May 23, 2025
Eight years ago today, the city of Marawi was engulfed in flames, violence, and devastation. What was intended as a swift counterterrorism operation to capture the elusive Abu Sayyaf leader Isnilon Hapilon turned into a drawn-out, five-month siege — the longest urban warfare in modern Philippine history. The Marawi Siege, which began on May 23, 2017, left in its wake a trail of destruction, displacement, and disillusionment that still haunts the Maranao people today.
The numbers tell a grim story. Nearly a thousand militants killed, including 13 foreigners; 168 members of our security forces perished — 12 of them tragically by friendly fire — and over 1,400 wounded. Civilian casualties reached at least 87, with 40 dying not from bullets or bombs, but from illness during the chaos. Over 200,000 people were forced to flee their homes, seeking refuge in neighboring towns and cities. The United Nations estimated that about 2,500 Lumads, the indigenous people of Mindanao, were also displaced.
Yet the toll goes beyond statistics. The trauma, the anguish, the irreversible rupture of a community — these are not easily quantified. They are etched into the daily lives of survivors who continue to suffer, not from terrorism anymore, but from neglect, broken promises, and systemic injustice.
From Liberation to Despair
President Rodrigo Duterte proudly declared Marawi “liberated” on October 17, 2017, a day after militant leaders Omar Maute and Isnilon Hapilon were killed. The Armed Forces of the Philippines celebrated a hard-fought military victory, and some of its key players, including now AFP Chief of Staff General Romeo Brawner, were recognized as heroes. But for the people of Marawi, liberation remains a cruel illusion.
The city lies in ruins. Within the four square kilometers of what was once Marawi’s vibrant heart — known now as the Most Affected Area (MAA) — 95% of structures were heavily damaged or completely destroyed. Over 3,100 buildings turned to rubble, and more than 2,100 others were severely damaged by relentless airstrikes and bombardments. Yet in the years since, the promise of rehabilitation and return has become a bitter cycle of delays and disappointment.
Temporary shelters, initially intended for short-term use, have become semi-permanent homes. Government estimates show that as of 2018, 70% of displaced residents were still living in these transitional accommodations. In 2025, that reality persists for thousands. Worse, some of the most devastated areas have been repurposed — transformed into commercial complexes, a sports arena, and esplanades — developments that exclude, rather than reintegrate, the original residents.
The very land where Maranao homes once stood is now occupied by symbols of “progress” that were never meant for them.
The Compensation Conundrum
To address this lingering pain, Republic Act 11696, the Marawi Siege Victims Compensation Law, was passed in 2022. It promised monetary compensation for lost homes, properties, and lives. But justice delayed is justice denied.
Most claimants have received nothing or, worse, paltry sums that fail to account for the full extent of their loss. Victims ask a simple question: where is the just compensation that was promised? Their pleas to the Marawi Compensation Board are clear:
- Why are claims with Notice of Determination (NOD) still unpaid?
- Why are approved claims without NODs not being processed?
- Why is replacement cost — a fair, universally recognized metric for post-disaster compensation — being ignored?
- Why are consultations with victims being reduced to procedural checkboxes, rather than meaningful engagements?
The answers remain elusive. Meanwhile, anger simmers. Community leaders warn of large-scale protest actions, not out of defiance, but desperation. “Maawa po kayo sa mga IDPs,” they say — have mercy on the internally displaced.
The Struggle Continues
The people of Marawi have waited eight long years. They are tired. Tired of temporary shelters, tired of broken promises, tired of the selective memory that celebrates military victories while forgetting civilian suffering.
The Battle of Marawi was not merely a fight against terrorism. It was a test of our national conscience. And on that count, we are failing.
Reconstruction cannot be measured in concrete and steel alone. True rehabilitation means restoring dignity, returning ownership, and compensating for loss — fairly, transparently, and promptly. It means empowering Maranao communities to rebuild their lives, not just their homes. It means listening to their voices, not silencing them with bureaucratic jargon and political posturing.
No Liberation Without Justice
We must stop asking the people of Marawi to be endlessly patient. Eight years is too long.
As we mark this grim anniversary, let us recognize that the so-called “liberation” of Marawi was never complete. Not until every family is resettled in a safe, permanent home. Not until every legitimate claim is fairly compensated. Not until the trauma of displacement is acknowledged and addressed. Not until the Maranao people themselves say they are free.
Until then, the ruins of Marawi will not only be a physical reminder of war — they will stand as a monument to our collective failure.
Let this anniversary be more than a day of remembrance. Let it be a call to action.
Justice for Marawi. Justice now.