Rebels of Mindanao (7 page)

Thornton was silent and stared at Hargens while the wheels turned, then said, “OK. I got it. Until we meet again.” Thornton broke off his quiet discussion with Hargens before the others could realize they were talking about more than football. Then he noticed another civilian at the conference table.

A State Department employee far down the chain of command, John Robert Mundy had been assigned to the local embassy staff a month earlier, sent to Manila after working the Philippines desk at State as an area specialist for the last five years. Mundy moved into a chair around the curve of the table to sit beside Liu and watched the game for a full quarter and a few Navy touchdowns before he thought it would be a good time to get involved with the men seated near him. He had overheard their political discussions, and politics was his profession. During a time-out on the field and after some social chatter, Mundy made his move and asked Liu, “Colonel, how is our war against the Muslims going on down there in Mindanao?”

Colonel Liu did not answer, but asked, “Is that an official question, Mr. Mundy?”

“No, not yet, but I'm interested in any news from down there, where the action is, and you may call me John Robert, Mundy answered.

Thornton left Hargens to listen to the new guy who liked to be called by
two first names and kept saying “Down there in Mindanao,” unintentionally supporting the impression of the Mindanao separatists that Americans saw Mindanao as just another piece of geography, “Down there, somewhere,” not really an important part of the Republic of the Philippines.

Thornton could not keep quiet, and in a low and controlled voice told Mundy, “Mindanao is big enough to stand alone as a nation. And many down there want it that way. Mindanao could become another Afghanistan or Iraq. Instead of making the hajj to Mecca, Muslim warriors will go on jihad ‘down there' in Mindanao. Let me tell you, Mundy, the rebels will get the same credit from Allah for dying ‘down there' as dying anywhere else in the world, fighting Americans here in the Philippines, or wherever they find us.

“If you would please, either John Robert or Mr. Mundy if you want to be formal. My experience and information assures me that we will, with the cooperation of the Philippine people, win this war against terrorism. We have a political environment here within which we can help create real peace in the Philippines.” It sounded like stale rhetoric to all the veterans around him.

“Mundy,” Thornton answered-and John Robert Mundy took Thornton's intentional affront to his name preference in silence—“when our government sends a novice like you here, and you make statements like that, it just forces the Moros to choose up sides, with the other side, with the Communists.”

Thornton thought this Mundy guy was a jackass, not because of what he had just said, which revealed his ignorance, but because he had said much the same thing in a widely quoted TV interview. His public statements about Mindanao on behalf of the ambassador sounded simple-minded. It seemed to Thornton that the most creative the State Department could be was to send out representatives to shake hands with children and pass out Bibles. All they got were photographs of poor tribesmen smiling into the cameras for press releases about cooperation.

Liu entered the discussion in a more tactful way. “I saw this article in the
New York Times
. It shows you in words from one of your own newspapers what you are getting into,” Liu passed the
Times
article around the table. When it reached Thornton, Hargens moved in from his left side and read over his shoulder:

Yet as these images vividly show, a specter beyond terrorism seems to hover over Basilan. This ghost is the American military experience in South Vietnam, where, beginning in 1961, U.S. advisors arrived for an open-ended stay in Southeast Asia. Fourteen years and 58,000 casualties later, American forces finally left South Vietnam, abandoning a mission that most Americans had concluded was misguided and not winnable
.

Hargens passed it on to Ambassador Richardson sitting next to him to read.

“Are you sure you can stay the course with us for as long as it takes?” Liu, for personal as well as professional reasons, wanted to know the answer to his question.

Martin Galan, not just a congressman, but also the National Security Advisor to the President of the Philippines, felt it was time to get a little bit serious. “The Philippine Army has some problems, Ambassador, General. We could use some help.”

Thornton responded, “Congressman, your country is secure from foreign intervention up here in Manila, if it does not implode from internal corruption, but you would lose the southern third of your country, a major source of your food and foreign exchange, if you lost Mindanao.”

The Ambassador thought it was time to cool things down. “Mr. Mundy, here, was assigned to the Philippines by State as an observer, so let's get him out into the field to observe. I need to know what is really going on in Mindanao.”

“It may be a paradox.” Liu was now baiting all three of the Americans. “If you Yankees were not fighting your personal global war, the insurgents here would have no one to fight against; but if we Filipinos don't have your help, we can't defeat them.”

“A lot of people agree with you, Reggie.” Thornton had thought a lot about the problem, and it bothered him. He lived in Mindanao. “Luke, why doesn't Defense get tough? The Abu Sayaf admits officially that it is involved with the Moro National Liberation Front, and both are definitely linked with Al Qaeda.”

“Do we Americans have to sort it all out for our allies?” Hargens stirred the pot.

Ambassador Richardson could not restrain himself any longer and gave the State Department position. “We're
not
involved in politics in the Philippines, not in protocol or in substance; we have left all the negotiations between the Philippine government and the Moros to be mediated by Malaysia. We stay out of local politics.”

Liu was not convinced, “You
are
involved if the Moros
think
you are involved. You guys keep talking way too loud about the Moros hooking up with international terrorist groups. Best to leave them alone and to talk in a civilized way, with some cultural sensitivity.”

The
Times
article had made Thornton think, and he gazed for several slow minutes into the near distance at a dark wood-paneled wall holding framed photographs of MacArthur returning, of a former president of the Philippines, of a Filipina female spy executed by the Japanese, her name forgotten to the world but remaining a legend to those in the business, and of other forgotten famous people coming gradually into focus while his memory connected disjointed events. He did not talk for a while as he quietly watched the Navy team pile up touchdowns against his alma mater.

Ambassador Richardson leaned into a new discussion with Hargens, somewhat uncomfortably, knowing that he would have to walk a tight diplomatic line within his portfolio for their ultimate boss, the President. The ambassador had been briefed only about STAGCOM's official role in Mindanao and Thornton's deal with Hargens to locate the Turk, and was curious about the consultant who seemed to know everyone around the table. “I'm very interested in your opinion, your personal view of the present situation in Mindanao, Thomas.” The ambassador was aware that on this specific mission actions would be taken without the involvement of the CIA.

Thornton, surprised to have been called by his first name, waited to consider what to tell the ambassador, then gave a short report. “The word is out that U.S. Special Forces are moving into the Davao City metro area proper. Olive drab trucks are obvious driving around town. This will send a bad message.”

“That's not true! Our troops are assigned to Zamboanga only. The trucks you see were gifts from us to the Philippine Army. We know better than to upset the most stabilizing influence in Mindanao, Mayor Fuentes.”

The ambassador asked to change places with Hargens and spoke directly into Thornton's ear, visibly upset. “If Mayor Fuentes is embarrassed and can't keep that city quiet, all of Mindanao could erupt. We'll have a chain of dominos fall if Davao City heats up and the NPA moves in. It would be real civil war—an excuse for the Muslims in the western part of the island to band together, and it could upset the entire strategic direction of our foreign policy.”

“Mayor Fuentes will have more than just a lot of headaches trying to hold down Muslim discontent.” Thornton could tell the ambassador the truth; he had no agenda to hide. “He might not survive himself.”

Ambassador Richardson was plainly concerned about how the American involvement had been reported in the Mindanao press and wanted to change the message. “I will make a forceful statement to the press.” He was getting testy, but his irritation wasn't directed solely at Thornton, who just happened to be handy.

“Big deal, Mr. Ambassador,” Thornton answered him anyway. “Maybe you could get the Manila papers, the
Star
, the
Inquirer
, and others to print your press releases, but so what? Few people in Mindanao read those papers, except me and a maybe a few other expats. Mindanao cares little about news from Manila.”

“Your suggestion, Mr. Thornton?” Richardson asked, calming down.

“Use Wolfgang Moser, a guy I know in Davao City, as your vehicle. He writes a daily local news column for the
Mindanao Times
, the same local paper that printed the reports you are aware of. He also has his own radio program. He's lived fourteen years in Davao City and can get the word out to those who're not convinced; he has real credibility partly because he's not an American. He's an Austrian citizen now, and a foreign correspondent for the
Kurier
out of Vienna, to boot.”

The Ambassador called in his Public Information Officer, introduced Thornton to her, and told her to direct specific news releases to Moser. By the next week Moser would be reporting a whole new version of the news, starting his news segments with “In a statement issued today by the U.S. Embassy … ” This would be the first time
The Mindanao Times
or its sister radio station had had direct news from the U.S. perspective to report.

The ambassador's action relaxed the tension around the room, and by 6:00
AM
only Liu and Thornton on the Army side and Philippine
congressmen Galan, Zobrado and Dureza from the Navy were still present, their coffees now cold and the game over.

It was Galan's turn to issue an invitation. “Will you grunts be joining us for breakfast? General? Thornton? Colonel Liu?”

“Sure, Navy won, they buy, right?” Hargens saw an opportunity to talk privately to the ranking civilian in the Philippine defense hierarchy. “Martin, this might be a great time to talk.”

The Navy guys' choice for breakfast was the Bayview Hotel, near the embassy. It was only about 300 meters across the street, but everyone rode there in their chauffeured cars with bodyguards. Manila by night or near dawn is an even dirtier city than usual. The early morning beggars were just waking up, and the semi-pro prostitutes were almost ready to give up for the night.

The breakfast buffet was opening, and Hargens walked through it with Galan, telling him, “Your government has asked JUSMAG to help you defeat the revolution, but you won't let us use our troops. What the hell is your logic?”

Galan was evasive. “It's political, Luke, not tactical. I just do what our President tells me to do.”

“Me too. Our president's objective is to keep the Philippines in our camp.”

“We are in your camp, Luke, but if you butt into our business, the next generation might vote us out. Too many GIs hanging around bars. Good luck to all of us when they elect the next semi-pro karaoke singer. You guys may no longer be welcome here.” Their plates filled at the buffet table, they sat down and joined the others.

Galan had run for president in the last election but withdrew when the current president's position looked solid. He was a sharp guy and a good man, and always ready to talk politics. Over breakfast he gave his opinion: “The Abu Sayaf are not a political or religious movement, they're just a bunch of hooligans with a constituency.”

But Hargens saw a military reality. “Gentlemen, we share the same problem. If the Abu Sayaf get that five million, it could swing the balance. We don't want to lose a third of the Philippines. By the way, we can take out any target you give me. If your President can convince ours and I get an OK, just give me the coordinates.”

Galan could not let such a statement pass, “But none of your combat troops on the ground! There must be a better way.”

Thornton and Liu looked at each other while their bosses argued and shared the same thoughts: political factions were so out of touch and far apart that it was impossible to resolve their differences. And now the country had a civil war to fight, and the two of them were in the middle of it.

After breakfast, as the group broke up and began to go their separate ways, Hargens pulled Liu back for a moment and gave the colonel something to think about, “How does this sound to you, Reggie? Who would you rather get the cash, them, us, you, or your old German language teacher?”

U
gly Maria came by her name honestly. The Tagalog culture incorporated the name Mariafe into its language as a pleasant and fancy-sounding word, a melodious and Spanish-rooted name for ladies. Mariafe was meant to imply the Virgin Mary and faith, the precise Spanish translation. But when she told her name to the infiltrator under the bridge, Mahir slightly misunderstood the meaning. He spoke some Spanish at a conversational level and misinterpreted her name as Maria fea, Spanish for ugly, a name much more suited to her attributes, and once he repeated it in camp, it stuck and the others picked it up permanently. She never noticed the continuing but unintended insult, nor would she have cared anyway.