History, grievances, and conflict trajectories
Commensurate with our analytical framework (chapter 2), this chapter traces the evolution of the conflicts in Mindanao and Ambon. It identifies the root causes of the conflicts and highlights the key events that have facilitated the outbreak and determined the trajectory of the two civil wars. Methodologically the chapter relies on process tracing as outlined in the previous chapter. The chapter argues that both conflicts had deep historical roots, which caused the social and economic grievances that, aggravated by perceived discriminatory practices, have spurred the violence, while – with the increasing duration of the strife, albeit with varying intensity – conflict economies and greed have hindered conflict resolution and reconciliation. Religion played a major role in mobilizing the masses and justifying the violence. In the subsequent sections, we first analyze conflict evolution in the southern Philippines including the church as a party in the conflict, before eventually turning to Maluku where we also assess the role of the church in the violence.
The conflicts in the southern Philippines and Maluku have deep historical roots. They explain the profound and enduring distrust between the warring parties and the many obstacles to be overcome on the way to peaceful conflict settlement. In the Philippines, conflict with the country’s southern parts dates back as far as the sixteenth century. With the arrival of the Spaniards, the northbound advance of Islam, which had arrived in the Sulu archipelago and on the island of Mindanao in the fourteenth century, came to an abrupt halt. After taking possession of Luzon and the Visayan islands, Spanish missionaries accompanying the colonizers Christianized the native population. Yet Spanish attempts to extend their territorial control to the south were bound to fail due to fierce resistance by the region’s Muslim sultanates (Phelan 1959; Gowing 1967; McKenna 1998). The stigmatization of Filipino Muslims dates back to this period. While Spaniards, in analogy to the Reconquista in their own country, derogatively named Muslims “Moros” (Brown 1988: 56), the Spaniards inadvertently gave them an ethnic marker behind which they could rally despite deep internal divisions. In fact, in the twentieth century the term “Moro” and its usage became a powerful symbol of common identity, resistance, and courage for the Muslims of Mindanao (McKenna 2002: 545; Liow 2006: 8; D’Ambra 2011: 78).
Until the mid-nineteenth century, when steam-powered gunboats increased the Spanish military’s strength (McKenna 2002: 543), the Moros remained a perennial security threat to the weak and thinly stretched Spanish military forces in the Philippines (Gowing 1967: 50). Moro slave raids against Spanish outposts in the Visayas were a frequent occurrence in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries (Schumacher 1984: 261) and strongly shaped the Spanish and Christian Filipino abhorrence of what they considered uncivilized, infidel, and marauding Muslim hordes (ibid.: 56). It was not until the very end of the Spanish colonization in the 1890s that the Spaniards eventually gained control over the Cotabato heartland of Muslim Mindanao and a modicum of allegiance from the region’s Muslim nobility (McKenna 1998: 88). This means that for three centuries the Moros were able to develop a separate culture and society independent from the rest of the Philippines (Gowing 1979: 7f.).
The Moros also fiercely fought the Americans who, after the American-Spanish War of 1898, succeeded Spain as the colonial power in the Philippines. While military government was replaced by civil rule as early as 1901 in the Visayas and Luzon, it continued in Muslim and tribal areas until 1913. Yet after pacification of the south, the American colonial administration unwittingly ushered in developments, which in the 1960s and 1970s strongly fomented Muslim-Christian antagonism. Infrastructure projects trickling down to the south enabled the influx of Christian settlers from the north, initially in moderate numbers, which the Americans supported as a strategy to integrate Muslims into a future postcolonial Filipino nation (McKenna 1998: 106–110). This policy, which gained momentum in the Commonwealth period (1935–1946), set in motion a dramatic demographic transformation, at the end of which the Moros and the tribal population (Lumads) were relegated from a majority to a minority in their own homelands. While in 1920 Muslims accounted for over 80 percent of the population in the south, by the 1980s they represented less than 20 percent. Currently, 9 percent of the people in the southern Philippines are tribal (Lumads), about 18 percent are Muslims, and the remainder Christians. Today, Muslims constitute a majority only in five out of 14 southern provinces (Maguindanao, Lanao del Sur, Sulu, Tawi, and Zamboanga del Sur). Exacerbating this development was the introduction of a land titling system, the Torrens system, which was alien to the Muslims and accelerated the loss of their ancestral lands and their impoverishment. According to existing estimates, a large majority of Moros – roughly 80 percent – continue to be landless (Bacani 2005: 4; Buendia 2005).
While Muslims resisted integration into the newly independent Philippine state,1 fearing that they would be marginalized in a majority Christian nation state governed from Manila (Majul 1976; Majul 1988: 899), subsequent Philippine administrations were able to co-opt the Muslim nobility (datus) by providing them access to electoral positions in the local government system. Yet immigration of Christian homesteaders from Luzon and the Visayas took on an unprecedented scale, as President Magsaysay (1953–1957) sought to defuse the agrarian Hukbalahap rebellion in Central Luzon through the large-scale resettlement of poor peasants to the fertile and thinly populated plains of Mindanao (McKenna 2002: 545). With almost 32,000 migrants arriving in Mindanao per week in the 1960s (May 1992: 128), resettlement served as a convenient social safety valve for the ruling Philippine oligarchy. While it eased social pressure in the country’s agrarian heartlands without the need to initiate urgent socioeconomic reform, tensions began to build up in many parts of Mindanao. Migrant settlers and corporate investors engaged in large-scale land grabbing and Christian politicians increasingly competed with the Muslim nobility for local government posts, thereby progressively changing political power equations in the south. Although corporate investment increasingly flowed into resource-rich Mindanao in the post-Second World War period, it did not benefit the region. As Quimpo observed, the two predominantly Muslim provinces of Sulu and Maguindanao are still the two poorest in the entire country (Quimpo 2001: 275; Coronel Ferrer 2013: 4). With the formation of militias such as the Christian Ilagas (literally “rats”) and the Muslim Barracudas and Blackshirts, and the private armies of local politicians and clan leaders, Muslim-Christian relationships became increasingly violent. Mutual harassment and massacres, such as that of Muslim army recruits on Corregidor in 1968 or in Manili (North Cotabato) and Tacub in June and November 1971, further heightened communal tensions (Majul 1988: 904).
While material grievances triggered by demographic change, land grabbing, the usurpation of political positions, and communal violence deepened Muslim sentiments of deprivation and thus constituted a significant factor pushing the Muslim-Christian relationship beyond easy reconciliation, cognitive factors finally set the stage for civil war. Paradoxically, government attempts to better integrate the Muslim population into the Philippine state through special education programs played a major role in this development. Young Muslim graduates from Philippine universities and religious schools in the Middle East challenged the traditional Muslim nobility and became a counter-elite that was able to recruit disgruntled Muslims into newly formed militant organizations such as the Mindanao Independence Movement (MIM) in 1968 and the Moro National Liberation Front (MNLF) in 1971 (Gutierrez 1999: 314). Led by Nur Misuari, an erstwhile political science instructor from the University of the Philippines in Manila, Muslim dissidents galvanized their resistance by constructing heroic myths centering on the historical figure of Sultan Kudarat, creating an Islamic socialist identity, and eventually propagating secession from the Philippine state.
Civil war finally broke out as a consequence of the imposition of martial law by President Marcos in September 1972 (Marcos 1978: 15–19). Marcos, inter alia, justified martial law by the restive situation in the south. However, Muslim organizations refused to surrender their firearms as demanded by the emergency rule, fearing the prospect of becoming defenseless in an increasingly centralized, Christian-dominated Philippine state. In the years following martial law, violence in the Philippine south escalated and reached an all-time high. At the time, an estimated 30,000 MNLF combatants tied down major parts of the Philippine armed forces (McKenna 1998: 165; Abubakar 2000: 125). The majority of the conflict’s so far more than 130,000 casualties lost their lives in this period.2
Amid mounting international pressure exerted by the Organization of the Islamic Conference (OIC) and Arab countries spearheaded by Libya, and apprehensions about an oil boycott, the Marcos regime signed the Tripoli peace agreement with the MNLF in 1976. In the Tripoli Agreement, the MNLF gave up its demand for secession, while the Philippine government agreed to establish an autonomous region in 13 provinces of the southern Philippines (Abubakar 2000: 126). The autonomy afforded the Moros the right to set up their own administration and representative bodies, their court system based on Islamic sharia law, and their own educational system (Rüland 2006: 222).
By the end of 1977, the failure of the Tripoli Agreement set in motion a new round of armed hostilities. The Marcos regime had implemented the agreement unilaterally (Abubakar 2000: 126), restricting autonomy after a plebiscite to include ten instead of 13 provinces in two autonomous regions (Region IX and Region XII) instead of one region. It also succeeded in installing traditional Muslim politicians and MNLF defectors in the local governments and representative bodies of the two autonomous regions, thereby contributing to the deep factionalization of the post-Tripoli MNLF (Talibas-Nunez 1997: 24; McKenna 1998: 168; Molloy 1983: 8, 18; Ahmad 1999: 34).3 Moreover, the government’s Attractions and Amnesty programs lured many rank-and-file members of the MNLF to come down from the hills and surrender (Molloy 1983: 20; Mastura 1986: 57).
It thus took until the collapse of the Marcos regime in 1986 and the rise of Corazon Aquino to the presidency for peace negotiations in the south to be resumed. Prospects for a lasting peace were enhanced by the provisions of the 1987 Constitution, which called for the creation of an Autonomous Region of Muslim Mindanao (ARMM). However, a November 1989 plebiscite, organized by the government in line with constitutional requirements, mirrored the demographic changes in Mindanao over the previous decades, with only four provinces set to be included in the ARMM.4 Unsurprisingly, the MNLF rejected the whole process which, it claimed, was at variance with the provisions of the Tripoli Agreement and also reneged on the Jeddah Accord of January 1987 in which the government had conceded an expanded area of autonomy. By 1988, negotiations were deadlocked and the MNLF went back to armed struggle (Rüland 2006: 223).
New opportunities for a peace agreement came only with the succeeding Ramos administration. A peace accord concluded with Indonesian mediation and under the supervision of the OIC was eventually signed after longwinded negotiations between the Philippine government and the MNLF in September 1996. The two-phased implementation process was envisaged to start with the creation of the Southern Philippines Council for Peace and Development (SPCPD), a transitory body to promote socioeconomic development in 13 provinces covered by the Tripoli Agreement (Abubakar 2000: 131), which in a second phase, following elections, would proceed with the establishment of a new Regional Autonomous Government patterned after the Tripoli Agreement. The Regional Autonomous Government would consist of an executive council, a legislative assembly, and representation in the national government. It would be given the power to oversee taxation, set up Special Regional Security Forces, create an educational system incorporating Islamic boarding schools (madari), and set up Islamic sharia courts.
However, once more the implementation was saddled with a plethora of problems. Phase two was several years behind schedule (Coronel Ferrer 2000: 166) and, short of funding, the regional autonomous government headed by MNLF leader Nur Misuari could not meaningfully alleviate the region’s poverty (Abubakar 2000: 139). The agreement also failed to address the problem of land grabbing, which was at the core of Muslim impoverishment (Bertrand 2000: 52). Only a trickle of the development funds committed by central government agencies and international donors reached the region. The Asian Financial Crisis further exacerbated these problems (Abubakar 2000: 141; Coronel Ferrer 2013: 11). Even worse, the Misuari-led regional autonomous government – like its ARMM predecessors5 – was soon discredited due to severe mismanagement including endemic nepotism and corruption.6 Muslim majority provinces in Mindanao including Sulu, Tawi-Tawi, Basilan, Maguindanao, Lanao del Sur, and Lanao del Norte remained the poorest in the country (Buendia 2005). In April 2001, Misuari was ousted as MNLF chief, after which he returned to armed resistance.
The peace agreement was also not helped by the fact that it was concluded solely with the MNLF. In 1984, the deeply factionalized MNLF eventually split, giving rise to the formal establishment of the Moro Islamic Liberation Front (MILF) under the leadership of Hashim Salamat.7 While the MNLF mainly consisted of ethnic Tausug living in the Sulu archipelago and western Mindanao, the MILF was primarily an organization of Maguindanaons and Maranaoans. Much more than the MNLF, the MILF championed a religious identity (McKenna 1998: 232), culminating in the demand to establish an independent Islamic state based on sharia law in Mindanao.8 Its leader, Hashim Salamat, was said to be strongly inspired by modernist Islamic thinkers such as Syed Qutb, a leading member of the Egyptian Muslim Brotherhood (Jolob 2000: 14), and Syed Abul Mau’dudi of Pakistan (Liow 2006: 16).9 In the process, the presence of foreign preachers increased, without, however, tangibly deepening and purifying the religiosity of the local population (McKenna 1998: 227), which was also qualified as “folk Islam.”10 A 1997 ceasefire with the MILF was short-lived and quickly collapsed due to MILF demands for autonomy that were unacceptable for the Philippine government. The resumption of hostilities peaked in the “all-out war” launched by Ramos’ successor Joseph Estrada against the MILF between April and September 2000 (Buendia 2006). The subsequent stationing of US Special Operations Forces in the southern Philippines after 11 September 2001 also did little to ease the tensions. Moreover, the terrorist Abu Sayyaf (“sword bearer”) Group which, disappointed by Misuari’s peace negotiations, broke away from the MNLF in the 1990s, further complicated the situation in the south. As a result, both the MILF and Abu Sayyaf, claiming that they were not part of the peace process, in consonance with lost commands and changing clan alliances became spoilers of the peace process (Liow 2006: 16; Kreuzer & Weiberg 2007).
After assuming office in 2001, President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo declared a unilateral ceasefire (“all-out peace”) (Jubair 2007: 38) and started a revitalization of the peace talks with Malaysian government mediation (USIP 2005: 6). She thereby responded to the fact that in the 2000s the MILF had emerged as the strongest Muslim organization in the Philippine south. With its leader Nur Misuari ousted as ARMM governor and MNLF chairman and imprisoned after a violent attack on Jolo in November 2001,11 the MNLF was in constant decline, while the MILF had grown to an armed force of more than 12,000 fighters. President Macapagal-Arroyo’s renewed peace initiative (Quimpo 2016: 6) resulted in the Tripoli Agreement of 2001, in which the parties consented to a negotiation agenda with three main themes: security, rehabilitation, and ancestral domain (USIP 2005: 6; Herbolzheimer 2015: 3). After a short flaring up of fighting in 2003,12 in 2004, the government and the MILF agreed on the creation of an International Monitoring Team (Herbolzheimer 2015: 2). In 2008, new hostilities interrupted the negotiations after the Supreme Court struck down by a narrow eight to seven vote as unconstitutional the Memorandum of Agreement – Ancestral Domain (MOA-AD) – a government-MILF agreement (D’Ambra 2011: 85; International Crisis Group 2011: 2; Quimpo 2016: 9)13 – only for the negotiations to be resumed with the formation of an International Contact Group in 2009. The latter was introduced with the objective of acting as observer to the negotiations and adviser to the parties (Herbolzheimer 2015: 2).
In 2012, the MILF and the Philippine government agreed to end the violent struggle and signed the Framework Agreement on the Bangsamoro (FAB) in which the roadmap for the transition to an autonomous Moro government was formulated (Herbolzheimer 2015: 3).14 Following several annexes on different topics, the parties finally signed the Comprehensive Agreement on the Bangsamoro (CAB) in March 2014. The Agreement is centered on the establishment of “Bangsamoro,” a new self-governing entity replacing the existing ARMM (ibid.: 3), and provided Moros with greater political powers and more control over the region’s natural resources. In order to set up the new Bangsamoro region, the so-called “Bangsamoro Basic Law” (BBL) has to be passed by the Philippine Congress (Chan 2014: 26). After enactment of the law, a plebiscite will be held to decide the precise jurisdiction of the Bangsamoro political entity (ibid.: 3).
It had been agreed by the negotiating parties that the new Bangsamoro region would be established before the end of the Aquino administration. However, with the Philippine Congress’ failure to pass the BBL before the 9 May 2016 presidential and congressional elections, conflict transformation came to a standstill. Pivotal for the legislature’s refusal to pass the BBL was an armed encounter in the Maguindanao village of Mamasapano on 25 January 2015. On that day, special forces from the Philippine National Police (PNP), who were hunting two dreaded terrorists, Malaysian Zulkifli Abdhir alias Marwan and Filipino Abdul Basit Usman (International Crisis Group 2016: 7), trespassed on MILF territory and subsequently clashed with forces from the MILF and the Bangsamoro Islamic Freedom Fighters (BIFF), a spoiler group which in late 2010 under the leadership of Ameril Umbra Kato had severed ties with the MILF in disagreement over the latter’s participation in the peace process (Quimpo 2016: 10).15 In the clash, the special forces unit was virtually wiped out, leaving 44 officers dead (ibid.: 11; de Jesus & de Jesus 2018: 159–195). The clash enabled many legislators to rehearse long-held prejudices against the Moros, claiming that they cannot be trusted and in reality are not interested in a lasting peace settlement. The House of Representatives and Senate markedly revised their versions of the BBL versions, thereby reducing or deleting powers that had already been vested in the ARMM (International Crisis Group 2016: 8). Citing constitutional objections and other pretexts, they effectively shelved deliberations on the law, which were not resumed prior to the elections of 9 May 2016.16
Thus, despite strong lobbying by the outgoing president, a key provision of the CAB that calls for the passage of the BBL and the establishment of the new Bangsamoro political entity was not implemented under the Aquino administration, although there is still some hope for the BBL, as the new president Rodrigo Duterte alluded to combining the BBL with the establishment of a federal form of government.17 On a more positive note, despite the uncertainties surrounding the BBL, the Philippine government made headway in separate peace negotiations with the remnants of the MNLF. On 26 January 2016, Manila signed the so-called “Jeddah Declaration,” in which both sides affirmed their willingness to achieve a lasting peace and to push for the full implementation of the 1996 Final Peace Agreement.18 This was a remarkable achievement given the fact that only three years earlier the MNLF had staged a siege of Zamboanga City which left over 200 persons dead and displaced some 120,000 people (Franco 2013; Chan 2014: 28).19
However, despite the ceasefire monitored by a Malaysian-led international team, violence continues in the Philippine south. Analyses that depict violence in the region solely as the result of fighting between the Muslim rebels and the Philippine state are thus reductionist simplifications of the reality. The Muslim insurgency is – as Kreuzer and Weiberg argue – insolubly interlinked with other conflict layers (Kreuzer & Weiberg 2007: 388).
Some of the violence associated with insurgents is due to intra- and inter-insurgent struggles (International Alert 2014: 24). Most rebel organizations rely on decentralized command structures which mainly rest on personal loyalties. The latter are precarious, dependent on political expedience, and thus frequently cause armed clashes between competing rebel units (Kreuzer & Weiberg 2007: 413). Inter-insurgent violence must be attributed to spoiler groups such as the MILF breakaway Bangsamoro Islamic Freedom Fighters (BIFF) and more recent attempts to build up an Islamic State (IS) front in Mindanao under the aegis of the Middle East-educated Maute brothers, a group of radical Islamists based in Lanao del Sur province, and Isnilon Hapilon, the leader of an Abu Sayyaf faction (International Crisis Group 2016: 14; Gunaratna 2017a: 3, 2017b).20 Hapilon had pledged loyalty to Islamic State leader Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi when the latter declared the caliphate in Mosul in 2014 (Franco 2014; Singh 2016, 2017; Habulan 2016: 20; Jones 2017),21 and Hapilon was named Amir of Wilayah Al-Filibin, a newly formed IS province in the southern Philippines (Singh 2016; Singh & Ramakrishna 2016; Gunaratna 2016: 22). After twice raiding the town of Butig (Lanao del Sur) in late 2016, a few months later, in May 2017, the Maute-Hapilon jihadists attacked Marawi City, the capital of Lanao del Sur province (Gunaratna 2017b, 2017c).22 It took the Philippine army five months of fierce fighting and the declaration of martial law for all of Mindanao, before it eventually succeeded in completely dislodging the rebels from the city.23
Adding to the complexity of the conflict in Mindanao (Abinales 2018: 39) is the fluid nature of alliances among local clans (Kreuzer 2005). These clans compete fiercely over political positions and economic opportunities. Armed clashes proliferate during election times, but also over the stakes of the region’s widely ramified shadow economy. A study by International Alert, a World Bank-affiliated research group mapping violence in Mindanao and the Sulu archipelago, impressively confirmed what other studies had already suggested.24 Much more than religion, other factors such as “political competition between local elites, clan feuding (rido) or illicit economic activities” have spurred violent incidents in the Mindanao frontier region (International Alert 2014: 15; Abinales 2018: 39). As a survey of the research group covering the years 2011–2013 reveals, of the 2,578 violent incidents registered in Muslim Mindanao in this period, more than 30 percent must be attributed to clashes that were fueled by turf wars in the region’s deeply entrenched shadow economies (production and trade of illicit guns and drugs,25 kidnapping for ransom, logging, cattle rustling, smuggling, illegal gambling, human trafficking, and pyramiding scams), and more than 28 percent had political backgrounds such as electoral violence or factional rivalries and power struggles.26 Only about 10 percent had identity-based causes.
A scrutiny of conflict micro dynamics suggests that the interests of local warlords, security forces, and insurgent groups are deeply enmeshed (Kreuzer 2005: 13; Kreuzer & Weiberg 2007: 387). The all-pervading clan structures penetrate and capture formal institutions and frequently paralyze them (ibid.: 389). The clans usually entertain links to the army, the police, local militia troops (such as the Civilian Armed Forces Geographical Units (CAGFU)), lost commands, rebel units, and criminal gangs including the notorious Pentagon gang27 and the Al Khobar group (International Alert 2014: 25). Some of these groups, in particular Abu Sayyaf28 and the Pentagon gang, engage in kidnap for ransom and extortion (Coronel Ferrer 2013: 45). What thus at first sight appears to be an armed clash between government forces and rebels is often merely a fight between rival clans.
Such clashes can produce an endless cycle of strife as killings of clan members trigger clan feuds (rido). Rido is a violent method of settling blood debts through revenge (Gonzales 1999: 88; Kreuzer 2005; Magno Torres III 2007: 3). The cycle of violence can only be interrupted through elaborate external mediation, on the basis of which the aggrieved party is compensated with “blood money” (ibid.: 92). The fact that the clan structure is hierarchical makes peace work extremely difficult: the loyalty of clan members is greater towards the clan than towards intervening governmental or religious authorities. The enduring cultural phenomenon of rido, which has not withered away with modernization, thus poses a serious obstacle to peacebuilding. How serious the problem of rido is for peacebuilding has been documented in a study edited by Wilfredo Magno Torres III (2007). This study documented 1,266 rido cases in Mindanao between the 1930s and 2005, killing over 5,500 people and displacing thousands. 64 percent of these cases remain unresolved. Even worse is the finding that rido cases increase towards the end of the study period: 50 percent (637 cases) occurred in the 2000–2004 period, which amounts to about 127 new cases per year (Magno-Torres III 2007: 8).
While the previous paragraphs have examined the roles of the Philippine government and major Muslim rebel organizations as conflict parties and peace actors, the question of what role the Catholic Church played in the peace process remains. The overwhelming majority of Christian migrants to Mindanao belong to the Roman Catholic Church, although in recent years Protestant and especially evangelical churches have gained ground in the southern Philippines. The latter especially are suspected by Muslims to promote conversion and are thus considered more part of the problem than of the solution.
Yet the political role of the Roman Catholic Church has also been highly ambivalent in the Philippines. While under Spanish colonialism the Catholic Church for most of the time sided with the oppressors (KAP Research n.d.; Tuggy 1971; Kessler & Rüland 2006, 2008), reforms during the American period and especially after national independence gave rise to a Church engaged in social work and advocacy for the poor (Youngblood 1990). Nevertheless, divisions in the Catholic Church persisted and became most pronounced during the martial law period. While conservative bishops supported the Marcos regime, left-leaning clergy influenced by the theology of liberation built Basic Christian Communities (BCC) and in some cases even cooperated with the pro-communist New People’s Army (NPA) (Youngblood 1990; Kessler & Rüland 2006, 2008). Most significantly, the Catholic Church led by Manila Archbishop Cardinal Jaime L. Sin was also a crucial actor in the so-called People’s Power Revolution, which eventually brought down the dictatorial Marcos regime in February 1986 (Thompson 1995).
With respect to the role of the Catholic Church in the Mindanao peace process, it is no exaggeration to claim that the CAB and the BBL have deeply divided the Catholic Church. There are eminent supporters of the peace process and the BBL, but there are also high-profile opponents within the Church hierarchy. One key supporter of the BBL and a long-time advocate of interreligious dialogue is Antonio Ledesma, the archbishop of Cagayan de Oro.29 In May 2015, Ledesma warned that the “alternative of scrapping the Bangsamoro Basic Law would be a return to square one a generation ago and may result in continuing violence and unrest in Mindanao.”30 Another outspoken supporter of the BBL is Cardinal Orlando Quevedo, the archbishop of Cotabato City, who appeared in nationwide pro-BBL advertisements and cinema spots.
At the same time, Quevedo’s own auxiliary bishop of Cotabato, Jose Colin Bagaforo, is a vocal opponent of the BBL. Bagaforo argues that more time is needed to look into the “constitutional infirmities” of the BBL,31 attributing the growing opposition to the BBL to the lack of careful study of the law and urging President Aquino not to hasten its passage.32
Probably the most prominent opponent of the BBL within the Catholic hierarchy is Fernando R. Capalla, archbishop emeritus of Davao. Capalla served as president of the Catholic Bishops Conference of the Philippines and was one of the founders of the Bishops-Ulama Conference (BUC). He has also been a member of the Episcopal Council for Interreligious Dialogue (ECID) (Larousse 2001: 480; D’Ambra 2011: 76). It is remarkable that Capalla, a prominent advocate of interreligious dialogue, not only opposes the BBL but even went to the Supreme Court against the CAB and the draft BBL document. In his opposition, Capalla was joined by several other high-ranking Church representatives, including Ramon C. Arguelles, the archbishop of Lipa, and Romulo dela Cruz, the archbishop of Zamboanga. At the time of writing, this court case had not yet been ruled upon as the Supreme Court has postponed its judgement until after the passage of the BBL.
This suggests that there is no coherent, consensual approach by the Catholic Church to the peace process. Until the administration of Benigno Aquino III, the BUC could be seen as one of the most vital and crucial tools of interreligious dialogue in the Philippines and an eminent conduit towards peace. The history of the BUC started in 1996, when the Ramos administration officially requested that Capalla and Muslim leader Mahid Mutilan form an interreligious organization with a special focus on the “moral and spiritual aspect of dialogue in Mindanao” (Evers 1998: 533; Larousse 2001: 480; D’Ambra 2016, 2011: 76). Mutilan was the governor of Lanao del Sur and organized the Ulama League of the Philippines during the Ramos administration (Larousse 2001: 480; D’Ambra 2011: 76). After several meetings, the Bishops-Ulama Forum was officially launched in Cebu City in November 1996, later to be renamed the Bishops-Ulama Conference (D’Ambra 2011, 2016; Fitzpatrick 2008). The BUC met three to four times per year and had official financial and organizational support from the National Secretariat for Social Action (NASSA), Justice and Peace, the Office of the Presidential Advisor on the Peace Process, and the Catholic Relief Service (D’Ambra 2011, 2016; Fitzpatrick 2008). Father Sebastiano D’Ambra, the founder of the Silsilah (Arabic: literal “chain” or “link”) peace movement in Zamboanga City (D’Ambra 2011: 87; Espiritu 2017: 115),33 was the secretary of the Episcopal Commission for Interreligious Dialogue (ECID) at that time and was also tasked with organizing the BUF and BUC at the initial stages (D’Ambra 2016). D’Ambra delivered an empirical analysis of 13 BUC gatherings and concluded that the meetings facilitated a better understanding between Christians and Muslims in Mindanao (D’Ambra 2011: 86).
However, the administration of Benigno Aquino III sidelined the BUC (D’Ambra 2016). There is now an almost complete lack of financial and organizational support for the BUC, rendering the organization largely dysfunctional and moribund. Many commentators, journalists, and academics see this fundamental change as the main reason why Bishop Capalla became one of the most vocal opponents of the CAB and the BBL, attaching a sense of disillusionment and bitterness to him. He wanted to see “his” BUC as the main “peacemaking actor,” but instead the BUC and Capalla himself have been marginalized in the conflict settlement. In a statement in December 2015, Capalla urged for the recognition of the BUC by the administration of the time and claimed that the Bishops-Ulama Conference was the “missing link in the peace process.”34 The BUC had also facilitated the organization of seminar workshops for Catholic and other private schools, including madrasas, with the objective of integrating interreligious dialogue and the culture of peace into their curriculum (Larousse 2001: 488). However, despite these grassroots activities, critics bemoaned that the BUC meetings focused primarily on theological differences while neglecting key themes such as the history of the relationship between Christians and Muslims in the Philippines, land rights, and resource extraction (Neumann 2009: 70).
The context in which the conflict in Ambon occurred differed from that in the southern Philippines. In Indonesia, Islam is the dominant religion. While the Philippine Muslim population accounts for less than 8 percent of the whole, in Indonesia about 88 percent are Muslims and only 10 percent Christians. More than two-thirds of Indonesian Christians are Protestants, only about one-third Roman Catholics. However, deviating from the national share, in the province of Maluku, Christians until recently constituted a majority. While they lost this majority due to accelerated Muslim immigration into the province, in Ambon – the provincial capital and a major theater of the civil war in Maluku – they still hold a majority (International Crisis Group 2002: 1).
As a result of the demographic changes the Christian-Muslim relationship in Ambon became increasingly tense. Yet there was no endemic communal violence prior to the end of the Suharto regime. Organized violence in Maluku and Ambon only broke out after the collapse of President Suharto’s authoritarian New Order regime in the period of democratic transition. This places the conflict in line with several other communal conflicts such as those in Kalimantan, East Timor, Aceh, Papua, and Central Sulawesi, all of which erupted at the same time and raised apprehensions that Indonesia was on the verge of becoming a failing state.
As in the case of the southern Philippines, the roots of the conflict in Ambon date back to the colonial era. Islam reached Indonesia from India in the fourteenth century and spread in the archipelago in the following centuries. In the sixteenth century, Europeans arrived in the Moluccan islands, which were famous for their spices that at the time were highly coveted because they were an extremely profitable trade good in Europe. In the scramble to secure a monopoly in the spice trade, the first to gain a foothold in the Moluccas by establishing trading posts and fortifications were the Portuguese. Like the Spaniards in the Philippines, the Portuguese presence in the region went hand in hand with attempts to Christianize the local population. While the Portuguese brought Roman Catholicism to Ambon and other islands of the Moluccas, with the arrival of the Dutch in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries, Protestantism became the dominant religion in the Moluccas. Although the Dutch did not engage in active missionary work, they nevertheless favored Christians at the expense of the local Muslim population, who lived marginalized in the rural areas (Bertrand 2004: 115). The Christian Ambonese became the backbone of the Dutch colonial army and held administrative positions in the city of Ambon. Christians not only had better access to education than Muslims, they also accounted for the majority of the teaching personnel in the province’s educational system.
Although in general actively supporting national independence, some Christians, especially those serving in the Dutch colonial army (Koninklijk Nederlands Indisch Leger, KNIL), met independence with apprehension. They were afraid of becoming a minority in an Islamic country. In 1950, disgruntled Ambonese KNIL officers launched a separatist movement, which – often overlooked – had supporters in the Muslim community as well (Chauvel 1990: 23; Hehanussa 2013: 89). In April 1950, they declared the independence of a South Moluccan Republic (RMS). While their rebellion was swiftly crushed by the Indonesian armed forces (Tentara Nasional Indonesia, TNI), the province was henceforth considered a security risk by the central government in Jakarta.35 Thus during the Suharto era (1966– 1998), more than in other regions of the country, military officers held important local government positions in the Moluccas.
Surprisingly, though, Christians were well represented in the Suharto state. They held important positions in the armed forces and their representation in the Cabinet was higher than their share of the population. This only changed in the early 1990s, when Suharto’s rule was challenged by military factions led by General Benny Murdani, a Christian, and Suharto sought to restructure his support base. Suharto subsequently aligned himself with political Islam, which he had hitherto muzzled and violently suppressed in incidents such as in Tanjung Priok (1984) and Lampung (1989). With the creation of the Association of Muslim Intellectuals (Ikatan Cendikiawan Muslim Se-Indonesia, ICMI) a state-led Islamization began, in the process of which many Christians lost their positions in the state apparatus. In Maluku and Ambon, Christians continued to dominate the regional bureaucracy, but due to improved educational opportunities for Muslims and accelerated by Suharto’s Islamization policy, Muslims caught up in terms of access to public positions. In the final years of the Suharto state, the governor position as well as many chief executive positions in the Maluku branches of the national bureaucracy went to Muslims. By 1996, all regents (bupati), even in districts with a majority Christian population, were Muslims (Bertrand 2004: 69, 116; Centre for Humanitarian Dialogue 2011: 16). Also, in the educational system, recruitment of new teachers favored Muslims and thus a long-held Christian stronghold was eroded.
Behind this policy change lay grievances which in the first place had material roots. Religious affiliation in Ambon was less an expression of religious identity than a form of integration into a network of social relations that opened access to resources, protection, jobs, and business opportunities both at the local and national levels (Schreiner 2000: 12). Although the New Order’s Islamization policy may have corrected longstanding social imbalances, it also heightened insecurity and uncertainty among Christians, eventually disrupting the fragile balance between Christians and Muslims in Maluku and politicizing religious identities.
Like in the southern Philippines, the second factor aggravating communal tensions was demographic change. There were two major sources of this change. One was government-sponsored transmigration projects which sought to alleviate population pressure in the densely populated island of Java through the resettlement of people to the outer islands. In particular, the larger Moluccan islands such as Buru, Seram, and Halmahera had a low population density and thus were suitable destinations for transmigrants. As the majority of transmigrants came from Java, they were in their overwhelming majority Muslim, giving rise to the suspicion among Christians that transmigration was a deliberate government policy to change religious majorities in the Moluccas (Duncan 2005: 58). While transmigration might have had political implications by exporting Javanese concepts of social organization to all parts of the archipelago, combined with the expectation that the Javanese would be more loyal to the government than the population in the restive outer islands, the number of transmigrants did not tangibly affect the demographic balance. Of greater impact was spontaneous migration from Sulawesi into the Moluccas, a process which had been underway for decades. The Bugis, Butons, and Makassarese (BBM) who settled in the Moluccan islands were Muslims and increasingly dominated local commerce (Aditjondro 2000; Bertrand 2004; Sidel 2006; Hehanussa 2013; Al Qurtuby 2016). Finally, many of the thousands of political prisoners, in their majority Muslims, who had been held in penal colonies on the island of Buru after the aborted coup on 30 September 1965 decided to stay and settle in the Moluccas after their release (Böhm 2006: 12).
The demographic change also weakened the resilience of Ambonese society to religious strife by eroding customary law (adat). In the past, coexistence between religious communities was secured through traditional practices known as pela gandong. This denotes traditional partnerships and alliances between two or more villages from different religious backgrounds; ethnic similarities are more important than religious similarities (International Crisis Group 2000: 2; Bräuchler 2007: 40, 2009: 98; Bartels 2009: 16). Pela gandong pacts obliged the partners to help each other in times of crisis, constructing religious buildings and organizing community events. Pela partners thus abstained from attacking each other (Al Qurtuby 2016: 103). Yet the migrants coming from other regions of Indonesia without clan relations to the locals had little concern for Moluccan culture and practices. 36 Aggravating this trend were the centralizing and at the same time Javanizing political reforms in the Suharto era such as the village administration Law No. 5/1979. This law sidelined the traditional village authorities (rajas) and paved the way for local officials who had no or only limited knowledge of local traditions and practices (Hehanussa 2013: 111; Al Qurtuby 2016: 44). In particular, pela gandong lost its meaning in the urbanized setting of Ambon. Finally, religious groups also had their share in the erosion of adat. Modernizing reforms in Ambon’s Protestant Church in the 1950s and 1960s and the purification of Islam in modernist Wahhabite variants gaining ground in Indonesia in the 1990s discredited customary law as pagan and un-Islamic (Duncan 2005: 58; Bartels 2009; Al Qurtuby 2016: 71).
While the socioeconomic dimension of the conflict and the erosion of customary law strengthened religious identities and increased tensions between Christian and Muslim, the eventual trigger for organized civil war was the collapse of the authoritarian Suharto state. As Bertrand argues from a historical institutionalist viewpoint, the sense of insecurity created in the Christian population through the Islamization policy in the twilight years of the Suharto regime was aggravated by the turbulent democratic transition that commenced in 1998. For Christians, this implied the prospect that without the modicum of control exerted by the Suharto regime, the power vacuum in the democratizing country could further strengthen political Islam and work to the detriment of Christians. Yet Muslims also worried about the uncertainties of the regime change which, they feared, could adversely affect their communal interests and lead to the loss of the advancements they had made under Suharto’s Islamization policy (Bertrand 2004: 123). In that situation religious identities and narratives played an increasing role in material and distributive issues, resulting in an intensifying politicization of religion.
What precisely sparked the communal violence between 1999 and 2002 is greatly contested in the literature. Perhaps the most persuasive explanation is Bertrand’s reference to path dependencies which ultimately politicized religion to such an extent that violence could escalate into a three-year civil war. Yet there are competing explanations which, although rejected by some observers (van Klinken 2006: 133), probably cannot be fully discounted. One referred to turf wars between Ambonese Christian and Muslim criminal gangs (preman) over the control of illegal gambling turf in Jakarta’s Ketapang district, which spilled over to Ambon after members of the gangs were returned to Ambon from the capital by the Indonesian navy (International Crisis Group 2000: 5; Centre for Humanitarian Dialogue 2011: 16). Similar to this case, in which the gangs were allegedly well connected to powerful political figures, several conspiracy theories circulated in order to explain the sudden outbreak of large-scale violence in Ambon. Some, for instance, implicate selected members of the Pancasila Youth, a nationwide organization of thugs with close links to the Suharto regime, in attempts to provoke unrest in regions with fragile security in order to destabilize the new democratic polity (O’Rourke 2002: 342). Others attribute the violence to agents provocateurs in the Indonesian armed forces (TNI), where factions still loyal to the collapsed Suharto regime resented security sector reforms and the concomitant disempowerment of the military in the Era Reformasi. By clandestinely fomenting sectarian conflicts in the country, the argument goes, they sought to highlight the continued significance of the military as the only state institution able to reinstate social order (International Crisis Group 2002: 6).37
While it is beyond the scope of this research to examine and assess in detail these greatly contested explanations of the outbreak of violence in Ambon, a short review of events suggests that organized and systematic violence began to engulf Ambon and many parts of the Moluccas from mid-January 1999 onward. It was a trivial incident on the second day of Idul Fitri, the festive week ending Ramadan, which set the stage for large-scale violence. On that day, a fight between a Christian minibus driver and Muslim youths escalated into a major riot. However, the eruption of communal violence was not fully unexpected, as it had been preceded over two months by intensifying clashes between youth gangs of Christian Ambonese and Muslim migrants (International Crisis Group 2002: 2). Violence then rapidly spread to other parts of Ambon and to neighboring islands. The death toll increased markedly and where clashes occurred the respective minorities were usually displaced. They had to seek refuge in evacuation centers on the island and in many cases they fled Ambon for other parts of the country.
While initially the Christians had the upper hand in the fighting, the scales tipped in the following year. In early 2000, militant Muslim organizations led by Dewan Da’wah Islamiyah Indonesia (DDII), the Komite Indonesia untuk Solidaritas Dunia Islam (KISDI), and the Front Pembela Islam (FPI) orchestrated nationwide demonstrations against the seeming victimization of Muslims in Ambon and urged volunteers to register for “holy war” (jihad) to protect their suffering brethren. Trained in a camp near Bogor (International Crisis Group 2002:6), between 3,000 and 4,000 fighters of the newly formed Laskar Jihad (LJ) militia arrived in Ambon and other islands in the Moluccas in April and May 2000. They were unhindered by the security forces, who ignored the orders of President Abdurrahman Wahid to prevent the influx of outsiders into the province. Quite obviously, as suggested by their equipment, which included high-powered modern weapons, the LJ fighters and the smaller Laskar Mujaheddin had the logistical and operational support of TNI forces based in the province (Spyer 2002: 26). Unsurprisingly, the highly decentralized, largely uncoordinated Christian gang-type groups (Schulze 2002: 57f.) increasingly lost ground against the stronger jihadist forces.
For most of the time, the security forces stationed in Ambon and other islands were more a problem than a solution to the conflict. While the central government in Jakarta increased the TNI presence in Ambon from 3,500 to more than 14,000 soldiers in 2000 (International Crisis Group 2000: 10) and established a new regional military command, Kodam XVI Pattimura, the majority of the soldiers serving in Ambon were Muslims from Sulawesi and thus not only sympathized with their brothers in faith, but also actively sided with them in the fighting. The Mobile Brigades (Brimob) of the police, on the other hand, were predominantly Christian and their members became active combatants on the other side (Böhm 2006: 40, 47, 69).
The civil emergency imposed by the central government in June 2000 initially did little to assuage the violence. Yet with the replacement of the Kostrad troops and the troops from Sulawesi by marines from Java, 38 the TNI forces displayed more neutrality and gradually reigned in the LJ forces. From 2001 onwards, the violence gradually subsided and this paved the way for a peace agreement that was eventually concluded on the initiative of the Indonesian Coordinating Minister for People’s Welfare, Jusuf Kalla, between the warring parties in Malino, a town on Sulawesi. By that time, at least 6,000 people had died and 300,000 to 400,000 had been displaced.39
War fatigue not only spread among Christians but also Muslims. Initially welcomed as defenders of Islam by the embattled Ambonese Muslims, over time many of them increasingly regarded the jihadists as a burden. Laskar Jihad troops recruited fighters from among the local Muslim population, demanded food, and imposed on Moluccans their Middle Eastern modernist version of Islam, culminating in the imposition of sharia law in March 2001 (Schulze 2002: 58; Böhm 2006: 43, 50, 62; Al Qurtuby 2016: 29, 123). These divisions in the Muslim camp also became apparent as the local Majelis Ulama Islam (MUI) – a much more moderate body than its national counterpart – not only rejected Laskar Jihad’s imposition of sharia laws as “illegal, unconstitutional and contrary to Ambonese Muslim adat” (Schulze 2002: 67), but also opined as early as July 2000 that the jihad forces from outside the Moluccas must be sent away (Böhm 2006: 50).
Yet peace was also attributed to the successful re-activation of traditional customs (adat) based on the pela system. There were numerous activities organized by traditional village leaders, mosques and churches, often with support from donors, that brought Muslims and Christians together in interfaith dialogue and reconciliation activities (Centre for Humanitarian Dialogue 2011: 30; Braithwaite 2013: 42). Even the Protestant Church, which had previously displayed a highly critical attitude towards customary law, became a protagonist in reviving the pela gandong practices and sought to elevate it to a “public ethic” (Al Qurtuby 2016: 114). This manifestation of adat and the pela gandong system can be regarded as epitomizing a type of social capital that exists in Maluku’s civil society (cf. Bräuchler 2015: 120), which greatly contributed to resolve a violent and highly divisive conflict (Böhm 2006; Anson et al. 2014).
While the Malino II40 accord was a watershed in the efforts to end the conflict, violence did not subside immediately (Böhm 2006: 395; Anson et al. 2014: 100). There were major opponents of a peace agreement on both sides of the conflict. They included on the Christian side the militias – known as the “grassroots” by the Christians and “Laskar Kristen” or “Laskar Kristus” by the Muslims (Böhm 2006: 152; Bartels 2009: 5; Duncan 2013: 2; Al Qurtuby 2015: 318; 2016: 81) – and the supporters of the Maluku Sovereignty Front (Front Kedaulatan Maluku, FKM), a Moluccan independence movement formed in July 2000 in the tradition of the RMS. On the Muslim side, the jihadists, led by Ja’far Umar Thalib, Muhammed Attamimi, and retired TNI Brigadier General Rustam Kastor, opposed peace (Schulze 2002: 68; Böhm 2006: 237; Al Qurtuby 2016: 121–123, 150), with Ja’far stating that the Malino agreement was treason (Böhm 2006: 237). Unsurprisingly, therefore, members of the peace delegations of both sides were attacked by hard-liners and their houses burnt (Al Qurtuby 2016: 159).41 That members of the Muslim delegation were more affected by these assaults was also due to the fact that – unlike Christians with the Synod on the Protestant side and the hierarchical structure of the Catholic Church – the organization of Ambonese Muslims was much more decentralized, making communication between the leadership and local mosques more difficult (Anson et al. 2014: 125; Al Qurtuby 2016: 50). However, with the eventual dissolution of the LJ on 15 October 2002 – right after the Bali bombing42 – between 800 and 1,000 jihadists left Ambon, thus markedly easing tensions on the island (Böhm 2006: 277; Al Qurtuby 2016: 70).
If violent acts nevertheless continued, albeit on a lesser scale, this was also the result of the war economy that had emerged concomitant to the violence. Members of the security forces sold combatants ammunition and guns (Centre for Humanitarian Dialogue 2011: 22). In a revealing statement, Indonesia’s national police chief admitted in February 2000 that “80 percent of the bullets used in the conflict originated from security forces” (International Crisis Group 2002: 5). Security personnel also generated additional income by extorting protection money from business firms, passengers at street checkpoints, for escort services on inter-island or overland travels, through participation in trade and selling intelligence. Businesspeople and the well-to-do in particular seemed to demand such security services (International Crisis Group 2000: 20; Hehanussa 2013: 147; Anson et al. 2014: 106). It is therefore assumed that security personnel were behind bombing and shooting incidents, seeking to maintain the insecurity that makes their services indispensable (Panggabean 2004: 523; Böhm 2006: 70; Al Qurtuby 2016: 77). By the accounts of observers, those most involved in these activities were the Kopassus units (Special Forces Command) stationed in Ambon after the Malino II agreement. Berthy Loupatti, the leader of the notorious Christian Coker gang and one of the erstwhile Jakarta-based thugs, testified after his arrest that his group was paid and provided with weapons and bombs by Kopassus, a charge that the TNI denied (Böhm 2006: 278, 299; Al Qurtuby 2016: 78).43
While the security forces stationed in Ambon during the conflict and its immediate aftermath were reduced after the lifting of the civil emergency in September 2003, Ambon City still recorded the highest number of violent incidents in the Moluccas, with many of these conflicts identity-based (Anson et al. 2014: 2).44 Nevertheless, although peace in Ambon and on the other islands of the Moluccas remained fragile, displaced persons began to return. Yet settlement patterns changed markedly in comparison to the pre-conflict period and are currently characterized by distinct social segregation in which Christians and Muslims reside in quarters and villages divided along religious lines. Over the years, however, despite isolated violent incidents such as in 2011 and 2014, peace endured. Both religious groups have installed mechanisms to contain the spread of rumors (see chapter 5) which, during the conflict years, frequently instigated violence, often via new media (Bräuchler 2003, 2005), and have also sought to pacify the conflict-prone borders between Christian and Muslim residential areas.45
The influence of the Christian churches in general and of the Catholic Church in particular on political decision making is different in Indonesia compared to the Philippines. As stated before, Indonesian Christianity constitutes only a minority in an overwhelmingly Muslim environment. Despite an overrepresentation of Christians in Indonesian government affairs until the early 1990s, this means that the impact of Christians on the country’s political trajectory has been limited. This is even truer for the Roman Catholic Church, which is a clear minority among the country’s Christian denominations. In Ambon, for instance, Roman Catholics account for only 5 percent of the Christian community (Böhm 2006: 12).
By all accounts, the Protestant Christian majority was deeply mired in the dynamics of the conflict and it was difficult for moderate and peaceminded church groups to launch peace initiatives.46 There were numerous “hate preachers” trying to stir emotions and influencing the Christians in Ambon during the fragile situation. Many of these often self-styled “preachers” came to Ambon from all over Indonesia and tried to incite their audiences by misusing religious texts and symbols, mostly by selectively quoting from the Bible. The most common way was to refer to Deuteronomy and to highlight “Israel as the chosen nation,” with Ambon then becoming “little Israel,” which had to be defended at all costs (Steenbrink 2001) (see chapter 5).
In addition to that, even missionaries from the Southern Baptist Church in the USA came to Ambon with the objective of stirring up Christians. They also quickly produced propaganda videos placing the blame for the violence solely on the Muslim side. These developments were remarkable. Traditionally, Ambon had the idyllic image of “Sweet Ambon” (Ambon manise), where Christians and Muslims lived in harmony with each other (cf. Bräuchler 2015: 69f.). Suddenly, Ambon manise was transformed into a global “laboratory” for the instrumentalization of religion and the escalation of Christian-Muslim conflict. Many people from around the world sought to use this laboratory for their ulterior designs. After 9/11, however, international interest in Ambon decreased dramatically.
The lack of international interest and commitment was sharply criticized, for example by the Catholic Bishop of Ambon, Mgr Petrus Canisius Mandagi. Mandagi has been the Bishop of Ambon since 1994. He was an outspoken critic of Christian-Muslim violence. He was also very critical of the mainline Protestant Church in Ambon (Gereja Protestan Maluku, GPM) when individual members tried to abuse religious teachings and selectively quote Bible verses in order to instrumentalize religious texts or symbols.
The Catholic Church, often in consonance with peace-minded Protestant leaders, made appeals to the Indonesian government to initiate effective measures to stop the violence, end outside interference in the conflict, and support peacebuilding activities (Bartels 2009: 7). It also sought to enlist the support of international church bodies and approached the UN Secretary General, the UN Human Rights Commission, the Vatican, the World Council of Churches, the Red Cross, and many human rights organizations with appeals to support peacebuilding efforts, albeit with very limited success, at least until 2001 (Böhm 2006; Bartels 2009: 8). Yet the Catholic Church was also represented in the Christian delegation, which ultimately signed the Malino II peace accord.
1 This view is upheld by the MILF until the present day. In his account of peace negotiations between the MILF and the government, MILF chief negotiator Mohagher Iqbal argued that the United States “illegally and immorally annexed” Mindanao and Sulu to the national territory of the Philippines in this grant of independence (Jubair 2007: 4). Iqbal continues: “This is why the MILF cannot subscribe to the view that contemporary realities shall be the basis of a peace settlement, because the historical antecedents or historical imperatives are things of the past” (ibid.: 8).
2 Also, the material losses were high, albeit lower than in other civil wars. The World Bank estimated direct economic losses between 1975 and 1982 at 1 percent of the GDP for central and southwestern Mindanao and 0.5 percent for the entire Philippines. See Schiavo-Campo and Judd (2005: 5).
3 See also Far Eastern Economic Review, 24 August 1995, p. 23 and 28 March 1996, p. 26.
4 The provinces that voted for inclusion in the ARMM were Maguindanao, Lanao del Sur, Sulu, and Tawi. In an additional plebiscite held in 2001, the province of Basilan and the City of Marawi also opted to be included in the autonomous region.
5 Under Governor Liningding Pangandaman, for instance, the ARMM employed more than 19,000 people. Fifteen of his top officials were related to him, including his wife, three nephews, and 11 cousins and in-laws (Gutierrez and Danguilan-Vitug (1999: 191)).
6 In news reports, Misuari was portrayed as an “absentee governor,” staying only 50–60 days a year in Cotabato City, the ARMM’s and SPCDC’s capital (Abubakar 2000: 148).
7 The falling out between Nur Misuari and Hashim Salamat dates back as far as 1977, when the latter unsuccessfully tried to dispose Misuari from the MNLF leadership (Gutierrez & Guialal 1999: 275; Coronel Ferrer 2013: 43).
8 Far Eastern Economic Review, 26 March 1996, p. 29.
9 Ibid.: 29.
10 Philippine Daily Inquirer, 2 February 2003.
11 Süddeutsche Zeitung, 20 November 2001, p. 10.
12 See Manila Times, 30 January 2003, 11 February 2012; Philippine Daily Inquirer, 11 February 2003; Today, 12 February 2003; and Manila Standard, 15 February 2003.
13 For a detailed analysis of the MOA-AD and the surrounding negotiations, see Kraft (2013) and Quimpo (2016).
14 For a detailed analysis of the Framework Agreement on the Bangsamoro (FAB), see International Crisis Group (2012).
15 On the BIFF breakaway, see also International Crisis Group (2011: 4–5) and Malaya, 1 February 2015.
16 See, inter alia, Malaya, 11 March 2015, 21 May 2015; Philippine Daily Inquirer, 3 June 2015.
17 The BBL was re-submitted to Congress in 2017 and Duterte lobbied for support of the draft law. The Diplomat, 13 February 2018. It was eventually passed by Congress in July 2018 as Bangsamoro Organic Law (BOL) and adopted in a plebiscite in Mindanao’s predominantly Muslim regions in January 2019. Associated Press, 25 January 2019; Reuters, 26 January 2019; East Asia Forum, 5 Febuary 2019; Der Spiegel, 6 February 2019.
18 Sun Star, 28 January 2016.
19 Authors’ interviews in Zamboanga, September 2015.
20 Other spoiler groups with links to the IS are Ansar Khilafa Philippines (AKP) and Jamaa Mohajirin Wal Ansar (JMA) (Gunaratna 2017c).
21 See also Minda News, 23 May 2017.
22 On diversionary attacks of allegedly IS operatives in the Visayas and Manila, see Gunaratna (2017a: 2).
23 The group’s leadership – Isnilon Hapilon and the Maute brothers, Omar and Abdullah – were killed during the liberation operations. See also The Straits Times, 3 June 2017 and East Asia Forum, 2 February 2018.
24 For a very sophisticated analysis of the complex intertwinement of ethno-religious conflict lines and clan feuds, see Kreuzer & Weiberg (2007: 387–432).
25 For the organization of the arms trade, see Miani (2011).
26 For a definition of the causal categories, see International Alert (2014: 8).
27 The Pentagon gang broke away from the MILF in 2001 (Jubair 2007: 22).
28 The Abu Sayyaf group was also linked to one of the worst terrorist acts of the more recent past, the bombing of a ferry near Manila in February 2004, that killed more than 100 people. See New Straits Times, 18 February 2005, p. 31.
29 Agenzia fides, 7 February 2019.
30 Sun Star, 11 May 2015.
31 Philippine Daily Inquirer, 20 June 2015.
32 Ibid.
33 Founded in 1984. On Father D’Ambra’s impressive peace work, see Espiritu (2017: 112–119).
34 See www.insightonconflict.org/es/conflicts/philippines/peacebuilding-organisations/the-bishop-ulama-conference-buc/ (accessed 12 July 2016).
35 For a critical assessment of the Muslim Javanese prejudice against Christian Ambonese due to their involvement in the RMS, see Aditjondro, “The Tragedy of Maluku,” available at: http://media.isnet.org/kmi/ambon/Tragedi.html (accessed 5 December 2017).
36 Authors’ interview with a Moluccan peace activist, 29 September 2015.
37 See also The Straits Times, 1 March 1999, 19 March 1999; Amien Rais in Republika 17 January 2000.
38 On the alleged partiality of these military units, see Böhm (2006: 15).
39 Figures of the death toll vary considerably, with some sources estimating the number of deaths as up to 10,000 and internally displaced persons numbering up to 700,000 (Hehanussa 2013: 151–152; Davis 2002: 13; Spyer 2002: 24, quoting International Crisis Group estimates). See also The Jakarta Post, 13 September 2011.
40 The Malino I Agreement settled the communal conflict in Poso, Central Sulawesi.
41 The Jakarta Post, 30 August 2006.
42 On 12 October 2002, terrorists affiliated with the Jemaah Islamiyah group detonated two bombs in the tourist district of Kuta, Bali. The explosions killed 202 persons and injured another 209, among them many foreigners, in particular Australians.
43 The Böhm report states that the Coker gang was associated with 84 deaths, 273 wounded, the destruction of 461 buildings, two school buildings, two churches, an adat house, and a passenger motorboat. See Böhm (2006: 305).
44 According to Habibie Center data, 50 percent of violent incidents, 38 percent of the deaths, 54 percent of injuries, and 43 percent of damage to buildings occurred in Ambon City. See Anson et al. (2014: 2).
45 Authors’ interview, 1 October 2015.
46 For an analysis of the role of the Protestant Church in Maluku during the violent conflict see Hehanussa (2013).
Abinales, Patricio N. (2018): “War and Peace in Muslim Mindanao: Critiquing the Orthodoxy,” In: Paul D. Hutchcroft (ed.), Mindanao. The Long Journey to Peace and Prosperity, Manila and Singapore: Anvil Publishing and World Scientific Publishing, pp. 39–62.
Abubakar, Carmen (2000): “SPCDC and Economic Development in SZOPAD: High Expectations, Low Output,” Kasarinlan 15(2): 125–164.
Aditjondro, George Junus (2000): Cahaya Bintang Kejora: Papua Barat Dalam Kajian Sejarah, Budaya, Ekonomi, dan Hak Asasi Manusia, Jakarta: Elsam.
Ahmad, Aijiz (1999): “The War Against the Muslims,” In: Kristina Gaerlan & Mara Stankovitch (eds.), Rebels, Warlords and Ulama: A Reader on Muslim Separatism and the War in Southern Philippines, Manila: Institute for Popular Democracy, pp. 22–37.
Al Qurtuby, Sumanto (2015): “Christianity and Militancy in Eastern Indonesia: Revisiting the Maluku Violence,” Southeast Asian Studies 4(2): 313–339.
Al Qurtuby, Sumanto (2016): Religious Violence and Conciliation in Indonesia: Christians and Muslims in the Moluccas, London & New York: Routledge.
Anson, Mohammad Hasan, Sukandar, Rudi, Peranto, Sopar, Karib, Fathun, Cholid, Sofyan & Rasyid, Imron (2014): Post Violence Segregation, Violence, and Reconstruction Policy in Ambon, Jakarta: National Violence Monitoring System (SNPK) – The Habibie Center (THC).
Bacani, Benedicto R. (2005): The Mindanao Peace Talks: Another Opportunity to Resolve the Moro Conflict in the Philippines, Washington, DC: United States Institute of Peace, Special Report.
Bartels, Dieter (2009): “When God has no Answer, Search for Ancestral Wisdom: Revival of Traditional and Colonial Institutions in Conflict Resolutions between Muslims and Christians in the Central Moluccas, Indonesia,” Paper Presented at the International Workshop on Religion in Dispute and Conflict Resolution: Cases from Post-New Order Indonesia, Lembang, 18–21 March 2009, organized by the Max-Planck-Institute for Social Anthropology, Halle/Saale, Germany, and the Research Center for Regional Resources, Indonesian Institute of Sciences.
Bertrand, Jacques (2000): “Peace and Conflict in the Southern Philippines: Why the 1996 Peace Agreement Is Fragile,” Pacific Affairs 73(1): 37–54.
Bertrand, Jacques (2004): Nationalism and Ethnic Conflict in Indonesia, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Böhm, Cees J. (2006): Brief Chronicle of the Unrest in the Moluccas 1999–2006, Ambon City: Crisis Centre Diocese of Amboina.
Braithwaite, John (2013): “Maluku: Anomie to reconciliation,” In: Edward Aspinall et al. (eds.), Diminishing Conflicts in Asia and the Pacific: Why some subside and others don’t, London & New York: Routledge, pp. 37–48.
Bräuchler, Birgit (2003): “Cyberidentities at War: Religion, Identity, and the Internet in the Moluccan Conflict,” Indonesia 75: 123–151.
Bräuchler, Birgit (2005): Cyberidentities at War: Der Molukkenkonflikt im Internet, Bielefeld: Transcript.
Bräuchler, Birgit (2007): “Ein Comeback der Tradition? Die Revitalisierung von Adat in Ostindonesien,” Zeitschrift für Ethnologie 132: 37–57.
Bräuchler, Birgit (2009): “Mobilizing Culture and Tradition for Peace: Reconciliation in the Moluccas,” In: Birgit Bräuchler (ed.), Reconciling Indonesia: Grassroots Agency for Peace, Oxon & New York: Routledge, pp. 97–118.
Bräuchler, Birgit (2015): The Cultural Dimension of Peace: Decentralization and Reconciliation in Indonesia, Basingstoke & New York: Palgrave Macmillan.
Brown, David (1988): “From Peripheral Communities to Ethnic Nations: Separatism in Southeast Asia,” Pacific Affairs 61(1): 51–77.
Buendia, Rizal G. (2005): “The State-Moro Conflict in the Philippines. Unresolved National Question or Question of Governance?” Asian Journal of Political Science 13(1): 109–138.
Buendia, Rizal G. (2006): “Mindanao Conflict in the Philippines: Ethno-Religious War or Economic Conflict?” In: Aurel Croissant, Beate Martin & Sascha Kneip (eds.), The Politics of Death: Political Violence in Southeast Asia, Berlin: LIT Verlag, pp. 147–187.
Centre for Humanitarian Dialogue (2011): Conflict Management in Indonesia – An Analysis of the Conflicts in Maluku, Papua and Poso, Lausanne: Centre for Humanitarian Dialogue.
Chan, Anton (2014): “’Comprehensive Agreement on the Bangsamoro’ – A Roadmap to Peace in the Southern Philippines?” Counter Terrorist Trends and Analysis 6(3): 25–30.
Chauvel, Richard (1990): “Republik Maluku Selatan and Social Change in Ambonese Society During the Late Colonial Period,” Cakalele 1(1 and 2): 13–26.
Coronel Ferrer, Miriam (2000): “Recycled Autonomy? Enacting the New Organic Act for a Regional Autonomous Government in Southern Philippines,” Kasarinlan 15(2): 265–190.
Coronel Ferrer, Miriam (2013): Costly Wars, Elusive Peace: Collected Articles on the Peace Process in the Philippines 1990–2007, Diliman, Quezon City: University of the Philippines Press.
D’Ambra, Sebastiano (2011): Building the Culture of Dialogue, Path to Peace: The Bishops-Ulama Experience in Mindanao, Saarbrücken: LAP Lambert.
D’Ambra, Sebastiano (2016): “Mut, Wertschätzung, Respekt und ein beispielhaftes Leben. Der interreligiöse Dialog auf den Philippinen,” In: Forum Weltkirche, 28, April, available at: www.forum-weltkirche.de/de/artikel/22146.mut-wertschaetzung-respekt-und-ein-beispielhaftes-leben.html (accessed 30 June 2016).
Davis, Michael (2002): “Laskar Jihad and the Political Position of Conservative Islam in Indonesia,” Contemporary Southeast Asia 24(1): 12–31.
De Jesus, Edilberto C. & Melinda Quintos de Jesus (2018): “The Mamasapano Detour,” In: Paul D. Hutchcroft (ed.), Mindanao. The Long Journey to Peace and Prosperity, Manila and Singapore: Anvil Publishing and World Scientific Publishing, pp. 159–195.
Duncan, Christopher R. (2005): “The Other Maluku: Chronologies of Conflict in North Maluku,” Indonesia 80: 53–80.
Duncan, Christopher R. (2013): Violence and Vengeance. Religious Conflict and Its Aftermath in Eastern Indonesia, Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press.
Espiritu, Belinda F. (2017): “Peace Profile: Sebastiano D’Ambra,” Peace Review 29(1): 112–119.
Evers, Georg (1998): “Unter neuer Führung. Politische und kirchliche Entwicklungen auf den Philippinen,” Herderkorrespondenz 52(10): 530–535.
Fitzpatrick, Brenda (2008): “The Mindanao Bishops-Ulama Conference,” In: Mark M. Rogers et al. (eds.), Pursuing Just Peace: An Overview and Case Studies for Faith-Based Peacebuilders, Baltimore: Catholic Relief Services, pp. 117–131.
Franco, Joseph (2013): The Zamboanga Standoff: The Role of the Nur Misuari Group, Singapore: Nanyang Technological University, RSIS Commentary, No. 168.
Franco, Joseph (2014): A New “Caliphate” in the Middle East: Is There an Abu Sayyaf-ISIS Link? Singapore: Nanyang Technological University, RSIS Commentary, No. 134.
Gonzales, Francisco L. (1999): “Sultans of a Violent Land,” In: Kristina Gaerlan & Mara Stankovitch (eds.), Rebels, Warlords and Ulama: A Reader on Muslim Separatism and the War in Southern Philippines, Manila: Institute for Popular Democracy, pp. 85–143.
Gowing, Peter Gordon (1967): Islands under the Cross: The Story of the Church in the Philippines, Manila: National Council of Churches.
Gowing, Peter Gordon (1979): Muslim Filipinos – Heritage and Horizon, Quezon City: New Day Publishers.
Gunaratna, Rohan (2016): “The Emerging Wilayat in the Philippines,” Counter Terrorist Trends and Analysis 8(5): 22–27.
Gunaratna, Rohan (2017a): “The Islamic State’s Northward Expansion in the Philippines,” Counter Terrorist Trends and Analyses 9(5): 1–4.
Gunaratna, Rohan (2017b): “The Siege of Marawi: A Game Changer in Terrorism in Asia,” Counter Terrorist Trends and Analysis 9(7): 1–5.
Gunaratna, Rohan (2017c): “Ending the Fight in Marawi,” Counter Terrorist Trends and Analyses 9(10): 1–5.
Gutierrez, Eric (1999): “The Re-Imagination of the Bangsamoro. 30 Years Hence,” In: Kristina Gaerlan & Mara Stankovitch (eds.), Rebels, Warlords and Ulama: A Reader on Muslim Separatism and the War in Southern Philippines, Manila: Institute for Popular Democracy, pp. 305–347.
Gutierrez, Eric & Danguilan-Vitug, Marites (1999): “ARMM After the Peace Agreement: An Assessment of Local Government Capability in the Autonomous Region of Muslim Mindanao,” In: Kristina Gaerlan & Mara Stankovitch (eds.), Rebels, Warlords and Ulama: A Reader on Muslim Separatism and the War in Southern Philippines, Manila: Institute for Popular Democracy, pp. 181–221.
Gutierrez, Eric & Guialal, Abdulwahab (1999): “The Unfinished Jihad: The Moro Islamic Liberation Front and Peace in Mindanao,” In: Kristina Gaerlan & Mara Stankovitch (eds.), Rebels, Warlords and Ulama: A Reader on Muslim Separatism and the War in Southern Philippines, Manila: Institute for Popular Democracy, pp. 263–291.
Habulan, Angelica Barangan (2016): “The Emir OF is Philippines: Isnilon Hapilon,” Counter Terrorist Trend and Analysis 8(11): 20–23.
Hehanussa, Jozef M.N. (2013): Der Molukkenkonflikt von 1999: Zur Rolle der Protestantischen Kirche (GPM) in der Gesellschaft, Münster: LIT Verlag.
Herbolzheimer, Kristian (2015): “The Peace Process in Mindanao, the Philippines: Evolution and Lessons Learned,” available at: www.peacebuilding.no/Regions/Asia/Publications/The-peace-process-in-Mindanao-the-Philippines-evolution-and-lessons-learned (accessed 2 March 2016).
International Alert (2014): Rebellion, Political Violence and Shadow Crimes in the Bangsamoro: The Bangsamoro Conflict Monitoring System (BCMS), 2011–2013, London: International Alert.
International Crisis Group (2000): Overcoming Murder and Chaos in Maluku, Jakarta & Brussels: International Crisis Group, Asia Report, No. 10.
International Crisis Group (2002): Indonesia: The Search for Peace in Maluku, Jakarta & Brussels: International Crisis Group, Asia Report, No. 31, available at: www.crisisgroup.org/home/index.cfm?id=1454&l=1 (accessed 1 February 2016).
International Crisis Group (2011): The Philippines: Back to the Table, Warily, in Mindanao, Jakarta & Brussels: International Crisis Group, Update Briefing No. 119.
International Crisis Group (2012): The Philippines: Breakthrough in Mindanao, Brussels: International Crisis Group, Asia Report No. 240.
International Crisis Group (2016): The Philippines: Renewing Prospects for Peace in Mindanao, Brussels: International Crisis Group, Asia Report No. 281.
Jolob, Natasha (2000): Reference Dossier: Moro Rebel Groups – South Philippines, London: NSA Database, December.
Jones, Sidney (2017): “How ISIS Got a Foothold in the Philippines,” available at: https://mobile.nytimes.com/2017/06/04/opinion/isis-pilippines-rodrigo-duterte.html?mwrsm=facebookreferer=http%3a%2f%2fm (accessed 23 December 2017).
Jubair, Salah (2007): The Long Road to Peace: Inside the GRP-MILF Peace Process, Cotabato City: Institute of Bangsamoro Studies.
KAP Research, Institute for Studies in Asian Church and Culture (n.d.): A Clash of Cultures. Intercultural Communication Problems in the Process of Conversion to Protestant Christianity under Early American Rule, The Pew Charitable Trusts.
Kessler, Christl & Rüland, Jürgen (2006): “Responses to Rapid Social Change: Populist Religion in the Philippines,” Pacific Affairs 79(1): 73–97.
Kessler, Christl & Rüland, Jürgen (2008): Give Jesus a Hand! Charismatic Christians: Populist Religion and Politics in the Philippines, Manila: Ateneo de Manila University Press.
Kraft, Hermann Joseph S. (2013): Cracks, Bumps, Potholes and U-Turns: Negotiating the Road to Peace in Mindanao, Singapore: MacArthur Foundation and S. Rajaratnam School of International Studies, Asia Security Initiative Policy Series, Working Paper No. 23, August.
Kreuzer, Peter (2005): Politische Clans und Gewalt im Süden der Philippinen, Frankfurt am Main: Hessische Stiftung Friedens-und Konfliktforschung: HSFK-Report 1/2005.
Kreuzer, Peter & Weiberg, Mirjam (2007): Zwischen Bürgerkrieg und friedlicher Koexistenz: Interethnische Konfliktbearbeitung in den Philippinen, Sri Lanka und Malaysia, Bielefeld: Transcript.
Larousse, William (2001): A Local Church Living for Dialogue: Muslim-Christian Relations in Mindanao-Sulu (Philippines) 1965–2000, Rome: Editrice Pontificia Universita Gregoriana.
Liow, Joseph Chinyong (2006): Muslim Resistance in Southern Thailand and Southern Philippines: Religion, Ideology, and Politics, Washington, DC: East-West Center, Policy Studies 24.
Magno Torres III, Wilfredo (2007): “Introduction,” In: Wilfredo Magno Torres III (ed.), Rido: Clan Feuding and Conflict Management in Mindanao, Makati: Asia Foundation, pp. 3–29.
Majul, Cesar Adib (1976): “Some Social and Cultural Problems of the Muslims in the Philippines,” Paper Prepared for a Seminar Sponsored by the Persatuan Mahasiswa Universiti Kebangsaan Malaysia (University of Kebangsaan Malaysia Students Union), held in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, 25–28 July.
Majul, Cesar Adib (1988): “The Moro Struggle in the Philippines,” Third World Quarterly 10(2): 897–922.
Marcos, Ferdinand E. (1978): Five Years of the New Society, Manila: Government of the Philippines.
Mastura, Michael O. (1986): “The Crisis in the MNLF Leadership and the Dilemma of Muslim Autonomy Movement,” In: International Studies Institute of the Philippines (ed.), Papers on the Tripoli Agreement. Problems and Prospects, Quezon City: International Studies Institute of the Philippines, pp. 34–70.
May, Ronald J. (1992): “The Wild West in the South: A Recent Political History of Mindanao,” In: Mark Turner et al. (eds.), Mindanao, Land of Unfulfilled Promise, Quezon City: New Day, pp. 125–146.
McKenna, Thomas M. (1998): Muslim Rulers and Rebels: Everyday Politics and Armed Separatism in the Southern Philippines, Berkeley: University of California Press.
McKenna, Thomas M. (2002): “Saints, Scholars and the Idealized Past in Philippine Muslim Separatism,” The Pacific Review 15(4): 539–553.
Miani, Lino (2011): The Sulu Arms Market. National Responses to a Regional Problem, Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies.
Molloy, Ivan (1983): The Conflicts in Mindanao: Whilst Revolution Rolls On, The Jihad Falters, Melbourne: Monash University, Centre of Southeast Asian Studies, Working Paper No 30.
Neumann, Hannah (2009): Friedenskommunikation: Möglichkeiten und Grenzen von Kommunikation in Konfliktransformation, Berlin: LIT Verlag.
O’Rourke, Kevin (2002): Reformasi. The Struggle for Power in Post-Suharto Indonesia, Sydney: Allen & Unwin.
Panggabean, Samsu Rizal (2004): “Maluku: The Challenge of Peace,” In: Annelies Heijmans, Nicola Simmonds & Hans van de Veen (eds.), Searching for Peace in Asia Pacific: An Overview of Conflict Prevention and Peacebuilding Activities, Boulder & London: Lynne Rienner, pp. 416–437.
Phelan, John Leddy (1959): The Hispanization of the Philippines, Madison: University of Wisconsin Press.
Quimpo, Nathan Gilbert (2001): “Options in the Pursuit of a Just, Comprehensive, and Stable Peace in the Southern Philippines,” Asian Survey 41(2): 271–289.
Quimpo, Nathan Gilbert (2016): “Mindanao: Nationalism, Jihadism and Frustrated Peace,” Journal of Asian Security 3(1): 1–26.
Rüland, Jürgen (2006): “Ethnic Conflict, Separatism and Terrorism,” In: Stephen Hoadley & Jürgen Rüland (eds.), Asian Security Re-Assessed, Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, pp. 211–250.
Schiavo-Campo, Salvatore & Judd, Mary (2005): The Mindanao Conflict in the Philippines: Roots, Costs, and Potential Peace Dividend, Washington, DC: The World Bank.
Schreiner, Klaus H. (2000): “Regionale Konflikte in Indonesien: Eine Krise des Nation Building?” Asien 75: 5–19.
Schulze, Kirsten E. (2002): “Laskar Jihad and the Conflict in Ambon,” The Brown Journal of World Affairs IX(1): 57–69.
Schumacher, John N. (1984): “Syncretism in Philippine Catholicism: Its Historical Causes,” Philippine Studies 32: 251–272.
Sidel, John T. (2006): Riots, Pogroms, Jihad: Religious Violence in Indonesia, Ithaca & London: Cornell University Press.
Singh, Bilveer (2016): The “Day After” Islamic State: Scenarios for Southeast Asia, Singapore: Nanyang Technological University, RSIS Commentary, No. 169, 7 July.
Singh, Bilveer (2017): The Jihadist Threat in Southeast Asia: An Al Qaeda and IS-Centric Architecture? Singapore. Nanyang Technological University, RSIS Commentary, No. 25/2017, 8 February 2017.
Singh, Bilveer & Ramakrishna, Kumar (2016): Islamic State’s Wilayah Philippines: Implications for Southeast Asia, Singapore: Nanyang Technological University, RSIS Commentary, No. 187, 21 July.
Spyer, Patricia (2002): “Fire Without Smoke and Other Phantoms of Ambon’s Violence: Media Effects, Agency, and the Work of Imagination,” Indonesia 74: 21–36.
Steenbrink, Karel (2001): “Interpretations of Christian-Muslim Violence in the Moluccas, Indonesia, 1999–2000,” Studies in Interreligious Dialogue 11: 64–91.
Talibas-Nunez, Rosalita (1997): Roots of Conflict: Muslims, Christians and the Mindanao Struggle, Makati: Asian Institute of Management.
Thompson, Mark (1995): The Anti-Marcos Struggle: Personalistic Rule and Democratic Transition in the Philippines, New Haven & London: Yale University Press.
Tuggy, Arthur Leonard (1971): The Philippine Church: Growth in a Changing Society, Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company.
United States Institute of Peace (USIP) (2005): The Mindanao Peace Talks: Another Opportunity to Resolve the Moro Conflict in the Philippines. Rep. Vol. 131, Washington, DC:. United States Institute of Peace.
Van Klinken, Gerry (2006): “The Maluku Wars: “Communal Contenders” in a Failing State,” In: Charles A. Coppel (ed.), Violent Conflicts in Indonesia: Analysis, Representation, Resolution. London & New York: Routledge, pp. 129–143.
Youngblood, Robert L. (1990): Marcos Against the Church: Economic Development and Political Repression in the Philippines, Ithaca: Cornell University Press.