In the rugged hills of Upi, Maguindanao, during the turbulent 1970s, a flame rose from the heart of the Teduray tribe. It was not born out of ambition or power—but out of pain, resistance, and the need to survive. That flame had a name: Kumander Labuyo—the alias of Lauriano Mobadon, a Teduray farmer turned guerrilla who would become a living legend in the fight for his people’s dignity and land.
Before the world knew him as Kumander Labuyo, Law was a quiet man who worked the soil of his ancestral land in Sitio Kuya, where generations of his tribe had lived and died in peace. But peace, like the morning mist over the mountains, had started to vanish. Armed conflicts between Moro groups, government forces, and the paramilitary Ilaga were igniting violence across Mindanao, and the Teduray found themselves caught in the crossfire—dispossessed, attacked, and ignored.
Teduray stories speak of burned homes, stolen lands, and lives lost. For Law, the final straw came when violence crept into his doorstep. He joined the Ilaga not out of loyalty to their cause, but out of desperation—to protect what was left of his people and their land. Yet even in war, his conscience remained rooted in his tribe’s values. When he witnessed abuse within the Ilaga ranks—especially the atrocities of his former ally, Kumander Toothpick—Law made a bold decision: he broke away, and fought for the Teduray on his own terms.
Thus was born Kumander Labuyo, a name symbolizing the fierce, elusive jungle rooster—wild, proud, and hard to catch. He organized fellow Teduray fighters and fought not to conquer, but to defend.
Years later, as the guns fell silent and President Ferdinand Marcos extended a hand to surrendering guerrillas, Labuyo walked into Malacañang—not to beg, but to speak. When asked what he wanted, he didn’t ask for wealth or power. “Give the Teduray our own municipality,” he said, “so we can live in peace, separate from the Muslim-dominated Upi.” Marcos agreed. Thus, South Upi was born in 1976. Labuyo declined the offer to be its first mayor, humbly pointing to Santiago Moendeg—a fellow Teduray, educated and trusted by the people.
But like many tribal heroes, Labuyo’s name slowly faded from official records. He died in 2017 in Brar, elderly and unrecognized by the very town he helped establish. The youth today walk the same soil he once defended, unaware of his story. Yet among the elders, his name still carries weight. He is spoken of quietly, reverently, like a prayer for justice long delayed.
The Struggle That Never Ended
Today, the Teduray continue to fight—not with arms, but with petitions, maps, and memory. They seek recognition of their Ancestral Domain in the Bangsamoro Autonomous Region in Muslim Mindanao (BARMM)—a legal and spiritual claim to the lands their ancestors have stewarded for centuries.
But the system is slow. The injustices remain. The lands are still vulnerable to external interests, and young Teduray are growing up in a world where their identity, their language, and their rights are constantly under threat.
So the question now burns in the air like a challenge:
Is there another Labuyo among us?
Will a new generation rise to defend the legacy of their forebears—not through war, but through wisdom, unity, and unrelenting advocacy? Or will they be swallowed by the same system that buried the memory of Kumander Labuyo?
Time will tell.
But one thing is certain: the fire he lit has not died.
It lives in every Teduray elder who remembers.
In every child who learns their tribe’s language.
In every legal document filed to reclaim their home.
The fight continues—not only for land, but for recognition, for dignity, for the soul of a people who refuse to disappear.
Data source: The Teduray Facebook Page