When the Moro Islamic Liberation Front (MILF) declared in a July 19 resolution that “there will be no further decommissioning of MILF combatants until the government fulfills its promises to those previously decommissioned,” it sent more than just a message of frustration. It served as a warning — and a reckoning — for a fragile peace process that now hangs by a thread. This is not merely a delay in disarmament; this is a rupture in trust.
But who is truly failing the peace process? And what happens when mutual trust breaks down?
Broken Promises and One-Sided Sacrifice
To date, over 26,000 MILF combatants have laid down their arms in good faith since 2015, surrendering more than 4,600 weapons, as part of the Annex on Normalization under the Comprehensive Agreement on the Bangsamoro (CAB). This was no small step — for an organization born out of decades of armed struggle, decommissioning meant the irreversible act of choosing peace over resistance.
And yet, these individuals, now technically civilians, remain without the social and economic support that was guaranteed to them. The promise was more than just the ₱100,000 one-time cash aid they received. It was a holistic transition package: housing, education, livelihood, psychological support, reintegration programs — a second chance at a dignified civilian life. That has not materialized.
The MILF’s resolution is not an arbitrary or reactionary stand. It is the culmination of ten years of waiting, of appeals made and ignored, and of growing disillusionment with a government that seems eager to disarm rebels but slow to deliver justice.
Are the MILF Also Bound to Their Commitments?
Still, we must ask: Is the MILF also living up to its end of the bargain? While the organization has indeed participated in decommissioning and advocated for peace, full compliance with all aspects of the CAB — including support for disbanding private armed groups, cooperating with justice efforts, and maintaining internal unity — must also be examined.
There have been instances where some factions of the MILF, or rogue commanders, have resisted disarmament or maintained control over territory. It is also worth noting that trust in leadership has fluctuated internally, particularly with frustrations around the pace of change in the Bangsamoro Autonomous Region in Muslim Mindanao (BARMM). Has the MILF done enough to rein in these groups and ensure centralized discipline? If the peace agreement demands parallel compliance, both sides must be accountable.
Are We On the Brink of Another Armed Uprising?
The most chilling question is this: If the decommissioning stalls indefinitely, and frustrations boil over, will the armed struggle resume? The answer is uncertain — but the signs are alarming.
History teaches us that protracted neglect breeds radicalization. MILF fighters, having trusted a peace process that now appears unequal, risk being pushed into desperation — or worse, towards groups like the Bangsamoro Islamic Freedom Fighters (BIFF) or ISIS-inspired factions that prey on disillusionment. The security implications are massive. The 14,000 MILF combatants who remain armed represent a significant force. If the normalization process collapses, it is not just BARMM’s stability that is at stake — it is the nation’s.
Can the Philippine government, already grappling with insurgency in the north, tensions in the West Philippine Sea, and economic strain, afford another internal armed conflict?
Is the National Government Undermining Bangsamoro Autonomy?
Adding fuel to the fire is the perceived interference of the national government in BARMM’s governance, including the recent replacement of the Bangsamoro interim chief minister without consensus. These moves are seen not only as political maneuvers but as acts of disrespect to the Bangsamoro’s hard-won autonomy.
The peace process was never just about decommissioning weapons. It was about recognizing the Bangsamoro’s right to self-determination, and giving them control over their future. Every time Manila bypasses the Bangsamoro Government or fails to deliver on its promises, it chips away at the very foundation of the peace agreement. This could explain why the MILF’s tone has shifted from cautious optimism to clear frustration.
What Will Happen to the Gains of the Peace Process?
Let’s not forget: the CAB was a beacon of hope. Since its signing in 2014, there have been measurable improvements in governance, education, and infrastructure in the Bangsamoro. The regional parliament has passed critical legislation, and elections are on the horizon.
If this current crisis spirals into conflict, all those gains risk being lost. International credibility would plummet. Development projects would stall. Investors would pull out. And most tragically, the Bangsamoro people — who have endured generations of war — would suffer once again.
So Who Is Responsible?
The answer is not singular. Responsibility lies:
- With the national government, for its sluggish delivery of promised socio-economic aid and its perceived encroachments on autonomy;
- With the MILF, for ensuring internal cohesion, and for being vigilant that its ranks do not turn against the peace process;
- With the Peace Implementing Panels, who must now act with urgency and transparency;
- And with civil society and the public, who must not turn a blind eye.
Final Thought: The Danger of Peace Fatigue
This is not the first time a peace process has faltered in the Philippines. But perhaps the greatest danger now is peace fatigue — the creeping sense that the process has become a political show instead of a genuine roadmap to justice.
Let’s be clear: peace is not a transaction; it is a commitment. It requires sincerity, accountability, and urgency from all sides. The MILF’s recent statement is a wake-up call. If we fail to respond with clarity, honesty, and action, then we are not just risking the future of BARMM — we are risking the future of peace in the entire nation.
And if the next generation picks up arms because we failed to uphold our word, we will have no one to blame but ourselves.