Synopsis: The war among rebels in the mountainous Philippines continues to challenge economic growth of the country. Their fight for autonomy, equal rights, and their cry for freedom through violent means has left the issue with more questions of unknown peaceful solutions.

Only the soft crushing of the leaves tells that someone is out there, but listen intently; for your ears might have played a trick on you. Or could it be that the NPA just passed by the local village? Possibly, for they wouldn’t be called way sapatos for nothing.

Way sapatos literally means no shoes. It is a local dialect used by the Visayan region, south of the Philippines - a part where a number of the New People’s Army (NPA) is situated. They say you can spot the communist rebels if you look down and find no coverings for their feet, and for years, this is my idea of the NPA.

Hence, an unexpected phone call from a trusted source was hard to dismiss. This was during a time when news about two armies held captive by the NPA was a hot item. The voice on the other line promised to bring me and my crew to the exact location where the NPA and the soldiers are. The instruction was short and clear -- bring less belongings and use an unmarked vehicle and meet them at a busy restaurant somewhere in Quezon City, north of the capital Manila.

Like an old friend, the source exchanged pleasantries with me and my crew and pretended that we are off to a late-night gimmick and that he needed to hitch with us because she doesn’t have a car. With this unrehearsed script, I can only say “OK” and started our journey.

We drove for hours, I only knew that the two soldiers were hidden somewhere in the mountains of Bicol, a province in the south, other than that I am leaving it up to the source where she wanted to lead us and take my prime news home to my broadcast company.

In the dead of the night, we reached Bicol, the source said we will spend the night at a local hotel and continue the journey early the next day. It was in the hotel that I met other journalists -- two from big networks and their crew, two foreign correspondents, and one on-line writer. From their account I learned that they were picked up in different points in Metro Manila. The whole arrangement was discreet and hence no media frenzy build up, only the chosen few were selected to interview the leaders of the rebel group and witness the release of the two soldiers.

As promised, early the following day, we were off to our unknown destination. We gathered up in one pick-up truck, the rest in a mini van. At this point I was thinking that they needed to blindfold us, but I did not dare ask since my thoughts were soon cleared.

The path was confusing. We took the town and then exited to a rice farm, then off again to a commercialized area only to end up at a jungle-like place. The trees were tall and weeds obstructed our path. At the end of it was a very rugged terrain that only a 4x4 vehicle can survive, and then we stopped. From hereon, our journey was on foot.

Things started to make sense when I saw armed men. I knew then that it wasn’t just a joyride but a newsworthy event ready to burst given the right moment.

We were turned over to these people, people who talked less but seemed agile with their movements. These are the NPA, the rebels, the communists, the bandits, the rogues. Their name depends which side of the fence you’re on.

Dusk sets in but we were still walking, and yes there was still no talking. The silence was deafening. Only nature and our shallow breaths proved that we exist. We started to climb uphill, but I was in not in shape so I was way behind the group and with me were the NPA rebels in unwashed civilian clothes. They had no uniform and carried only guns and some spare bullets strapped around their bodies. I broke the silence. I told them that a reaching hand is easier to hold than an armalite. I was told to hush, and in the faintest words that they could muster they said sorry for they are not allowed to touch any outsider.

I saw a small community. The houses were small and made of coconut leaves. Still catching my breath from almost five hours of walking, I was introduced to the rest of the group.

Nameless Brothers

For each and every member of the NPA, a new name was assigned with “Ka” (short for kapatid or brother/sister in English) before their names. The movement believes that they are one big family with the “kadre” or the “supremo” as their father, and with that they were asked to leave their real families. The mountain is their home. They are always mobile, and as it is, they dragged their two Prisoners of War (POW) with them.

The Romulo Jallores Command or RJC is the provincial wing of NPA in Bicol province. They served as the custodial force of 1st Lt. Ronaldo Fedelino and Pfc. Noel Nemeno – military men who have been missing for many months now.

Fedelino and Nemeno lost count of the times they changed location, saying that sometimes they would be roused from sleep just to leave the site and escaping was a far-fetched thought.

The RJC held the two as POWs while the government considered it as another case of abduction.

Fedelino and Nemeno had been with them for six months already when we arrived at their hide-out. We were to see them at the first crack of light the following day, because the first order of the day was to get the story first.

Ka Russel, head of the RJC supplied all the details that we need to know. Fedelino was facing charges of war crimes and crimes against humanity for the incident that occurred on February 4, 2004 in the village of Puting Baybay, Catanduanes province.

According to the written charges filed by the NPA, Fedelino led the “illegal search on 38 households in the village.” He was then the team leader of the Charlie Company, 42nd Infantry Battalion of the Philippine Army. A major charge of massacre in three villages was also reportedly committed by the army officer in a military operation in Barangay Cabanban, the town of Balatan, Camarines Sur in July 29, 2003. All places are under the RJC wing command.

In separate charges, two NPA commanders, Ka Ramona and Ka Theresa stated that Fedelino’s military operations resulted in, among others, “economic dislocation and destruction of the people’s livelihood, inhumane and cruel treatment of the masses, arbitrary assaults on the rights, dignity and property and persons of civilians.”

No charges were filed against the other POW. Nemeno was only unfortunate to be with Fedelino when he was nabbed by the rebels. What made it worse for him was the fact that he was about to get married in a couple of weeks after the abduction.

The neophyte soldier that was Nemeno struck me. His scruffy appearance could not even hide his young age. In his early twenties, and straight out of boot camp, his first warfare was his own. Ironically, he learned the ropes of survival not from other men in uniform but with the rebels that were supposed to be their enemies.

Fedelino on the other hand, was bearded and wore a long hair. He looked as if he had lost the air of command he once had from leading his battalion of armies. He spoke softly and could only apologize to the NPA from all the destruction he and his men committed from their normal military operations.

Both men were always in handcuffs, except for those sleepless nights where they let Nemeno lead the entertainment. He tuned the worn-out guitar and started to hum the blues away while NPA rebels sang along with him. The songs and the tunes discriminated no uniforms among the soldiers and the rebels.

Asked how they were treated, the two armies drew the same line, “we were treated humanely.”

It was no surprise then that the locals put a new meaning to NPA - No Permanent Address they said, pun intended of course. Their agility works best when they know they are in danger of getting caught. For decades, this has been their life. Some grew old and die without seeing the reality of their vision. The government, with all its effort to bring peace, still fails in many ways. The rebels are taking it personally especially now that they were considered as a terrorist group, a tag far derogatory from what used to be a subversive group pushing for its ideologies.

As the morning pushed, we knew it was almost time to go. The release order for the two POWs took effect that fateful afternoon. The government and the National Democratic Front, through the negotiating peace panel, settled the case of the two armies who will be turned over to the International Committee of the Red Cross in a remote upland town in Camarines Norte.

Meanwhile, Nemeno sang his final song “take away…take away my heart, open it up and you will see…I never cry”.

All 18 of the RJC custodial team, plus the group of media started the walk downhill, just when the sun was at its highest. But it was not like the journey of the previous day. Sure the sun was insulting us, I still slipped and slid and no hand was reached, but for some reason it was a lighter feeling.

There was no more agitation from either side, and overnight we had formed some kind of a bonding. We all touched base with reality, I to their world, and them to my world. I saw their visions of a better Philippines -- from having equal opportunity for Filipinos to revamping the social structure. But while I have to keep my silence on their means of achieving their ideologies, I cannot turn a blind eye on those hands marred by the blood of innocent people.

In return, I showed them that life in the city is also good, in fact one of them took a liking in my scarf, which is just one of the things that one can buy at the foot of the mountain. As a souvenir I gave it to her and told her to mind the label and that they have more designs at stores in their city.

And then we were off to our different paths. Fedelino and Nemeno were freed without any violence. Then the rest of the media turned up and as usual it was a circus. But I just couldn’t let the NPA go without busting the myth of no foot covering. I gave my last lingering look. Their feet are calloused and dirty -- a testament of hardship from living a life always in flight. Then I remembered their calculated move, while we struggle to pull ourselves from the mud they were already ahead of us. They touch the ground, feel it, and they are reminded what they are fighting for.

About the Author:
Karen Lim is a Philippine-based journalist covering mostly military activities and major political stories. She contributes to Voyage Film as story producer and project coordinator.