Covering the Zamboanga crisis.

My first foray into the frontlines in Zamboanga brought me to Brgy Sta. Barbara where I came upon a group of soliders relaxing across the street, their weapons propped up against a wall. I hail one of them and signal that I wanted to cross the street. 

That street was one of the many sniper alleys perpendicular to Veteran's Avenue leading to Lustre street.  A few days back, a soldier got shot trying to cross the same street.

A soldier wearily gets up and grabs a stick with a small vanity mirror attached at one end. He slowly pokes it around the corner and peers at the mirror.

"Clear!", he yells, waving me on.

I start running well before the intersection, my kevlar helmet and 15 pound bulletproof vest making me feel like a lumbering elephant. A few shots from the distance go off, quickly answered by a volley of fire from the government snipers positioned in a building near me.

Whether the fire was directed at me or someone else, mattered little.  It made the hairs at the back of my neck rise.

Sacre bleu, I thought. We were in Zamboanga City for heaven's sake. Not Syria or Iraq.

Back at my hotel room,  I would rip the vanity mirror from my toiletries bag and stick it in one of my vest pockets.  I figured one can never be too careful.

Later that day, we follow an officer to a spot in Sta Barbara where two infantry men were holding the line at the end of Lustre Street.  Both men were lying prone.  One was manning a squad automatic rifle, the other an M-14 sniper rifle.

"Get down.  The enemy is just down the road!", the sniper whispers harshly, not taking his eyes off his scope.

We drop to the ground and crawl to the relative safety of a few concrete bannisters just as the sickening staccato of incoming bullets fill the air. 

The gunner releases a continuous stream of fire from his gun, defeaning us.  More bullets whistle overhead, peppering the trees.  

After a few tense moments I give my team the order to withdraw to a house beside the soldier's position.  

As we belly crawl into the house, we hear enemy fire envelope the soldiers positions. Up to this time, I know not what happened to those soldiers.

I'm quite sure all the journalists covering the crisis have similar experiences.  The close calls, carooming bullets and errant grenades here and there were hazards we all had to face. 

Burdened by our safety gear, and scampering about looking for cover, I realize Philippine media has come a long way in terms of minimizing the risk to their frontline personnel.  

Even our technical teams  and drivers wore bulletproof vests and kevlar helmets.

Looking back at the past decade, the only journalists who wore bulletproof vests were members of the wire agencies or the foreign press.  The rest of us had to rely on sheer determination and plain dumb luck to survive harrowing events like the Lamitan Siege, the assault on Camp Abubakkar and the Cabatangan Hostage taking.

But despite the visible effects of a  safety mindset in our newsrooms, sadly, not all news personnel in Zamboanga were as fortunate.  I still saw tv news teams and phtographers in Sta Catalina crawling about without any safety equipment.  That's not even taking into account members of the local press.

An old colleague who works for a tv station that could well afford protective gear told me his office had just shipped the vests and helmet a few days after they arrived.  They got their equipment a week later, well after the fighting had peaked. In this case, it wasn't even a question of logistics but one of simple common sense and concern for field personnel.

A few enterprising journalists managed to borrow protective gear from friends in the military, which, while admirable, still does not speak well of the prioirties of their news organizations.  

Bulletproof vests and kevlar helmets are not cheap, but then getting shot is a far more costly predicament.

Fellow journalists captured one of the most compelling pictures related to news safety at the height of the fighting in Brgy Sta Catalina.  A group of journalists were using a slow moving armored personnel carrier to shield themselves from bullets coming from the MNLF side.  Some were wearing protective gear, others were not.

Later that week, the same group had an errant grenade land near their positions, wounding a soldier and a Red Cross volunteer.  Incredibly, not one of the journalists were injured in the attack.

But then again, we can only be so lucky, so many times.

Coping

I still see some of the old guards  from the last decade, noticeably older but undiminshed in the dark humor shared among the press covering the high risk environment that is the conflict in Mindanao.

"Eat well boys.  That's why they call it the Last Supper.", one of the veterans jokingly calls out over the chaos of the evening buffet at the Garden Orchid Hotel.

Some of the younger journalists manage nervous grins.  

But jokes are just some of the ways journalist deal with the stress, fear and excitement of conflict coverage. Cigarettes, strong coffee and and more often than not, a whole lot of alcohol help during the long nights celebrating our day to day brushes with death.

As a psychology major and a trainor on news safety, I realize the dark jokes and long drinking sessions help in processing the negative effects of being in the line of fire and witnessing the carnage and atrocities of war.

By simply talking about our experiences in the field, we partially stave off the ill effects of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder or PTSD.  In less severe cases of PTSD, counselling and a whole lot of sharing are the first remedies. That's why the long nights after the coverage remain a ritual most of us follow up to this day.

Most, if not all of us covering the Zamboanga Crisis report a marked dip in our energy levels upon reaching the hotel at the end of the day.  Aside from the obvious toll, the heavy safety equipment exact from our bodies, the sheer amount of adrenaline that carried us through most of the day had simply disappeared from our systems.  Without the adrenaline extending our physical limits, our bodies return to stasis, and cry out for much needed nourishment and rest.

That's why it was such a chore to refocus and prepare mentally for the late night newscasts. More so after each night's proverbial Last Supper.

But once inside the relative safety of our hotel rooms, all else disappear.  It is strictly alone time, where the phones and emails remain unanswered and the calls and video calls back home made.

Critics

And then there is that thing about social media.  Not the personnel mind you, but the myriad praise and critique of the work we painstakingly mine in the frontlines.

First came the disparaging comments on a colleague who had the misfortune of being asked to don his protective gear while doing a live report near the hotel. 

After that, a picture of journalists smiling, with a fire billowing in the background had the netizens abuzz with the alleged insenstivity of journalists covering the conflict.

I myself got flak for writing an article on a captured MNLF sniper.  Many questioned my motivations.

MNLF sympathizers also questioned the media for the alleged one-sided coverage, as most quotes and footage were from the government side.

Now more than ever I realize, in the age of social media, one cannot truly please everyone.

 

Admittedly there were lessons to be learned here, but it was a bitter pill to swallow for journalists who put everything on the line to gather the news.

The wonders of technology

This episode of the conflict in Mindanao was marked by the intense pace in which pictures, video and articles made its way to the internet and our individual news programs.

Tweets from individual journalists came as thick as the bullets raining around the conflicts areas.  

The high definition video cameras on most everyone's cellphones likewise captured personal episodes amid the intense fighting.

And yes, we found a selfie or two to be an irresistable diversion while taking cover.  

Some tv crews had live streaming capabilities, allowing them to update the ongoing firefights at will, much to the glee no doubt, of news executives.  The public was so in the know of what was happening on the ground that the situation became a matter of concern for government forces.

One military official told me that live streaming the events on the ground may have helped the rebels pinpoint the exact positions of government troops.

A few days later, a cordon was placed around the conflict areas in what many saw as strategy rather than an effort to curtail information.

For the moment, little is changed in the early mornings before we set out for places like Sta Barbara, Sta Catalina, Rio Hondo or Talon Talon.

A quick breakfast of the eternal omellete and congee at the breakfast buffet before wishing ourselves luck in the day's coverage.  Some linger a bit for an extra cup of coffee and a quick cigarette.

I see some murmuring prayers at the breakfast table just as someone rushes in, a bit out of breath.

"There's another fire in Sta Barbara" he tells no one in particular.

And so another day begins for journalists in Zamboanga.