Trixie Cruz: In the Islands of Sulu

(photo credit: theage.com.au)

I am a Shawnee. My forefathers were warriors. Their son is a warrior…From my tribe I take nothing. I am the maker of my own fortune.
- Tecumseh



The new AFP Chief of Staff is the son of the late Gen. Teodulfo Bautista, killed in Sulu upon being ambushed by the rebel chief, Usman Sali. Sali’s name is synonymous with treachery by military accounts.

But it is spoken with awe and reverence by Moslem fighters. Bautista’s appointment brings to mind a story, my father told me, when I was very young.

In 1974, in Sulu, my father was the commander of the Philippine Air Force’s Sulu Air Task Group. We spent vacations there in that tiny island of Jolo, on the single runway airbase that saw one flight come in every so often.

It had a bustling Barter-Trade, which I remembered as noisy, colorful, littered by spit and shouts of bargains. The locals were friendly and I found them wonderfully engaging.

When we visited a local’s house, Papa would be careful to admonish us not to point at anything, because the owners would give us everything they thought we fancied.

My mother apparently did not understand this until she found herself the owner of several large, very beautiful dragon vases. Or maybe she did. Who knows?

The military community was very small. We socialized with some Marines families on the base, one of them was surnamed Biazon.

The eldest boy would be my friend in UP Diliman years later, his father would become Marine Commandant and later Chief of Staff under President Cory and then senator. His brother would become Customs Commissioner, decades later.

While I remember those days as being relatively peaceful, I do recall the times when the guns would go off very near the place we lived on the base. One night, Papa left and gave us strict instructions to stay in the living room in the middle of the house, to sleep on the floor and lie very flat if the shooting got too near.

On other days, we could not leave the base, and on the days that we did, we always had soldiers with us, armed with long guns.

They loved my father in Sulu, that much I recall vividly. Aside from the long line of visitors he would have and the constant invitations, he was godfather to countless couples and children.

He donated to the Boy Scouts, got commendations from the Marines, the mayor, the nuns of the Pink sisters. I thought it was a pretty good life.

But there was blood too. I remember Papa telling me stay away from the gym one day. But I was curious. When the choppers landed as they always did in the late afternoon one of which would be piloted by Papa, the dead and wounded from the nearby fighting were unloaded and lined up to be flown out by plane later in the evening.

Years later, my father and I would be sitting together in his room, talking was we often did. And I asked him about Jolo. I told him I liked the place and I asked why he consented to being transferred to Mactan after so long there.

He said he was worried that he was missing out on our childhoods; that Mactan was infinitely nearer and he could easily get home to Manila if necessary.

Falling quiet, he mused that some influential citizens of Jolo asked if he would consider staying longer, but he said he had stayed too long already. It was 1977 and though sad, he seemed ready to go.

And then he told me about Usman Sali. Papa said that he was an old warrior in Sulu. He spoke it with a tinge of awe.

One day, during a relatively peaceful period, Sali sent him a letter in the local language. Papa brought it to two translators for verification.

And he sent discrete inquiries to determine if it was truly from the source it claimed to be. Satisfied, Papa says that Sali had expressed that he was tired of war and that he wanted to surrender.

Papa called the higher ups, made arrangements for the surrender at Malacanang, straight to the President as Sali and my father agreed. He readied a plane that would leave at moment’s notice.

The night before the surrender, there was an encounter. I recall Papa saying it was the Marines who were there. In that gun battle, a son and brother of Sali died.

The next morning, another letter arrived with Sali sending Papa his apologies. His obligations dictated that he avenge the death of his kinsmen. He could no longer surrender.

Papa’s narration held some regret. I could not tell what that was about. I do know that he thought Sali was a fierce opponent, a frightful, terrible warrior, but a warrior just the same. Much later Papa would leave Jolo, and Gen. Teodulfo Bautista would arrive.

I wonder now, as I did then, looking at pictures of the then cadet Bautista as he saluted his father’s coffin.

What was he thinking? Many officers in the military, while angry at Sali’s tactics also acknowledged that the late General was too trusting. He was new to Sulu.

He did not know the area and perhaps the people even less so. By any accounts it was a mistake to have walked into that marketplace, unarmed to meet with the leader of rebel forces, a fierce, frightful warrior.

My father has gone to his rest, as has the elder General Bautista. I imagine that Usman Sali is either very old now or has gone to his Creator too. We, their children are left behind to bear the scars of what could have been.

Author’s Note: The story is as my father told me. He was much older then and Sulu was far away and the details may be more my mistakes than his.



By: Atty. Trixie Cruz-Angeles
(Source : PSSST! Centro)





To know more about Trixie Cruz Angeles, check out: I AM TRIXIE CRUZ