Map 6.1 Fieldwork sites in Cotabato
Note: draft: C. von Lübke, cartography: K. Schmitt.
Copyright OpenStreetMap contributors (openstreetmap.org), Inkatlas.
Attitudes towards religious conflict, peacebuilding, and reconciliation in Cotabato and Ambon
While the methodology of chapters 4 and 5 rested on the layers of lower abstraction, chapters 6 to 9 focus on layers of higher abstraction (see chapter 3, Figure 3.1). After a short introduction of the sites where local surveys took place and providing general information on the activities of Christian peace agents, the subsequent parts of chapter 6 analyze the survey responses in eight villages in Cotabato and Ambon. We present a selection of descriptive empirics on salient themes including respondent attitudes on religious and ethnic identity, structural violence, physical and social segregation, perceptions on governmental peace initiatives (such as the Bangsamoro Basic Law in Mindanao), participation in peace projects, attitudes towards state-based peace projects, and changing perceptions on other religious groups.
As mentioned in the methodology chapter, the sites chosen for our surveys in Mindanao were the municipalities of Pikit and Kabacan. Pikit is located in the province of Cotabato and with 154,000 inhabitants (2015 census) it is the province’s largest municipality. Administratively, the municipality is subdivided into 42 barangays. Pikit’s economy is largely agricultural, with coconut and freshwater fish as the major products. Pikit was found to be very conducive for the survey because it was the location of a successful “peace zone,” in the establishment of which church actors had a major role. For our survey, we have chosen the barangays of Nalapaan and Kalacacan.
Generally speaking, the peace process in Mindanao takes place at two different levels, namely the vertical and the horizontal. The vertical level is the process in which the MILF negotiates with the Government of the Philippines (GRP) in formal peace talks, whereas the horizontal level refers to local peace initiatives (Layson 2003; Rood 2005). As the peace talks at the vertical level were sluggish and prone to many setbacks, civil society groups initiated grassroots initiatives in order to prevent the military and insurgents from using the local community as a battlefield and hiding place (Rood 2005: 24). Peace Zones are thus an attempt to build peace from below and, hence, on a “community’s unilateral declaration” (Coronel Ferrer 2013: 234). They rest on the belief that peacebuilding in protracted conflicts should proceed in stages. Before a comprehensive conflict resolution can be achieved, Peace Zones first seek to mitigate and reduce violence, or – as outlined in the theory chapter – establish a state of “negative peace” (Coronel Ferrer 2013: 14). This is tantamount to an attempt to install a system of institutionalized and rule-based conflict management (Neumann 2009: 19), countering and hopefully transforming local cultural traditions of feud (rido) and revenge (Larousse 2001: 510), and instead building on modes of conflict resolution that “conform with local tradition and culture” (Coronel Ferrer 2013: 233). Between 1998 and 2005, such local Zones of Peace mushroomed in Mindanao, increasing to more than 80 by 2005 (Neumann 2009: 20; Coronel Ferrer 2013: 233–234).
The starting point of the “Space for Peace” in Nalapaan/Pikit was provided by local developments in the barangay Nalapaan. In June 1997, the Armed Forces of the Philippines (AFP) attacked the local MILF camp and the whole area became a battlefield, with active participation from the civilian population because the MILF searched for support from the local community in Nalapaan (Iyer 2004: 14; Diaz 2003: 156). As a result, the Christians in Nalapaan believed that the Moros supported the MILF and the Moros believed that Christians were helping the AFP (Iyer 2004: 14; Diaz 2003: 156). In 2000, as a consequence of another military offensive, President Estrada’s “all-out war” against the MILF, local people had to flee their homes and were moved to evacuation centers. One month later, the people were persuaded by Taban Mindanao, a local NGO, and the Archbishop of Cotabato to return to their homes. Father Layson, the priest of Pikit’s Immaculate Conception Parish (IMC), went with them and the idea of Nalapaan, declaring a “Space for Peace” came into being (Iyer 2004: 15, Diaz 2003: 156ff.). From July to November 2000, MILF, AFP, and local municipal authorities negotiated with each other to make Nalapaan a safer place (Iyer 2004: 16).
Father Layson played a key role in the process of setting up the Peace Zone in Pikit.1 Mainly due to his efforts, the conflict parties began to negotiate, with Philippine security forces and the rebels eventually agreeing to a territorially limited ceasefire. Although conflict parties refused to surrender their weapons, they nevertheless committed themselves to stop fighting in the municipal area (Neumann 2009: 58). As a result, Nalapaan remained peaceful when, in 2003, President Aquino started a military offensive in Mindanao (ibid.: 59).
The IMC Pikit had a “Culture of Peace” team, which promoted a “tri-people culture of peace in Mindanao communities” (consisting of Muslims, Christians, and Lumads), and developed a “Culture of Peace module.” It was decided that all members of Nalapaan would participate in Culture of Peace training. On 1 February 2001, Nalapaan was eventually declared a “Space for Peace” (ibid.: 19; Berliner, Anasarias & Casas Soberón 2010; Neumann 2013: 235).
In 2002, the neighboring barangay Panicupan asked for support from the IMC to follow Nalapaan’s example. Father Layson helped and negotiated with the authorities to get Panicupan recognized as part of the “Space for Peace,” resulting in the declaration of a “Space for Peace” in Panicupan in June 2002. In 2003, the “Space for Peace” in Pikit was extended to five other barangays (Neumann 2009: 25). Thus, the “GiNaPaLaD Ta Ka Space for Peace” was established. The acronym “GiNaPaLaD Ta KA” consists of the capital letters of the seven barangays Ginatilan, Nalapaan, Panicupan, Lagundi, Dalengaoen, Takepan, and Kalakaan, which means “I bless you.”
The core program of the Peace Zone can be characterized as “comprehensive.” It includes training and workshops on interreligious dialogue and “Culture of Peace” training, which was developed on the basis of a module by the Peace Education Center of the Cotabato City-based University of Notre Dame.2 The workshops on the ground include awareness building with respect to conflict transformation, forgiveness, and reconciliation. Psycho-social activities, such as trauma healing, also figure prominently in the local peacebuilding programs (Neumann 2009: 52). In the field of governance, peace work seeks to establish power-sharing consociational processes of decision making and restorative justice (Neumann 2013: 240). In addition, the program in the Peace Zone includes socioeconomic assistance and training. Much of the socioeconomic work of the Church in Pikit is organized in cooperation with local NGOs, most notably with Balay Mindanao.3 Key issues for the socioeconomic program are housing and shelter, as well as water problems and waste disposal.
Another important part of the Peace Zone is the local Monitoring Group called “Bantay Ceasefire” (Ceasefire Watch). This group consists of local male residents who are engaged as civilians in the protection of the barangays: if any incident happens, it is their duty to go to the area in order to undertake fact finding and employ effective rumor control to prevent the escalation of smaller incidents. Bantay Ceasefire has trained with and has a close working relationship with the Nonviolent Peaceforce, an International NGO network with local headquarters in Cotabato City.
Lastly, one major part of the church-based work in the Peace Zone is to provide shelter for refugees. The Peace Zone has protected Muslims and Christians in evacuation centers. Many church premises have been used for the housing of refugees over several months.4
Map 6.1 Fieldwork sites in Cotabato
Note: draft: C. von Lübke, cartography: K. Schmitt.
Copyright OpenStreetMap contributors (openstreetmap.org), Inkatlas.
For the counterfactual analysis (see chapter 7) we have chosen the municipality of Kabacan as a comparative case. Kabacan is also located in the province of Cotabato and has a population of approximately 90,282 people (2015 census). It consists of 24 barangays. It is a market center and like Pikit also mainly produces agricultural goods. For the survey we have identified the barangays Cuyapon and Bangilan.
Kabacan is the neighboring municipality to Pikit and, by and large, has a similar history of violence and conflict, but is not part of the Peace Zone. Thus, although the level of conflict and violence has been similar, the level of church-based intervention is comparatively lower than in Pikit.
In Indonesia, we selected Ambon City as the main site for fieldwork. The city of Ambon is located in the East Indonesian province of Maluku. With some 395,000 inhabitants (2014), it is by far the largest city in the province and a major urban center in East Indonesia. About 60 percent of the city’s population are Christians and almost 40 percent are Muslims (based on 2010 census data), thus contrasting from religious group composition in the province as a whole where today Muslims constitute a majority of approximately 60 percent (see also chapter 4). Ambon City is the capital of Maluku and seat of the provincial government. Administratively, Ambon is subdivided into five districts and 50 urban communities (kelurahan). The city is the administrative, educational, service, and commercial center in Maluku. An important economic factor is its port, which is by far the largest in the province. At 6 percent (2015), Ambon City’s economic growth is slightly higher than Indonesia’s average growth (4.9 percent, 2015), and with a poverty rate of approximately 4.5 percent, Ambon City ranges distinctly below the national poverty rate (9.8 percent, 2015).
Map 6.2 Fieldwork sites in Ambon
Note: draft: C. von Lübke, cartography: K. Schmitt.
Copyright OpenStreetMap contributors (openstreetmap.org), Inkatlas.
In Ambon City, we chose four villages for our interview sample: Poka, Rumah Tiga, Lembra Argo, and Ahuru. Church-based projects were mainly organized in the villages of Poka and Rumah Tiga. The programs of church-based projects in Ambon included, for example, the establishment of the so-called crisis centers. On the Christian side, there were two crisis centers: a Catholic center and a center managed by the Protestant Church (Gereja Protestan Maluku, GPM). These centers provided emergency aid for victims and survivors of the violent clashes, gathered information, and provided protection for displaced persons. While initially these emergency measures concentrated on the religious in-group, at a later stage they were also extended to Muslims in a deliberate attempt to overcome prevailing religious stereotypes.5 The centers were also involved in fact finding and produced press statements in order to counter false rumors.
Church-based help was key for the resettlement and rehabilitation of the affected communities. In all four villages in our sample, many new houses were built for the local community. Like in Cotabato, in Ambon churches were also involved in diverse post-conflict peacebuilding programs. The latter were initiated by Christian and Muslim NGOs, but there were also influential individuals involved in direct dialogue.
One of the most remarkable success stories of peace work in Maluku was the interreligious group “Tim 20 Wayame” in the village of Wayame. The team consisted of local leaders and villagers; ten Christian and ten Muslim personalities. They defined strict behavioral rules for the villagers, which enabled them to maintain a modicum of harmony between Christians and Muslims. Such rules included the prohibition of mutual provocations, the ban of provocative religious symbols, a ban on burials in Wayame for villagers who died in battle and the prohibition of weapon production (Al Qurtuby 2016: 142). At the end of the conflict, Wayame was the only village on Ambon that was not hit by communal violence (Panggabean 2004: 429). The intense interaction and communication between Protestant pastors and Muslim religious leaders and their message that there was not a conflict of religion facilitated the preservation of religious tolerance (Centre for Humanitarian Dialogue 2011: 24).6
Two other noted peace activists, Sister Brigitta Renyaan on the Catholic side and Rev Jacky Manuputty on the Protestant side, started their peace work in a movement initiated in April 2000 by a West Javanese Muslim, Ichsan Malik, which became known as Baku Bae (“Enough is Enough”), and sought to mobilize the grassroots for peace. However, Manuputty in particular was increasingly convinced that a peace that is not the product of local reconciliation work is fragile. The “workshop-to-workshop forums in Java,” he critically stated, “did little to take into account the local circumstances and traditions.”7 The first tangible measures of church-based, local, post-conflict peace work were two peace zones, one set up in Pohon Puleh, the other in Passo, two villages on Ambon (Böhm 2006: 198; Bartels 2009: 17). In December 2003, Manuputty joined other religious forces such as the Ambon chapter of the Indonesia Ulema Council (MUI), the Catholic Diocese of Ambon, and others to establish an Interfaith Council (Lembaga Antar Imam Maluku) that sought to promote peaceful coexistence and fight prejudices by highlighting the commonalities of the religions (ibid.).
Manuputty also became a leading figure in an affiliate NGO, the Maluku Interfaith Institution for Humanitarian Action (ELALEM) (ibid.). ELALEM, with the support of the Japanese International Cooperation Agency (JICA), engaged in institutional capacity building, and promoted pluralism and community empowerment, centering on economy, social life, and security. It also urged Christian and Muslim clerics to engage in what became known as “peace sermons,” that is, spreading peace messages during their sermons in their respective religious communities (Anson et al. 2014: 125).8
Together with the Muslim cleric Ustadz Abidin Wakano, Manuputty also initiated a live-in program in which clerics from the Christian and Muslim sides would spend a night in the house of members of the other religious community. The program was very successful, although – as Manuputty admitted – still focused on elites, while “grassroots dialogue was still limited.”9
Sister Brigitta was one of the main activists of the Concerned Women’s Movement (Gerakan Perempuan Peduli), an organization founded in August 1999, which not only targeted Catholic and Protestant but also Muslim women.10 The shared identity of motherhood paved the way for interreligious activities, such as evening prayers during the mayhem in Ambon City. However, more consequential were subsequent moves to reach out to children, mothers, day schools, and other family institutions with the objective of encouraging children and mothers to persuade their fathers and husbands to stop fighting. Mothers, in particular, were urged to educate their children in a “culture of peace,” thereby preventing them from joining militias as child warriors which, known as agas and linggis, fought on both sides of the conflict (Schulze 2002: 63; Centre for Humanitarian Dialogue 2011: 25; Al Qurtuby 2016: 75). Later, the project also included trauma healing components as many persons were confronted during the violence with extreme suffering and abject atrocities.11
More recent Protestant initiatives included the “peace provocateur” initiative which – following the riots in 201112 – sought the help of new media to respond quickly to rumors and provocations in an attempt to preempt the escalation of violent incidents. They responded to the fact that provocations and rumors spread rapidly through SMS messages (Anson et al. 2014: 23). Peace provocateurs are thus engaged in monitoring activities which are crucial in making the right de-escalating decisions in times of tension. Like in the Philippines, many projects seek to involve the young generation. The purpose of these projects is to keep the disastrous consequences of the conflict alive in the collective memory and to implant in the young generation the fundamental idea of peace. Serving as “entry points” for such programs are activities tailored to youth-specific interests, such as sports events, which are followed by spiritual elements and interreligious dialogue.13
However, for the stringency of our research design it is important to note that – unlike in Cotabato – in our four survey villages in Ambon, it was not possible to clearly distinguish villages with church-based peace projects and those without. As frequently occurs in social research, the social reality did not reflect the laboratory-type rigor of the research design. In Ambon, the church-based projects are strongly interconnected with state-sponsored projects. This means that there is no clear-cut difference between church and state efforts as in the Peace Zone in Pikit/Cotabato. As a consequence, the local people cannot distinuigish for certain who or which agency actually distributed aid or organized peace programs. This had repercussions on our counterfactual analysis: assessments made by respondents on interreligious relations and their attitudes towards the religious other might not always be the sole result of church-based projects.
In both Mindanao and Maluku, previous research has shown that there are overlapping and conflicting levels of identity: nation, ethnicity, kinship, etc. To assess the salience of these identity markers, our questionnaires included several indicators of religious and ethnic identity.
In the Maluku case, our results highlight that religious and ethnic identities remain very strong. An overwhelming majority of Christian respondents consider their religious identity as “important” (17 percent) or “very important” (82 percent). The response among Muslim residents in our survey reveals equally strong sentiments. Here, the Muslim identity is considered “important” by 33 percent and “very important” by 67 percent of the respondents. Similar emphasis is placed on ethnic identities. A large majority of all residents (irrespective or their religious background) confirm that affiliations to ethnic groups continue to be important or very important aspects (roughly 98 percent).
The ethnic factor is equally pronounced in the case of Mindanao. Here, the notion of ethnicity is contested due to the politicized “Bangsamoro” identity. The central aspect of the peace agreement was the envisioned establishment of Bangsamoro – as a new mode of regional governance replacing the existing Autonomous Region of Muslim Mindanao (ARMM). Our survey results in Mindanao show that this regional ethnic affiliation (Bangsamoro) remains a point of contention. This becomes obvious in the strongly diverging responses of Christians and Muslims in the Cotabato region.
The results confirm that Christians do not exhibit a “Bangsamoro” identity. They neither express consent nor do they attach any substantial meaning to the “Bangsamoro” concept. Indeed, the responses of Christian residents in Cotabato (see Table 6.1) signal an outright rejection of efforts to establish “Bangsamoro” as a political entity. This finding confirms the results of our discourse analysis: on the basis of the dominant national discourse, the Christian majority in the Philippines does not agree with the notion of autonomy for Mindanao or parts of Mindanao. To put it more pointedly, the “Bangsamoro” narrative does not exist in the Christian discourse. However, in sharp contrast to the Christian rejection of the Bangsamoro identity, almost all Muslim respondents did agree with the statement “I am proud to be a Bangsamoro.”
Table 6.1 Bangsamoro identity statement
As a consequence, ethnicity was chosen as an important aspect in our QCA analysis (see chapter 9) in order to test what impact participation in church-based projects has on the prevalence of ethnic affiliation or ethnic identity formation. The QCA analysis will provide answers to the question of whether “exclusivist” ethnic attachments or identity formation can impact on projects like the Pikit Peace Zone in a negative way or, by contrast, whether projects like the Peace Zone can attenuate ethnic frictions.
The questionnaire also included questions that sought to analyze whether the respondents have liberal and tolerant or fundamentalist attitudes towards the role of faith in general and their relationship to members of other ethnic or religious groups in particular. As explained in the theory chapter (chapter 2), fundamentalist religious attitudes are defined as a strong set of principles concerning faith or morals. Drawing on Galtung’s concept of structural violence, strong fundamentalist attitudes can inflict a certain level of structural violence; especially if one religious group dominates the social sphere and enforces a set of narrowly defined religious values on the other group.
The results in Ambon are ambivalent. On the one hand, partly differing from the nationwide surveys cited in chapter 5, the vast majority of respondents (Christians and Muslims) displayed liberal and tolerant attitudes: they agree that different ethnic and religious groups should respect each other and, at the same time, disagreed with the idea that one religious or ethnic group will always dominate the other. In addition, over 90 percent of the respondents agreed that religious or ethnic diversity enriches Indonesia. While we have no compelling explanations for these deviations from nationwide surveys, it could well be that Moluccans have learned the lessons of the conflict and that their more tolerant interreligious attitudes signal the newfound coexistence of Christians and Muslims after the Malino II accord.
This rather positive picture is also reflected in a statement regarding the justification of violence. A sizable majority of the respondents (72 percent) rejected the statement that violence can be justified if it serves the group’s religious objectives. An even greater share (roughly 77 percent) rejected the idea that violent actions can be justified on ethnic grounds.
On the other hand, less encouraging – and indicating a certain degree of segregation – is the finding that interfaith marriages receive little support in Ambon. Only 18 percent of the respondents support the notion that their “child may marry someone from a different religion – provided they love each other,” while almost 70 percent would withhold their blessing. The picture is different when it comes to marriages across ethnic groups. Here, more than 90 percent agree with the statement that their child “may marry someone from a different ethnic group – provided they love each other.” Thus, in the Maluku case, religion is a stronger “marker” of otherness or alienation than ethnicity. This, of course, has implications for the role of religious actors in the conflict transformation process.
The results in Cotabato are only slightly different from those in Ambon. Here, the vast majority agreed with the statement that “different ethnic and religious groups in the Philippines should respect each other.” However, in Cotabato, a smaller share of respondents – roughly 62 percent – rejected the proposition that “one religious group will always dominate the other.” A similar share of rejection is observable regarding the domination of one ethnic group: roughly 60 percent reject this proposition. In Cotabato, there is also a clear majority supporting the notion that religious diversity (73 percent) and ethnic diversity (71 percent) are enriching the Philippines.
In Mindanao, we find an overall stronger inclination towards justifying violence on ethnic or religious grounds. A closer look at the local surveys reveals that only four in ten respondents rejected the idea that violence can be justified on the grounds of ethnic (42 percent) or religious reasons (43 percent). Unlike in Ambon, however, a large majority of respondents in Cotabato confirmed that their children could marry someone from a different religion (roughly 90 percent). The same holds true for inter-ethnic marriages: here, 91 percent of the respondents signal their blessing. This result is somewhat surprising, given that existing Philippine surveys from the 1970s to 1990s indicated that Muslims and Christians were critical or opposed to interreligious marriages (Talibas-Nunez 1997).
All in all, the presented results provide a first indication of religious and ethnic cleavages and their salience for justifying violent action. Some of these aspects will be discussed and elaborated in further detail in the chapter on Qualitative Comparative Analysis (QCA) below, where narrowly confined religious/ethnic attitudes will feature as analytical conditions.
As outlined in the theory chapter, residential segregation can pave the ground for religious or ethnic alienation and, in doing so, imply a rise in structural violence. In Ambon and its surrounding islands, residential segregation is evident in several communities. This is also the case, albeit to a lesser degree, in Mindanao. The settlement pattern in most residential areas in the barangays of Cotabato is characterized by segregation. While a small number of communities feature a mixed setting, most residential areas remain segregated along religious and ethnic lines. Lumads cannot and will not live in Moro areas, and there are only a few cases in which Christians and Muslims live next to each other.
We further analyzed whether the residential (physical) segregation is matched by a social (psychological) segregation. The result for Mindanao is very clear: residential segregation does not automatically translate into social segregation. The vast majority of respondents – 81 percent – indicated that their social relationships cut across religious boundaries; a result confirming Neumann’s earlier findings (Neumann 2013: 229).
Another indication of the presence of social capital is discernable in two additional survey items. First, 84 percent of all respondents in Cotabato state that they are members of community groups, local associations, or volunteer organizations. Second, and even more importantly, survey results indicate that a considerable majority of respondents would permit their children to join local association groups with mixed ethnic (95 percent) or religious (96 percent) membership. By contrast, associational membership in Maluku is considerably lower (31 percent). Moreover, parents’ inclination to permit their children to join inter-ethnic (73 percent) and interreligious (62 percent) associations is also less pronounced. These findings suggest a relatively high level of social capital in Cotabato and a somewhat lower level in Ambon.14
Two theory-guided arguments can be used to explain these diverging indications on social capital in the two regions. The comparatively large membership in community or volunteer organizations in Mindanao can be partly explained on the grounds of “fictive kinship” (Rood 2005). The notion of fictive kinship implies that membership of a community organization replaces or matches the membership of a wider family or kin-related structure. According to Rood, this can have positive implications for the role of civil society (including the churches, one of the most powerful institutions of civil society) in the conflict transformation process. In the Maluku case, the role of civil society is explained by Tonny Pariela’s concept of “preserved social capital” (Pariela 2008). Drawing on the experience in Ambon, the idea of preserved social capital refers to importance of adat (customary) traditions. Some communities in Ambon are considered role models for interreligious coexistence and conflict transformation. Successful cases often feature efforts in the spirit of the pela gandong system. This system, which has been outlined in the chapters on the regions’ historical background (chapter 4) and religious discourses (chapter 5), highlights the importance of traditional village partnerships and alliances that cut across religious and ethnic backgrounds.
In conclusion, our data do not indicate that residential segregation is translated into social segregation. This is an encouraging finding; not least because our research suggests that different religious groups in selected communities have demonstrated a high level of mutual respect, dialogue, and cooperation.
The proposed establishment of a Bangsamoro autonomous region, which has been promoted by President Duterte and would provide the Moro population with enhanced autonomy and resources, remains a contentious and divisive aspect in Philippine politics. Our survey findings in Cotabato resonate with ongoing local and national debates. They show that 88 percent of all respondents were aware of the Bangsamoro Basic Law (BBL) debate; but they also highlight that perceptions of Christian, Lumad, and Muslim communities differ distinctly on the issue of greater autonomy. While Muslim respondents strongly favor the proposed bill (96 percent), non-Muslim respondents remain highly critical. As outlined in Table 6.2, merely 17 percent of the Christian respondents and only 15 percent of the Lumad respondents support the passing of the BBL bill.
Of central importance in our questionnaire is the role of Christian Churches in general and the participation of the respondents in church-based projects.15 The findings for Ambon illustrate that a large majority agree that it was “essential for the project to be set up by religious actors” (merely
Table 6.2 Attitudes towards the Bangsamoro Basic Law
| Do you support the Bangsamoro Basic Law (BBL) ? | ||||
|---|---|---|---|---|
| Yes | No | Don't know | No answer | |
| Muslims | 96% | 4% | 0% | 0% |
| Christians | 17% | 83% | 0% | 0% |
| Lumads | 15% | 82% | 1% | 2% |
| All respondents | 53% | 47% | 0% | 0% |
13 percent of the respondents disagreed with this statement). Moreover, three out of four respondents (74 percent) supported the idea that Christian Churches should focus their work on socioeconomic issues – including antipoverty measures, emergency relief work, and small-scale development initiatives. The idea of a stronger focus on charitable/caritative social work (53 percent) or pastoral work (52 percent) received an affirmative – but less resounding – response. With respect to interreligious relationships, a considerable share of Christian respondents perceive the treatment of Muslim residents as respectful (22 percent disagree with this statement). Muslim respondents agree with this assessment: roughly 96 percent confirm an overall respectful treatment of Muslim residents in church-funded projects.
In Cotabato, survey results reveal more homogenous preferences regarding the thematic orientation of church projects. Respondents in Pikit and Kabacan placed similar weight on socio-economic (78 percent), charitable/caritative social work (78 percent), and pastoral work (79 percent). The statement that Muslim residents were treated respectfully in the context of Christian project efforts was broadly confirmed in the survey (92 percent affirmation among Christian respondents and 98 percent affirmation among Muslim respondents). Similar to Ambon, a large majority also confirms that religious actors should play a key role in Pikit’s reconciliation process (roughly 87 percent).
Do respondents perceive projects conducted by religious and state actors differently? The results for Cotabato are clear: a vast majority of respondents reports significant differences in the conduct of projects by religious and state actors (see Table 6.3). The results from our surveys and interviews in Pikit and Kabacan are revealing. While religious actors are widely seen as inclusive, fair, and less biased in their project management, state actors
Table 6.3 Religious and state actors in Mindanao
| Is there a difference between the work done by religious and state actors for the community? | ||
|---|---|---|
| Cotabato | Ambon | |
| Muslims | 83% | 70% |
| Christians | 83% | 81% |
| Lumads | 100% | Does not apply |
| All respondents | 85% | 79% |
are often criticized for applying more preferential, politicized, or even clientelist practices. In addition, religious actors are valued for their effective and swift execution of projects and delivery of aid; whereas state-funded project efforts are often burdened by time- and cost-inefficient operations. Several interviewees also confirmed that corruption remains a key issue in the implementation of state projects.
The survey in Ambon points to similar results. Once again, a vast majority of Christians and Muslims confirm that religious and state actors approach projects in distinctly different ways (Table 6.5). The reasoning for these differences also revealed striking similarities. Religious actors were described as comparatively less biased and more transparent. The distribution of funding and aid by the churches was often regarded as less discriminatory or clientelistic. Consistent with the responses in Cotabato, religious actors were viewed as more responsive and target-oriented, while government efforts were often regarded as slow and inefficient. The overall critical assessment of state-led implementation of emergency relief and rehabilitation projects in both regions tallies well with the findings of chapters 4 and 5, where process tracing and discourse analyses indicated that state bureaucracies remain prone to corruption, administrative inefficiency, and skewed service provision.
Did church-based peace projects succeed in meeting expectations of community participants? Overall, the results in Ambon show that 76 percent of the respondents feel that church projects were in line with their expectations. Our survey indicates that respondents’ expectations include the following key aspects: “better spiritual life,” “strengthening faith,” “help support for conflict victims and displaced persons,” “welfare and socioeconomic assistance,” “improvements for my family and the community,” and the “attainment of peace.”
The results for Cotabato pointed in similar directions, indicating that project activities were largely in consonance with their initial hopes: a majority of 61 percent indicates that their expectations were fulfilled. These expectations included aspects such as “advancements in development and livelihood,” “knowledge on peace and interreligious dialogue,” “life without fear,” “peace and unity,” and “putting an end to displacement.”
These findings also suggest that church projects with holistic orientations are likely to be more successful. Arguably, projects focusing on interreligious dialogue, general faith matters, or spiritual life are more likely to succeed if respondents also benefit from socioeconomic advancements. In other words, improvements in communal mindsets may be more sustainable if they are matched by improvements in economic welfare.16 As one participant pointedly expressed it: “It is okay to show me how to treat my religious neighbors. But they also need to show me how to prevent my goat from starving.” Consistent with these findings, Father Bert Layson has repeatedly promoted the comprehensive/holistic approach of the Cotabato Peace Zone program.
A very sensitive question that is not only related to project expectations but also to the results and impact of the church projects is the question about the image the respondents had of the individuals from other religious groups before they took part in the project. The results for Ambon are quite positive because only a negligible minority of less than 3 percent of the respondents made negative comments about other religious groups. Thus, what is obvious in Ambon is the fact that there are no relevant differences between Christians and Muslims in their attitudes towards or images of members of the other religion.
Table 6.4 Christian attitudes in Ambon towards members of other religious groups prior to participation in church-based projects
| Positive Characterizations of Individuals from Other Religious Groups | Negative Characterizations of Individuals from Other Religious Groups |
|---|---|
| Same human beings; partnership, friendship, good relationship, brothers; good people, ordinary citizens; friends; brothers of other faiths | Enemies; being suspicious of the other religion; anger, hate, revenge; opponents |
Table 6.5 Christian attitudes in Cotabato towards members of other religious groups prior to participation in church-based projects
| Positive Characterizations of Individuals from Other Religious Groups | Negative Characterizations of Individuals from Other Religious Groups |
|---|---|
| People just like me; friendly; respectful, honest; open-minded | Only care about their own religion; enemies, hate; no trust, traitors; no interest in peace, killer, hypocrite; no respect, discriminating against Christians |
Table 6.6 Muslim attitudes in Ambon towards members of other religious groups prior to participation in church-based projects
| Positive Characterizations of Individuals from Other Religious Groups | Negative Characterizations of Individuals from Other Religious Groups |
|---|---|
| Friendly; respectful, honest; open-minded | Enemies, land grabber; no interest in peace, no care for others; anti-Muslim; they never trust the Moros |
In Cotabato, on the other hand, the results differ among Christians, Muslims, and Lumads. Only a minority of the Christian respondents described Muslims in positive terms. Responses are summarized in table 6.5.
Vice versa, Muslim respondents also exhibited many negative attitudes, although more Muslim respondents than Christian respondents used positive descriptions for Christians.
These findings corroborate survey results of the 1970s to 1990s, which unanimously came to the conclusion that local Muslims had a more positive image of Christians than vice-versa (Talibas-Nunez 1997: 37–43, 67, 79).17
Lumad respondents displayed historically grounded anti-Moro sentiments. Their descriptions of Muslims exhibited a largely negative image of Moros, including descriptions such as: “closed mindset,” “kidnapper,” “killer,” “bomber,” “cause of conflict,” “discriminating against indigenous people,” “have no interest in peace,” “no interest in development,” and “hate.”
Even more significant for our research objective is the question about the image the respondents have of individuals from other religious groups after taking part in the project. The results for Cotabato are, once again, distinguished between Christian, Muslim, and Lumad respondents.
Christian respondents overwhelmingly described Muslim neighbors in positive terms after participation in the Cotabato Peace Zone project.
Table 6.7 Christian attitudes in Cotabato towards members of other religious groups after participation in church-based projects
| Positive Characterizations of Individuals from Other Religious Groups | Negative Characterizations of Individuals from Other Religious Groups |
|---|---|
| “peace, peaceful mind;” “friendship;” “more intermarriage;” “open-minded;” “friendship;” “respecting each other;” “close, better relationships;” “understanding;” “hatred lias changed;” “no more fear;” “people just like me;” “gained trust” | “Muslims are people too, but I have reservations in dealing with Muslims;” “no changes because until now we do not trust them because crimes/violence are still happening and they are the very perpetrators;” “I gained confidence, but [only] a little, not complete trust;” “Muslims are people too, but I have reservations in dealing with Muslims” |
A vast majority of Muslim respondents also used positive descriptions for Christians after participation in the Peace Zone project in Cotabato. While there were also still some minor negative statements by a small minority of Muslim respondents, the majority of Lumad respondents had changed attitudes and used positive descriptions for Muslims after participation in the Peace Zone project. In fact, there was only one Lumad respondent who still entertained reservations about Muslims, indicating that he did not completely trust them.18
Overall, the results for Ambon were even more positive after project participation. There were no major differences between Christian and Muslim attitudes and their change of attitudes. There was, quite importantly, a majority of those who also described individuals belonging to the religious other in positive terms.
This visible and positive change in attitude in both project sites and within all religious groups made a lasting impact in both conflict transformation
Table 6.8 Muslim attitudes in Cotabato towards members of other religious groups after participation in church-based projects
| Positive Characterizations of Individuals from Other Religious Groups | Negative Characterizations of Individuals from Other Religious Groups |
|---|---|
| “Respecting each other;” “working together, cooperation with others;” “friendship, close, better relationship;” “open-minded;” “Christians are good people, people like Moros, brothers and sisters, friends;” “not all Christians and Lumads are land grabbers;” “Christians are victims too, of economic injustices done by the government;” “peace, peaceful mind;” and “helpful, gained confidence” | “Although there is less discrimination, violence and crime prevail” |
Table 6.9 Muslim attitudes in Ambon towards members of other religious groups after participation in church-based projects
| Positive Characterizations of Individuals from Other Religious Groups | Negative Characterizations of Individuals form Other Religious Groups |
|---|---|
| “Equal;” “the same people;” “all religions are the same;” “people from other religions are the same as us;” “better relationships;” “building (new) relationships;” “brothers;” “friends;” “change my view from enemy to fellow;” “desire for peace;” “awareness of peace;” “live in safety” |
societies. Probing this attitude change will be another key issue in our QCA analysis (see chapter 9).
1 Authors’ interview with Father Layson, 13 September 2015.
2 The Notre Dame University in Cotabato City stands out for developing one of the first university-based peace education pograms in the Philippines. The university’s Center for Peace Education, founded in 1988, offers a Master’s program in Peace and Development Education. The Center has also acquired reputation for its extensive outreach programs, which included interaction with international organizations. With the military it also targeted a major conflict party (Coronel Ferrer 2013: 235).
3 Others mentioned by Father Layson include Oxfam and AustralAid. Authors’ interview, 13 September 2015.
4 Authors’ interview with Father Layson, 13 September 2015.
5 Authors’ interview with Rev Jacky Manuputty, 4 October 2016. Manuputty also emphasized that such interreligious aid measures were not one-way affairs as Muslims also started similar initiatives.
6 On Tim 20 Wayame, see also the doctoral dissertation of Tonny D. Pariela (2008).
7 The Jakarta Post, 30 August 2006. For a more enthusiastic appraisal of Baku Bae, see Hilda Rolobessy and Justus Pattinawane in an interview with the authors on 30 September 2015.
8 The Jakarta Post, 30 August 2006.
9 The Jakarta Post, 30 August 2006 and authors’ interviews with Rev Jacky Manuputty, 1 October 2015 and 4 October 2016.
10 The Jakarta Post, 1 January 2003.
11 Authors’ interviews with Sister Brigitta, 3 May 2016 and 4 October 2016 and The Jakarta Post, 1 January 2003.
12 See International Crisis Group (2011).
13 Authors’ interviews with Rev Jacky Manuputty, 1 October 2015, 2 May 2016 and 4 October 2016.
14 This is corroborated by a report by the Center for Humanitarian Dialogue, stating that in Ambon “there were roughly ten local NGOs before the conflict. By 2001, this number had increased to more than 600. Today there are around thirty NGOs only ten of which are active.” (Centre for Humanitarian Dialogue 2011: 30).
15 It should be noted that Christians in Mindanao and Maluku differ in respect to their denominations: while Christian communities in Mindanao are mostly Catholic, their counterparts in Ambon are mostly Protestant.
16 On the anti-mobilizing effects of development, see also Coronel Ferrer (2013: 11).
17 This finding is also corroborated by Neumann’s study who found that “Muslims are far more reserved in their comments” on Christians (Neumann 2013: 227).
18 Neumann, too, attributes these attitudinal changes to the dialogues as a key element of NGO and church projects (Neumann 2013: 232).
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