A year after massacre, loved ones a sorority of sorrow

Along an off-road hillside in Ampatuan town, Maguindanao province, army troops approach a yellow backhoe in the distance. They hear the engine roar and see smoke coming from the heavy equipment. But upon arriving at the scene, they find no life. Instead, there are 22 victims lying dead on the ground and in vehicles. A search uncovers at least 35 more, buried in mass graves. It’s not a horror film but real life. The massacre on November 23, 2009 was the worst case of political violence in the nation’s history, and with 32 journalists killed, the most tragic day for media anywhere in the world. One year later is not long enough to heal these wounds, not when the victims' families are still fighting for justice. It is a quiet afternoon, overcast. Catherine Nuñez, Noemi Parcon, Editha Tiamzon, Zenaida Duhay and Maria Cipriana Gatchalian have just returned from the Supreme Court. All related to victims of the massacre, they see each other so often and are united by something so terrible, they could be a sorority of sorrow. They are tired, and you can see it in the way they move. They smile a bit and nod, when they speak, their voices are soft and their hands folded on their laps. There are no words for the weight of grief. When they speak of their departed, the sentences trail off, the thoughts left incomplete. Still, their eyes shine, and when they speak of justice they sit up a bit straighter, their voices get louder. Some cannot remember without crying, and the tears are contagious. When one's voice breaks, those next to her begin to cry as well. Shared sorrow Recovering from the shock of such a tragedy seems unthinkable, but from the women's stories, there is truth in the proverb 'shared sorrow is halved, shared joy, doubled.' For some, the tears cannot flow at home. They tell me how they keep their emotions hidden, in order to appear strong for their children. It is only in therapy sessions that they let go, and by sharing their grief with others who suffer the same loss, somehow they gain strength. "Nairelease namin yung hindi namin nailalabas na walang paraan, hindi namin alam kung ano ang paraan para mairelease namin yung talagang nararamdaman namin, hindi kayang maibulalas sa pamilya namin, nailabas doon sa pamamagitan ng grupong NUJP at FFJ," shared Duhay, mother of Jose Duhay of Gold Star Daily. (Through groups like NUJP and FFJ, we were able to release emotions that we did not know how to release and that we could not release in front of our families.) Attending the hearings together also helps lessen the pain and give them strength, she says. "Siguro nakatulong din yung pagpunta punta namin dito, sama-sama kami, may time na mabawasan ng konti yung sakit ng loob, kasi magkakasama kami. Isa rin yun sa nagbibigay ng lakas sa amin." (It helps that we come here together. The time we spend together lessens the pain. It's what gives us strength.) For others, being in a group allows them to lighten up, but when they return home, the reality of having lost a loved one sinks in, and the prospect of healing seems far away again. "Kami-kami mismo nagtutulungan kami. So, kung magkakasama kami, medyo magaan yung aming mga pakiramdam although pag nagiisa, nagiiyak, lalo na yung iba sa amin, pag nasa grupo titingnan mo parang wala lang, pero kapag bumalik na doon sa bahay, nagiiyak," said Parcon, widow of Prontiera Balita publisher Joel Parcon. (We help each other. We feel better when we're together. Some of us seem okay, but when we go back to our homes and we're alone, we cry.) Apart from drawing strength from each other, it is their faith that they rely on to overcome the tragedy. By no means are they giving up on their fight for justice, but they bear no hatred for the criminals, nor do they encourage others to do so. "Sa umpisa galit talaga ako. Pero parang pinapatawad ko na sila. Dahan-dahan ko silang napapatawad. Dahil ang Diyos nga nagpapatawad, tayo pa? Pero kailangan rin sila magawaran ng kaparusahan," said Nuñez, mother of Victor Nuñez of UNTV. (I was angry at first. But I've slowly forgiven them. If God can forgive, so can we. But they still have to be punished.) "Galit tayo sa gumawa niyan. Pero ako na lang wag na kayo. Galit talaga ako. Hindi ibig sabihin na gusto ko sila patayin. Kasi, mali yun, na pag pinukpok ka ng bato babatuhin mo rin sila" said Gatchalian, adding that she wants the criminals to be convicted, and for them to pay for their crime in prison. Her husband, Santos Gatchalian Jr. of Davao-based Metro Gazette, was one of over 30 journalists who were killed in the massacre. "We'll spend a few more years dito sa mundo. I will make it worthwhile. Anyway wala namang magtatagal dito sa mundo, magkasama rin kami ulit ng papa niyo," she told her children, advising them to focus on making their lives better. "Hindi porke wala na si Papa nila, sisirain nila buhay nila. Hindi ako ganyan, hindi rin masaya si Papa niyo kung ganun. Sabi ko, you are still very young, I want you to enjoy your life, 'wag niyong ilagay sa puso yung galit. Makasisira sa buhay ninyo ang galit niyo." she said. (You can't ruin your life just because Papa is not here anymore. Papa will not be happy if that happens. I told my children, you are still very young, I want you to enjoy your life. Don't keep anger in your heart. Anger will ruin your life.) As for herself, she attends hearings regularly, not wanting to just sit and wait for justice to come. They are also optimistic that under the new administration, the case will prosper. "At least ngayon, we are happy dahil sa takbo ng ano ngayon sa bagong administrasyon natin, makikita naman natin yung kaibahan. Ibang iba talaga yung sitwasyon noong sa unang administrasyon kay sa ngayon. Ngayon sa bagong administrasyon malaki ang tiwala namin na talagang tutulungan kami na makamit ang hustisya," said Parcon. (We are happy with the development of the case in this new administration. We really see the difference. In this new administration, we're confident that justice will be served.) Holding on and letting go The victims are officially counted as 57, but for their families, the number is merely representative of individual lives of people they loved. "Heto na ang pinaka karumal-dumal na nangyari sa buong mundo. Itong Maguindanao Massacre. Kaya sigaw ng buong mundo ang hustisya talaga. Lahat naman ng mga tao sa mundo ngayon inaasam talaga nila ang hustisya sa massacre na yun. Masakit para sa hindi kapamilya, how much more sa amin. Maski saan ka pupunta yan talaga ang pinaguusapan, kailan makakamtan ng Maguindanao Massacre ang hustisya?" said Parcon. (The Maguindanao Massacre was the most gruesome crime in the world. The whole world screams for justice. If other peoplewere hurt by what happened, then what more for us relatives? Everybody is asking when justice will be served.) These women remember their husbands and children, the little details of their lives and relationships which cannot and will not be replaced. Parcon has fond memories of her husband, who she says was incredibly understanding and patient. "Sa loob ng 27 years naming pagsasama di talaga ako nun nasaktan, kahit na ano, sabihin natin marami akong mga kahinaan, yung paguugali ko minsan hindi maintindihan, pero andun pa rin siya. Parang siya na yung pinakapasensiyosong tao na ano, pilit niya akong iniintindi lagi," she says. (In the 27 years that we've been together, he never hurt me. He is the most patient person I know. He always tried to understand me.) It is the simple things, the routines that could be described as mundane, that they miss the most. "Nakakatulong ang panahon pero nakakatulong na mamimiss mo yung mahal mo sa buhay dahil yun nga, sinabi ko na destino siya, alam mo tatawag sa ‘yo, alam mo magtetext sayo. Ngayon, alam mo na parang malayo siya pero wala na yung alam mong gabi, tatawag siya, magtatanong siya sa ‘yo kung okay ba yung mga anak mo, kumain na ba kayo, wala na yun. Yun ang namimiss mo pero kailangan mong labanan dahil alam mong wala na talaga sila," says Parcon. After all, it is the little things often taken for granted that are missed terribly. And yet, these women do not allow themselves to grieve openly. (He used to call or send text messages when he was assigned somewhere far. Now I know he's far away, but gone are the late night calls asking if the family's okay, if we had eaten. I have to fight the yearning because he's really gone.) "Kailangan mo ng maipaano sa mga anak mo na matulungan silang makarecover sa pinagdadaanan nila ngayon (You need to do something to help your children recover from what they're going through)," says Parcon "I let them see I am strong. 'Pag umiiyak nagkukulong ako. Ako ang nagcounsel sa kanila na, wala tayong magawa (I don't like them seeing me cry. I tell them, we can't do anything anymore)," says Gatchalian, who refuses to let her children bear a grudge, and tells them to focus on remembering their father. In an effort to keep the best memories of her husband, she chose not to keep anything from the funeral, save for a picture that her children framed and placed on top of the coffin, which was closed. "Remembrance o souvenir na inilibing siya, wala kaming picture niyan. Wala din kaming picture na nasa loob siya ng coffin, wala talaga. So ang ginawa ko nung bago siya inilibing, kinuha ko lahat yung mga pictures niya, nilagay ko sa isang album lahat. Noong dala ko ang bangkay ng asawa ko sa coffin, yung mga anak ko gumawa sila ng dalawang frame ng papa nila, yun ang nilagay ko sa coffin," she says. Up to this day, the framed picture rests on a table, next to flowers and a candle that is kept lit. (We don't have a remembrance or a souvenir from his funeral. We don't even have a picture of him in his coffin, nothing at all. Before he was buried, I took all of his old photos and put them in an album. When I brought my husband's body home, my kids framed pictures of their father and that's what I placed on the coffin.) Parcon could not single anything out of the things she missed about her husband. "Marami. Naiiyak ako sa dami. Yung bonding namin, tapos pag may destino siya, sisikapin niya na kapag may mga okasyon na dapat nandun siya sisikapin niya na kahit hindi siya makakaattend, kahit tatawag siya o kaya tetext na lang sa amin, basta alam niya na naka participate siya doon. Yung pangalawa yung pag wala siyang duty, sinisikap niya na yung mga anak talaga niya na maipasyal, mailabas, para maipuna niya yung pagkukulang niya na nasa destino siyang malayo," she said. (I cry that there is so many. Even when he would leave at times that we needed him to be there, he would try to call or message us so he could participate. When he wasn't on duty, he would make the effort to take our kids out to make up for those times that he wasn't there.) She also believes that her husband is in a better place, and they must move on so that he, too, may rest in peace. "Kapag palaging tinatawag ang kaluluwa hindi mapanatag. Nung namatay siya kinausap ko siya, sabi ko patuloy siya sa pupuntahan niya, wag kang magalala sa amin," shared Gatchalian. (A soul can't rest if you keep calling on it. When he died, I talked to him, I told him that he should move on and not worry about us.) Parcon adds that it is not simply a matter of letting go, but of obtaining justice, so that their departed may truly rest in peace. "Ang sa amin nalang is we want to get justice para doon sa mga namatay, para naman at least kahit papaano, sila doon sa kanilang kinalalagyan, magkaroon sila ng peace. Habang siguro hindi nakukuha ang hustisya alam namin hindi sila magiging kampante. Sila mismo, mga kaluluwa nila naghahanap din ng hustisya," said Parcon. (What we want is justice for those who died, so that somehow, wherever they are, they will be at peace. As long as they don't receive justice, we know that they can't rest. Their souls cry out for justice.) Healing and hoping Apart from their loss, these women are united by the justice they are struggling to gain. Shocked by the monstrous crime, all eyes are on the continuing trial, but none more so than the victims' families. Despite the difficulty of going back and forth from Mindanao to Manila for the weekly hearings, the women remain steadfast in their commitment to carry on with the case. "Kapag nagpunta ako dito talagang leave ako. Gaya ngayon, Martes ang punta ko dito so nag leave ako ng four days. Talagang malaki ang epekto sa akin, lalo na sa ano. Pero wala na tayong magawa, kasi, meron din tayong obligasyon para sa ating namatay na asawa, siyempre kailangan din nating bigyan ng panahon, so sakripisyo talaga kahit na may pasok tayo," said Parcon. (When I come here, I take a leave from work. Like now, I came here on Tuesday so I took a four-day leave. This has had such a huge effect on me. But we can't do anything because we have an obligation to our husbands. We need to set aside time, so it's really a sacrifice even if we have jobs.) Apart from the being time-consuming, the weekly trips cost money. "Malaki din ang utang na loob namin sa aming mga abogado. Sila ang gumagastos ng lahat, pagkain namin, pamasahe, although syempre hindi maiwasan na gumagastos kami ng sariling pera, pero kumbaga lesser siya, syempre kahit na yung terminal fee mo, kung anong gusto mong kainin diyan, kung may pupuntahan, yun ang mga gastos namin," said Parcon. (We have a large debt of gratitude to our lawyers. They take care of all the expenses, our food and transportation. Of course, we also pay our for expenses, but these are considerably less. We pay for the terminal fees, what other things we'd like to eat, going to places. We pay for those.) Although it has been a year and the case has not been resolved, they remain hopeful and committed to their cause."Pinasa-Diyos na namin, ang takot inalis na namin sa puso. Dahil gusto talaga naming makuha yung hustisya. Sana po pakinggan naman po kami," said Nuñez. (We leave it all to God. We've let go of the fear in our hearts. We are determined to seek justice. We hope that we can be heard.) – Multimedia by Candice Montenegro, edited by HS/TJD, GMANews.TV MAGUINDANAO MASSACRE ANNIVERSARY SPECIAL: