui O. Marco, the lieutenant colonel commanding the 90th Infantry Battalion. He said the men had grown weary of life in hiding and increasingly anxious about the future of their families. “They realized that the armed path offered no stability, no dignity, and no hope for their children,” he added.
The identities and precise affiliations of the men were not disclosed, a standard practice aimed at preventing retaliation and encouraging others to follow. Military officials said they were linked to local extremist factions rather than major international terrorist networks, reflecting the fragmented nature of armed groups that persist in the region despite the signing of peace agreements over the past decade.
The ceremony brought together a cross-section of authority figures rarely seen in one place: soldiers in fatigues, police officers, mayors and village leaders, and representatives of social welfare agencies. The men were formally presented to Edgar L. Catu, commander of the 601st Infantry Brigade, who accepted the surrendered weapons on behalf of the state.
Under the government’s Enhanced Comprehensive Local Integration Program, the former combatants received immediate assistance, including modest cash support, rice supplies, and access to livelihood programs. Officials emphasized that the incentives were not rewards for violence but tools to prevent a return to it.
“This is not the end of the process—it is the beginning,” Brig. Gen. Catu said, describing the event as “a powerful symbol of transformation.” He stressed that reintegration would require sustained monitoring, livelihood support, and cooperation from local communities.
Municipal leaders from Shariff Aguak, Datu Saudi Ampatuan, and surrounding towns attended the ceremony, underscoring what officials call a “whole-of-government” approach. The strategy seeks to address the underlying conditions that fuel radicalization: entrenched poverty, limited access to education, clan-based political rivalries, and decades of state neglect.
For decades, Maguindanao—now administratively divided into Maguindanao del Norte and Maguindanao del Sur—has been one of the Philippines’ most volatile provinces. It was here, in 2009, that the country witnessed one of the world’s deadliest attacks on journalists, when 58 people were killed in a massacre linked to political rivalry. Armed groups, private militias, and extremist factions have since competed for influence, often exploiting weak institutions and economic desperation.
The creation of the Bangsamoro Autonomous Region in Muslim Mindanao was intended to redraw that trajectory, granting greater self-governance to predominantly Muslim areas and ending a separatist conflict that claimed tens of thousands of lives. Yet the transition has been uneven. While major rebel fronts have laid down arms, smaller extremist cells and criminal groups continue to operate in remote areas.
Maj. Gen. Jose Vladimir R. Cagara, commander of Joint Task Force Central, said each surrender chips away at the narrative that armed struggle is the only path to dignity. “Every firearm returned is one less tool for violence and one more opportunity for development,” he said.
Mr. Cagara framed the event as a collective achievement, crediting community leaders and local officials alongside the military. He extended a public appeal to others still hiding in the marshlands and hills of central Mindanao. “The door remains open,” he said. “You can come back to your communities and rebuild your lives.”
For residents of Maguindanao del Sur, the image of mortars being handed over to soldiers carried a cautious sense of relief. Heavy weapons have long haunted civilian life here, turning ordinary disputes into deadly confrontations and forcing families to flee during outbreaks of violence. Their removal, even in limited numbers, suggested a possible easing of the constant tension.
Yet skepticism remains. Peace in Mindanao has often advanced in fragile increments, punctuated by setbacks and renewed violence. Analysts note that reintegration programs depend heavily on consistent funding, local governance capacity, and the willingness of communities to accept former fighters back into civilian life.
Still, for a province accustomed to the language of gunfire, the quiet of the ceremony mattered. Ten men walked away without handcuffs, carrying sacks of rice instead of rifles. The mortars were taken away on military trucks, destined for destruction or secure storage.
In a place where war has long been inherited rather than chosen, the moment offered a fleeting but powerful image: the tools of violence rendered inert, and the possibility—however tentative—of a different future taking shape.