Religious actors and conflict transformation in Southeast Asia : Indonesia and the Philippines 9780367198169, 0367198169

Table of contents :
Introduction : Religious Conflicts on the Rise --
Religion and Peacebuilding : Theory and Analytical Framework --
Methodology : A Multi-Layered Analysis --
Root Causes of Religious Conflict in Mindanao and Maluku : History, Grievances and Conflict Trajectories --
The Cognitive Dimensions of Conflict and Peace in Mindanao and Maluku --
Church-Based Projects as Game Changers? Attitudes towards Religious Conflict, Peacebuilding and Reconciliation in Cotabato and Ambon --
No Reconciliation without Church Projects? Attitudes towards Religious Conflict, Peacebuilding and Reconciliation in Cotabato and Ambon --
Church-Based Projects Matter : A Provincial Meso Perspective from Maluku --
Church-Based Projects, Income and Education : Factors that Matter for Reconciliation --
Conclusions and Implications : Strengthening Church Capacities for Peacebuilding.

Citation preview

Religious Actors and Conflict Transformation in Southeast Asia

Drawing on a rich body of multimethod field research, this book examines the ways in which Indonesian and Philippine religious actors have fostered conflict resolution and under what conditions these efforts have been met with success or limited success. The book addresses two central questions: In what ways, and to what extent, have post-conflict peacebuilding activities of Christian churches contributed to conflict transformation in Mindanao (Philippines) and Maluku (Indonesia)? And to what extent have these church-based efforts been affected by specific economic, political, or social contexts? Based on extensive fieldwork, the study operates with a nested, multi-dimensional, and multi-layered methodological concept which combines qualitative and quantitative methods. Major findings are that church-based peace activities do matter, that they have higher approval rates than state projects, and that they have fostered interreligious understanding. Through innovative analysis, this book fills a lacuna in the study of ethno-religious conflicts. Informed by the novel Comparative Area Studies (CAS) approach, this book is strictly comparative, includes in-case and cross-case comparisons, and bridges disciplinary research with Area Studies. It will be of interest to academics in the fields of conflict and peacebuilding studies, interreligious dialogue, Southeast Asian Studies, and Asian Politics. Jürgen Rüland is professor of Political Science in the Department of Political Science at the University of Freiburg, Germany, and speaker of the University of Freiburg’s Southeast Asian Studies Program. His research interests include cooperation and institution-building in international relations, globalization and regionalization, democratization, political, economic, social, and cultural change in Southeast Asia. Christian von Lübke is professor of Southeast Asian Studies at HTWG Konstanz, Germany. His research on democratization, decentralization, socio-economic development, public reform, and the political economy of corruption draws on interdisciplinary perspectives. Marcel M. Baumann is a former assistant professor of Political Science in the Department of Political Science at the University of Freiburg, Germany. His research focuses on conflict studies, with an emphasis on empirical and cross-disciplinary approaches. His areas of expertise include India, Indonesia (Java and the Moluccas), and the Philippines.

Routledge Contemporary Southeast Asia Series

The aim of this series is to publish original, high-quality work by both new and established scholars on all aspects of Southeast Asia. The Appeal of the Philippines Spain, Cultural Representation and Politics José Miguel Díaz Rodríguez Propaganda and the Genocide in Indonesia Saskia E. Wieringa with Nursyahbani Katjasungkana The International People’s Tribunal for 1965 and the Indonesian Genocide Edited by Saskia E. Wieringa, Jess Melvin and Annie Pohlman Singapore’s Multiculturalism Evolving Diversity Chan Heng Chee, Sharon Siddique with Irna Nurlina Masron, Dominic Cooray Researching China in Southeast Asia Edited by Ngeow Chow Bing Power Interconnection in Southeast Asia Anthony David Owen, Anton Finenko and Jacqueline Tao Religious Actors and Conflict Transformation in South East Asia Indonesia and the Philippines Edited by Jürgen Rüland, Christian von Lübke, and Marcel M. Baumann For more information about this series, please visit: www.routledge.com/ Routledge-Contemporary-Southeast-Asia-Series/book-series/RCSEA

Religious Actors and Conflict Transformation in Southeast Asia Indonesia and the Philippines

Jürgen Rüland, Christian von Lübke, and Marcel M. Baumann in cooperation with Benedicto Bacani (Institute for Autonomy and Governance, Cotabato City, Philippines) and Tonny L. Pariela (Department of Sociology, Universitas Pattimura, Ambon City, Indonesia)

First published 2019 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2019 Jürgen Rüland, Christian von Lübke, and Marcel M. Baumann The right of Jürgen Rüland, Christian von Lübke, and Marcel M. Baumann to be identified as authors of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Rèuland, Jèurgen, 1953- author. | Lèubke, Christian von, author. |   Baumann, Marcel M., 1975- author. Title: Religious actors and conflict transformation in Southeast Asia :   Indonesia and the Philippines / Jèurgen Rèuland, Christian von Lèubke and   Marcel M. Baumann. Description: Abingdon, Oxon ; New York, NY : Routledge, 2019. |   Series: Routledge contemporary Southeast Asia series Identifiers: LCCN 2018060400 | ISBN 9780367198169 (hardback) |   ISBN 9780429262364 (ebook) | ISBN 9780429557439 (epub) Subjects: LCSH: Peace-building—Religious aspects—Christianity. |   Peace-building—Indonesia—Maluku. | Peace-building—   Philippines—Mindanao Island. | Reconciliation—Religious   aspects—Christianity. | Reconciliation—Indonesia—Maluku. |   Reconciliation—Philippines—Mindanao Island. |   Conflict management—Religious aspects—Christianity. |   Conflict management—Indonesia—Maluku. | Conflict management—   Philippines—Mindanao Island. Classification: LCC BL65.P4 R85 2019 | DDC 261.8/7309598—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018060400 ISBN: 978-0-367-19816-9 (hbk) ISBN: 978-0-429-26236-4 (ebk) Typeset in Times New Roman by Apex CoVantage, LLC

Contents

List of illustrations Acknowledgments List of acronyms and abbreviations

vii ix xi

  1 Introduction: religious conflicts in perspective

1

  2 Religion and peacebuilding: theory and analytical framework

8

  3 Methodology: a multi-layered analysis

22

  4 Root causes of religious conflict in Mindanao and Maluku: history, grievances, and conflict trajectories

38

  5 The cognitive dimensions of conflict and peace in Mindanao and Maluku

67

  6 Church-based projects as game changers? Attitudes towards religious conflict, peacebuilding, and reconciliation in Cotabato and Ambon

99

  7 No reconciliation without church projects? Comparative assessments of local experiences and attitudes in Cotabato and Ambon

120

  8 Church-based projects matter: a provincial meso perspective from Maluku

128

vi  Contents

  9 Church-based projects, income, and education: factors that matter for reconciliation

132

10 Conclusions and implications: strengthening church capacities for peacebuilding

142

Index

153

Illustrations

Figures 2.1 Framework of analysis 3.1 Layered analyses 9.1 QCA Venn diagram (outcome: positive attitude change), all observations

16 25 136

Maps 1.1 Map of Mindanao and Ambon 6.1 Fieldwork sites in Cotabato 6.2 Fieldwork sites in Ambon

3 102 103

Tables 3.1 3.2 6.1 6.2 6.3 6.4 6.5 6.6 6.7 6.8

Controlled case selection Survey location and number of interviews Bangsamoro identity statement Attitudes towards the Bangsamoro Basic Law Religious and state actors in Mindanao Christian attitudes in Ambon towards members of other religious groups prior to participation in church-based projects Christian attitudes in Cotabato towards members of other religious groups prior to participation in church-based projects Muslim attitudes in Ambon towards members of other religious groups prior to participation in church-based projects Christian attitudes in Cotabato towards members of other religious groups after participation in church-based projects Muslim attitudes in Cotabato towards members of other religious groups after participation in church-based projects

30 31 107 111 112 113 114 114 115 116

viii  Illustrations 6.9 Muslim attitudes in Ambon towards members of other religious groups after participation in church-based projects 7.1 Attitudinal outcomes across treatment and control villages 7.2 Correlation of CBA participation with ethnic/religious tolerance 7.3 Correlation of CBA participation with secular/pluralist norms and faith perceptions 8.1 Multivariate regression results (sub-district data) 9.1 QCA truth table (outcome: positive attitude change), all observations 9.2 QCA results for the outcome “attitude improvement” 9.3 QCA results for non-outcome “attitude improvement”

116 123 125 126 130 134 137 139

Acknowledgments

This research project would not have been possible without the strong and persistent support of several institutions and individuals. We are deeply indebted to the German Bishops Conference  – and in particular its academic working group on Global Church Affairs (Wissenschaftliche Arbeitsgruppe für weltkirchliche Aufgaben) – for the sustained guidance and generous financial support that allowed this project and its preceding stages to come to fruition. We owe great gratitude to Prof Dr Johannes Müller SJ for his cogent leadership of the group and other learned working group members for their constructive comments and thoughtful suggestions. Dr Ulrich Dornberg, MISEREOR (Aachen), was very supportive in the initial stages of the research project and opened for us many doors of church organizations engaged in peace work. We also thank him for thoughtful comments on a former draft of the manuscript. No less, we thank Dr Heike RumbachThome who has competently, patiently, and always friendly guided us in the administrative and managerial sides of project implementation. Noteworthy also is the excellent interdisciplinary collaboration with a number of distinguished colleagues from the Institute for Autonomy and Governance at the Notre Dame University in Cotabato City, led by Attorney Benedicto Bacani, and a project team from the Department of Sociology at the University of Pattimura in Ambon City, working under the guidance of Prof Dr Tonny Pariela. In Ambon, we are also greatly indebted to Mrs Mona Litaaysohilait, Mrs  Merry Nikilujuw, Rev Jacky Manuputty, Father Kees Böhm, Sister Brigitta Renyaan, and Bishop Peter Canisius Mandagi. For introducing us to his network of peace workers in Ambon, we owe gratitude to Dr Yandry Kurniawan (University of Indonesia, Jakarta). In the Philippines, we are also deeply indebted to Father Bert Layson (Pikit) and Father Sebastiano D’Ambra (Zamboanga City), who introduced us thoroughly and patiently to the intricacies and complexities of practical peace work on the ground. In addition, we thank Mr  Benedikt Seemann (Konrad-Adenauer Foundation) for his interest in the project and the provision of access to his partner network in Mindanao.

x  Acknowledgments Without the willingness of our interview partners to sacrifice considerable time to talk to us and share with us their vast expertise, we would have been unable to conduct the fieldwork for this project. We are deeply indebted to all of them. For the opportunity to present our preliminary findings and the excellent feedback we received, we also thank the organizers and participants of the workshop “Mixed Methods Approaches to Studying Peace and Conflict,” held at the University of Mannheim on 9–10 October 2017. The workshop was organized by the German Association for Peace and Conflict Studies’ (AFK) Methods Working Group. In Freiburg, we thank Prof Theodor Hanf for allowing us to use parts of his questionnaire on religious attitudes as an input for drafting our own questionnaire. Mr Felix Ettensperger provided invaluable technical support in preparing and conducting the Qualitative Comparatie Analysis (QCA). Anne-Kathrin Weber, Teresa Merz, Sebastián Vásquez, Gabriel Velastegui, Lisa Göllert, Annalena Zunftmeister, Simon Straub, Kai Vorberg, Malte Seebens, and Raphael Steinhilber were extraordinarily competent and always reliable research assistants. Lastly, we thank Alec Crutchley for his – as ever – careful proofreading of major parts of the text. Needless to say, any error committed in this study is the sole responsibility of the authors.

Acronyms and abbreviations

AFK German Association for Peace and Conflict Studies ­(Arbeitsgemeinschaft für Friedens- und Konfliktforschung) AFP Armed Forces of the Philippines AKP Ansar Khilafa Philippines ARMM Autonomous Region in Muslim Mindanao ASEAN Association of Southeast Asian Nations Banser Barisan Ansor Serbaguna Nahdlatul Ulama (Multipurpose Ansor Front) BBL Bangsamoro Basic Law BBM Bugi, Buton, and Makassarese BCC Basic Christian Communities BIFF Bangsamoro Islamic Freedom Fighters BOL Bangsamoro Organic Law BPS Badan Pusat Statistik (Indonesian Central Bureau of Statistics) Brimob Brigade Mobil (Mobile Brigades) BTI Bertelsmann Transformation Index Bishops Ulama Conference BUC CAB Comprehensive Agreement on the Bangsamoro CAFGU Civilian Armed Forces Geographical Units CAS Comparative Area Studies CBA Church-based activities CBCP Catholic Bishops Conference of the Philippines CCDA Crisis Center of the Diocese of Amboina CIA Central Intelligence Agency CSIS Center for Strategic and International Studies DDII Dewan Da’wah Islamiyah Indonesia (Indonesian Islamic Dawah Council) Democratic Party Development DEPAdev ECID Episcopal Commission of Interreligious Dialogue

xii  Acronyms and abbreviations ELALEM Maluku Interfaith Institution for Humanitarian Action EQMCC Enhanced Quine McCluskey Algorithm FAB Framework Agreement on the Bangsamoro FKAWJ Forum Komunikasi Ahlus Sunna Wal Jamaah (Communication Forum of the Followers of the Sunnah and the Community of the Prophet) FKM Front Kedaulatan Maluku (Moluccas Sovereignty Front) FKUB Religious Harmony Community Forum FPI Front Pembela Islam (Front of the Defenders of Islam) Golkar Partai Golongan Karya (Party of the Functional Groups) GPM Gereja Protestan Maluku (Protestant Church of the Moluccas) GRP Government of the Republic of the Philippines IAG Institute for Autonomy and Governance ICG International Crisis Group ICMI Cendikiawan Muslim Se-Indonesia (Association of Muslim Intellectuals) IMC Immaculate Conception Parish IS Islamic State JICA Japanese International Cooperation Agency JIM Justice for Islamic Movement JMA Jamaah Mohajirin Wal Ansar KAS Konrad Adenauer Stiftung KISDI Komite Indonesia untuk Solidaritas Dunia Islam (Indonesian Committee for Solidarity with Global Islam) KNIL Koninklijk Nederlands Indisch Leger (Royal Netherlands East Indies Army) Kopassus Komando Pasukan Khusus (Special Forces Command) Kostrad Komando Strategis Angkatan Darat (Army Strategic Command) LJ Laskar Jihad (Warriors of Jihad) LSM Living Standard Measure MILF Moro Islamic Liberation Front MIM Mindanao Independence Movement MNLF Moro National Liberation Front MOA-AD Memorandum of Agreement – Ancestral Domain MP Member of Parliament MPR Majelis Perusyawaratan Raykat MUI Majelis Ulema Indonesia (Council of Indonesian Ulamas) NASSA National Secretariat for Social Action NGO Non-Governmental Organization NKRI Negeri Kesatuan Republik Indonesia (Unitary Nation of the Republic of Indonesia)

Acronyms and abbreviations  xiii NPA New People’s Army NU Nahdlatul Ulama (Ulama’s Revival) OIC Organization of the Islamic Conference OLS Ordinary Least Square PAN Partai Amanat Nasional (National Mandate Party) PBB Partai Bulan Bintang (Crescent Star Party) PBS Partai Kebangkitan Bangsa (National Awakening Party) PDI-P Partai Demokrasi Indonesia Perjuangan (Indonesian Democratic Party of Struggle)” Philconsa Philippine Constitutional Association PIME Pontifical Institute for Foreign Missions PKS Partai Keadilan Sejahtera (Prosperous Justice Party) PNP Philippine National Police PODES Potensi Desa (Indonesian Household Survey Data) PPIM Pusat Penkajian Islam dan Masyarakat (Center for Islamic and Society Studies) PPP Partai Persatuan Pembangunan (United Development Party) QCA Qualitative Comparative Analysis RMS Republik Maluku Selatan (Republic of the South Moluccas) SAF Singapore Armed Forces SARA Ethnicity, religion, race and social relations (Suku, Agama, Ras and Antargolongan) SPCPD Southern Philippines Council for Peace and Development SPMM Suara Perjuangan Muslim Maluku (Voice of the Struggle of Moluccan Muslims) SWS Social Weather Stations TNI Tentara Nasional Indonesia (Armed Forces of Indonesia) US United States UIN Universitas Islam Negeri (State Islamic University) UN United Nations UNDP United Nations Development Program UNICEF United Nations International Children’s Emergency Fund USIP United States Institute of Peace

1 Introduction Religious conflicts in perspective

The second half of the twentieth century has witnessed profound change in the nature of armed conflicts. Over time, the thrust of warfare and atrocious confrontations has shifted inwards, rather than outwards: intra-state wars have increasingly replaced inter-state wars. Indeed, since 1945, almost 90 percent of all recorded wars have been classified as civil wars. The ascent of state-internal conflicts and the fact that many of them have occurred in the Global South has given rise to the fashionable concept of New Wars (Kaldor 1999; Münkler 2002). Some of these confrontations may not be particularly “new” from a critical historical lens that transcends Eurocentric perspectives, not least because the complex interweaving of colonial interventions and embedded ethno-religious cleavages has always underpinned such conflicts. There is, however, a feature that is novel and worth noting: intra-state conflicts have lasted markedly longer and have inflicted levels of casualties that are six times higher than those in inter-state wars (Fearon & Laitin 2015: 141). The question of what causes intra-state conflict remains an unresolved and ongoing topic of current research. Although existing studies point to a wide variety of causes,1 there is a growing body of evidence suggesting that ethnicity and, increasingly, religion play a significant role in intra-state confrontations. While religious and ethnic divisions often may not be the sole or even primary cause of conflict, they nonetheless constitute a powerful leverage for social mobilization and identity building, and hence a means to unite and galvanize groups along religious and ethnic lines, instill a feeling of belonging and solidarity, and justify violence against a stereotyped image of the “other” (Hasenclever & Rittberger 2000; Hasenclever & De Juan 2007; Krause 2011). Indeed, the study of religion has thus gained increasing prominence in political and social discourses around the world. Existing studies and survey instruments – including the Bertelsmann Foundation’s Transformation

2  Introduction Index (BTI) – highlight a rising influence of religious teachings and discourses on political and legal institutions over the last decade (Bertelsmann Stiftung 2016: 6). Recent developments in Africa, the Middle East, and Central and South Asia lend themselves well to the conclusion that social conflicts “increasingly play out along religious cleavages,” and often include far-reaching demands for autonomy or even independence (Bertelsmann Stiftung 2016: 6). The rise of extremist organizations such as Boko Haram, al-Qaeda, and the Islamic State have further reinforced the notion that religious intolerance and divisiveness are at the core of the problem. While existing research has studied religious groups as drivers and key actors in intra-state conflicts, much less insights have been offered regarding the extent to which and how religious groups – and here, in particular, Christian church actors  – have contributed to the sustainable resolution of such conflicts (Baumann 2013). Existing studies focus on interreligious dialogue (inter alia, Abu-Nimer 1999, 2001, 2013; Neufeldt 2011; Cheetham, Pratt & Thomas 2013) or treat the topic from a predominantly theological perspective (inter alia, Appleby, Schreiter  & Powers 2010). Methodologically rigorous, systematic, and comprehensive empirical studies are conspicuously absent and much of the knowledge on religious actors in post-conflict peacebuilding efforts remains confined to (mostly unpublished) evaluation reports commissioned by Catholic and Protestant Churches and other faith-based organizations. As most of these reports focus on immediate rehabilitation and relief measures in war-torn regions, few insights exist on church-based activities and their effects in the field of long-term conflict transformation, reconciliation, and sustainable peace. Moreover, as most of these interventions are the work of external actors, very little information is provided on the agency of the local partners of these church organizations. Against this background, the central objective of this book is to take a closer look at religious actors and trace their roles and strategies in processes of conflict transformation. To this end, the study draws on comparative empirical analyses in two regions in Southeast Asian countries that stand out for their deep religious cleavages, waves of violence, egregious atrocities, and high death tolls: Mindanao in the Philippines and Maluku in Indonesia. While religious zealots fomenting violence have been part of the problem in both conflicts, religious actors have also played constructive and pivotal roles in reconciliatory efforts and post-conflict peacebuilding (Al Qurtuby 2016: 4). This study thus sets out to shed new light on the post-conflict peacebuilding activities of religious actors in the Philippines and Indonesia that is

Introduction  3 methodologically rigorous and empirically grounded. The two central questions that inform this study can thus be summarized as follows: • •

In what ways, and to what extent, have church-based activities contributed to conflict transformation in Mindanao and Maluku? To what extent have these church-based efforts been affected by specific economic, political, or social contexts?

Cebu

Philippines

Cotabato

MINDANAO

Indonesia Balikpapan

MALUKU Ambon Makassar

draft: C. Lübke, cartography: K. Schmitt

Map 1.1 Map of Mindanao and Ambon Note: draft: C. von Lubke, cartography: K. Schmitt. Copyright OpenStreetMap contributors (openstreetmap.org), Inkatlas.

4  Introduction The study contributes to the debate on violent conflict and reconciliation by offering novel empirical and methodological vantage points. Our analyses are guided by a mixed-method approach that combines qualitative and quantitative research techniques. As the latter also bridges the epistemological hiatus between rationalist and reflexivist scholarship, the study comes close to what Peter Katzenstein has termed “analytic eclecticism” (Katzenstein 2007; Katzenstein & Sil 2008). Rather than concentrating on a single research tradition, “analytic eclecticism takes components of different research traditions and combines them to produce new analytical frameworks” (Katzenstein 2007: 397). It selectively adopts and reinterprets “concepts, causal mechanisms, explanations, prescriptions” – and, one may add, methodologies – “from particular research traditions” (ibid.: 398). In this book, different methodological vantage points are treated as compatible and supplementary perspectives that triangulate and complement each other (Fielding & Schreier 2001; Flick 2004; Lieberman 2005; von Lübke 2014a, 2014b). As such, they pave the way for explanatory efforts that combine micro and macro analyses as well as area-specific and area-transcending assessments (Keller 2011; Mayring 2001). Qualitative and interpretative research methods are often useful for delivering in-depth empirical insights into social settings and norms of human behavior, thereby enhancing “unit context sensitivity,” whereas quantitative perspectives make it possible to trace patterns across larger and more representative units of observation, thus contributing to greater “population context sensitivity” (Pepinsky 2014). The conceptual and empirical discussions in this book are divided into ten chapters. Following this introduction, the second chapter reviews the literature on conflict and reconciliation, highlights key themes in the study of religious actors, and develops a conceptual framework for the assessment of church-based peacebuilding efforts. The third chapter outlines our multilayered mixed-methods approach. Chapter four applies a historical lens to the Mindanao and Maluku conflicts. Applying process tracing, it identifies the root causes of the two conflicts and discerns the social and political contexts that underpin local peacebuilding efforts. The fifth chapter adds further contextualization by tracing prominent themes related to religion in national/local discourses that permeate social arenas in the Philippines and Indonesia. The discussion highlights ideas, identities, and narratives that shape interfaith relationships and shows how the emergence of stereotypes can fuel violent conflicts. The sixth chapter takes a closer look at general empirical trends and reported attitudes in both conflict regions (i.e., Cotabato/Mindanao and Ambon/Maluku; see Map 1.1), including respondent perceptions of the roles of different church/state actors, the image of other religious groups, and possible pathways towards reconciliation. Chapter

Introduction 5 seven features counterfactual case comparisons that tackle the question of the extent to which church-based activities are associated with attitude changes that bode well for reconciliation and peaceful cohabitation. The eighth chapter presents the results of statistical regression analyses, which estimate the relationship of church-based activities and observable indicators of peaceful cohabitation and reconciliation. Chapter nine features a qualitative comparative analysis (QCA) that highlights the ways in which specific economic, political, or social factors influence attitudes in local Indonesian and Philippine communities. The tenth and concluding chapter summarizes key findings and draws implications for future policies and church-based peace efforts.

Note 1 See, inter alia, Hechter (1975); Rothschild (1981); Horowitz (1985); Collier & Höffler (2001, 2004); Fearon  & Laitin (2003, 2015); summarizing the older literature, Ganter (1995).

References Abu-Nimer, Mohammed (1999): Dialogue, Change, Conflict Resolution and Change: Arab-Jewish Encounters in Israel, Albany, NY: State University of New York Press. Abu-Nimer, Mohammed (2001): “Conflict Resolution, Culture, and Religion: Toward a Training Model of Interreligious Peacebuilding,” Peace Research 38(6): 685–704. Abu-Nimer, Mohammed (2013): “Religion and Peace-Building,” In: Roger Mac Ginty (ed.), Routledge Handbook of Peacebuilding, London: Routledge, pp. 69–80. Al Qurtuby, Sumanto (2016): Religious Violence and Conciliation in Indonesia. Christians and Muslims in the Moluccas, London & New York: Routledge. Appleby, Scott, Schreiter, Robert J. & Powers, Gerard F. (eds.) (2010): Peacebuilding: Catholic Theology, Ethics, and Praxis, New York: Orbis. Baumann, Marcel (2013): Kirchliche Beiträge zur nachhaltigen Friedenskonsolidierung in Post-Konflikt-Gesellschaften. Eine Literaturstudie, Baden-Baden: Nomos. Bertelsmann Stiftung (2016): Transformation Index BTI 2016. Political Management in International Comparison, Gütersloh: Verlag Bertelsmann Stiftung. Cheetham, David, Pratt, Douglas & Thomas, David (eds.) (2013): Understanding Interreligious Relations, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Collier, Paul  & Höffler, Anke (2001): Greed and Grievance in Civil War, Washington, DC: World Bank, available at: http://documents.worldbank.org/ curated/en/998891468762911498/Greed-and-grievance-in-civil-war (accessed 15 March 2018).

6  Introduction Collier, Paul & Höffler, Anke (2004): “Greed and Grievance in Civil War,” Oxford Economic Papers 56: 563–595. Fearon, James D. & Laitin, David D. (2003): “Ethnicity, Insurgency and Civil War,” American Political Science Review 97(1): 75–90. Fearon, James D. & Laitin, David D. (2015): “Ethnicity, Insurgency and Civil War,” In: Tom Woodhouse, Hugh Miall, Oliver Ramsbotham  & Christopher Mitchell (eds.), The Contemporary Conflict Resolution Reader, Malden, MA: Polity Press, pp. 141–143. Fielding, Nigel  & Schreier, Margrit (2001): “Introduction. On the Compatibility Between Qualitative and Quantitative Research Methods,” In: Forum Qualitative Sozialforschung, available at: www.qualitative-research.net/fqs-texte/ 1-01/1-01hrsg-e.htm (accessed 13 January 2014). Flick, Uwe (2004): Triangulation: Eine Einführung, Wiesbaden: VS Verlag für Sozialwissenschaften. Ganter, Stephan (1995): Ethnizität und ethnische Konflikte: Konzepte und theoretische Ansätze für eine vergleichende Analyse, Freiburg: Arnold-Bergstraesser-Institut. Hasenclever, Andreas & De Juan, Alexander (2007): “Grasping the Impact of Religious Traditions on Political Conflicts: Empirical Findings and Theoretical Perspectives,” Friedenswarte 82(2/3): 19–47. Hasenclever, Andreas & Rittberger, Volker (2000): “Does Religion Make a Difference? Theoretical Approaches to the Impact of Faith on Political Conflict,” Millennium 29(3): 641–674. Hechter, Michael (1975): Internal Colonialism: The Celtic Fringe in British National Development, 1536–1966, London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Horowitz, Donald L. (1985): Ethnic Groups in Conflict, Berkeley: University of California University Press. Kaldor, Mary (1999): New and Old Wars: Organized Violence in a Global Era, Stanford: Stanford University Press. Katzenstein, Peter J. (2007): “Regionalism Reconsidered,” Journal of East Asian Studies 7: 395–412. Katzenstein, Peter J.  & Sil, Rudra (2008): “Eclectic Theorizing in the Study and Practice of International Relations,” In: Christian Reus-Smit  & Duncan Snidal (eds.), The Oxford Handbook of International Relations, Oxford: Oxford University Press, pp. 109–130. Keller, Reiner (2011): Wissenssoziologische Diskursanalyse. Grundlegung eines Forschungsprogramms, Wiesbaden: VS Verlag für Sozialwissenschaften. Krause, Jana (2011): “Die Konstruktion ‘religiöser Gewalt’ im Kontext des Regimewechsels in Indonesien und Nigeria,” In: Simon Wolfgang Fuchs  & Stephanie Garling (eds.), Religion in Diktatur und Demokratie: Zur Bedeutung Religiöser Werte, Praktiken und Institutionen in Politischen Transformationsprozessen, Berlin: LIT Verlag, pp. 113–128. Lieberman, Evan S. (2005): “Nested Analysis as a Mixed-Method Strategy for Comparative Research,” American Political Science Review 99(3): 435–452. Mayring, Philipp (2001): “Kombination und Integration qualitativer und quantitativer Analyse,” In: Forum Qualitative Sozialforschung, No. 1, available at:

Introduction  7 www.qualitative-research.net/fqs-texte/1-01/1-01mayring-d.htm (accessed 12 January 2014). Münkler, Herfried (2002): Die neuen Kriege, Reinbek: Rowohlt. Neufeldt, Reina C. (2011): “Interfaith Dialogue: Assessing Theories of Change,” Peace and Change 36(3): 344–372. Pepinsky, Thomas (2014): “Context and Method in Southeast Asian Politics,” Pacific Affairs 87(3): 441–461. Rothschild, Joseph (1981): Ehnopolitics: A Conceptual Framework, New York: Columbia University Press. Von Lübke, Christian (2014a): “Modular Comparisons – Grounding and Gauging Southeast Asian Governance,” Pacific Affairs 87(3): 509–538. Von Lübke, Christian (2014b): “Grounding Governance Research in Southeast Asia: A Framework for Controlled Multimethod Policy Analysis,” In: Mikko Huotari, Jürgen Rüland & Judith Schlehe (eds.), Methodology and Research Practice in Southeast Asian Studies, Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. 213–232.

2 Religion and peacebuilding Theory and analytical framework

The following chapter provides a brief outline of the theoretical parameters which inform our research. It reviews key arguments of the relevant literature, lays the conceptual ground for our field research, and develops an overarching framework for the analysis of religious actors in local peacebuilding efforts, in which it is strongly influenced by the work of Johan Galtung, John Paul Lederach, Roger Mac Ginty, and Oliver Richmond.1

Conceptualizing conflict Conflicts occur when involved parties are convinced that their interests and objectives are mutually incompatible (Miller 2005: 22). According to Ellis, the likelihood that a conflict will erupt increases with the presence of a number of basic conditions: first, the conflicting parties have a conscious sense of being integral members of distinct groups (for example, an ethnic or religious group); second, group members feel dissatisfied, or even alienated, when they compare themselves with a collective other; and, third, they believe that their frustration can only be eased by exerting pressure on the collective other, for example by non-violent or violent2 strategies (Ellis 2006: 26). Ellis’ definition tallies well with Johan Galtung’s broad conceptualization of violence. According to Galtung, violence denotes the “avoidable insults to basic human needs, and more generally to life, lowering the real level of needs satisfaction below what is potentially possible” (Galtung 1990: 292). “Basic human needs” refers to the requisites essential for securing survival, ensuring wellbeing, constructing and maintaining an identity (or identities), achieving or safeguarding freedom, and establishing ecological balance (ibid.: 292). Furthermore, Galtung distinguishes between three types of violence: the first type concerns direct acts of violence such as killing and detention (ibid.: 292); the second type describes structural violence which emerges in heavily skewed social relationships that threaten a

Religion and peacebuilding  9 group’s attainment of basic human needs through acts of exploitation and segmentation (ibid.: 292); and the third type pertains to cultural violence which refers to “aspects of culture [. . .] that can be used to justify or legitimize direct or structural violence” (ibid.: 291). Galtung also introduced the well-known distinction between “negative” and “positive” peace, which highlights the protracted and multilayered process of peacebuilding. While negative peace is characterized by the absence of war and physical violence, the attainment of positive peace is more conditional and involves more far-reaching social integration in accordance with basic human needs (ibid.: 292). Both of these concepts are of significance for our research. In the two conflict regions of our study, Mindanao and Maluku, post-conflict church-based peace activities and projects are confronted with societal structures that continue to be beset by structural violence, or in other words, conditions associated with negative or fragile peace, which can easily re-ignite and erupt into manifest violence. Such conditions include the aforementioned phenomena of residential segregation, social and economic discrimination, negative attitudes towards the religion-politics nexus, and stereotyped mindsets towards other religious groups. These conditions generate emotionally loaded, exclusivist or intolerant sentiments; in other words, attitudes that sharply contrast liberal or tolerant mindsets. They may even feature militant elements that denote an uncompromising or fundamentalist set of principles concerning the practice of faith. Arguably, this fundamentalist narrowing can become a breeding ground for future conflicts and hence give rise to new levels of structural or even manifest violence. This study is thus chiefly concerned with understanding how church-based activities can attenuate these vicious circles of narrow mindsets and violent actions, and whether these efforts contribute to more interfaith dialogue, social integration, and, over time, local transformations towards positive peace.

What are religious conflicts and how “religious” are they? As outlined in the introductory chapter, a large number of contemporary armed conflicts are fueled by religious divides. This feature, which Galtung characterizes as a source and example of cultural violence, points to the question of how the contentious term “religious conflict” can be defined. A useful starting point is Silvestri and Mayall’s identification of two distinct ways to understand religion, differentiating between two major dimensions. The first concerns the substantive understanding that focuses on the content of religion, such as key scriptures, theologies, bodies of doctrine, canonical texts, and values and beliefs (Silvestri & Mayall 2015: 5). The

10  Religion and peacebuilding second highlights a functional understanding that discerns what religion “does” to people, for example as a source of identity, morality, and others (ibid. 2015: 4). The substantive understanding of religion can be framed as a value conflict, which theoretical research on regimes has identified as most resilient to resolution (Efinger, Rittberger & Zürn 1988). Contending values and ideologies often become a source of conflict, not least because they are at the core of social belief systems and group identities. Compromising on substantive values is often perceived by warring parties as a form of capitulation or sociocultural disconnection. As a result, some conflict dynamics and violent outbreaks can be explained by irreconcilable ideas concerning theology and religious doctrines.3 These contestations and clashes can either involve different religions, or they can involve subgroups of one belief system. The latter is well exemplified, for instance, in the continuous tensions between Sunni and Shia Islam that have destabilized the Middle East and other parts of the world.4 While religious bonds and divides are certainly influential, there is also a growing sense that conflicts evincing “pure” or “exclusive” religious motives are rare occurrences. More frequently, religion serves as a “functional” leverage factor, as a catalyst or accelerator of other embedded seeds of conflict. The concept of “religion as function” can be understood, in essence, as a conflict over material goods which, as regime theory argues, are valued in either absolute or relative terms (Efinger, Rittberger & Zürn 1988). Religion in such conflicts serves as the factor galvanizing broadbased popular opposition and resistance against those held responsible for the predicament. In these conflicts, religion is “not the source, but only a resource of conflict.”5 Or expressed differently, such conflicts are not “interreligious conflicts, but conflicts involving religious communities.”6 Contested goods valued in relative terms include most forms of social, economic, and political deprivation. Such conflicts may be more amenable to resolution than value-based conflicts, but general or comprehensive resolutions are also very difficult to achieve (ibid.). Influential schools of thought in conflict studies seem to corroborate the salience of the second type of religious conflict. One of the earliest proponents of this argument was Michael Hechter in his study on ethnicity in the United Kingdom. For him, primordial identities such as religion and ethnicity will be mobilized when tangible socioeconomic disparities coincide with them, which are perceived by at least one group as relative deprivation. If such disparities are exacerbated by social discrimination and political oppression of a group and hence constitute what Hechter pointedly called “internal colonialism,” the likelihood of religious and/or ethnic strife increases significantly (Hechter 1975). The root cause of religious

Religion and peacebuilding  11 conflict is thus the accumulated sense of “grievances” of the disadvantaged group. As we will see later, conflict parties and observers of the Mindanao and Ambon conflicts also frequently refer to these root causes (D’Ambra 2011: 98). Apart from the occurrence of grievances, violence can also be the result of strong materialistic aspirations and desires. Based on a study of 79 large civil conflicts in Africa, Collier and Höffler show that “greed” and “opportunity” are frequently triggers of intra-state conflicts. Greed, frequently epitomized by a war economy, generates material motivations that lead to and prolong armed conflict (Collier & Höffler 2004). While explanations of the long duration of conflicts, especially in Mindanao, also highlighted material causes (Kreuzer  & Weiberg 2007; International Alert 2014), in the case of Maluku the emergence of a war economy was – as discussed later – also often mentioned as a reason why violent incidents continued after the 2002 Malino II peace agreement, albeit on a lower scale (Spyer 2002: 31; Panggabean 2004: 423; Böhm 2006: 283, 288, 305, 339; Al Qurtuby 2016: 31). In a similar vein, Fearon and Laitin identified a number of conditions that seem to increase the probability of intergroup violence and civil war. Their findings show that weak central governments, which are unable to steer financial, organizational, and political affairs, often give rise to instability and violence. In many cases this lack of state capacity has provoked rebellion “due to weak local policing or inept and corrupt counterinsurgency practices” (Fearon & Laitin 2015: 143). Moreover, insurgencies are more likely to occur in places that entail pronounced challenges in terms of topography (rough or mountainous terrain), demography (large and diverse populations), and social proximity (if rebels are closer to local communities than the government). The probability of insurgencies rises even further if rebel strongholds gain access to external funds, training, and safe havens (ibid.: 143). While these empirical findings highlight socioeconomic and geographical aspects, recent anthropological studies present a more nuanced picture of civil wars that acknowledges that religious norms and sentiments can have far-reaching effects. While not denying certain “objective” material factors such as those highlighted above, they also contend that these sources of conflict are primarily those identified by external observers and, in particular, academics. By contrast, however, the majority of the combatants and the population affected by the violence view the conflict through the primordial lens and perceive it as a religious conflict (Hehanussa 2013: 216; Duncan 2013: 2; Al Qurtuby 2015: 316, 2016: 8). Religion thus lends itself well to what Tambiah has famously termed “focalization” and “transvaluation” (Tambiah 1991, 1996; see also Duncan 2005: 68, 2013: 116–117; Al

12  Religion and peacebuilding Qurtuby 2016: 3). “Focalization” denotes a process in which conflict parties “remove understandings of local conflicts from their particular contexts in time and space,” while “transvaluation” describes the incorporation of a local conflict “into a wider, extra-local conflict” (Tambiah 1996: 81; Duncan 2013: 116). As we will see later in the empirical chapters, this is especially the case in the Ambon conflict, and thus constitutes a major obstacle to sustainable reconciliation.

Theorizing peacebuilding Moving beyond the root causes of intra-state conflicts, the following section focuses on processes of conflict resolution. The period after the end of the Cold War has seen an unprecedented increase in international peacebuilding missions. The collapse of the Soviet Union and the concomitant sharp decline of vetoes against peace missions has increasingly allowed the international community to launch UN-sanctioned peace operations. UN Secretary General Boutros-Ghali’s “Agenda for Peace” initiative in 1992, for instance, became an important milestone for global peacebuilding efforts. It opened new opportunities for reconciliation and served as a platform for the advocacy of what was then called the “peace dividend” (Gupta et al. 2002). In the process, international peace missions have proliferated, increasing from 12 operations by 1989 to 72 operations by 2017.7 Apart from promoting preventive diplomacy and distinguishing peacekeeping and peacemaking efforts, the Agenda for Peace was the first official UN effort to underscore the importance of peace consolidation or post-conflict peacebuilding.8 This constituted a significant advancement in the process of peacebuilding, given that many conflicts resurface soon after a peace agreement is reached. Not coincidentally, research on peacebuilding also grew by leaps and bounds. Much in line with the then prevailing optimistic sentiment driven by the seemingly ultimate triumph of the liberal project over socialist designs for global order,9 mainstream thinking in peacebuilding built on what has subsequently become known as the “liberal peace project.” This sought to transform conflict societies by fostering security, institutional stability, good governance, rule of law, human rights protection, free elections, legitimate rule, and socioeconomic development into state entities resembling Western nations. Following Kantian logic, the causal relationship between democracy and peace was considered decisive in this transformation. Over time, post-conflict peacebuilding missions became more sophisticated and eventually moved away from one-size-fits-all blueprints. More emphasis was placed on sociopolitical contexts and local ownership (Bräuchler 2018: 21), and incorporating devolution and decentralization components into the projects’ toolbox. Yet most interventions still came from external actors,

Religion and peacebuilding  13 mainly international organizations and the economically advanced donor countries of the West, which regarded peacebuilding as part and parcel of their larger development agenda. The latter pursued the objective of modernizing backward societies, a process in which local agents played only a subordinate role at best (Schneckener 2016; Debiel & Rinck 2016). However, the ambivalent results of the liberal peace project  – including disastrous failures such as in Somalia, Rwanda, Iraq, and Libya – triggered a paradigm shift in peacebuilding research. So-called post-liberal approaches criticized the liberal project as a paternalistic, top-down, Eurocentric, teleological, and modernization theory-driven exercise. For them the mainstream liberal peace project had become a technocratic process of social engineering in which external agents imposed on non-Western societies liberal norms and concepts of a Western-dominated international order (Schneckener 2016: 3; Bräuchler 2018: 21). This agenda, they reasoned, was self-serving, as it sought to protect the West from unwanted spill-overs from peripheral conflict societies, including the destabilizing effects of state failure, terrorism, and irregular migration (Schneckener 2016: 5). The liberal peace project, its critics argued, rested on “methodological nationalism” and blatantly ignored the complexities of conflict societies, cultural variation, and local agency (Debiel  & Rinck 2016: 241). Postliberal approaches and critical peace research thus shifted attention from international agency to local agency. If peacebuilding projects intend to avoid or at least reduce local resistance, local actors must be empowered and become key agents in the process of sustainable reconciliation (Paffenholz 2015: 859). Influential local actors include local politicians and administrators; traditional, clan, and religious leaders; NGO activists; teachers; businesspeople; and vigilante commanders (Debiel  & Rinck 2016: 246). Bringing local actors back in also facilitates the rediscovery of customary laws and local culture with their pacifying effects in peacebuilding processes (Bräuchler 2009).

Post-conflict peacebuilding: an analytical framework This “local turn” in peacebuilding research has also been criticized in recent years. At the center of objections is the tendency to romanticize “the local” by ignoring local power structures. Local conditions are frequently characterized by clientelist practices and elite capture. Peacebuilding measures often remain contested, not least because they are deeply embedded in local power struggles and conflicting interests. Some have thus rightly argued that “the local” is not, in and of itself, a “panacea of legitimacy” (Simons & Zanker 2014: 5). It is not “a homogeneous entity” and is only “as ‘good’ or ‘bad’ as society writ large” (Paffenholz 2015: 860).

14  Religion and peacebuilding However, despite these qualifications aired against the “local turn” and its derivative of “hybrid peacebuilding” – a response to the critique summarized above and an approach which seeks to combine and fuse external and local actorness in peacebuilding (Mac Ginty & Richmond 2013, 2014; Debiel  & Rinck 2016) – it is undeniable that without due recognition of local agency, sustainable peace is illusory. By focusing on religious actors, the research project underlying this book concentrated on one particularly crucial group of local actors in post-conflict peacebuilding, one that is also frequently identified as a major source of armed conflict (Larousse 2001). We thus developed an analytical framework for our study that draws on the pioneering work of Lederach and, in particular, his emphasis on the “local turn” in contemporary peacebuilding efforts. We follow Lederach’s conceptualization of peacebuilding as a twodimensional process, which allows for the combination of structuralist, actor-centered and reflexivist perspectives. Slightly modifying his terminology, the first dimension is placed on the vertical axis and examines conflict evolution. The second dimension is located on the horizontal axis and analyzes peacebuilding activities (see Figure 2.1). More specifically, the dimension of conflict evolution is primarily concerned with the identification of the conflict’s root causes, its scope conditions and historical trajectories. This entails a structural analysis, as we assume that the root causes are embedded in socioeconomic structures. Structural analysis in conflict research usually focuses on material issues such as economic deprivation, political discrimination, and major demographic changes caused, for instance, by processes of managed or spontaneous migration. Yet more recent research has persuasively shown that marginalization and discrimination alone rarely trigger religious violence. In most cases, “conflicts start with words” (Tishkov 2004: 78). In order to erupt, religious violence requires the existence of elite agents who strongly believe that only armed struggle can overcome the predicament of their religious group. In order to persuade the majority of their followers that violent action is a rational choice (in which the perceived benefits exceed the anticipated costs, sacrifices, and sufferings), they must possess discursive skills. They must be able “to represent violence as the appropriate course of action in a given situation” (Schröder & Schmidt 2001: 5). They must, in other words, create narratives in which the “self,” that is, the “we-group,” is associated with righteousness, civilization, and courage, whereas the “religious other,” that is, “them,” is characterized by wickedness, barbarism, and malice (Jabri 1996: 108; Demmers 2015: 133). An integral strategy in this process is to memorize and interpret previous experiences with the other group selectively, thereby entrenching and exacerbating existing everyday

Religion and peacebuilding  15 social categorizations and stereotypes with the ultimate objective of justifying violence. Such narratives reproducing religious hostility gain further credibility through rumors, often conveyed by refugees who report abject atrocities perpetrated by the opponents, which eventually become a “social truth” (Demmers 2015: 135). The militancy of large parts of the population is likely to increase under such conditions and can translate into all-out civil war. In addition, militant group leaders seek to further solidify the “we-group” by stigmatizing those that oppose armed struggle as “traitors” to their community who need to be censured, sidelined, or even punished (Jabri 1996: 108; Demmers 2015: 113). If such attitudes harden and become a habitus – as theorized by Bourdieu (1982) – peace initiatives are hindered. While, in a nutshell, relational discursive representations serve the recruitment of supporters by propagating a concrete us/them divide, and the legitimation of violent action (Schröder & Schmidt 2001: 5–8; Demmers 2015: 137), it should not be overlooked that discursive processes may also facilitate peacebuilding efforts. War fatigue may be expressed in narratives that highlight the sacrifices in human life, the sufferings of the people, and the material losses caused by the conflict. It can serve as a means of expressing the belief that violence will yield no winners and that it is primarily external actors who instigate armed conflict and benefit from its prolonged presence. The second dimension, peacebuilding activities, places emphasis on the process of conflict management and conflict transformation. Here we follow Lederach (1997), who distinguishes between “conflict resolution” or “conflict management” and “conflict transformation” (Lederach 1997: 80). The former includes a number of activities in which the participation of conflict parties varies and which eventually end hostilities. According to Assefa, this can include peace through the use of force, that is, military victory, adjudication, arbitration, negotiation, and mediation (Assefa 2015: 237). Such interventions facilitate what Galtung has termed “negative peace” or, in other words, the absence of manifest violence (Galtung 1990). While for Lederach “conflict resolution” or “conflict management” ends an unwanted situation by achieving a modicum of agreement between the conflict parties, “conflict transformation” is a much more demanding and complex endeavor. It aims to create a desired situation, requiring change along personal, relational, structural, and cultural dimensions (Lederach 1997: 82). Its long-term goal is conflict prevention, in other words a situation in which war and armed conflict are no longer an option. This development of human potential is what Galtung conceptualized as “positive peace” (Galtung 1990), what for Assefa denotes “reconciliation” (Assefa 2015: 240) and what for Senghaas is a civilizational project implying the realization of a “civilizational hexagon” (Senghaas 1998; see also Neumann 2009: 31).10

16  Religion and peacebuilding Reconciliation marks a process in which not only are the underlying issues in the conflict resolved to the satisfaction of broad segments of the population, but the antagonistic attitudes and relationships between the adversaries are also increasingly transformed from negative into positive sentiments. More than that, it also entails a concern for “restorative justice,” which Braithwaite defined as “a process where all stakeholders affected by an injustice have an opportunity to discuss how they have been affected by the injustice and to decide what should be done to repair the harm” (Braithwaite 2004: 28). Reconciliation may thus be described as a long-term effort of one to two decades (Lederach 2015) to “rebuild a more livable, and psychologically healthy environment between former enemies where the vicious cycle of hate, deep suspicion, resentment, and revenge does not continue to fester” (Assefa 2015: 241). A transformation and reconciliation process that transcends a mere coexistence of erstwhile hostile groups (Duncan 2013: 106, 120; Mac Ginty 2014: 557), or what Mac Ginty called a state of “everyday peace” (Mac Ginty 2014: 557) that is characterized by a “tolerance of

Root Causes

Conflict evoluon

Conflictrelated discourse

Crisis Interven on Conflict Management

Nega ve Peace

Figure 2.1  Framework of analysis Source: Adapted from Lederach (1997: 80).

Church based peacebuilding ac vi es

Peacebuilding

Reconcilia on

Posi ve Peace

Religion and peacebuilding  17 prejudice” (Harris 1972: 200), invariably requires the inclusion and participation of grassroots actors. Peacebuilding activities benefit from a process in which key actors – facilitated by peace education – respect, promote, and actively draw from the human and cultural resources of local communities (Lederach 1997). We will scrutinize in the empirical part below how and in what way this inclusionary and community-grounded approach pursued by religious actors had a pacifying effect on the conflicts in Mindanao and Ambon. This brief review of the literature highlights a number of themes and aspects that are pivotal to our study of local peacebuilding efforts in Indonesia and the Philippines. One aspect that stands out is the realization that successful peacebuilding efforts are highly contingent on national and local contexts and actors. Consistent with the arguments of the “local turn” literature, we contend that a deeper understanding of local powers, interests, and ideas is a key asset for assessing Southeast Asian experiences of conflict and reconciliation. Moreover, this section has demonstrated that the peacebuilding process is often uneven and incremental, not least because it is shaped by the complex interplay of religious ideas, local grievances, and materialist interests. Against this backdrop, progress is more likely to ensue if contending groups move beyond existing and established sentiments and jointly create a new common ground – a “third culture” (Broome 2004). This also tallies well with Lederach’s (2003) notion of “relationship-centered solutions” that entail shared visions and intensive dialogues.

Notes 1 See Galtung (1990), Lederach (1997, 2003, 2015), Mac Ginty (2008, 2011, 2014); Mac Ginty and Richmond (2007); Paris (2004); Richmond (2005). 2 Violent conflicts are usually equated with armed engagements, which according to a widely accepted definition by the University of Uppsala can be summarized as follows: “A contested incompatibility that concerns government and/or territory where the use of armed force between two parties, of which at least one is the government of a state, results in at least twenty-five battle-related deaths in one calendar year.” See University of Uppsala, www.pcr.uu.se/research/ucdp/ definitions/ (accessed 12 April 2014). The Uppsala researchers speak of a war if the death toll exceeds 1,000 combat-related deaths per year (Collier & Höffler 2004: 565). 3 In the case of the Philippines and Indonesia, conflict parties are often well aware that such ideology-driven conflicts can be very resilient to efforts of reconciliation. For Mohagher Iqbal, the chief peace negotiator of the Moro Islamic Liberation Front (MILF), some form of compromise or negotiated solution is possible “as long as the issue in contention is not purely religious or ideological” (Jubair 2007: 18). 4 For a cogent summary of intra-faith conflicts see, for instance, Ramsbotham, Woodhouse and Miall (2016: 400) and El Fadl (2006).

18  Religion and peacebuilding 5 Comment in an interview by Ateneo de Manila University anthropologist, Father Albert Alejo, 10 September 2015. 6 Kompas, 7 September 2001. 7 A compilation of all UN missions since 1956 is available at: https://peacekeeping.un.org/en/past-peacekeeping-operations (accessed 24 December 2017). 8 The United Nations Agenda for Peace, available at: www.un-documents.net/ a47-277.htm (accessed 24 December 2017). 9 See, for instance, President George HW Bush’s “New World Order” speech, and in the academic realm Fukuyama (1992). 10 The “civilizational hexagon” consisted of the state monopoly of coercion, interdependence, control of emotions, social justice, a culture of conflict resolution, democratic principles, and rule of law. See Senghaas (1998).

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20  Religion and peacebuilding Lederach, John Paul (1997): Sustainable Reconciliation in Divided Societies, Washington, DC: United States Institute of Peace Press. Lederach, John Paul (2003): The Little Book of Conflict Transformation, Intercourse, PA: Good Books. Lederach, John Paul (2015): “Building Peace: Sustainable Reconciliation in Divided Societies,” In: Tom Woodhouse, Hugh Miall, Oliver Ramsbotham & Christopher Mitchell (eds.), The Contemporary Conflict Resolution Reader, Malden, MA: Polity Press, pp. 120–124. Mac Ginty, Roger (2008): “Indigenous Peacemaking Versus the Liberal Peace,” Opposition and Conflict 43(2): 139–163. Mac Ginty, Roger (2011): International Peacebuilding and Local Resistance: Hybrid Forms of Peace, Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Mac Ginty, Roger (2014): “Everyday Peace: Bottom-Up and Local Agency in Conflict-Affected Societies,” Security Dialogue 45(6): 548–564. Mac Ginty, Roger & Richmond, Oliver (2007): “Myth or Reality: Opposing Views on the Liberal Peace and Post-War Reconstruction,” Global Society 21(4): 491–497. Mac Ginty, Roger & Richmond, Oliver (2013): “The Local Turn in Peace Building: a critical agenda for peace,” Third World Quarterly 34(5): 763–783. Miller, Christopher Allan (2005): A Glossary of Terms and Concepts in Peace and Conflict Studies, Geneva: University for Peace. Neumann, Hannah (2009): Friedenskommunikation: Möglichkeiten und Grenzen von Kommunikation in Konfliktransformation, Berlin: LIT Verlag. Paffenholz, Thania (2015): “Unpacking the Local Turn in Peacebuilding: A Critical Assessment Towards an Agenda for Future Research,” Third World Quarterly 36(5): 857–874. Panggabean, Samsu Rizal (2004): “Maluku: The Challenge of Peace,” In: Annelies Heijmans, Nicola Simmonds & Hans van de Veen (eds.), Searching for Peace in Asia Pacific: An Overview of Conflict Prevention and Peacebuilding Activities, Boulder & London: Lynne Rienner, pp. 416–437. Paris, Roland (2004): At War’s End: Building Peace After Civil Conflict, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Ramsbotham, Oliver; Woodhouse, Tom & Miall, Hugh (2016): Contemporary Conflict Resolution, Cambridge: Polity Press. Richmond, Oliver (2005): The Transformation of Peace, Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Schneckener, Ulrich (2016): “Peacebuilding in Crisis? Debating Peacebuilding Paradigms and Practices,” In: Tobias Debiel, Thomas Held & Ulrich Schneckener (eds.), Peacebuilding in Crisis: Rethinking Paradigms and Practices of Transnational Cooperation, London & New York: Routledge, pp. 1–20. Schröder, Ingo W. & Schmidt, Bettina (2001): “Introduction: Violent Imaginaries and Violent Practices,” In: Bettina Schmidt & Ingo W. Schröder (eds.), Anthropology of Violence and Conflict, London & New York: Routledge, pp. 1–24. Senghaas, Dieter (1998): Zivilisierung wider Willen, Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp.

Religion and peacebuilding  21 Silvestri, Sara & Mayall, James (2015): The Role of Religion in Conflict and Peacebuilding, London: The British Academy. Simons, Claudia & Zanker, Franzisca (2014): “Questioning the Local in Peacebuilding,” Working Papers of the Priority Programme 1448 of the German Research Foundation, Nr. 10. Spyer, Patricia (2002): “Fire Without Smoke and Other Phantoms of Ambon’s Violence: Media Effects, Agency, and the Work of Imagination,” Indonesia 74: 21–36. Tambiah, Stanley J. (1991): Sri Lanka: Fratricide and the Dismantling of Democracy, Chicago, IL: Chicago University Press. Tambiah, Stanley J. (1996): Leveling Crowds: Ethnonationalist Conflicts and Collective Violence in South Asia, Berkeley: University of California Press. Tishkov, Valery A. (2004): “Conflicts Start with Words: Fighting Categories in the Chechen Conflict,” In: Andreas Wimmer, Richard J. Goldstone, Donald L. Horowitz, Ulrike Joras, Conrad Schetter (eds.), Facing Ethnic Conflicts: Toward a New Realism, Oxford: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, pp. 78–95.

3 Methodology A multi-layered analysis

Comparison as a research methodology has often been challenged by scholars with Area Studies or Cultural Studies backgrounds.1 They question whether social phenomena in highly culturally diverse settings are amenable to a comparative research methodology and theoretical concepts that have mainly been developed in the West. However, more recent work on the methodology of comparison has refuted such reasoning and has developed new avenues to make comparative research a fruitful endeavor in non-Western research contexts (Huotari  & Rüland 2014, 2018). Two promising approaches to overcome this sterile debate between disciplines and Area Studies are the Comparative Area Studies (CAS) approach (Basedau & Köllner 2007; Ahram 2011; Berg-Schlosser 2012; Huotari & Rüland 2014, 2018; Ahram, Köllner & Sil 2018) and the concept of mixed methods (Creswell & Plano Clark 2007; von Lübke 2014a, 2014b), both of which are employed in this study. Comparative Area Studies (CAS) operates at three levels: intra-regional, interregional, and cross-regional comparison (Basedau & Köllner 2007). By focusing on two conflict regions in the Philippines and Indonesia, the current study rests on the intra-regional level of comparison with a cross-case and a within-case dimension. Cross-case comparison refers to the two countries under consideration, the Philippines and Indonesia. Within-case comparison includes a synchronic and a diachronic dimension (George & Bennett 2005; Gerring 2008). The synchronic dimension refers to the counterfactual comparison of two villages with church-based projects and two villages without church-based peace projects in both project sites: Cotabato in Mindanao, Philippines, and Ambon City in Maluku, Indonesia. The diachronic dimension entails comparisons of respondent attitudes prior to church-based peace projects and after church-based peace activities. A mixed-methods research design cuts across narrow disciplinary silos and confines and, in doing so, holds the promise of complementing different viewpoints and granting novel insights (Creswell & Plano Clark 2007:

Methodology  23 1, 169). It is a methodology that is embedded in philosophical assumptions guided by pragmatism with the central premise “that the use of quantitative and qualitative approaches in combination provides a better understanding of research problems than either approach alone” (ibid.: 5). Pragmatism means the freedom of a researcher “to use all methods possible to address a research problem” and “to combine inductive and deductive thinking” (ibid.: 10). By opting for a mixed-methods approach, we have been strongly inspired  – as indicated in the introduction  – by Katzenstein’s “analytic eclecticism” (Katzenstein 2007; Katzenstein & Sil 2008). In particular, we expect that the complementary nature of different research methodologies and the different worldviews or paradigms they represent, helps to mitigate misperceptions that are inevitable when researchers study complex social phenomena in settings which culturally differ from their own background. Moreover, combining the “unit context sensitivity” of qualitative research methods with the “population context sensitivity” of quantitative methods (Pepinsky 2014) allows for better assessment of the merits and relevance of individual cases against the background of a larger population of cases. In other words, mixed methods help to map developments and measure “trends, prevalences, and outcomes and at the same time examine meaning, context, and process” (Creswell & Plano Clark 2007: 175). Apart from cross-fertilizing qualitative and quantitative viewpoints, our methodological approach also includes different spatial levels of conflict and peacebuilding. The joint focus on national and local domains – which will be outlined in the following section  – also resonates well with key themes in the conflict and peacebuilding literature. It allows for a more balanced evaluation of whether peacebuilding efforts resemble a “local turn” or approximate a “third culture,” not least because a multilevel assessment places local agency squarely into the wider context of national events and discourses.

Comparative strategy: the Philippines and Indonesia The regional focus of our research project has been placed on two Southeast Asian democracies: the Philippines and Indonesia. Both countries lend themselves well to comparative analyses of conflict transformations and the contributions of church-based activities, not least because they feature a notable degree of cross-country comparability that stems from similar sociocultural and political underpinnings. The Philippines and Indonesia share distinctive properties beyond the fact that they belong to the same geographical region: both are emerging democracies with a distinct history of authoritarian rule, which some scholars have characterized as “defective” Third Wave democracies (Croissant & Bünte 2011); both are archipelagic states with highly diverse ethnic,

24  Methodology religious, cultural, and sociopolitical structures; both feature numerous instances of vertical (insurgency-related) and horizontal (violent political competition and armed struggles between local elites, clans, ethnic groups, and rival insurgent groups) intergroup conflict (International Alert 2014); and (in response) both have attracted substantial interest and commitment from religious organizations in the field of peace and reconciliation. These similar underpinnings are also reflected in aggregate indicators, such as the Bertelsmann Transformation Index (BTI). The BTI assessments indicate that the two countries evince similar economic and political governance measures: the Philippines and Indonesia rank thirty-sixth and thirty-fifth, respectively. Comparable performance levels are also evident across specific BTI indicators such as the management index, political transformation, and economic transformation. A closer look at the annual reports by Freedom House (“Freedom in the World”) shows that the levels of political freedoms and civil liberties have been comparable as well: the Philippines and Indonesia exhibit a mixed picture in their respective political institutions and practices, and hence have been categorized as “partly free” over the past four years.

Layers of analysis To trace the ways (and the extent to which) church-based activities have contributed to the process of conflict transformation in the region, we apply – as outlined above – a specific mixed-methods approach that integrates qualitative and quantitative perspectives, combines different modes of contextualization and comparison, and transcends different spatial levels of observation. This is achieved by pursuing a strategy of multi-layered analyses (von Lübke 2014a, 2014b) consistent with the proposed methodological framework that preceded this empirical study. We are convinced that this synthesis allows us to tap into the strengths of different methods: it combines qualitative understanding of context and process with quantitative rigor and replication. To achieve a meaningful exchange of different lines of reasoning, we distinguish the analyses along two key dimensions: contextual and comparative analyses. Figure 3.1 summarizes the main features of this guiding framework. The first dimension relates to varying levels of analytic abstraction, which can be either low (contextual analyses with a focus on in-depth, locationspecific conditions and processes) or high (comparative analyses and estimations focusing on cross-case patterns and trends). The second dimension pertains to levels of analytic scope. Here a distinction can be made between analyses that feature a higher scope (review of national/regional

Methodology  25 Lower Abstraction Higher Scope

Contextualization Discourse Analysis & Process Tracing

Higher Abstraction Comparison/Estimation Regression Analyses (Sub-District Dataset)

(Review on Salient Nat. & Reg. Developments)

Lower Scope

Direct Field Observations (Interviews with Project Communities & Experts)

Systematic Comparative Analyses: Case Comparisons & QCA (Project Site Surveys/ Interviews)

Figure 3.1  Layered analyses Source: Adapted from von Lübke (2014a, 2014b).

developments and multivariate regressions) and those that feature a lower scope (direct field observations and local surveys in selected project sites) in their observations. Accordingly, the layered framework that guides our study comprises a balanced emphasis on “contextualization” and “comparison.” The following sections will outline in further detail the four methodological quadrants of this framework (see Figure 3.1), namely: (1) in-depth field interviews and observations, (2) process tracing and media/discourse analyses, (3) systematic comparative analyses, and (4) multivariate regression analyses.2

In-depth field interviews and observations One key ingredient for gaining contextual information was conducting in-depth interviews with selected groups of local and national actors. In the Philippines and Indonesia, we conducted 45 in-depth interviews; the duration of these face-to-face consultations ranged between one and two hours. Interview respondents included Catholic bishops, Protestant and evangelical church leaders, local priests, church personnel, community elders, politicians, academics, NGO members, and media representatives. Interviews were semi-structured and covered issues including histories of conflict and atrocity, opposing forces and interests, conflict transformation processes, church-based activities (strategies, efforts, implementation,

26  Methodology results, implications), and underpinning social, political, and economic contexts. Consistent with the overarching research questions, interviews were conducted by using an “interview guideline” that addressed general conflict characteristics, potential conflict drivers, community contexts, and project characteristics. The guideline covered, inter alia, the following questions: Conflict characteristics How long have violent conflicts been occurring in the respective regions? Have conflicts waxed and waned, or remained largely unchanged? Who are the key actors in these conflicts? How do respondents describe the degree of violence? Conflict drivers What are key drivers/causes of violent conflicts in different communities? How important are frictions between religious/ethnic groups? How salient are socioeconomic factors, such as poverty, unemployment, or inequality? Have cultural factors served to aggravate or attenuate ongoing conflicts? Community characteristics How prominent are divides in this community across religious and ethnic groups? Do members of this community differ strongly in terms of residential background (local/migrant), landowning rights, and income levels? How strong is the level of trust in this community? How active and influential is the local civil society in this community? Peacebuilding project What have the key activities been in this project? Have these activities been effective/efficient/relevant? What have the key challenges been in implementing these activities? What are the prospects and risks for future peacebuilding efforts? This interview guideline provided a useful general framework for faceto-face inquiries. In many situations, however, interviews diverted slightly from this thematic outline in order to secure a fluid and trustful dialogue with local actors (whose narratives and voices often followed their own

Methodology  27 thematic and intertemporal sequencing). Moreover, some interviews took the form of ad hoc and informal talks, in which the above-outlined guideline would have been neither feasible nor effective. Key conversations also included informal talks with senior government staff, academics, NGOs, and media representatives, which focused on gaining selective background information rather than a complete assessment of all outlined issues. In addition, we conducted a number of group discussions, for example, with group members of “Bantay Ceasefire” (Ceasefire Watch) in Cotabato, and a select group of conflict transformation experts in Ambon. These were generally characterized by interwoven voices that transcended thematic containers. Contextual field observations often occurred in connection with semistructured and informal interview activities. Examples include observations at local bus shelters near the villages of Passo and Waai in Ambon; or observations during two workshops of the DEPAdev (“Democratic Party Development”) program in Davao City and in General Santos in February/ March 2016.3

Process tracing and media/discourse analyses A second important step for contextualizing social/political arenas (and the ideas, interests, and powers that shape them) is the detailed analysis of the root causes of the conflicts under investigation and the discourses in prominent media shaping and entrenching prejudices, symbols, and myths that aggravate mutual aversions of the conflict parties and eventually promote and legitimize the use of violence. Process tracing is a method that helps to identify causal mechanisms and thus solve the equifinality problem of variable-based research. Equifinality describes the problem of spurious correlations: A  appears to cause B, although in reality this is not the case (Schimmelfennig 2006: 265). Such misinterpretations of causal effects can be avoided by tracing the causal mechanisms and pathways between independent and dependent variables: “A causes B, B then causes C, C then causes D, and so on” (Checkel 2006: 363; Bennett & Checkel 2014). Process tracing thus constitutes a series of theoretically informed intermediate steps – the intervening causal process (George & Bennett 2005: 206) – and “fine-grained explanations to a theoretical assumption.” It “places theory and data in close proximity” (Checkel 2005: 22). In our case, process tracing helps in attaining a better understanding of critical junctures and key events that inform our theoretical assumptions about the evolution of the conflicts in Mindanao and Maluku. In addition, they indicate the extents to which primordial (deep-seated religious sentiments), materialist (grievance, greed, or opportunity), and cognitive

28  Methodology factors (ideas and discourses) have been affecting observable levels of local violence. There is a vast strand of literature regarding the methodological application of discourse analysis (Heindl 2015; Gee  & Handford 2012). In this research project the term “discourse” will build on Foucault’s understanding of the term (Foucault 1968 [2014], 1969, 1970). Foucault defined discourse as a system of representation, a system of criteria or categories which, taken together, reflect the institutionally stabilized construction of common practices, rules, and resources for generating meaning within a society (Foucault 1969, 1970). This understanding of discourse has been adopted by a wide range of discourse scholars (Keller 2011; Mayring 2002).4 In general, the analysis of political discourses aims at identifying political meanings in accessible texts. To be sure, political discourses legitimize, shape, and (re-)direct political debate, influence political decision making, justify political actions, and (re-)interpret historical memories, myths, and symbols. The focus on the analysis centers on the rules and practices that produce meaningful statements and regulate discourse. Thus, the analysis of political discourse includes the following steps: analyzing the context of the text, coding the text, and analyzing discursive statements. The assessments of texts in prominent media sources in the Philippines and Indonesia followed a straightforward roadmap. During the preparation and execution of fieldwork activities, our research team scanned, collected, and analyzed various media materials in major newspaper outlets (including The Jakarta Post, Jakarta Globe, Republika, Philippine Daily Inquirer, Manila Bulletin, The Philippine Star, and Malaya and Minda News). Fortunately, most of these media sources feature online archives that are readily accessible. In addition, we included gray literature; for example, working papers, reports, the homepages of the Catholic Bishops Conference of the Philippines (CBCP) and the MILF, insider accounts such as that of MILF chief negotiator Mohagher Iqbal and government negotiator Miriam Coronel Ferrer, blogs, and other online sources in our source materials. The time frame for the Philippine discourse analysis was 2012 to 2016, thus covering the time between the conclusion of the Framework Agreement on the Bangsamoro (FAB) and the time of the main fieldwork in mid-2016, and for Maluku from 1999 to 2017. In the case of Maluku, we also benefited from the newspaper collection of the Ambon Crisis Center and an (unpublished) chronology compiled by Father Kees Böhm, who collected news reports and documents from 1999 until 2006 in the three Moluccan dailies: Siwalima, Suara Maluku (both Christian), and the Ambon Ekspres (Muslim).

Methodology  29

Systematic comparative analysis Do communities with church-based projects evince more successful conflict transformation processes than counterfactual cases? And to what extent do underlying social, political, and economic contexts affect the success of such conflict transformations? Initial answers to these central questions of our research project arise from two modes of inquiry: the first pertains to “controlled case comparisons” in the tradition of Mill’s analytic logic; the second is the execution of a “qualitative comparative analysis” (QCA), a technique that uses Boolean algebra to investigate key patterns and interactions in a set of comparative observations. We describe both approaches below.

Controlled case comparisons In our study, controlled case comparisons are based on the idea of identifying and examining counterfactual project sites. In order to establish counterfactual assessments in systematic ways, we conducted a set of paired project-site comparisons in both countries. Most similar case comparisons, for instance, which build on Mill’s “method of difference” logic, provide a useful analytical starting point. The key is to find pairs of cases that match in as many respects as possible (analytical twins) but differ distinctly in the explanatory variable. This controlled setting allows for the testing of whether “singular variations” in explanatory factors are accompanied by corresponding variations in observable outcomes and, therefore, allows for the derivation of more robust inferences (Geddes 1990; Gerring 2008). The following illustration summarizes the key ideas (Table 3.1). As outlined in Table 3.1, the first step involves distinguishing between different Philippine/Indonesian project sites in terms of those with high levels of church-based activity (“treatment sites”) and those with no or sporadic activity (“control sites”). Based on this distinction, the second step focuses on the actual matching process. The challenge is to identify projectsite pairs (location A/B and location C/D) that differ markedly in the degree of church-based activities and, at the same time, remain similar across a number of contextual factors. Ideally, paired sites  – treatment sites and counterfactual sites – should roughly match in terms of exposure to prior conflicts, historical backgrounds, and cultural underpinnings. Within this controlled setup, it is then possible to systematically link underlying variations in the presence of church-based activities to observable variations in local reconciliation outcomes. Possible effects (e.g., that efforts of religious actors coincide with improvements in local reconciliation) can be verified or refuted on the basis of field assessments.

30  Methodology Table 3.1  Controlled case selection

Level of Activity Prior Conflict Exposure Socioeconomic Development Cultural Context Improvement in terms of Peace Outcomes

Paired Comparison 1 Location A vs Location B

Paired Comparison 2 Location C vs Location D

High High Similar

Low High Similar

High High Similar

Low High Similar

Similar High

Similar Low

Similar High

Similar Low

Source: Authors’ conceptualization.

These field assessments predominantly draw on the results of original household surveys across local communities. Primary data was generated through the use of a 20-page questionnaire that was translated into Indonesian and Filipino languages by local university counterparts, and was completed on site jointly with local village respondents.5 Survey questions covered (but were not limited to) the following aspects: 1 2 3 4 5 6

Personal living standards and social issues, e.g., Living Standard Measure (LSM); Religious orientation and interfaith experiences; Perceptions of current political, social, and economic circumstances (including social affairs or interreligious coexistence); Perception of the conflict transformation process in respective communities and the entire country; Assessment of the relevance, effectiveness, impact, and sustainability of church-based peace and reconciliation efforts; Perceptions of future prospects and outlooks.

Surveys were conducted in cooperation with the Institute for Autonomy and Governance at the Notre Dame University in Cotabato City, the Philippines, and the Department of Sociology at the Universitas Pattimura, Ambon City, Indonesia. Local counterparts helped us to identify research sites for the survey that matched the selection criteria (outlined above) and allowed us to conduct systematic counterfactual analyses. Prior to survey implementation, pretests were administered in both localities, upon which the questionnaire was substantially revised. In both locations, we worked with five enumerators. Enumerators in Cotaboto had substantial professional experience in implementing surveys, while enumerators in Ambon were

Methodology  31 postgraduate academics with moderate survey experience (mostly sociology students selected by the project counterpart). Both enumerator teams were adequately trained prior to fieldwork activities, and during the data gathering process regular briefing sessions were held with enumerators and local project partners which enabled us to discuss and sort out problems that occurred during the administration of questionnaires. The survey in the Philippines was conducted in the treatment villages Nalapaan and Kalacacan (municipality of Pikit, Cotabato) and in the control villages Cupayon and Bangilan (municipality of Kabacan, Cotabato) between 14 February and 25 March 2016. In Indonesia, we conducted the survey in the treatment villages Poka and Rumah Tiga (Ambon) and in the control villages Lembra Argo and Ahuru (Ambon) between 4 May and 3 June 2016. Table 3.2 details the number of interviews conducted in each location. In Mindanao, access to Nalapaan and Kalacacan was provided by Father Layson and his staff. They were the first entry points and arranged access for our enumerators to the secondary entry points, which were the so-called local “barangay kapitans.” The first entry point in Kabacan was the local municipality administration. The administrative staff of the office of the Mayor of Kabacan, Herlo P. Guzman Jr., arranged our survey and contacted the barangay captains in Cuyapon and Bangilan in advance. The “kapitan” is the elected local barangay chairperson. We were able to gain the consent and support of all four kapitans and their staff for our survey. In Ambon, our field activities in the four selected communities – Poka, Lemba Argo, Rumah Tiga, and Ahuru – were conducted in close cooperation

Table 3.2  Survey location and number of interviews Country

Treatment Sites

Control Sites/Counterfactuals

Philippines

Nalapaan/Pikit, Cotabato (N = 65) Survey period: 14–17 February 2016 Kalacacan/Pikit, Cotabato (N = 30) Fieldwork: 22–23 March 2016

Cuyapon/ Kabacan, Cotabato (N = 30) Fieldwork: 25–26 February 2016 Bangilan/Kabacan, Cotabato (N = 50) Fieldwork: 3–4 March 2016

Indonesia

Poka, Ambon (N = 50) Fieldwork: 4–6 May 2016 Rumah Tiga, Ambon (N = 50) Fieldwork: 10–13 May 2016

Lembra Argo, Ambon (N = 50) Fieldwork: 16–19 May 2016 Ahuru, Ambon (N = 50) Fieldwork: 30 May–3 June 2016

Source: Authors’ compilation.

32  Methodology with the Pattimura University’s sociology department. Professor Pariela and his team of experienced researchers provided access to local community leaders, leading religious figures, government officials, and other key contacts. The cooperation with Pattimura offered valuable opportunities to discuss and refine the project’s overarching questions, survey questionnaires, and interview guidelines. It also provided a platform for exchanging thoughts and building networks. By hosting a number of ad hoc workshops and small conferences, the sociology department successfully stimulated a fruitful exchange between Indonesian and German collaborators and important discussions with local counterparts. These interactions also paved the ground for interview opportunities with leading religious actors – including Rev Jacky Manuputty, Father Kees Böhm, Sister Brigitta Renyaan, and Bishop Peter Canisius Mandagi – who shared their insights and helped to identify four Ambonese village sites that resembled the outlined case selection criteria.

Multivariate regression analysis To ensure a greater level of “triangulation” and systematic replication, we also include additional measures of quantitative testing. To add further support for causal propositions and to draw more representative inferences, it is helpful to complement contextual analyses, case comparisons, and QCA techniques with multivariate statistical estimates. While our case comparisons focus on the local conditions in four carefully selected communities in Mindanao and Ambon, the statistical analysis addresses the meso level by relying on data from an entire province. The access to a complete set of subnational indicators in Maluku means that it lends itself particularly well to this effort of quantitative triangulation. A multivariate regression exercise aimed at estimating the association of church-based activities with observable improvements in local peace (i.e., a reduction of conflict-related violence) proceeded along two basic steps. The first step entailed the compilation of a subnational dataset. Due to profound data constraints in the Philippines (basic income and household surveys are only collected on aggregate levels and are not available on provincial, district, or sub-district levels), our regression analysis focuses on the Indonesian case in Maluku. The Indonesian dataset on church activities and local violence was compiled by combining standard surveys and census instruments which were obtained from the Indonesian National Bureau of Statistics, BPS, as well as from the World Bank office and line ministries in Jakarta. In addition, the dataset draws on perception data and existing documentation of local church-based activities in Maluku. Undoubtedly, the data on

Methodology  33 church-based project work proved to be more problematic than expected. Many data sources and much church documentation were lost during the Maluku conflict and, hence, had to be reconstructed in a cumbersome process with the patient support of leading church representatives. After combining the described sources and perception indicators, the resulting dataset comprises observations across roughly 60 communities on the sub-district level. The second step was concerned with the actual estimation process. Here, a series of OLS analyses were carried out in which proxies of peace outcomes (lower incidence of local conflict-induced violence) were regressed against the level of church-based activities in respective sub-districts. To test for robustness, regression estimates are reported for different sets of socioeconomic controls. These control variables include measures on subdistrict population, household prosperity (economic status), and the distance to local security forces (district police posts).

Qualitative comparative analysis (QCA) The QCA technique is based on Boolean algebra and set-theoretic analyses. It provides a unique opportunity not only to examine the influence of specific conditions (i.e., church-based activities) on observable outcomes (indicators of conflict transformation), but also allows an assessment of other relevant contextual factors. This mode of inquiry is therefore helpful in identifying the effects of additional social, political, and economic factors that shape conflict transformation outcomes in local communities. The QCA research design also makes it possible to examine different combinations of these contextual or supplementary factors. This assessment of different permutations of relevant conditions provides a better understanding of reinforcing and mitigating context factors and, therefore, a more grounded perspective of the effects of church-based activities (Ragin 1987, 2006; Schneider & Wagemann 2012). The primary survey data of the research project allowed for the testing of a number of interesting sets of conditions consistent with the second research question (i.e., “to what extent have church-based activities been affected by specific economic, political, or social contexts?”). Economic and social conditions, which are tested in the QCA analysis, include local income and education levels. Here, the guiding assumption was that communities with lower socioeconomic pressures (e.g., higher average incomes) might evince lower levels of conflict. Moreover, educational attainment is commonly seen as a conflict-attenuating factor, not least because it enhances job and life opportunities and hence may reduce the likelihood of being recruited to local militias and armed activities.

34  Methodology QCA analyses were also used to gauge additional sociopolitical aspects such as the prevalence of social capital, fundamentalist religious orientations, and ethnic identifications. In general, we assumed that – following Putnam (1993) – high levels of social capital imply a greater presence of cross-cutting solidarity and therefore a means of moderating local tensions. This appears to be sensible, particularly if local social capital entails “bridging” relationships (across different ethnic and religious groups) rather than merely “bonding” relationships (within a specific ethnic or religious group). Conversely, higher levels of fundamentalist religious attitudes or ethnic identification, which tend to sharpen religious and ethnic divides, were assumed to be constraining conditions.

Fieldwork The study rests on extensive fieldwork. An exploratory trip to the Philippines and Indonesia, including Mindanao and Ambon, was conducted in September and October 2015. During the trip, numerous interviews were conducted with politicians, scholars, peace activists, representatives of religious organizations (both Christian and Muslim), and civil society and development donor organizations. Apart from meeting resource persons, the trip also served the function of identifying partner and host institutions for the organization of surveys and data collection in both conflict regions. The local institutions eventually selected for the main fieldwork were the Institute for Autonomy and Governance at the Notre Dame University in Cotabato City and the Department of Sociology at the Pattimura University in Ambon City. The main fieldwork took place between February and June 2016; first in Mindanao (February to April), then in Ambon (April to June). However, unfortunately, project realities on the ground in Mindanao were characterized by a fragile peace and, hence, posed numerous challenges and constraints. Here, the deteriorating security conditions made it necessary to scale down some of the projected field activities. Bomb explosions during the administration and assessment of field surveys (in Cotabato City and Zamboanga City), alleged attempts by the Islamic State to expand clandestine operations in the southern Philippines and to build up a Southeast Asian front (Jones 2017), as well as violent incidents during the 2016 general election campaigns led to a premature end to our fieldwork in Cotabato. This was consistent with international and national security warnings and a widespread withdrawal of foreign expert staff from the region. A final visit to the project site in Ambon took place in October 2016, with the objective of completing information and data that could not be obtained in previous stages of fieldwork.

Methodology  35

Notes 1 For a critical assessment of this literature, see Huotari & Rüland (2014, 2018). 2 This preparatory methodological framework was submitted under the title Analysis of Ecclesiastical Peace and Reconciliation Efforts: Methodological Frame and Case Selection Strategies, Jürgen Rüland, Christian von Lübke, Marcel Baumann, and Anne-Kathrin Weber, University of Freiburg, 2014. 3 DEPAdev is jointly organized by the Konrad Adenauer Stiftung (KAS) Philippines Office with the Institute for Autonomy and Governance (IAG) at the Notre Dame University in Cotabato City. The DEPAdev project rationale is that through the formation of political parties, Muslim, Christian, indigenous, and other underrepresented groups “shall be empowered for active political participation under a parliamentary system,” available at: http://depadev.com/about-us/ (accessed 1 May 2016). 4 For a discussion on critical discourse analysis, see also Jäger (1993), Fairclough (1995), Wodak (2014), and Wodak and Meyer (2015). 5 Scholars interested in working with the survey questionnaires may obtain them from Jürgen Rüland or Christian von Lübke.

References Ahram, Ariel I. (2011): “The Theory and Method of Comparative Area Studies,” Qualitative Research 11(1): 69–90. Ahram, Ariel I., Köllner, Patrick  & Sil, Rudra (eds.) (2018): Comparative Area Studies: Methodological Rationales and Cross-Regional Applications, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Basedau, Matthias  & Köllner, Patrick (2007): “Area Studies, Comparative Area Studies, and the Study of Politics: Context, Substance, and Methodological Challenges,” Zeitschrift für Vergleichende Politikwissenschaft 1(1): 105–124. Bennett, Andrew & Checkel, Jeffrey T. (eds.) (2014): Process Tracing: From Metaphor to Analytic Tool, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Berg-Schlosser, Dirk (2012): “Comparative Area Studies  – Goldener Mittelweg zwischen Regionalstudien und universalistischen Ansätzen?” Zeitschrift für Vergleichende Politikwissenschaft 6(1): 1–16. Checkel, Jeffrey T. (2005): It’s Process Stupid! Process Tracing in the Study of European and International Politics, Oslo: University of Oslo, Centre for European Studies, Working Paper No. 26. Checkel, Jeffrey T. (2006): “Tracing Causal Mechanisms,” International Studies Review 8(2): 362–370. Creswell, John W. & Plano Clark, Vicki L. (2007): Designing and Conducting Mixed Methods Research, Thousand Oaks, London & New Delhi: Sage Publications. Croissant, Aurel & Bünte, Marco (eds.) (2011): The Crisis of Democratic Governance in Southeast Asia, Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Fairclough, Norman (1995): Critical Discourse Analysis: The Critical Study of Language. London & New York: Longman. Foucault, Michel ([1968] 2014): “An Archeology of Discourse,” In: Johannes Angermüller et al. (eds.), The Discourse Studies Reader: Main Currents in Theory and Analysis, Amsterdam: John Benjamins Publishing Company, pp. 98–110.

36  Methodology Foucault, Michel (1969): L’Archéologie du Savoir, Paris: Éditions Gallimard. Foucault, Michel (1970): The Order of Things, New York: Pantheon. Geddes, Barbara (1990): “How the Cases You Choose Affect the Answers You Get: Selection Bias in Comparative Politics,” Political Analysis 2: 131–150. Gee, James Paul & Handford, Michael (eds.) (2012): The Routledge Handbook of Discourse Analysis, London: Routledge. George, Alexander L. & Bennett, Andrew (2005): Case Studies and Theory Development, Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Gerring, John (2008): Case Study Research. Principles and Practices, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Heindl, Andreas (2015): “Diskursanalyse,” In: Achim Hildebrandt et  al. (eds.), Methodologie, Methoden, Forschungsdesign: Ein Lehrbuch für fortgeschrittene Studierende der Politikwissenschaft, Wiesbaden: VS Springer, pp. 257–294. Huotari, Mikko  & Rüland, Jürgen (2014): “Context, Concepts and Comparison in Southeast Asian Studies – Introduction to the Special Issue,” Pacific Affairs 87(3): 415–440. Huotari, Mikko & Rüland, Jürgen (2018): “Context, Concepts and Comparison in Southeast Asian Studies,” In: Ariel I. Ahram, Patrick Köllner & Rudra Sil (eds.), Comparative Area Studies: Methodological Rationales and Cross-Regional Applications, Oxford: Oxford University Press, pp. 85–102. International Alert (2014): Rebellion, Political Violence and Shadow Crimes in the Bangsamoro: The Bangsamoro Conflict Monitoring System (BCMS), 2011–2013, London: International Alert. Jäger, Siegfried (1993): Kritische Diskursanalyse: Eine Einführung, Duisburg: DISS. Jones, Sidney (2017): “How ISIS Got a Foothold in the Philippines,” available at: https://mobile.nytimes.com/2017/06/04/opinion/isis-pilippines-rodrigo-duterte. html?mwrsm=facebookreferer=http%3a%2f%2fm (accessed 23 December 2017). Katzenstein, Peter J. (2007): “Regionalism Reconsidered,” Journal of East Asian Studies 7: 395–412. Katzenstein, Peter J.  & Rudra Sil (2008): “Eclectic Theorizing in the Study and Practice of International Relations,” In: Christian Reus-Smit  & Duncan Snidal (eds.), The Oxford Handbook of International Relations, Oxford: Oxford University Press, pp. 109–130. Keller, Reiner (2011): Wissenssoziologische Diskursanalyse: Grundlegung eines Forschungsprogramms, Wiesbaden: VS Verlag für Sozialwissenschaften. Mayring, Philipp (2002): Einführung in die Qualitative Sozialforschung, Weinheim: Beltz. Pepinsky, Thomas (2014): “Context and Method in Southeast Asian Politics,” Pacific Affairs 87(3): 441–461. Putnam, Robert D. (1993): Making Democracy Work: Civic Traditions in Modern Italy, Princeton: Princeton University Press. Ragin, Charles C. (1987): The Comparative Method: Moving Beyond Qualitative and Quantitative Strategies, Berkeley: University of California Press.

Methodology  37 Ragin, Charles C. (2006): “Set Relations in Social Research: Evaluating Their Consistency and Coverage,” Political Analysis 14(3): 291–310. Schimmelfennig, Frank (2006): “Prozessanalyse,” In: Joachim Behnke, Thomas Gschwend, Delia Schindler & Kai-Uwe Schnapp (eds.), Methoden der Politikwissenschaft: Neuere qualitative und quantitative Analyseverfahren, Baden-Baden: Nomos, pp. 263–271. Schneider, Carsten Q.  & Wagemann, Claudius (2012): Set-theoretic Methods for the Social Sciences: A Guide to Qualitative Comparative Analysis, New York: Cambridge University Press. Von Lübke, Christian (2014a): “Modular Comparisons – Grounding and Gauging Southeast Asian Governance,” Pacific Affairs 87(3): 509–538. Von Lübke, Christian (2014b): “Grounding Governance Research in Southeast Asia: A Framework for Controlled Multimethod Policy Analysis,” In: Mikko Huotari, Jürgen Rüland & Judith Schlehe (eds.), Methodology and Research Practice in Southeast Asian Studies, Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. 213–232. Wodak, Ruth (2014): “Critical Discourse Analysis,” In: Constant Leung & Brian V. Street (eds.), The Routledge Companion to English Studies, London: Routledge, pp. 302–317. Wodak, Ruth  & Meyer, Michael. (2015): “Critical Discourse Studies: History, Agenda, Theory and Methodology,” In: Ruth Wodak  & Michael Meyer (eds.), Methods of Critical Discourse Studies: Introducing Qualitative Methods, London: Sage Publications, pp. 1–22.

4 Root causes of religious conflict in Mindanao and Maluku History, grievances, and conflict trajectories Commensurate with our analytical framework (chapter  2), this chapter traces the evolution of the conflicts in Mindanao and Ambon. It identifies the root causes of the conflicts and highlights the key events that have facilitated the outbreak and determined the trajectory of the two civil wars. Methodologically the chapter relies on process tracing as outlined in the previous chapter. The chapter argues that both conflicts had deep historical roots, which caused the social and economic grievances that, aggravated by perceived discriminatory practices, have spurred the violence, while – with the increasing duration of the strife, albeit with varying intensity – conflict economies and greed have hindered conflict resolution and reconciliation. Religion played a major role in mobilizing the masses and justifying the violence. In the subsequent sections, we first analyze conflict evolution in the southern Philippines including the church as a party in the conflict, before eventually turning to Maluku where we also assess the role of the church in the violence.

The Moro conflict in the southern Philippines The conflicts in the southern Philippines and Maluku have deep historical roots. They explain the profound and enduring distrust between the warring parties and the many obstacles to be overcome on the way to peaceful conflict settlement. In the Philippines, conflict with the country’s southern parts dates back as far as the sixteenth century. With the arrival of the Spaniards, the northbound advance of Islam, which had arrived in the Sulu archipelago and on the island of Mindanao in the fourteenth century, came to an abrupt halt. After taking possession of Luzon and the Visayan islands, Spanish missionaries accompanying the colonizers Christianized the native population. Yet Spanish attempts to extend their territorial control to the south were bound to fail due to fierce resistance by the region’s Muslim sultanates (Phelan 1959; Gowing 1967; McKenna 1998). The stigmatization

Religious conflict in Mindanao and Maluku  39 of Filipino Muslims dates back to this period. While Spaniards, in analogy to the Reconquista in their own country, derogatively named Muslims “Moros” (Brown 1988: 56), the Spaniards inadvertently gave them an ethnic marker behind which they could rally despite deep internal divisions. In fact, in the twentieth century the term “Moro” and its usage became a powerful symbol of common identity, resistance, and courage for the Muslims of Mindanao (McKenna 2002: 545; Liow 2006: 8; D’Ambra 2011: 78). Until the mid-nineteenth century, when steam-powered gunboats increased the Spanish military’s strength (McKenna 2002: 543), the Moros remained a perennial security threat to the weak and thinly stretched Spanish military forces in the Philippines (Gowing 1967: 50). Moro slave raids against Spanish outposts in the Visayas were a frequent occurrence in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries (Schumacher 1984: 261) and strongly shaped the Spanish and Christian Filipino abhorrence of what they considered uncivilized, infidel, and marauding Muslim hordes (ibid.: 56). It was not until the very end of the Spanish colonization in the 1890s that the Spaniards eventually gained control over the Cotabato heartland of Muslim Mindanao and a modicum of allegiance from the region’s Muslim nobility (McKenna 1998: 88). This means that for three centuries the Moros were able to develop a separate culture and society independent from the rest of the Philippines (Gowing 1979: 7f.). The Moros also fiercely fought the Americans who, after the AmericanSpanish War of 1898, succeeded Spain as the colonial power in the Philippines. While military government was replaced by civil rule as early as 1901 in the Visayas and Luzon, it continued in Muslim and tribal areas until 1913. Yet after pacification of the south, the American colonial administration unwittingly ushered in developments, which in the 1960s and 1970s strongly fomented Muslim-Christian antagonism. Infrastructure projects trickling down to the south enabled the influx of Christian settlers from the north, initially in moderate numbers, which the Americans supported as a strategy to integrate Muslims into a future postcolonial Filipino nation (McKenna 1998: 106–110). This policy, which gained momentum in the Commonwealth period (1935–1946), set in motion a dramatic demographic transformation, at the end of which the Moros and the tribal population (Lumads) were relegated from a majority to a minority in their own homelands. While in 1920 Muslims accounted for over 80 percent of the population in the south, by the 1980s they represented less than 20  percent. Currently, 9  percent of the people in the southern Philippines are tribal (Lumads), about 18  percent are Muslims, and the remainder Christians. Today, Muslims constitute a majority only in five out of 14 southern provinces (Maguindanao, Lanao del Sur, Sulu, Tawi, and Zamboanga del Sur). Exacerbating this development was the introduction of a land titling system,

40  Religious conflict in Mindanao and Maluku the Torrens system, which was alien to the Muslims and accelerated the loss of their ancestral lands and their impoverishment. According to existing estimates, a large majority of Moros – roughly 80 percent – continue to be landless (Bacani 2005: 4; Buendia 2005). While Muslims resisted integration into the newly independent Philippine state,1 fearing that they would be marginalized in a majority Christian nation state governed from Manila (Majul 1976; Majul 1988: 899), subsequent Philippine administrations were able to co-opt the Muslim nobility (datus) by providing them access to electoral positions in the local government system. Yet immigration of Christian homesteaders from Luzon and the Visayas took on an unprecedented scale, as President Magsaysay (1953–1957) sought to defuse the agrarian Hukbalahap rebellion in Central Luzon through the large-scale resettlement of poor peasants to the fertile and thinly populated plains of Mindanao (McKenna 2002: 545). With almost 32,000 migrants arriving in Mindanao per week in the 1960s (May 1992: 128), resettlement served as a convenient social safety valve for the ruling Philippine oligarchy. While it eased social pressure in the country’s agrarian heartlands without the need to initiate urgent socioeconomic reform, tensions began to build up in many parts of Mindanao. Migrant settlers and corporate investors engaged in large-scale land grabbing and Christian politicians increasingly competed with the Muslim nobility for local government posts, thereby progressively changing political power equations in the south. Although corporate investment increasingly flowed into resource-rich Mindanao in the post-Second World War period, it did not benefit the region. As Quimpo observed, the two predominantly Muslim provinces of Sulu and Maguindanao are still the two poorest in the entire country (Quimpo 2001: 275; Coronel Ferrer 2013: 4). With the formation of militias such as the Christian Ilagas (literally “rats”) and the Muslim Barracudas and Blackshirts, and the private armies of local politicians and clan leaders, Muslim-Christian relationships became increasingly violent. Mutual harassment and massacres, such as that of Muslim army recruits on Corregidor in 1968 or in Manili (North Cotabato) and Tacub in June and November 1971, further heightened communal tensions (Majul 1988: 904). While material grievances triggered by demographic change, land grabbing, the usurpation of political positions, and communal violence deepened Muslim sentiments of deprivation and thus constituted a significant factor pushing the Muslim-Christian relationship beyond easy reconciliation, cognitive factors finally set the stage for civil war. Paradoxically, government attempts to better integrate the Muslim population into the Philippine state through special education programs played a major role in this development. Young Muslim graduates from Philippine universities and religious

Religious conflict in Mindanao and Maluku  41 schools in the Middle East challenged the traditional Muslim nobility and became a counter-elite that was able to recruit disgruntled Muslims into newly formed militant organizations such as the Mindanao Independence Movement (MIM) in 1968 and the Moro National Liberation Front (MNLF) in 1971 (Gutierrez 1999: 314). Led by Nur Misuari, an erstwhile political science instructor from the University of the Philippines in Manila, Muslim dissidents galvanized their resistance by constructing heroic myths centering on the historical figure of Sultan Kudarat, creating an Islamic socialist identity, and eventually propagating secession from the Philippine state. Civil war finally broke out as a consequence of the imposition of martial law by President Marcos in September 1972 (Marcos 1978: 15–19). Marcos, inter alia, justified martial law by the restive situation in the south. However, Muslim organizations refused to surrender their firearms as demanded by the emergency rule, fearing the prospect of becoming defenseless in an increasingly centralized, Christian-dominated Philippine state. In the years following martial law, violence in the Philippine south escalated and reached an all-time high. At the time, an estimated 30,000 MNLF combatants tied down major parts of the Philippine armed forces (McKenna 1998: 165; Abubakar 2000: 125). The majority of the conflict’s so far more than 130,000 casualties lost their lives in this period.2 Amid mounting international pressure exerted by the Organization of the Islamic Conference (OIC) and Arab countries spearheaded by Libya, and apprehensions about an oil boycott, the Marcos regime signed the Tripoli peace agreement with the MNLF in 1976. In the Tripoli Agreement, the MNLF gave up its demand for secession, while the Philippine government agreed to establish an autonomous region in 13 provinces of the southern Philippines (Abubakar 2000: 126). The autonomy afforded the Moros the right to set up their own administration and representative bodies, their court system based on Islamic sharia law, and their own educational system (Rüland 2006: 222). By the end of 1977, the failure of the Tripoli Agreement set in motion a new round of armed hostilities. The Marcos regime had implemented the agreement unilaterally (Abubakar 2000: 126), restricting autonomy after a plebiscite to include ten instead of 13 provinces in two autonomous regions (Region IX and Region XII) instead of one region. It also succeeded in installing traditional Muslim politicians and MNLF defectors in the local governments and representative bodies of the two autonomous regions, thereby contributing to the deep factionalization of the post-Tripoli MNLF (Talibas-Nunez 1997: 24; McKenna 1998: 168; Molloy 1983: 8, 18; Ahmad 1999: 34).3 Moreover, the government’s Attractions and Amnesty programs lured many rank-and-file members of the MNLF to come down from the hills and surrender (Molloy 1983: 20; Mastura 1986: 57).

42  Religious conflict in Mindanao and Maluku It thus took until the collapse of the Marcos regime in 1986 and the rise of Corazon Aquino to the presidency for peace negotiations in the south to be resumed. Prospects for a lasting peace were enhanced by the provisions of the 1987 Constitution, which called for the creation of an Autonomous Region of Muslim Mindanao (ARMM). However, a November 1989 plebiscite, organized by the government in line with constitutional requirements, mirrored the demographic changes in Mindanao over the previous decades, with only four provinces set to be included in the ARMM.4 Unsurprisingly, the MNLF rejected the whole process which, it claimed, was at variance with the provisions of the Tripoli Agreement and also reneged on the Jeddah Accord of January  1987 in which the government had conceded an expanded area of autonomy. By 1988, negotiations were deadlocked and the MNLF went back to armed struggle (Rüland 2006: 223). New opportunities for a peace agreement came only with the succeeding Ramos administration. A peace accord concluded with Indonesian mediation and under the supervision of the OIC was eventually signed after longwinded negotiations between the Philippine government and the MNLF in September  1996. The two-phased implementation process was envisaged to start with the creation of the Southern Philippines Council for Peace and Development (SPCPD), a transitory body to promote socioeconomic development in 13 provinces covered by the Tripoli Agreement (Abubakar 2000: 131), which in a second phase, following elections, would proceed with the establishment of a new Regional Autonomous Government patterned after the Tripoli Agreement. The Regional Autonomous Government would consist of an executive council, a legislative assembly, and representation in the national government. It would be given the power to oversee taxation, set up Special Regional Security Forces, create an educational system incorporating Islamic boarding schools (madari), and set up Islamic sharia courts. However, once more the implementation was saddled with a plethora of problems. Phase two was several years behind schedule (Coronel Ferrer 2000: 166) and, short of funding, the regional autonomous government headed by MNLF leader Nur Misuari could not meaningfully alleviate the region’s poverty (Abubakar 2000: 139). The agreement also failed to address the problem of land grabbing, which was at the core of Muslim impoverishment (Bertrand 2000: 52). Only a trickle of the development funds committed by central government agencies and international donors reached the region. The Asian Financial Crisis further exacerbated these problems (Abubakar 2000: 141; Coronel Ferrer 2013: 11). Even worse, the Misuari-led regional autonomous government  – like its ARMM predecessors5 – was soon discredited due to severe mismanagement including endemic nepotism and corruption.6 Muslim majority provinces in Mindanao including Sulu, Tawi-Tawi, Basilan, Maguindanao, Lanao del Sur, and

Religious conflict in Mindanao and Maluku  43 Lanao del Norte remained the poorest in the country (Buendia 2005). In April 2001, Misuari was ousted as MNLF chief, after which he returned to armed resistance. The peace agreement was also not helped by the fact that it was concluded solely with the MNLF. In 1984, the deeply factionalized MNLF eventually split, giving rise to the formal establishment of the Moro Islamic Liberation Front (MILF) under the leadership of Hashim Salamat.7 While the MNLF mainly consisted of ethnic Tausug living in the Sulu archipelago and western Mindanao, the MILF was primarily an organization of Maguindanaons and Maranaoans. Much more than the MNLF, the MILF championed a religious identity (McKenna 1998: 232), culminating in the demand to establish an independent Islamic state based on sharia law in Mindanao.8 Its leader, Hashim Salamat, was said to be strongly inspired by modernist Islamic thinkers such as Syed Qutb, a leading member of the Egyptian Muslim Brotherhood (Jolob 2000: 14), and Syed Abul Mau’dudi of Pakistan (Liow 2006: 16).9 In the process, the presence of foreign preachers increased, without, however, tangibly deepening and purifying the religiosity of the local population (McKenna 1998: 227), which was also qualified as “folk Islam.”10 A 1997 ceasefire with the MILF was short-lived and quickly collapsed due to MILF demands for autonomy that were unacceptable for the Philippine government. The resumption of hostilities peaked in the “all-out war” launched by Ramos’ successor Joseph Estrada against the MILF between April and September 2000 (Buendia 2006). The subsequent stationing of US Special Operations Forces in the southern Philippines after 11 September 2001 also did little to ease the tensions. Moreover, the terrorist Abu Sayyaf (“sword bearer”) Group which, disappointed by Misuari’s peace negotiations, broke away from the MNLF in the 1990s, further complicated the situation in the south. As a result, both the MILF and Abu Sayyaf, claiming that they were not part of the peace process, in consonance with lost commands and changing clan alliances became spoilers of the peace process (Liow 2006: 16; Kreuzer & Weiberg 2007). After assuming office in 2001, President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo declared a unilateral ceasefire (“all-out peace”) (Jubair 2007: 38) and started a revitalization of the peace talks with Malaysian government mediation (USIP 2005: 6). She thereby responded to the fact that in the 2000s the MILF had emerged as the strongest Muslim organization in the Philippine south. With its leader Nur Misuari ousted as ARMM governor and MNLF chairman and imprisoned after a violent attack on Jolo in November 2001,11 the MNLF was in constant decline, while the MILF had grown to an armed force of more than 12,000 fighters. President Macapagal-Arroyo’s renewed peace initiative (Quimpo 2016: 6) resulted in the Tripoli Agreement of 2001, in which the parties consented to a negotiation agenda with three

44  Religious conflict in Mindanao and Maluku main themes: security, rehabilitation, and ancestral domain (USIP 2005: 6; Herbolzheimer 2015: 3). After a short flaring up of fighting in 2003,12 in 2004, the government and the MILF agreed on the creation of an International Monitoring Team (Herbolzheimer 2015: 2). In 2008, new hostilities interrupted the negotiations after the Supreme Court struck down by a narrow eight to seven vote as unconstitutional the Memorandum of Agreement  – Ancestral Domain (MOA-AD) – a government-MILF agreement (D’Ambra 2011: 85; International Crisis Group 2011: 2; Quimpo 2016: 9)13 – only for the negotiations to be resumed with the formation of an International Contact Group in 2009. The latter was introduced with the objective of acting as observer to the negotiations and adviser to the parties (Herbolzheimer 2015: 2). In 2012, the MILF and the Philippine government agreed to end the violent struggle and signed the Framework Agreement on the Bangsamoro (FAB) in which the roadmap for the transition to an autonomous Moro government was formulated (Herbolzheimer 2015: 3).14 Following several annexes on different topics, the parties finally signed the Comprehensive Agreement on the Bangsamoro (CAB) in March 2014. The Agreement is centered on the establishment of “Bangsamoro,” a new self-governing entity replacing the existing ARMM (ibid.: 3), and provided Moros with greater political powers and more control over the region’s natural resources. In order to set up the new Bangsamoro region, the so-called “Bangsamoro Basic Law” (BBL) has to be passed by the Philippine Congress (Chan 2014: 26). After enactment of the law, a plebiscite will be held to decide the precise jurisdiction of the Bangsamoro political entity (ibid.: 3). It had been agreed by the negotiating parties that the new Bangsamoro region would be established before the end of the Aquino administration. However, with the Philippine Congress’ failure to pass the BBL before the 9 May 2016 presidential and congressional elections, conflict transformation came to a standstill. Pivotal for the legislature’s refusal to pass the BBL was an armed encounter in the Maguindanao village of Mamasapano on 25 January 2015. On that day, special forces from the Philippine National Police (PNP), who were hunting two dreaded terrorists, Malaysian Zulkifli Abdhir alias Marwan and Filipino Abdul Basit Usman (International Crisis Group 2016: 7), trespassed on MILF territory and subsequently clashed with forces from the MILF and the Bangsamoro Islamic Freedom Fighters (BIFF), a spoiler group which in late 2010 under the leadership of Ameril Umbra Kato had severed ties with the MILF in disagreement over the latter’s participation in the peace process (Quimpo 2016: 10).15 In the clash, the special forces unit was virtually wiped out, leaving 44 officers dead (ibid.: 11; de Jesus & de Jesus 2018: 159–195). The clash enabled many legislators to rehearse long-held prejudices against the Moros, claiming that

Religious conflict in Mindanao and Maluku  45 they cannot be trusted and in reality are not interested in a lasting peace settlement. The House of Representatives and Senate markedly revised their versions of the BBL versions, thereby reducing or deleting powers that had already been vested in the ARMM (International Crisis Group 2016: 8). Citing constitutional objections and other pretexts, they effectively shelved deliberations on the law, which were not resumed prior to the elections of 9 May 2016.16 Thus, despite strong lobbying by the outgoing president, a key provision of the CAB that calls for the passage of the BBL and the establishment of the new Bangsamoro political entity was not implemented under the Aquino administration, although there is still some hope for the BBL, as the new president Rodrigo Duterte alluded to combining the BBL with the establishment of a federal form of government.17 On a more positive note, despite the uncertainties surrounding the BBL, the Philippine government made headway in separate peace negotiations with the remnants of the MNLF. On 26 January 2016, Manila signed the so-called “Jeddah Declaration,” in which both sides affirmed their willingness to achieve a lasting peace and to push for the full implementation of the 1996 Final Peace Agreement.18 This was a remarkable achievement given the fact that only three years earlier the MNLF had staged a siege of Zamboanga City which left over 200 persons dead and displaced some 120,000 people (Franco 2013; Chan 2014: 28).19 However, despite the ceasefire monitored by a Malaysian-led international team, violence continues in the Philippine south. Analyses that depict violence in the region solely as the result of fighting between the Muslim rebels and the Philippine state are thus reductionist simplifications of the reality. The Muslim insurgency is – as Kreuzer and Weiberg argue – insolubly interlinked with other conflict layers (Kreuzer & Weiberg 2007: 388). Some of the violence associated with insurgents is due to intra- and interinsurgent struggles (International Alert 2014: 24). Most rebel organizations rely on decentralized command structures which mainly rest on personal loyalties. The latter are precarious, dependent on political expedience, and thus frequently cause armed clashes between competing rebel units (Kreuzer  & Weiberg 2007: 413). Inter-insurgent violence must be attributed to spoiler groups such as the MILF breakaway Bangsamoro Islamic Freedom Fighters (BIFF) and more recent attempts to build up an Islamic State (IS) front in Mindanao under the aegis of the Middle East-educated Maute brothers, a group of radical Islamists based in Lanao del Sur province, and Isnilon Hapilon, the leader of an Abu Sayyaf faction (International Crisis Group 2016: 14; Gunaratna 2017a: 3, 2017b).20 Hapilon had pledged loyalty to Islamic State leader Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi when the latter declared the caliphate in Mosul in 2014 (Franco 2014; Singh 2016, 2017; Habulan 2016: 20; Jones 2017),21 and Hapilon was named Amir of Wilayah

46  Religious conflict in Mindanao and Maluku Al-Filibin, a newly formed IS province in the southern Philippines (Singh 2016; Singh & Ramakrishna 2016; Gunaratna 2016: 22). After twice raiding the town of Butig (Lanao del Sur) in late 2016, a few months later, in May 2017, the Maute-Hapilon jihadists attacked Marawi City, the capital of Lanao del Sur province (Gunaratna 2017b, 2017c).22 It took the Philippine army five months of fierce fighting and the declaration of martial law for all of Mindanao, before it eventually succeeded in completely dislodging the rebels from the city.23 Adding to the complexity of the conflict in Mindanao (Abinales 2018: 39) is the fluid nature of alliances among local clans (Kreuzer 2005). These clans compete fiercely over political positions and economic opportunities. Armed clashes proliferate during election times, but also over the stakes of the region’s widely ramified shadow economy. A study by International Alert, a World Bank-affiliated research group mapping violence in Mindanao and the Sulu archipelago, impressively confirmed what other studies had already suggested.24 Much more than religion, other factors such as “political competition between local elites, clan feuding (rido) or illicit economic activities” have spurred violent incidents in the Mindanao frontier region (International Alert 2014: 15; Abinales 2018: 39). As a survey of the research group covering the years 2011–2013 reveals, of the 2,578 violent incidents registered in Muslim Mindanao in this period, more than 30  percent must be attributed to clashes that were fueled by turf wars in the region’s deeply entrenched shadow economies (production and trade of illicit guns and drugs,25 kidnapping for ransom, logging, cattle rustling, smuggling, illegal gambling, human trafficking, and pyramiding scams), and more than 28 percent had political backgrounds such as electoral violence or factional rivalries and power struggles.26 Only about 10 percent had identity-based causes. A scrutiny of conflict micro dynamics suggests that the interests of local warlords, security forces, and insurgent groups are deeply enmeshed (Kreuzer 2005: 13; Kreuzer & Weiberg 2007: 387). The all-pervading clan structures penetrate and capture formal institutions and frequently paralyze them (ibid.: 389). The clans usually entertain links to the army, the police, local militia troops (such as the Civilian Armed Forces Geographical Units (CAGFU)), lost commands, rebel units, and criminal gangs including the notorious Pentagon gang27 and the Al Khobar group (International Alert 2014: 25). Some of these groups, in particular Abu Sayyaf28 and the Pentagon gang, engage in kidnap for ransom and extortion (Coronel Ferrer 2013: 45). What thus at first sight appears to be an armed clash between government forces and rebels is often merely a fight between rival clans. Such clashes can produce an endless cycle of strife as killings of clan members trigger clan feuds (rido). Rido is a violent method of settling blood

Religious conflict in Mindanao and Maluku  47 debts through revenge (Gonzales 1999: 88; Kreuzer 2005; Magno Torres III 2007: 3). The cycle of violence can only be interrupted through elaborate external mediation, on the basis of which the aggrieved party is compensated with “blood money” (ibid.: 92). The fact that the clan structure is hierarchical makes peace work extremely difficult: the loyalty of clan members is greater towards the clan than towards intervening governmental or religious authorities. The enduring cultural phenomenon of rido, which has not withered away with modernization, thus poses a serious obstacle to peacebuilding. How serious the problem of rido is for peacebuilding has been documented in a study edited by Wilfredo Magno Torres III (2007). This study documented 1,266 rido cases in Mindanao between the 1930s and 2005, killing over 5,500 people and displacing thousands. 64  percent of these cases remain unresolved. Even worse is the finding that rido cases increase towards the end of the study period: 50 percent (637 cases) occurred in the 2000–2004 period, which amounts to about 127 new cases per year (Magno-Torres III 2007: 8).

The Catholic Church and the peace process in the southern Philippines While the previous paragraphs have examined the roles of the Philippine government and major Muslim rebel organizations as conflict parties and peace actors, the question of what role the Catholic Church played in the peace process remains. The overwhelming majority of Christian migrants to Mindanao belong to the Roman Catholic Church, although in recent years Protestant and especially evangelical churches have gained ground in the southern Philippines. The latter especially are suspected by Muslims to promote conversion and are thus considered more part of the problem than of the solution. Yet the political role of the Roman Catholic Church has also been highly ambivalent in the Philippines. While under Spanish colonialism the Catholic Church for most of the time sided with the oppressors (KAP Research n.d.; Tuggy 1971; Kessler & Rüland 2006, 2008), reforms during the American period and especially after national independence gave rise to a Church engaged in social work and advocacy for the poor (Youngblood 1990). Nevertheless, divisions in the Catholic Church persisted and became most pronounced during the martial law period. While conservative bishops supported the Marcos regime, left-leaning clergy influenced by the theology of liberation built Basic Christian Communities (BCC) and in some cases even cooperated with the pro-communist New People’s Army (NPA) (Youngblood 1990; Kessler & Rüland 2006, 2008). Most significantly, the Catholic Church led by Manila Archbishop Cardinal Jaime L. Sin was also a crucial

48  Religious conflict in Mindanao and Maluku actor in the so-called People’s Power Revolution, which eventually brought down the dictatorial Marcos regime in February 1986 (Thompson 1995). With respect to the role of the Catholic Church in the Mindanao peace process, it is no exaggeration to claim that the CAB and the BBL have deeply divided the Catholic Church. There are eminent supporters of the peace process and the BBL, but there are also high-profile opponents within the Church hierarchy. One key supporter of the BBL and a long-time advocate of interreligious dialogue is Antonio Ledesma, the archbishop of Cagayan de Oro.29 In May  2015, Ledesma warned that the “alternative of scrapping the Bangsamoro Basic Law would be a return to square one a generation ago and may result in continuing violence and unrest in Mindanao.”30 Another outspoken supporter of the BBL is Cardinal Orlando Quevedo, the archbishop of Cotabato City, who appeared in nationwide pro-BBL advertisements and cinema spots. At the same time, Quevedo’s own auxiliary bishop of Cotabato, Jose Colin Bagaforo, is a vocal opponent of the BBL. Bagaforo argues that more time is needed to look into the “constitutional infirmities” of the BBL,31 attributing the growing opposition to the BBL to the lack of careful study of the law and urging President Aquino not to hasten its passage.32 Probably the most prominent opponent of the BBL within the Catholic hierarchy is Fernando R. Capalla, archbishop emeritus of Davao. Capalla served as president of the Catholic Bishops Conference of the Philippines and was one of the founders of the Bishops-Ulama Conference (BUC). He has also been a member of the Episcopal Council for Interreligious Dialogue (ECID) (Larousse 2001: 480; D’Ambra 2011: 76). It is remarkable that Capalla, a prominent advocate of interreligious dialogue, not only opposes the BBL but even went to the Supreme Court against the CAB and the draft BBL document. In his opposition, Capalla was joined by several other high-ranking Church representatives, including Ramon C. Arguelles, the archbishop of Lipa, and Romulo dela Cruz, the archbishop of Zamboanga. At the time of writing, this court case had not yet been ruled upon as the Supreme Court has postponed its judgement until after the passage of the BBL. This suggests that there is no coherent, consensual approach by the Catholic Church to the peace process. Until the administration of Benigno Aquino III, the BUC could be seen as one of the most vital and crucial tools of interreligious dialogue in the Philippines and an eminent conduit towards peace. The history of the BUC started in 1996, when the Ramos administration officially requested that Capalla and Muslim leader Mahid Mutilan form an interreligious organization with a special focus on the “moral and spiritual aspect of dialogue in Mindanao” (Evers 1998: 533; Larousse 2001: 480; D’Ambra 2016, 2011: 76). Mutilan was the governor

Religious conflict in Mindanao and Maluku  49 of Lanao del Sur and organized the Ulama League of the Philippines during the Ramos administration (Larousse 2001: 480; D’Ambra 2011: 76). After several meetings, the Bishops-Ulama Forum was officially launched in Cebu City in November 1996, later to be renamed the Bishops-Ulama Conference (D’Ambra 2011, 2016; Fitzpatrick 2008). The BUC met three to four times per year and had official financial and organizational support from the National Secretariat for Social Action (NASSA), Justice and Peace, the Office of the Presidential Advisor on the Peace Process, and the Catholic Relief Service (D’Ambra 2011, 2016; Fitzpatrick 2008). Father Sebastiano D’Ambra, the founder of the Silsilah (Arabic: literal “chain” or “link”) peace movement in Zamboanga City (D’Ambra 2011: 87; Espiritu 2017: 115),33 was the secretary of the Episcopal Commission for Interreligious Dialogue (ECID) at that time and was also tasked with organizing the BUF and BUC at the initial stages (D’Ambra 2016). D’Ambra delivered an empirical analysis of 13 BUC gatherings and concluded that the meetings facilitated a better understanding between Christians and Muslims in Mindanao (D’Ambra 2011: 86). However, the administration of Benigno Aquino III sidelined the BUC (D’Ambra 2016). There is now an almost complete lack of financial and organizational support for the BUC, rendering the organization largely dysfunctional and moribund. Many commentators, journalists, and academics see this fundamental change as the main reason why Bishop Capalla became one of the most vocal opponents of the CAB and the BBL, attaching a sense of disillusionment and bitterness to him. He wanted to see “his” BUC as the main “peacemaking actor,” but instead the BUC and Capalla himself have been marginalized in the conflict settlement. In a statement in December  2015, Capalla urged for the recognition of the BUC by the administration of the time and claimed that the Bishops-Ulama Conference was the “missing link in the peace process.”34 The BUC had also facilitated the organization of seminar workshops for Catholic and other private schools, including madrasas, with the objective of integrating interreligious dialogue and the culture of peace into their curriculum (Larousse 2001: 488). However, despite these grassroots activities, critics bemoaned that the BUC meetings focused primarily on theological differences while neglecting key themes such as the history of the relationship between Christians and Muslims in the Philippines, land rights, and resource extraction (Neumann 2009: 70).

The conflict in Ambon The context in which the conflict in Ambon occurred differed from that in the southern Philippines. In Indonesia, Islam is the dominant religion.

50  Religious conflict in Mindanao and Maluku While the Philippine Muslim population accounts for less than 8  percent of the whole, in Indonesia about 88 percent are Muslims and only 10 percent Christians. More than two-thirds of Indonesian Christians are Protestants, only about one-third Roman Catholics. However, deviating from the national share, in the province of Maluku, Christians until recently constituted a majority. While they lost this majority due to accelerated Muslim immigration into the province, in Ambon – the provincial capital and a major theater of the civil war in Maluku – they still hold a majority (International Crisis Group 2002: 1). As a result of the demographic changes the Christian-Muslim relationship in Ambon became increasingly tense. Yet there was no endemic communal violence prior to the end of the Suharto regime. Organized violence in Maluku and Ambon only broke out after the collapse of President Suharto’s authoritarian New Order regime in the period of democratic transition. This places the conflict in line with several other communal conflicts such as those in Kalimantan, East Timor, Aceh, Papua, and Central Sulawesi, all of which erupted at the same time and raised apprehensions that Indonesia was on the verge of becoming a failing state. As in the case of the southern Philippines, the roots of the conflict in Ambon date back to the colonial era. Islam reached Indonesia from India in the fourteenth century and spread in the archipelago in the following centuries. In the sixteenth century, Europeans arrived in the Moluccan islands, which were famous for their spices that at the time were highly coveted because they were an extremely profitable trade good in Europe. In the scramble to secure a monopoly in the spice trade, the first to gain a foothold in the Moluccas by establishing trading posts and fortifications were the Portuguese. Like the Spaniards in the Philippines, the Portuguese presence in the region went hand in hand with attempts to Christianize the local population. While the Portuguese brought Roman Catholicism to Ambon and other islands of the Moluccas, with the arrival of the Dutch in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries, Protestantism became the dominant religion in the Moluccas. Although the Dutch did not engage in active missionary work, they nevertheless favored Christians at the expense of the local Muslim population, who lived marginalized in the rural areas (Bertrand 2004: 115). The Christian Ambonese became the backbone of the Dutch colonial army and held administrative positions in the city of Ambon. Christians not only had better access to education than Muslims, they also accounted for the majority of the teaching personnel in the province’s educational system. Although in general actively supporting national independence, some Christians, especially those serving in the Dutch colonial army (Koninklijk Nederlands Indisch Leger, KNIL), met independence with apprehension.

Religious conflict in Mindanao and Maluku  51 They were afraid of becoming a minority in an Islamic country. In 1950, disgruntled Ambonese KNIL officers launched a separatist movement, which  – often overlooked  – had supporters in the Muslim community as well (Chauvel 1990: 23; Hehanussa 2013: 89). In April 1950, they declared the independence of a South Moluccan Republic (RMS). While their rebellion was swiftly crushed by the Indonesian armed forces (Tentara Nasional Indonesia, TNI), the province was henceforth considered a security risk by the central government in Jakarta.35 Thus during the Suharto era (1966– 1998), more than in other regions of the country, military officers held important local government positions in the Moluccas. Surprisingly, though, Christians were well represented in the Suharto state. They held important positions in the armed forces and their representation in the Cabinet was higher than their share of the population. This only changed in the early 1990s, when Suharto’s rule was challenged by military factions led by General Benny Murdani, a Christian, and Suharto sought to restructure his support base. Suharto subsequently aligned himself with political Islam, which he had hitherto muzzled and violently suppressed in incidents such as in Tanjung Priok (1984) and Lampung (1989). With the creation of the Association of Muslim Intellectuals (Ikatan Cendikiawan Muslim Se-Indonesia, ICMI) a state-led Islamization began, in the process of which many Christians lost their positions in the state apparatus. In Maluku and Ambon, Christians continued to dominate the regional bureaucracy, but due to improved educational opportunities for Muslims and accelerated by Suharto’s Islamization policy, Muslims caught up in terms of access to public positions. In the final years of the Suharto state, the governor position as well as many chief executive positions in the Maluku branches of the national bureaucracy went to Muslims. By 1996, all regents (bupati), even in districts with a majority Christian population, were Muslims (Bertrand 2004: 69, 116; Centre for Humanitarian Dialogue 2011: 16). Also, in the educational system, recruitment of new teachers favored Muslims and thus a long-held Christian stronghold was eroded. Behind this policy change lay grievances which in the first place had material roots. Religious affiliation in Ambon was less an expression of religious identity than a form of integration into a network of social relations that opened access to resources, protection, jobs, and business opportunities both at the local and national levels (Schreiner 2000: 12). Although the New Order’s Islamization policy may have corrected longstanding social imbalances, it also heightened insecurity and uncertainty among Christians, eventually disrupting the fragile balance between Christians and Muslims in Maluku and politicizing religious identities. Like in the southern Philippines, the second factor aggravating communal tensions was demographic change. There were two major sources of

52  Religious conflict in Mindanao and Maluku this change. One was government-sponsored transmigration projects which sought to alleviate population pressure in the densely populated island of Java through the resettlement of people to the outer islands. In particular, the larger Moluccan islands such as Buru, Seram, and Halmahera had a low population density and thus were suitable destinations for transmigrants. As the majority of transmigrants came from Java, they were in their overwhelming majority Muslim, giving rise to the suspicion among Christians that transmigration was a deliberate government policy to change religious majorities in the Moluccas (Duncan 2005: 58). While transmigration might have had political implications by exporting Javanese concepts of social organization to all parts of the archipelago, combined with the expectation that the Javanese would be more loyal to the government than the population in the restive outer islands, the number of transmigrants did not tangibly affect the demographic balance. Of greater impact was spontaneous migration from Sulawesi into the Moluccas, a process which had been underway for decades. The Bugis, Butons, and Makassarese (BBM) who settled in the Moluccan islands were Muslims and increasingly dominated local commerce (Aditjondro 2000; Bertrand 2004; Sidel 2006; Hehanussa 2013; Al Qurtuby 2016). Finally, many of the thousands of political prisoners, in their majority Muslims, who had been held in penal colonies on the island of Buru after the aborted coup on 30 September 1965 decided to stay and settle in the Moluccas after their release (Böhm 2006: 12). The demographic change also weakened the resilience of Ambonese society to religious strife by eroding customary law (adat). In the past, coexistence between religious communities was secured through traditional practices known as pela gandong. This denotes traditional partnerships and alliances between two or more villages from different religious backgrounds; ethnic similarities are more important than religious similarities (International Crisis Group 2000: 2; Bräuchler 2007: 40, 2009: 98; Bartels 2009: 16). Pela gandong pacts obliged the partners to help each other in times of crisis, constructing religious buildings and organizing community events. Pela partners thus abstained from attacking each other (Al Qurtuby 2016: 103). Yet the migrants coming from other regions of Indonesia without clan relations to the locals had little concern for Moluccan culture and practices. 36 Aggravating this trend were the centralizing and at the same time Javanizing political reforms in the Suharto era such as the village administration Law No. 5/1979. This law sidelined the traditional village authorities (rajas) and paved the way for local officials who had no or only limited knowledge of local traditions and practices (Hehanussa 2013: 111; Al Qurtuby 2016: 44). In particular, pela gandong lost its meaning in the urbanized setting of Ambon. Finally, religious groups also had their share in the erosion of adat. Modernizing reforms in Ambon’s Protestant Church in

Religious conflict in Mindanao and Maluku  53 the 1950s and 1960s and the purification of Islam in modernist Wahhabite variants gaining ground in Indonesia in the 1990s discredited customary law as pagan and un-Islamic (Duncan 2005: 58; Bartels 2009; Al Qurtuby 2016: 71). While the socioeconomic dimension of the conflict and the erosion of customary law strengthened religious identities and increased tensions between Christian and Muslim, the eventual trigger for organized civil war was the collapse of the authoritarian Suharto state. As Bertrand argues from a historical institutionalist viewpoint, the sense of insecurity created in the Christian population through the Islamization policy in the twilight years of the Suharto regime was aggravated by the turbulent democratic transition that commenced in 1998. For Christians, this implied the prospect that without the modicum of control exerted by the Suharto regime, the power vacuum in the democratizing country could further strengthen political Islam and work to the detriment of Christians. Yet Muslims also worried about the uncertainties of the regime change which, they feared, could adversely affect their communal interests and lead to the loss of the advancements they had made under Suharto’s Islamization policy (Bertrand 2004: 123). In that situation religious identities and narratives played an increasing role in material and distributive issues, resulting in an intensifying politicization of religion. What precisely sparked the communal violence between 1999 and 2002 is greatly contested in the literature. Perhaps the most persuasive explanation is Bertrand’s reference to path dependencies which ultimately politicized religion to such an extent that violence could escalate into a three-year civil war. Yet there are competing explanations which, although rejected by some observers (van Klinken 2006: 133), probably cannot be fully discounted. One referred to turf wars between Ambonese Christian and Muslim criminal gangs (preman) over the control of illegal gambling turf in Jakarta’s Ketapang district, which spilled over to Ambon after members of the gangs were returned to Ambon from the capital by the Indonesian navy (International Crisis Group 2000: 5; Centre for Humanitarian Dialogue 2011: 16). Similar to this case, in which the gangs were allegedly well connected to powerful political figures, several conspiracy theories circulated in order to explain the sudden outbreak of large-scale violence in Ambon. Some, for instance, implicate selected members of the Pancasila Youth, a nationwide organization of thugs with close links to the Suharto regime, in attempts to provoke unrest in regions with fragile security in order to destabilize the new democratic polity (O’Rourke 2002: 342). Others attribute the violence to agents provocateurs in the Indonesian armed forces (TNI), where factions still loyal to the collapsed Suharto regime resented security sector reforms and the concomitant disempowerment of the military in the

54  Religious conflict in Mindanao and Maluku Era Reformasi. By clandestinely fomenting sectarian conflicts in the country, the argument goes, they sought to highlight the continued significance of the military as the only state institution able to reinstate social order (International Crisis Group 2002: 6).37 While it is beyond the scope of this research to examine and assess in detail these greatly contested explanations of the outbreak of violence in Ambon, a short review of events suggests that organized and systematic violence began to engulf Ambon and many parts of the Moluccas from midJanuary 1999 onward. It was a trivial incident on the second day of Idul Fitri, the festive week ending Ramadan, which set the stage for large-scale violence. On that day, a fight between a Christian minibus driver and Muslim youths escalated into a major riot. However, the eruption of communal violence was not fully unexpected, as it had been preceded over two months by intensifying clashes between youth gangs of Christian Ambonese and Muslim migrants (International Crisis Group 2002: 2). Violence then rapidly spread to other parts of Ambon and to neighboring islands. The death toll increased markedly and where clashes occurred the respective minorities were usually displaced. They had to seek refuge in evacuation centers on the island and in many cases they fled Ambon for other parts of the country. While initially the Christians had the upper hand in the fighting, the scales tipped in the following year. In early 2000, militant Muslim organizations led by Dewan Da’wah Islamiyah Indonesia (DDII), the Komite Indonesia untuk Solidaritas Dunia Islam (KISDI), and the Front Pembela Islam (FPI) orchestrated nationwide demonstrations against the seeming victimization of Muslims in Ambon and urged volunteers to register for “holy war” (jihad) to protect their suffering brethren. Trained in a camp near Bogor (International Crisis Group 2002:6), between 3,000 and 4,000 fighters of the newly formed Laskar Jihad (LJ) militia arrived in Ambon and other islands in the Moluccas in April and May 2000. They were unhindered by the security forces, who ignored the orders of President Abdurrahman Wahid to prevent the influx of outsiders into the province. Quite obviously, as suggested by their equipment, which included high-powered modern weapons, the LJ fighters and the smaller Laskar Mujaheddin had the logistical and operational support of TNI forces based in the province (Spyer 2002: 26). Unsurprisingly, the highly decentralized, largely uncoordinated Christian gang-type groups (Schulze 2002: 57f.) increasingly lost ground against the stronger jihadist forces. For most of the time, the security forces stationed in Ambon and other islands were more a problem than a solution to the conflict. While the central government in Jakarta increased the TNI presence in Ambon from 3,500 to more than 14,000 soldiers in 2000 (International Crisis Group 2000: 10)

Religious conflict in Mindanao and Maluku 55 and established a new regional military command, Kodam XVI Pattimura, the majority of the soldiers serving in Ambon were Muslims from Sulawesi and thus not only sympathized with their brothers in faith, but also actively sided with them in the fighting. The Mobile Brigades (Brimob) of the police, on the other hand, were predominantly Christian and their members became active combatants on the other side (Böhm 2006: 40, 47, 69). The civil emergency imposed by the central government in June 2000 initially did little to assuage the violence. Yet with the replacement of the Kostrad troops and the troops from Sulawesi by marines from Java,38 the TNI forces displayed more neutrality and gradually reigned in the LJ forces. From 2001 onwards, the violence gradually subsided and this paved the way for a peace agreement that was eventually concluded on the initiative of the Indonesian Coordinating Minister for People’s Welfare, Jusuf Kalla, between the warring parties in Malino, a town on Sulawesi. By that time, at least 6,000 people had died and 300,000 to 400,000 had been displaced.39 War fatigue not only spread among Christians but also Muslims. Initially welcomed as defenders of Islam by the embattled Ambonese Muslims, over time many of them increasingly regarded the jihadists as a burden. Laskar Jihad troops recruited fighters from among the local Muslim population, demanded food, and imposed on Moluccans their Middle Eastern modernist version of Islam, culminating in the imposition of sharia law in March 2001 (Schulze 2002: 58; Böhm 2006: 43, 50, 62; Al Qurtuby 2016: 29, 123). These divisions in the Muslim camp also became apparent as the local Majelis Ulama Islam (MUI) – a much more moderate body than its national counterpart – not only rejected Laskar Jihad’s imposition of sharia laws as “illegal, unconstitutional and contrary to Ambonese Muslim adat” (Schulze 2002: 67), but also opined as early as July 2000 that the jihad forces from outside the Moluccas must be sent away (Böhm 2006: 50). Yet peace was also attributed to the successful re-activation of traditional customs (adat) based on the pela system. There were numerous activities organized by traditional village leaders, mosques and churches, often with support from donors, that brought Muslims and Christians together in interfaith dialogue and reconciliation activities (Centre for Humanitarian Dialogue 2011: 30; Braithwaite 2013: 42). Even the Protestant Church, which had previously displayed a highly critical attitude towards customary law, became a protagonist in reviving the pela gandong practices and sought to elevate it to a “public ethic” (Al Qurtuby 2016: 114). This manifestation of adat and the pela gandong system can be regarded as epitomizing a type of social capital that exists in Maluku’s civil society (cf. Bräuchler 2015: 120), which greatly contributed to resolve a violent and highly divisive conflict (Böhm 2006; Anson et al. 2014).

56  Religious conflict in Mindanao and Maluku While the Malino II40 accord was a watershed in the efforts to end the conflict, violence did not subside immediately (Böhm 2006: 395; Anson et al. 2014: 100). There were major opponents of a peace agreement on both sides of the conflict. They included on the Christian side the militias – known as the “grassroots” by the Christians and “Laskar Kristen” or “Laskar Kristus” by the Muslims (Böhm 2006: 152; Bartels 2009: 5; Duncan 2013: 2; Al Qurtuby 2015: 318; 2016: 81) – and the supporters of the Maluku Sovereignty Front (Front Kedaulatan Maluku, FKM), a Moluccan independence movement formed in July 2000 in the tradition of the RMS. On the Muslim side, the jihadists, led by Ja’far Umar Thalib, Muhammed Attamimi, and retired TNI Brigadier General Rustam Kastor, opposed peace (Schulze 2002: 68; Böhm 2006: 237; Al Qurtuby 2016: 121–123, 150), with Ja’far stating that the Malino agreement was treason (Böhm 2006: 237). Unsurprisingly, therefore, members of the peace delegations of both sides were attacked by hard-liners and their houses burnt (Al Qurtuby 2016: 159).41 That members of the Muslim delegation were more affected by these assaults was also due to the fact that  – unlike Christians with the Synod on the Protestant side and the hierarchical structure of the Catholic Church – the organization of Ambonese Muslims was much more decentralized, making communication between the leadership and local mosques more difficult (Anson et al. 2014: 125; Al Qurtuby 2016: 50). However, with the eventual dissolution of the LJ on 15 October 2002 – right after the Bali bombing42 – between 800 and 1,000 jihadists left Ambon, thus markedly easing tensions on the island (Böhm 2006: 277; Al Qurtuby 2016: 70). If violent acts nevertheless continued, albeit on a lesser scale, this was also the result of the war economy that had emerged concomitant to the violence. Members of the security forces sold combatants ammunition and guns (Centre for Humanitarian Dialogue 2011: 22). In a revealing statement, Indonesia’s national police chief admitted in February 2000 that “80 percent of the bullets used in the conflict originated from security forces” (International Crisis Group 2002: 5). Security personnel also generated additional income by extorting protection money from business firms, passengers at street checkpoints, for escort services on inter-island or overland travels, through participation in trade and selling intelligence. Businesspeople and the well-to-do in particular seemed to demand such security services (International Crisis Group 2000: 20; Hehanussa 2013: 147; Anson et al. 2014: 106). It is therefore assumed that security personnel were behind bombing and shooting incidents, seeking to maintain the insecurity that makes their services indispensable (Panggabean 2004: 523; Böhm 2006: 70; Al Qurtuby 2016: 77). By the accounts of observers, those most involved in these activities were the Kopassus units (Special Forces Command) stationed in Ambon after the Malino II agreement. Berthy Loupatti, the leader

Religious conflict in Mindanao and Maluku  57 of the notorious Christian Coker gang and one of the erstwhile Jakartabased thugs, testified after his arrest that his group was paid and provided with weapons and bombs by Kopassus, a charge that the TNI denied (Böhm 2006: 278, 299; Al Qurtuby 2016: 78).43 While the security forces stationed in Ambon during the conflict and its immediate aftermath were reduced after the lifting of the civil emergency in September  2003, Ambon City still recorded the highest number of violent incidents in the Moluccas, with many of these conflicts identity-based (Anson et  al. 2014: 2).44 Nevertheless, although peace in Ambon and on the other islands of the Moluccas remained fragile, displaced persons began to return. Yet settlement patterns changed markedly in comparison to the pre-conflict period and are currently characterized by distinct social segregation in which Christians and Muslims reside in quarters and villages divided along religious lines. Over the years, however, despite isolated violent incidents such as in 2011 and 2014, peace endured. Both religious groups have installed mechanisms to contain the spread of rumors (see chapter  5) which, during the conflict years, frequently instigated violence, often via new media (Bräuchler 2003, 2005), and have also sought to pacify the conflict-prone borders between Christian and Muslim residential areas.45

The Christian churches in the peace process in Ambon The influence of the Christian churches in general and of the Catholic Church in particular on political decision making is different in Indonesia compared to the Philippines. As stated before, Indonesian Christianity constitutes only a minority in an overwhelmingly Muslim environment. Despite an overrepresentation of Christians in Indonesian government affairs until the early 1990s, this means that the impact of Christians on the country’s political trajectory has been limited. This is even truer for the Roman Catholic Church, which is a clear minority among the country’s Christian denominations. In Ambon, for instance, Roman Catholics account for only 5 percent of the Christian community (Böhm 2006: 12). By all accounts, the Protestant Christian majority was deeply mired in the dynamics of the conflict and it was difficult for moderate and peaceminded church groups to launch peace initiatives.46 There were numerous “hate preachers” trying to stir emotions and influencing the Christians in Ambon during the fragile situation. Many of these often self-styled “preachers” came to Ambon from all over Indonesia and tried to incite their audiences by misusing religious texts and symbols, mostly by selectively quoting from the Bible. The most common way was to refer to Deuteronomy and to highlight “Israel as the chosen nation,” with Ambon then

58  Religious conflict in Mindanao and Maluku becoming “little Israel,” which had to be defended at all costs (Steenbrink 2001) (see chapter 5). In addition to that, even missionaries from the Southern Baptist Church in the USA came to Ambon with the objective of stirring up Christians. They also quickly produced propaganda videos placing the blame for the violence solely on the Muslim side. These developments were remarkable. Traditionally, Ambon had the idyllic image of “Sweet Ambon” (Ambon manise), where Christians and Muslims lived in harmony with each other (cf. Bräuchler 2015: 69f.). Suddenly, Ambon manise was transformed into a global “laboratory” for the instrumentalization of religion and the escalation of Christian-Muslim conflict. Many people from around the world sought to use this laboratory for their ulterior designs. After 9/11, however, international interest in Ambon decreased dramatically. The lack of international interest and commitment was sharply criticized, for example by the Catholic Bishop of Ambon, Mgr Petrus Canisius Mandagi. Mandagi has been the Bishop of Ambon since 1994. He was an outspoken critic of Christian-Muslim violence. He was also very critical of the mainline Protestant Church in Ambon (Gereja Protestan Maluku, GPM) when individual members tried to abuse religious teachings and selectively quote Bible verses in order to instrumentalize religious texts or symbols. The Catholic Church, often in consonance with peace-minded Protestant leaders, made appeals to the Indonesian government to initiate effective measures to stop the violence, end outside interference in the conflict, and support peacebuilding activities (Bartels 2009: 7). It also sought to enlist the support of international church bodies and approached the UN Secretary General, the UN Human Rights Commission, the Vatican, the World Council of Churches, the Red Cross, and many human rights organizations with appeals to support peacebuilding efforts, albeit with very limited success, at least until 2001 (Böhm 2006; Bartels 2009: 8). Yet the Catholic Church was also represented in the Christian delegation, which ultimately signed the Malino II peace accord.

Notes 1 This view is upheld by the MILF until the present day. In his account of peace negotiations between the MILF and the government, MILF chief negotiator Mohagher Iqbal argued that the United States “illegally and immorally annexed” Mindanao and Sulu to the national territory of the Philippines in this grant of independence (Jubair 2007: 4). Iqbal continues: “This is why the MILF cannot subscribe to the view that contemporary realities shall be the basis of a peace settlement, because the historical antecedents or historical imperatives are things of the past” (ibid.: 8). 2 Also, the material losses were high, albeit lower than in other civil wars. The World Bank estimated direct economic losses between 1975 and 1982 at

Religious conflict in Mindanao and Maluku  59

3 4 5

6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17

18 19 20 21 22 23 24

1 percent of the GDP for central and southwestern Mindanao and 0.5 percent for the entire Philippines. See Schiavo-Campo and Judd (2005: 5). See also Far Eastern Economic Review, 24 August  1995, p.  23 and 28 March 1996, p. 26. The provinces that voted for inclusion in the ARMM were Maguindanao, Lanao del Sur, Sulu, and Tawi. In an additional plebiscite held in 2001, the province of Basilan and the City of Marawi also opted to be included in the autonomous region. Under Governor Liningding Pangandaman, for instance, the ARMM employed more than 19,000 people. Fifteen of his top officials were related to him, including his wife, three nephews, and 11 cousins and in-laws (Gutierrez and DanguilanVitug (1999: 191)). In news reports, Misuari was portrayed as an “absentee governor,” staying only 50–60 days a year in Cotabato City, the ARMM’s and SPCDC’s capital (Abubakar 2000: 148). The falling out between Nur Misuari and Hashim Salamat dates back as far as 1977, when the latter unsuccessfully tried to dispose Misuari from the MNLF leadership (Gutierrez & Guialal 1999: 275; Coronel Ferrer 2013: 43). Far Eastern Economic Review, 26 March 1996, p. 29. Ibid.: 29. Philippine Daily Inquirer, 2 February 2003. Süddeutsche Zeitung, 20 November 2001, p. 10. See Manila Times, 30 January  2003, 11 February  2012; Philippine Daily Inquirer, 11 February 2003; Today, 12 February 2003; and Manila Standard, 15 February 2003. For a detailed analysis of the MOA-AD and the surrounding negotiations, see Kraft (2013) and Quimpo (2016). For a detailed analysis of the Framework Agreement on the Bangsamoro (FAB), see International Crisis Group (2012). On the BIFF breakaway, see also International Crisis Group (2011: 4–5) and Malaya, 1 February 2015. See, inter alia, Malaya, 11 March 2015, 21 May 2015; Philippine Daily Inquirer, 3 June 2015. The BBL was re-submitted to Congress in 2017 and Duterte lobbied for support of the draft law. The Diplomat, 13 February 2018. It was eventually passed by Congress in July 2018 as Bangsamoro Organic Law (BOL) and adopted in a plebiscite in Mindanao’s predominantly Muslim regions in January 2019. Associated Press, 25 January 2019; Reuters, 26 January 2019; East Asia Forum, 5 Febuary 2019; Der Spiegel, 6 February 2019. Sun Star, 28 January 2016. Authors’ interviews in Zamboanga, September 2015. Other spoiler groups with links to the IS are Ansar Khilafa Philippines (AKP) and Jamaa Mohajirin Wal Ansar (JMA) (Gunaratna 2017c). See also Minda News, 23 May 2017. On diversionary attacks of allegedly IS operatives in the Visayas and Manila, see Gunaratna (2017a: 2). The group’s leadership  – Isnilon Hapilon and the Maute brothers, Omar and Abdullah  – were killed during the liberation operations. See also The Straits Times, 3 June 2017 and East Asia Forum, 2 February 2018. For a very sophisticated analysis of the complex intertwinement of ethno-religious conflict lines and clan feuds, see Kreuzer & Weiberg (2007: 387–432).

60  Religious conflict in Mindanao and Maluku 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35

36 37 38 39

40 41 42

43 44 45 46

For the organization of the arms trade, see Miani (2011). For a definition of the causal categories, see International Alert (2014: 8). The Pentagon gang broke away from the MILF in 2001 (Jubair 2007: 22). The Abu Sayyaf group was also linked to one of the worst terrorist acts of the more recent past, the bombing of a ferry near Manila in February 2004, that killed more than 100 people. See New Straits Times, 18 February 2005, p. 31. Agenzia fides, 7 February 2019. Sun Star, 11 May 2015. Philippine Daily Inquirer, 20 June 2015. Ibid. Founded in 1984. On Father D’Ambra’s impressive peace work, see Espiritu (2017: 112–119). See www.insightonconflict.org/es/conflicts/philippines/peacebuilding-organisations/ the-bishop-ulama-conference-buc/ (accessed 12 July 2016). For a critical assessment of the Muslim Javanese prejudice against Christian Ambonese due to their involvement in the RMS, see Aditjondro, “The Tragedy of Maluku,” available at: http://media.isnet.org/kmi/ambon/Tragedi.html (accessed 5 December 2017). Authors’ interview with a Moluccan peace activist, 29 September 2015. See also The Straits Times, 1 March  1999, 19 March  1999; Amien Rais in Republika 17 January 2000. On the alleged partiality of these military units, see Böhm (2006: 15). Figures of the death toll vary considerably, with some sources estimating the number of deaths as up to 10,000 and internally displaced persons numbering up to 700,000 (Hehanussa 2013: 151–152; Davis 2002: 13; Spyer 2002: 24, quoting International Crisis Group estimates). See also The Jakarta Post, 13 September 2011. The Malino I  Agreement settled the communal conflict in Poso, Central Sulawesi. The Jakarta Post, 30 August 2006. On 12 October 2002, terrorists affiliated with the Jemaah Islamiyah group detonated two bombs in the tourist district of Kuta, Bali. The explosions killed 202 persons and injured another 209, among them many foreigners, in particular Australians. The Böhm report states that the Coker gang was associated with 84 deaths, 273 wounded, the destruction of 461 buildings, two school buildings, two churches, an adat house, and a passenger motorboat. See Böhm (2006: 305). According to Habibie Center data, 50 percent of violent incidents, 38 percent of the deaths, 54  percent of injuries, and 43  percent of damage to buildings occurred in Ambon City. See Anson et al. (2014: 2). Authors’ interview, 1 October 2015. For an analysis of the role of the Protestant Church in Maluku during the violent conflict see Hehanussa (2013).

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5 The cognitive dimensions of conflict and peace in Mindanao and Maluku

The following chapter, consistent with the methodological concept devised in chapter 3, examines the discursive processes that have both fueled and tempered local violence. In the discourse analysis, it is our objective to get a better understanding of the mental representations of religion and religious others in the Philippines and Indonesia both at the national and local levels. We examined the attitudes of political and religious actors towards the status of religion in society and politics, religious minorities, peacebuilding, interreligious dialogue, and conflict transformation including the stereotypes, symbols, myths, and collective images that stand in the way of a lasting peace. As posited in the theory chapter (chapter 2), with this analysis we are able to identify the cognitive scope conditions which impact on conflict transformation and peace activities of the churches in the Philippines and Indonesia. As indicated in the methodology chapter (see chapter 3), our discourse analysis is qualitative and follows an inductive approach. An inductive approach has the advantage that it is sufficiently open to identifying so far unknown and unexpected facts and relationships that a deductive approach may overlook. In the subsequent chapter, we mainly appraise societal attitudes towards religion and religious others through the lens of the press. The first section analyzes news coverage and media-based narratives surrounding the peace accords in Mindanao, the second section focusses on Maluku.

The Philippines In the Philippines, the national discourse probably constitutes the greatest impediment to conflict transformation. It is very much informed by the persistence of colonial attitudes that the Filipino political establishment in Manila entertains towards the country’s Islamic minority. Many politicians from Luzon and the Visayas still cling to long-held stereotypes of Moros and Mindanao, which are revitalized whenever incidents on the ground seem to

68  Conflict and peace in Mindanao and Maluku confirm them. In other words, these adverse attitudes towards the Moro population are constantly reproduced and are thus highly path dependent. As already stated in chapter  4, negative images of the Moro population date far back to the colonial era. They were deeply inculcated in the memory of Christian Filipinos by cultural media such as the popular MoroMoro plays or dramas. The first of these Moro-Moro plays was performed in 1637 by Jesuits to celebrate the victory of a Christian Filipino army in a battle against Muslim opponents. Moros were portrayed in these plays as pirates, bandits, lawless elements, villains, and foreign invaders, in sharp contrast to the shining positive image of Catholics. The plays were frequently performed in fiestas, thereby reaching a large audience and enjoying great popularity. As a consequence, Catholics from the northern regions of the Philippines, who had almost no personal contact with Muslims, drew their impressions of Muslims almost exclusively from the image presented to them in the Moro-Moro plays (Majul 1976; Buendia 2005; Leandicho Lopez 2006: 273). The cultural underpinnings of the negative Moro image are still widespread in today’s mainstream Christian Filipino society. Even children are socialized in anti-Moro attitudes at a very early age. Parents, for instance, motivate their children to eat by threatening that “the evil Moro will come out from under your bed,” if they do not finish their meal. The school curricula fail to dissolve these prejudices and also present a biased account of Moro history in the Philippines (Quimpo 2016: 14). Such societal stereotypes are exacerbated by a Luzon-centric Manila press that tends to report negatively about Mindanao.1 A content analysis of the Bulletin Today newspaper conducted in the 1980s, for instance, found that reporting on Muslims had a tendency to depict them negatively, characterizing them as rebels, terrorists, killers, traitors, and outlaws (Talibas-Nunez 1997: 43; Hall 2010: 142).2 Mohagher Iqbal, the MILF chief negotiator, singled out television broadcaster Maria A. Ressa and columnists Ramon Tulfo (Philippine Daily Inquirer) and the late Maximo Soliven (Philippine Star) as particularly hostile anti-Muslim agitators, quoting, inter alia, Soliven, who lambasted the MILF as “murderous” and a “cancer” to the Philippine archipelago (Jubair 2007: 49). In the 1990s and 2000s, press reporting linked the MILF to terrorist groups such as Al-Qaeda,3 the Abu Sayyaf Group, and the Indonesian Jema’ah Islamiyah (Cole 2009: 70; Jubair 2007: 50); links which the MILF leadership however fervently denied (Rüland 2003; Liow 2006: 21). Reporting almost exclusively relied on government and, in particular, military sources. As there were few Muslims among Filipino journalists, Islamophobia was rampant (Hall 2010: 235) and background information on the conflict’s root causes was conspicuously lacking (Cole 2009: 63). Unsurprisingly, thus, until today, reports about violent incidents

Conflict and peace in Mindanao and Maluku  69 in the south very often use headlines stating that Moros have staged an attack. Frequently, such reports also insinuate insidious tactics on the part of the attackers, suggesting that they cowardly ambushed government forces on duty. Unsurprisingly, Christians overwhelmingly supported government military offensives such as in 1997, 2000, and 2003 (Bacani 2005: 7). The belief that the Mindanao problem can only be solved by war seems to be widespread among Christians. War against the Muslims is thus considered a good thing (Hall 2010: 140). In Mindanao, discourses on the ground are more ambiguous than in Luzon or the Visayas. At first glance, even at the local level, generalized stereotypes and prejudices predominate images of the religious other. While for Mindanaoan Christians “a good Moro is a dead Moro,” Muslims would say that “for killing Christians one can go to the paradise on a white horse” (D’Ambra 2011b: 86; Hall 2010: 140, 239). Neumann, too, in her excellent study of the Pikit Peace Zone, reports that Christians, in particular, generally hold very negative views of Muslims. They criticize that Muslims are armed and, as a corollary, blame them for any disruption of local peace. It is a common feature that Christians do not trust Muslims and brand them as “wrongdoers” and “liars” (Neumann 2013: 227). Due to their minority status, they complain, Muslims are given overproportionate attention by international donor organizations and governmental development programs, whereas the needs of underprivileged Christians are often neglected (ibid.: 230). Yet, when it comes to everyday life, interpersonal relationships tend to be more nuanced. Christians, who claimed to have no contact to Muslims, suddenly admitted that they have multiple inter- and transactions with them – as farm workers whom they employ, or in NGO projects and community work. As a result, interviewed Christians professed to respect Muslims, considering them as their “brothers and sisters.” In other words, actual practice and discourse deviate (ibid.: 229). However, it should be noted that respectful sentiments are often limited to one’s own community and rarely apply to other communities. While local people tend to generally externalize negative views on the religious other, they seem to make occasional exceptions for selected interfaith relations in their immediate vicinity. As “brothers and sisters,” local adherents of the other religion are exempted from the generally bad reputation of their fellow believers. The enemies are outsiders, who cause trouble and unrest through criminal acts, which in a constellation of fragile peace easily set in motion clan feuds (rido) and armed clashes. As hostilities escalate, this almost inevitably implicates the government’s security forces and Muslim rebel groups (ibid.: 230). Local peace work by NGOs and church groups has thus built on local proximity in generating a “victim identity” that transcends religious divides

70  Conflict and peace in Mindanao and Maluku (ibid.: 233). This “collective narrative of victimization” (ibid.: 232) highlights that apart from religion, the life world of local people does not differ markedly  – emphasizing “overarching values” such as “strong faith, Malayan roots, the love of humanity and peace” (ibid.: 234). Nevertheless, despite these more nuanced and more amicable attitudes towards the religious other at the local level, all in all, Mindanao is still widely treated in mainstream Filipino society as a second-class region. It remains a frontier, a remote enclave, and a dangerous area, which most people tend to avoid. Tallying with this quite sobering assessment is the representation of the Mamasapano incident in January 2015 (see chapter 4), which profoundly influenced public opinion on the government’s peace deal with the MILF. It led to “a huge public outcry” [. . .] “to abandon the peace deal”4 and an upsurge of anti-Moro prejudices in society at large and especially in the Philippine Congress as a review of national newspapers in the months after the incident suggests. The clash not only impacted negatively on political opinion in the country; it also provided opponents of the BBL the golden opportunity and ammunition to frame their opposition by rehearsing deeply inculcated stereotypes. Two polls conducted by the Social Weather Stations (SWS) in cooperation with the Asia Foundation in March 2015 and an almost simultaneous poll conducted by Pulse Asia show that public support for the BBL and a peace solution in the south waned as a result of Mamasapano. The SWS survey, for instance, illustrates that attitudes of the respondents towards crucial autonomy regulations such as replacing the ARMM with the Bangsamoro region, extending sharia law beyond family affairs, and creating a new police force in Bangsamoro turned negative after Mamasapano. Peace talks, went the message conveyed by the respondents, do not benefit Filipinos.5 These findings were largely confirmed by the Pulse Asia survey which revealed that a majority of respondents were against the BBL, while only 21 percent were in favor. Many, a staggering 36 percent,6 were undecided, obviously reflecting that the public’s factual knowledge of the BBL was wanting. Manila-based politicians also used the Mamasapano incident to impress on the national public old prejudices that Moros cannot be trusted.7 Although the investigation of the incident revealed that the government’s unilateral police operation against a notorious Malaysian terrorist ignored agreements made with the MILF concerning trespassing in territory controlled by the latter, Congress members spread doubts about the sincerity of the MILF as a peace partner.8 Even worse, Congressmen critical of the BBL used the incident to blackmail the MILF: only if it surrendered its fighters involved in the incident would deliberations on the proposed BBL be resumed.9 Ironically, this is, in fact, a rhetoric which corroborates decades-old Moro experiences with previous government peace initiatives. In the past, all of

Conflict and peace in Mindanao and Maluku  71 them eventually broke down, chiefly – albeit not exclusively – due to the fact that the central government either was unwilling or unable to fulfill its obligations, implanting in Moro collective memory a profound sentiment of permanent betrayal. This sentiment is aptly expressed by a Muslim living in Cotabato City who was interviewed by the Philippine Daily Inquirer on the occasion of the signing of the Comprehensive Agreement on Bangsamoro (CAB) on 27 March 2014. Recalling the past, the interviewee stated: You see we have so many peace agreements in the past and yet we remain poor, underdeveloped. While I should be celebrating with this latest agreement, I am also preparing myself for the worst. Who knows, the government is just changing names of government but it is still run by the same people who enriched themselves at the expense of the Bangsamoro people.10 National security practitioners also alluded to risks associated with the BBL, which must be seen “in the context of jihadism worldwide pursuant to the establishment of a global caliphate.”11 An even less subtle way of reviving negative stereotypes as a strategy to discredit the BBL involves attempts to defame Moros as extraordinarily cruel, thereby rehearsing the narrative that they are uncivilized. This is the line of reasoning underlying the circulation of a video which shows an MILF fighter finishing off a wounded Special Action Force soldier.12 Also, the Philippine National Police (PNP) Deputy Director, General Leonardo Espina, sought to depict Moros as heinous and cruel adversaries by stating: The SAF commandos were “finished off” after the encounter. They were stripped of their weapons and their cell phones were taken and [the MILF] called their wives [and told them] not to call anymore because their husbands were dead.13 Another narrative, already employed by BBL critics, was revitalized in the aftermath of the Mamasapano incident. Senators such as Miriam Santiago Defensor and Alan Peter Cayetano as well as former Senator Aquilino Pimentel vocally questioned the constitutionality of the BBL, which in the eyes of many Filipino legislators is a “monster.”14 According to Senator Ferdinand Marcos Jr, the son of former dictator Ferdinand E. Marcos, and chair of the Senate Commission on Local Government, the draft BBL in its present form and substance would lead the country “to perdition.”15 In particular, they targeted the so-called opt-in provision, allowing provinces contiguous to the Bangsamoro core territory to join the new autonomous region in a voters’ plebiscite, thereby raising fears this would make Mindanao

72  Conflict and peace in Mindanao and Maluku Congress representatives lose their constituencies to the new Moro government.16 They also took issue with the fact that the Bangsamoro region would have a parliamentary system of government, which they claimed would not be compatible with the Philippine presidential system. They discredited the BBL as a government conspiracy with the MILF,17 selling out to the rebels the sovereignty and the territorial integrity of the Republic of the Philippines.18 The BBL would give rise to a “sub-state” in the Philippines, and eventually lead to the secession of Mindanao and Sulu19 or, as a Manila Times article polemically formulated, the Philippines becoming “just a state in the Malaysian Federation.”20 BBL critics thereby resumed earlier disagreements with the peace process, as pointedly expressed in an opinion piece in the Philippine Daily Inquirer. Commenting on the conclusion of the Framework Agreement on the Bangsamoro (FAB) in October 2012, Roberto Tiglao, a Filipino diplomat, criticized the agreement as “a curse of the nation.” He linked the FAB polemically to other “ill-conceived peace pacts in the world’s history which have led to even greater hostilities” such as Neville Chamberlain’s 1938 Munich Agreement with Adolf Hitler, the 1973 Peace Accords that led to the fall of Saigon and the 1995 Dayton Agreement that ended the Bosnian War but facilitated “ethnic cleansing” in Kosovo. He cast strong doubts on the implementation of the agreement, which would once more spur sentiments of betrayal among Muslims and lead “to renewed violence in Mindanao and even terrorist attacks in urban centers.”21 In a petition to the Supreme Court to declare the peace agreements (the Framework Agreement on the Bangsamoro (FAB) and the Comprehensive Agreement on the Bangsamoro (CAB)) “unconstitutional and void,”22 the petitioners, which included the Philippine Constitution Association (Philconsa), former Congressman Jacinto Paras, former Senator Francisco Tatad, former National Security Advisor Norberto Gonzales, Congressman Ferdinand Martin Romualdez, and Archbishops Ramon C. Arguelles, Fernando Capalla, and Romulo dela Cruz, the FAB was denounced as “treacherous and unconstitutional” and the CAB as “void, flawed and polluted.”23 Critics also did not forget to mention that with the BBL the Philippine state would be “ceding to the MILF huge portions of productive resources in Mindanao.”24 Others ridiculed the Aquino administration as naïve and obsessed with building a legacy which would facilitate the nomination of the president for the Nobel Peace Prize.25 At the same time, the history of government peace agreements is portrayed as a succession of failures due to the unreliability of the Moros as partners, who in the following statement were presented to the readers as incapable of governing and utterly corrupt. The national government spent billions of pesos to support the ARMM and help it bring progress and development to Muslim Mindanao. No

Conflict and peace in Mindanao and Maluku  73 such thing happened. Misuari spent more time relaxing in other Muslim countries than in the ARMM. The billions of pesos that the national government gave to ARMM disappeared into mansions and other luxuries of Muslim leaders. Even now, the luxurious mansions are anachronisms in communities marked by the hovels of the poor (for example, the Ampatuan26 mansions).27 This anti-BBL rhetoric completely relegated government promotion of the BBL, which was also supported by most Philippine business associations,28 to a backseat. The putative virtues of the peace deal for Mindanao and the Philippines were thus hardly audible in the deafening clamor of BBL critics. Government chief negotiator Miriam Coronel Ferrer, for instance, endorsed the BBL in a consultation with Filipino citizens as follows, claiming that it will end discrimination and will bring development to the south: “[ . . .] At the end of the day,” she stated, “the meaning of this (peace) process is what it is to the ordinary child in Mindanao. And that is a chance to go to school, a chance to have equal opportunity with other citizens of the Philippines. Not to be discriminated upon based on ethnicity or religion.”29 Dismissing claims that the Bangsamoro would go the way of Kosovo, which seceded from Serbia, and of Crimea from Ukraine, she added that under the CAB, “the country could remain as one together with the Bangsamoro, living peacefully, co-existing peacefully, and sharing the benefits of being one country together.”30 President Aquino himself, on the occasion of the signing of the CAB, predicted that the Bangsamoro will “form a perimeter of vigilance against the spread of extremism” and “a bridge of moderation among the great faiths of the various constituencies in ASEAN.” It will become a “virtuous cycle of security, development, and equitable progress for the peoples of the entire region.”31 The Philippine Daily Inquirer also cited Presidential Advisor Teresita Deles with a similarly optimistic outlook. For her “a new dawn has come, the dawn for books, not bullets, for paintbrushes, not knives; for whole communities, not evacuation centers; and for regarding toil, not endless strife.”32 Warnings about the dire consequences that may be expected if the BBL fails, such as a resumption of the fighting and a radicalization of the rebels,33 were dismissed by the mouthpiece of the BBL opponents, the Philippine Daily Inquirer, as blackmail.34 As far as the Catholic Church’s role in the peace process is concerned, the support of Archbishops Arguelles, dela Cruz, and Capalla of the abovementioned Supreme Court petition confirms what has already been stated in chapter 4: a resounding ambiguity towards the Aquino administration’s

74  Conflict and peace in Mindanao and Maluku peace deals and, in particular, the BBL, dividing even the highest Church dignitaries in archdioceses such as Manila and Cotabato. This ambivalence is also reflected by the website of the Catholic Bishops Conference of the Philippines, which gives a forum to critics and supporters of the BBL. It contains several articles by a priest and CBCP official, Father Jerome R. Secillano, who – like Congress members – raised the specter of secession, arguing that the BBL in its present form is “slowly allowing the island of Mindanao to slip from [the central government’s] grip.”35 Worse than that, he expected the BBL to make “Mindanao a haven of revolutionary Muslim groups, both local and international, that harbor the aspiration of establishing a Muslim caliphate through terroristic activities or Islamic revolution.”36 He also spoke on the theme of the corrupt and irresponsible Muslim leadership, suggesting that the billions of pesos spent by the central government for development in Mindanao will get lost.37 Yet his concerns about the role of other Muslim groups such as the Bangsamoro Islamic Freedom Fighters (BIFF), the MNLF, Abu Sayyaf, and the newly organized Justice for Islamic Movement (JIM) (which in 2015 broke away from BIFF) after a peace agreement are valid and must be properly addressed by the central government.38 More subtle opposition to the BBL was aired by Manila Auxiliary Bishop Broderick Pabillo who veiled his skepticism towards the draft law by urging Malacanaňg “not to pressure lawmakers into hastily passing the proposed BBL.”39 The president of the CBCP, Lingayan-Dagupan Archbishop Socrates B. Villegas, also displayed a rather reserved position towards the law, exhorting the government to pursue a more transparent and inclusive peace process that takes into account the rightful interests of “the sectors that claim they were not included in the deals leading to the BBL such as the MNLF, indigenous cultural communities (Lumads) as well as Christian communities in Mindanao.”40 Although, in Mindanao, Catholic bishops were equally divided about the BBL, a group of bishops came out early with its strong support for an enduring peace accord. In a joint statement Bishops Guillermo Afable of Davao del Sur, Colin Bagaforo of Cotabato (who later became a vociferous critic of the BBL), José Cabantan of Malaybalay, Edwin de la Pena of Marawi, Jesus Dosado of Ozamis, Elenito Galido of Iligan, Dinualdo Gutierrez of South Cotabato, Martin Jumoad of Basilan, Antonio Ledesma of Cagayan de Oro, and Archbishop Orlando Quevedo of Cotabato endorsed the conclusion of the FAB in 2012 which, they admitted, was not the end of peacebuilding efforts in Mindanao. “Rather,” they stated, “it is just the beginning of much hard work in concretizing the meaning of sincerity, security, sensitivity, solidarity, spirituality, and sustainability in our various communities in Mindanao,” qualities that peacebuilding theory attached to conflict

Conflict and peace in Mindanao and Maluku  75 transformation and reconciliation (see chapter  2).41 The presidents of the church-run Ateneo de Manila university network also lent their unequivocal support to the peace agreements.42 However, the most vociferous supporter of the peace process was Cardinal Orlando Quevedo of Cotabato. He vocally urged Filipino Christians not to set in motion a revival of the “deeply entrenched biases and prejudices” after the Mamasapano tragedy. He found it disquieting that most of those “who disapprove of the BBL” and “know little or almost nothing about it, are Christians.”43 Filipinos, especially Christians, should refrain from succumbing to their anti-Moro biases.44 Quevedo also warned against a watering down of the BBL in Congress: if Congress’ version of the BBL backtracks from the current ARMM set-up, it would almost certainly reignite violence.45 Another vocal supporter of the BBL is Bishop Antonio Ledesma of Cagayan de Oro. Ledesma reversed the argument of the BBL opponents, arguing that non-passage of the BBL and failure to enact reconciliation would pave the way for international terrorists to gain a foothold in Mindanao.46 In fact, this is precisely what the 2017 battles between government troops and the shadowy Islamist Maute group in Marawi City suggest (see also chapter 4). Ledesma’s views are supported by Father Sebastiano D’Ambra, the founder of Silsilah movement for Christian-Muslim dialogue and the “Harmony Village” in Zamboanga,47 who believes that “uncertainty favors more radical groups, who demand total independence from Manila,” noting in particular groups like the Abu Sayyaf and BIFF which explicitly support the Islamic State.48 The CBCP as an organization glossed over these differences in a declaration which did not amount to a clear endorsement of the BBL. The declaration issued on 14 July 2015, only provided abstract principles with which the law should comply. It portrays Christianity and Islam as “religions of peace,” and seeks a BBL that is based on and guided by “social moral principles.” The law should “be rooted in social justice and promoting social justice” and should recognize that the Bangsamoro have suffered severe injustices which need to be addressed, naming in particular “the reduction of Moro ancestral territory, the erosion of their cultural identity, and the loss of self-determination in the development of their communities.” The declaration confirms the Bangsamoro’s right to self-determination without, however, sacrificing Philippine national sovereignty. The BBL that the bishops aspire to have must promote “harmonious relationships between peoples of various ethnic groups and different faiths.”49 Due to their less effective media access, Moro voices played a subordinate role in this discourse. In the absence of their own radio station or other mass media, they rely on their website and press releases to the mainstream media to disseminate their positions and arguments (Cole 2009: 70).50

76  Conflict and peace in Mindanao and Maluku Muslim accounts of the conflict in the Philippine south often refer to history, thus also engaging in a focalization of the conflict. The representation of the inclusion of Muslim Mindanao and Sulu into the independent Philippine state in 1946 as a betrayal by the American colonial masters has already been mentioned above (see chapter  4). Since then, Muslims have often described their relations with the Philippine state in “genocidal” terms. The mass migration of Christian settlers to Mindanao is portrayed as “ethnic cleansing” (Jubair 2007: 10), while the governmental education system, its dilapidated state notwithstanding,51 and co-optative state-sponsored development projects were regarded as examples of “cultural genocide” against the Muslim population (Molloy 1983: 20; D’Ambra 2011b: 84). Hashim Salamat, the MILF founder, spoke of a “tactical genocide” perpetrated by the Manila government in Mindanao.52 Unsurprisingly, Muslim confidence in the Philippine government is low. Reversing government rhetoric, Muslims question how serious the government is in trying to reach a lasting peace agreement. Referring to the Ramos-Misuari peace agreement of 1996, MILF vice-chairman for political affairs Ghazali Jaafar stated: “Muslims have already been fooled twice, by Marcos, then by Aquino. We won’t be swindled a third time.”53 Mohagher Iqbal, the MILF chief negotiator, concurs, speaking of “dilatory tactics,” that have been applied by whoever became president of this country. Their policy of talk, war, talk, war, and talk, and of forging tentative agreements or putting in place palliative solutions to the problem is the substance of this grand strategy of delay. [. . .] The government is not addressing the roots of the conflict but merely dealing with the peripheral issues. Palliative cure is no cure at all. (Jubair 2007: 97–98) MILF leaders are also tired of the argument that peace agreements must be constitutional. Christian hawks had – as we have seen above – also questioned the constitutionality of the BBL. Already in 2007, Mohagher Iqbal had commented: The tyranny of ideas is best exemplified when the government rationalizes that any agreement with any of the revolutionary groups must not be violative of the Constitution. But the hard fact is that this Constitution does not epitomize the dreams and aspirations of the minority with whom the government is negotiating and, on the contrary, it is solely designed to suit the majority’s concept of right or wrong and standard of interests. (Jubair 2007: 70)

Conflict and peace in Mindanao and Maluku  77 MILF responses to the anti-Muslim agitation following the Mamasapano incident were, by and large, surprisingly moderate. The MILF leadership criticized congressional overtures to modify and weaken the BBL, which in its view fell back even behind the provisions of the ARMM (International Crisis Group 2016: 8). It left among Moros an aftertaste of having been “tricked again” by the Philippine government. At the same time, the aborted congressional deliberation of the BBL nurtured fears among the MILF leadership that cadres frustrated with government policies radicalize and extremist attitudes get out of control. In a report of the International Crisis Group (2016: 11) on the prospects for a lasting peace, MILF chief negotiator Mohagher Iqbal was cited with the following words: When peace is moving forward, the chance of violence is reduced, but if it stalls, the moral ascendency of the MILF will decline among our own people, and there will be other groups who espouse a more radical agenda. Moreover, concerns mounted that the MILF will fragment as the MNLF did after two previous peace agreements. It might “break into 100 armed bands,” mused one interviewed MILF cadre (International Crisis Group 2016: 11).54 While MILF distrust of “imperial Manila”55 is sizeable, MILF leaders have a better perception of the Catholic Church. In particular, the work of the BUC is commended in the MILF discourse (Jubair 2007: 76). Although cognizant of the proximity of the Catholic Church to the state, the MILF acknowledges the Church’s emancipatory potential. Mohagher Iqbal, in his account of the peace negotiations between the MILF and the government, thus expressed a wish for more effective efforts in the Catholic Church in taking a lead role in dismantling the structures that favor the few and discriminate [against] the greatest majority of our people, as well as in curbing the greed of some migrants for more land and other materials at the expense of the marginalized Moros and the non-Islamized indigenous peoples. [. . .] The MILF also wishes to see the Catholic Church use more in a sustained manner, its vast powers, or influences and resources in support of the peace process. It is our belief that whichever way the Church goes, there will always be a difference. The state listens or is forced to listen. (Jubair 2007: 76–77) Yet there is also much skepticism about the way ahead in the peace process among Muslim organizations, which at the same time illustrates the divisions in the Muslim camp. MILF Chief Peace Negotiator Mohagher

78  Conflict and peace in Mindanao and Maluku Iqbal, for instance, while still adhering to the peace process, unequivocally criticized the post-Mamasapano discourse, blaming the majority of media practitioners for being mouthpieces of the BBL opponents.56 Iqbal, repeating earlier critique (see above), bemoaned the fact that there are still strong anti-Moro biases and prejudices in mainstream Filipino society, which he described as “very strong in Luzon and the Visayas” where they are spread by “hostile opinion-makers, columnists, talk show hosts, and a lot more.”57 A spokesperson of the BIFF splinter group went even further and uncompromisingly rejected the peace process, demanding a “Bangsamoro state free from the ‘control’ of the government” and stating that the organization does “not want a negotiation that is similar to the MILF, which lasted for years.” What they want is “something that is direct,”58 whatever that precisely means. He also blamed the government for the atrocities in Mindanao, emphasizing that the BIFF “does not attack civilians, only the military,” thereby alluding to Philippine government troops.59 Divisions within the Moro camp are also visualized by posters displayed in Sulu, which stated “Hindi Bangsamoro, Bangsasug” (not Bangsamoro, but Bangsasug), referring to the dominant ethnic group in the region, the Tausug, which are in their majority adherents of the MNLF, a Moro group critical of the MILF-led peace process.60 Finally, Muslim groups pledging allegiance to the Islamic State (IS) – in particular the Hapilon and the Maute group  – likened Filipino security forces, which are mainly composed of Catholics, to “crusaders” who suppress the Muslims in the South (Gunaratna 2017a: 3, 2017b: 3). The siege of Marawi could thus be legitimized as “a fight between good and evil, and between Islam and non-believers” (Gunaratna 2017b: 3).

Indonesia While the Philippine discourse about the conflict in the south is mainly national, the Indonesian discourse surrounding the Maluku conflict proceeds on multiple levels and is more complex. National and local discourses are here closely intertwined and interdependent. In the Maluku conflict, the national discourse serves as the sounding board for the local discourse which in turn was a driver for the focalization and transvaluation of the violence. Moreover, also differing from the discourse hegemony exerted by the Philippine government in Mindanao, conflict parties in Maluku had ample access to quality media on both levels. Veiled sympathy for the Christian side was evident in the Jakarta-based English-language press including The Jakarta Post and Jakarta Globe, as well as the Indonesian-language daily Kompas. All these daily print/online papers are owned by Christian tycoons

Conflict and peace in Mindanao and Maluku  79 and conglomerates.61 However, due to the minority status of the owners and the political vulnerability associated with it, these dailies usually trod carefully when it came to religious issues. Spearheading the media discourse on the Muslim side were Republika – a daily founded and owned by ICMI – and even more militantly Suara Hidayatullah. Republika, for instance, displayed skepticism towards interfaith dialogue, judging that it proves “that the efforts towards Christianization of Indonesia are continued in earnest” (Steenbrink 2001: 9). At the height of the conflict, both newspapers echoed the rhetoric of the jihad forces that had entered Maluku from May  2000 onward. During the conflict, segregation also occurred in the local-level mediascape. Two dailies, Siwalima and Suara Maluku, sided with the Christians, while the Ambon Ekspres became the mouthpiece of the Muslims. Both sides practiced poor journalistic standards, often relying on hearsay, rumors and conspiracy theories, distorted facts, disseminating hate messages and entrenching prejudices in their readership (Bubandt 2001: 247; Centre for Humanitarian Dialogue 2011: 24). This has ceased in the meantime, but a content analysis of the Ambon Ekspres seven years after the formal end of the violence shows that partiality still negatively impacts on journalistic professionalism (Muriany & Unde 2011: 75). The conflict parties’ online media have been powerful tools for interpreting events and mobilizing local, national, and international support. The physical war on the ground found its continuation in cyberspace62 (­Bräuchler 2003, 2004, 2005) and the creation of “virtual communities” (Bräuchler 2004: 2). The Catholic view on events was disseminated by an online newsletter issued by the Crisis Center of the Diocese of Amboina (CCDA), Protestants had the Masariku network, and Muslims the Forum Komunikasi Ahlus Sunna Wal Jamaah (FKAWJ) (ibid.: 3). Laskar Jihad also operated a radio station, Radio Suara Perjuangan Muslim Maluku (SPMM). These media persistently referred to each other, countering reports, statements, and interpretations of the other side. However, at later stages of the conflict, online media were also used for peacebuilding. Since mid-2001, the Catholic and the Protestant platforms especially have persistently reported on peace initiatives. The discourse facilitating the war in the Moluccas was strongly influenced by an increasingly antagonistic national discourse on religion. As a consequence of Suharto’s alignment with political Islam in the 1990s (see chapter  4), the latter became increasingly assertive. Before, political Islam was muzzled and activists harassed under the New Order’s depoliticization policies. Religious agitation was widely curtailed by the sara laws (suku, agama, ras dan antargolongan, or ethnicity, religion, race, and social relations) (Ricklefs 1993), forcing fundamentalist and

80  Conflict and peace in Mindanao and Maluku militant Islamic groups such as KISDI and DDII to operate underground. In the identity Indonesia propagated of itself in the world, Islam only played a subordinate role, irrespective of the fact that the country was an active member of the Organization of the Islamic Conference (OIC) and also sought close relations with other leading Islamic countries in the D8 grouping (Rüland 2017).63 The increased space for political Islam fueled an increasing number of religious and ethnic conflicts towards the end of the Suharto era. The pogroms against the Chinese (many of whom are Christians) in Javanese towns, anti-Christian violence on Lombok, and the atrocities of pro-Indonesian militias and TNI forces against (mainly Christian) pro-independence East Timorese are cases in point (Sidel 2006). Violence also erupted in Central and West Kalimantan, where Christian Dayaks butchered and evicted Muslim transmigrants from Madura Island, and in Kupang (West Timor), where Christian mobs harassed Muslims in retaliation for church burnings on Java.64 At the same time hundreds of Christian churches were destroyed in moves against the alleged Christianization of Indonesia. The notion of a “civil Islam” (Hefner 2000), which so far had set Indonesian Islam apart from the harsher Middle Eastern versions, increasingly lost traction. It was against this background of religious restiveness that the conflict in Maluku could reach its savage ferocity. National discourses were echoed in the conflict, enabled focalization and transvaluation, and eventually impacted on the national discourse, thereby creating an upward spiral of religious agitation. Local Moluccan discourses in particular, which portrayed events in the province as “religious cleansing” (see the following), resonated in the national Muslim discourse. The latter portrayed events in Maluku as a Judeo-Christian conspiracy against Islam, paving the way to mass demonstrations such as that on 17 January 2000, in Jakarta after news had reached the capital that in Halmahera hundreds of Muslims had been massacred by Christians. The demonstration led to the formation of Laskar Jihad and eventually the latter’s intervention in Maluku. In sum, six major themes stood out in the local discourses in Maluku: (1) the instrumentalization of history for focalization and transvaluation; (2) Moluccan separatism; (3) religious cleansing; (4) external interests in the conflict; (5) local peacebuilding traditions; and (6) graft and corruption associated with relief and rehabilitation measures.

The instrumentalization of history According to Mark Juergensmeyer (2000), conflict parties tend to instrumentalize history to link current with past events, to amplify the dimension

Conflict and peace in Mindanao and Maluku  81 and the meaning of the conflict, and to legitimate the use of violence. Such reflexes could also be seen in the discourse in the Moluccas, where many local Muslims associated Christianity with colonialism and oppression. Hence it was easy for leading Laskar Jihad members to portray the conflict in Maluku as a Christian crusade, driven by a global JudeoChristian conspiracy against Muslims65 and the association of Moluccan Christians with colonial rule and RMS separatism. Even Moluccan early nineteenth century anti-colonial hero Thomas Matulessy (Pattimura), by most accounts a Christian, was stylized as an Islamic freedom fighter (Bräuchler 2005: 228). Locating the conflict in the wider context of a religious war between Muslims and Christians, it was not surprising that both sides depicted the violence in religious terms (Duncan 2013; Al Qurtuby 2016). Muslims believed that they fought a perang sabil (war in God’s cause) or holy war (jihad), whereas Christians deemed themselves in a perang salib (crusade) (Al Qurtubi 2016: 6). Only a crusade could in their view halt the ongoing process of the Islamization of Indonesia, a concomitant of the worldwide resurgence of Muslim fundamentalism. By contrast, the Muslim jihad was driven by fears of expulsion from the Moluccas by Christians. Accounts of the conflict show that the ongoing Christian discourse over the legitimacy of violent acts was full of Old Testament symbolism. Christians frequently referred to the Holy Land, likening themselves to the Israelis and the Jews, while equating their Muslim opponents with the Palestinians, the enemies of Israel (Spyer 2002: 31; Al Qurtuby 2016: 58). They equated themselves with Abel or King David, Muslims with Kain or Goliath. Associating themselves with these figures had the very function already discussed in the theory chapter (chapter 2): portraying their own group as good and truthful, while denigrating the religious other as evil, immoral, and wicked (Al Qurtuby 2015: 318).

Moluccan separatism Muslims, for their part, stereotyped Christians as notorious separatists, drawing from the fact that in the collective memory of Maluku, Muslims and Indonesians living outside the province, Christians were stigmatized as adherents of the Republic of South Maluku (RMS) movement of the 1950s (Bräuchler 2015: 75). From the very beginning of the conflict, Muslim leaders in Maluku used this stereotype to discredit Christians as being disloyal towards the Republic of Indonesia.66 However, with the arrival of the Laskar Jihad forces in May  2000, the equation of Christians with RMS separatists became ubiquitous in Muslim rhetoric (Davis 2002: 17). Typical is a

82  Conflict and peace in Mindanao and Maluku statement of Laskar Jihad leader Ja’far Umar Thalib, quoted in the Böhm chronology: When all Muslims are to be ousted out of the Moluccas, it would be a real danger that the “Moluccas will tear itself loose from Indonesia like East Timor” (Böhm 2006: 78). Tellingly, the Laskar Jihad handbook, authored by retired TNI Brigadier General Rustam Kastor, was titled “Konspirasi Kristen dan RMS Menghancurkan Umat Islam di Ambon-Maluku” (Kastor 2000).67 Yet the formation of the Front Kedaulatan Maluku (Front for the Sovereignty of the Moluccas, FKM) in July 2000,68 by a group of Protestant Christians under the leadership of physician Alex Manuputty, and the repeated hoisting of the RMS flag in Maluku, gave credence to this propaganda and ignored that some Muslims had also joined the group.69 SPMM, the radio station of the jihad forces in Maluku, thus persistently accused the Protestant Church of the Moluccas (GPM) and the Catholic Diocese of Amboina of being involved in the rebellion (Böhm 2006: 164).70 The RMS theme widely resonated in Indonesia, with even Indonesian Vice President Hamzah Haz calling the conflict in the Moluccas “a case of separatist aspirations,” and a TNI spokesman quoted in Republika as regarding the RMS Independence Movement “as one of the main instigators of unrest and violence in the Moluccas” (ibid.: 289). Certainly, both Moluccan churches vehemently rejected these allegations, which allowed the jihadists to pose in the Indonesian media as fierce nationalists, defending the Indonesian unitary state (Negeri Kesatuan Republik Indonesia, NKRI). Most likely, the followers of the FKM counted no more than 250–300 people, according to an estimate of Ichsan Malik, the founder of the secular Baku Bae peace movement and thus a more impartial source than the jihadists and their backers inside and outside the Moluccas (ibid.: 239). Yet the theme, deeply entrenched in the memory of Indonesian Muslims, continued to haunt Christians and resurfaced in isolated postMalino II violent incidents (ibid.: 301, 337, 361).

Religious cleansing Religious cleansing was a theme that figured prominently in the war rhetoric of both parties. It was Muslims who first effectively leveraged the issue, especially after the Christian massacres of Muslims in Halmahera at the end of 2000. The message of a seeming annihilation of Muslims in the Moluccas mobilized the followers of a broad array of Islamic organizations in Indonesia and eventually gave rise to the formation of Laskar Jihad

Conflict and peace in Mindanao and Maluku  83 and other militias entering the Moluccas in mid-2000 (International Crisis Group 2000: 1). When, after the arrival of the jihadists, Christians were increasingly on the defensive, they used the same theme in their public messages, which mainly addressed an international audience. Slogans disseminated by mosques, graffiti calling for the annihilation of Christians, and demands to end Christian presence in the Moluccas seemed to corroborate such fears (Böhm 2006: 16, 28, 184). Particularly Catholic Bishop Petrus Canisius Mandagi vocally deplored processes of forced Islamization in the islands of Buru, Seram, and Teor, which all had the purpose of paving the way for the formation of the “Islamic State of Indonesia” (ibid.: 16).71 Referring to Ambon, he noted that Laskar Jihad “has succeeded in cleansing about 75 percent of the island from Christians” (ibid.: 88). As the Indonesian security forces were obviously incapable of preventing these atrocities, he combined his accusations with calls for an international peace mission under the auspices of the United Nations.72 However, with the United Nations discredited in Indonesia due to their concurrent involvement in East Timor, an international peace mission was anathema for the Indonesian government.

External interests When in 2001, two years after the outbreak of the violence, war fatigue spread, the discourse surrounding the conflict increasingly focused on the role of external provocateurs and members of the Jakarta-based elite with an interest in prolonging the hostilities (Al Qurtuby 2016: 49).73 This in fact resonates with Neumann’s findings in Mindanao (Neumann 2013: 231). In the emerging “collective narrative of victimization” (ibid.: 232), many Christians, but also local Muslims who wanted to get rid of the jihad forces (Böhm 2006: 52), found agreement in the argument that autochthonous Moluccans cannot be behind the atrocities perpetrated by the war parties and the disastrous destruction caused by the conflict (ibid.: 46). Yet in most cases these allusions remained vague, referring to shadowy figures in the capital who instrumentalized the leaders of the conflicting parties as pawns on the national political chessboard (ibid.: 43). Allegations of a political conspiracy, such as in a joint statement by Moluccan Protestant and Catholic leaders, implicated the military, Islamic fundamentalists, and New Order cronies. Rogue military officers linked to the Suharto family,74 the statement reasoned, were out to create instabilities with the objective of increasing their bargaining power in the political power struggle raging in Jakarta and eventually overthrowing the increasingly ailing government of President Abdurrahman Wahid (ibid.: 73).75 Amien Rais, the leader of the Partai Amanat Nasional (PAN)

84  Conflict and peace in Mindanao and Maluku and speaker of the Majelis Permusyawaratan Rakyat (People’s Consultative Assembly, MPR), was also accused of having been motivated by similar objectives (Steenbrink 2001: 14; Schulze 2002: 67). Prabowo Subianto – the son-in-law of Suharto, a former Kostrad commander, and presidential candidate in 2014 – was also named as one of political figures with a hand in the Moluccan unrest (Steenbrink 2001: 14). The shared belief in an external hand fomenting the conflict facilitated a gradual rapprochement between Christians and local Muslims, which eventually led to the Malino II accord. However, most Muslim migrants and the jihadists dissociated themselves from this convergence of peace-minded forces and continued their war mongering rhetoric.

Local peacebuilding traditions In chapter 4, we argued that Moluccans had created valuable social capital in the form of customary law (adat). That Ambon had been celebrated for a long time as a role model of religious harmony, highlighted in the metaphor of Ambon manise, has been attributed to the effectiveness of the pela gandong practices, which established peace pacts among villages of different faiths. Churches, the Baku Bae peace movement, moderate Muslims, the traditional village authorities (rajas), the local governments, and even the police and international donor organizations all propagated the revitalization of these pela gandong practices (Böhm 2006: 62). The Social Harmony program and the Orang Basudara (Brotherhood) program of the city government was inspired by the pela gandong tradition and sought to make people aware of it (Anson et al. 2014: 59–63).76 Pursuing a similar objective, the head of the post-conflict Protestant Synod, John Ruhulessin, wrote an entire book reflecting on how pela gandong can make the pluralistic Moluccan society hang together (Bartels 2009: 16). Yet, as mentioned above, pela gandong was no panacea. It did not integrate migrants to the Moluccan archipelago and the peace pact covered only two or four villages at best, while for a sustainable peace it must cover the entire province. As in Mindanao, despite a less violent post-conflict history, negative peace persists in Maluku, too. People coexist, interrupted by occasional brawls and violent incidents, but to speak of reconciliation in the sense of positive peace is premature.

Corruption Another post-conflict theme was corruption. Already during the conflict, many NGOs had come to the Moluccas and Ambon in order to contribute to relief measures and later support rehabilitation of the war-torn region.

Conflict and peace in Mindanao and Maluku  85 Relief measures primarily concentrated on displaced persons, rehabilitation programs, and the reconstruction of the island’s ruined infrastructure. In the process, large sums of money in domestic and foreign aid entered the province, but did not reach their target groups. Press accounts persistently bemoaned rampant corruption and mismanagement which was massively impeding relief and rehabilitation programs (Böhm 2006: 227, 266; Anson et al. 2014: 49). The latter were chaotic in many respects and created new injustices. Data published in a study by the Habibie Center show that by 2012, ten years after the Malino II accord, a staggering 3,641 refugee households were still left unattended (Anson et  al. 2014: 37). Other rehabilitation programs of the state such as a trauma healing center and the building of public spaces to reduce the effects of increased post-conflict residential segregation were also sluggish and did not achieve their targets (ibid.: 66). External support largely ended when a disastrous tsunami struck the province of Aceh in December 2004 and many donors left the Moluccas, exacerbating the difficulties in completing the rehabilitation programs (Centre for Humanitarian Dialogue 2011: 30).77

The post-conflict national discourse on religion As mentioned before, distrust between the former conflict parties still lingers. Coexistence rather than reconciliation characterizes the attitude of Moluccans. This is underscored by the fact that one of the most significant results of the conflict in Maluku is a markedly sharpened religious segregation in the province (Böhm 2006: 13; Anson et al. 2014: 41). That peace in Ambon and the remainder of Maluku province is still fragile and that reconciliation proceeds slowly must also be attributed to the national context. The national discourse on religion shows how volatile the relationship between Sunni Islam, the country’s majority religion, and religious minorities currently is.78 This not only includes Christian denominations ranging from mainline Protestantism and Catholicism to a great variety of Pentecostal and evangelical churches, but also so-called deviant Islamic religious groups such as the adherents of Ahmadiyah and Shia. While religious extremism is not a new phenomenon (the Darul Islam movement in the 1950s and 1960s, for instance, is a case in point), there are indications that fundamentalist religious leanings and expressions of religious intolerance have been on the rise. At the forefront of these developments are groups such as Front Pembela Islam (vigilante groups operating nationwide that fight against social manifestations of what they chastise as “immorality”), Hizb ut-Tahrir (a transnational organization to re-establish the Islamic Caliphate), and Jemaah Islamiyah (an underground rebel group allegedly linked to transnational terror networks and mastermind of the

86  Conflict and peace in Mindanao and Maluku Bali bombings), to name some of the most significant ones.79 The Partai Keadilan Sejahtera (Prosperous Justice Party, PKS), a profoundly conservative Islamic political party has emerged (among other, less fundamentalist Islamic parties),80 and which, while so far never exceeding 8  percent of the nationwide vote in parliamentary elections, has nevertheless became a vocal domestic political factor. The American invasions in Afghanistan and Iraq further radicalized Indonesian Muslims, fueling raucous street protests inside and outside of Jakarta. Observers also noted that an increasing number of Indonesians consciously practiced an Islamic lifestyle including a rising number of hajj pilgrimages.81 The province of Aceh was granted special autonomy in the Helsinki Peace Accord, which ended several decades of intermittent civil war. The autonomy law (Law No. 11/2006) permitted the province to introduce sharia law, which is implemented by a sharia police and entails harsh and inhuman punishments such as caning. Other local governments followed suit and also introduced local by-laws which are guided by the sharia. In 2015, such sharia by-laws existed in seven provinces and 51 regencies according to Muhammad Wildan, a philosopher and religious scholar at Universitas Islam Negeri (UIN) Sunan Kalijaga in Yogyakarta. Most of these local governments are located in West Java, West Sumatra, and South Sulawesi, regions where the Darul Islam had its strongholds in the 1950s and 1960s.82 Although the Catholic dean of interfaith dialogue in Indonesia, Father Franz Magnis-Suseno, persuasively argued that compared to the late 1990s and early 2000s (Magnis-Suseno 2011: 22) interreligious relations are less violent and on balance have improved in the last decade, survey results and the media discourse convey the impression of diminishing religious tolerance. A survey by the American Pew Research Center questioned the general belief that Indonesian Muslims are “moderate” and referred to the high percentage of Indonesians favoring sharia, including the draconian hudud punishments. Moreover, Indonesian surveys such as that conducted in 2008 by the Center for Islamic and Society Studies (PPIM) at Syarif Hidayatullah State Islamic University in Jakarta also indicated that most Islamic studies teachers in public and private schools in Java oppose pluralism while tending towards radicalism and conservatism.83 Also, a survey by the Center for the Study of Islam and Society at the Gadjah Mada University suggests that intolerance is on the rise among Indonesian Muslims.84 Some furor was caused by a survey organized by the Center for Strategic and International Studies (CSIS) in Jakarta based on 2,220 respondents from 23 provinces.85 The positive finding of this survey was that Indonesians still do not favor social segregation: a large majority of the respondents – some 83 percent – said that they had no problem with neighbors from

Conflict and peace in Mindanao and Maluku  87 different ethnic groups. However, on the other side of the coin is the rejection of interfaith marriages by 79  percent of the respondents. Even more disturbingly, the survey also revealed that 68 percent of respondents refused to allow people of different faiths to build places of worship in their neighborhood, while 91 percent said that people from different faiths must get approval from the local community before they could build a place of worship. Close to 80 percent of respondents also thought that all restaurants and eateries should shut down during the Muslim fasting month of Ramadan. Moreover, most survey respondents registered low levels of trust towards people of different faiths. More than 25 percent said they would not trust people of different faiths, while 60  percent said that “they would be on guard.” The survey also found that religious intolerance spread across party lines as no difference could be registered between nationalist and Islamic party supporters. Finally, a significant number of respondents supported piety-oriented ordinances. Nearly 65 percent said that they would approve a policy that would require female students to wear Muslim headscarves, while 61 percent of them would agree to an ordinance that would mandate students to be fluent in Arabic.86 Commenting on the survey, Wahid Institute director Zannuba “Yenny” Wahid caustically said that the results show that “there is no ‘silent majority’ that supports pluralism. The majority of Indonesian people probably practice religious intolerance.”87 As far as Christians are concerned, the discourse on religious intolerance mainly focused on the building of houses of worship and the concomitant increasing number of violent clashes orchestrated by Islamic militants such as the FPI and its affiliate organizations. In the case of Islamic minorities, the question debated regards how far deviant practices of Islam such as Ahmadiyah and Shia are a form of heresy, the eradication of which is the duty of a devout Muslim, which in turn justifies violence. Press reports indicate that in the last decade it became increasingly difficult for religious minorities to build places of worship. Local government permits especially are often withheld due to the agitation of militant Muslim organizations, giving rise to accusations by human rights groups and pluralism activists who claim that these permits are often used to justify the oppression of religious minorities.88 The regulation was criticized by MPs of secular parties such as PDI-P and Golkar, but supported by Islamic parties such as PAN and then Religious Affairs Minister Suryadharma Ali.89 The Jakarta Globe deplored that vigilantism was increasingly taking root in religious affairs,90 leading to church closures grounded on the pretext that permits had been violated.91 Mobs physically attacked churches and private houses allegedly used illegally for worship, and members of a Christian congregation celebrated mass in the open air due to the refusal of a building permit for a church by local authorities.92 Muslim militants

88  Conflict and peace in Mindanao and Maluku suspect church building of being open proselytizing, which is violating an interreligious agreement according to which missionary activities should be avoided where people already belong to a religion. Unfortunately, the police often stand idly by in these incidents, obviously influenced by the fact that powerful politicians such as the presidential candidate of 2014, Prabowo Subianto,93 former Jakarta governor Fauzi Bowo, and West Java Governor Ahmad Heryawan openly court militant Muslim organizations.94 Press reports noted that the Indonesian state was even less protective of Islamic minorities than of Christians. The deadly attacks against Ahmadis in 2013 were facilitated by a highly controversial government decree issued in 2008, which bans Ahmadis from propagating their belief.95 Ahmadis were also labelled a “deviant sect” by Islamic officials and the Religious Affairs Ministry accused them of “heresy,”96 thus making them an easy target for mob violence and Islamic hard-line organizations.97 What religious tolerance means for state representatives close to Islamic militants was succinctly expressed by West Java governor Ahmad Heryawan, who was quoted by the Jakarta Globe as follows: “Of course, we want religious tolerance to go properly, but the Ahmadiyah have committed a violation by spreading a deviant belief,” he stated. “The problem will disappear, if the belief disappears.”98 Religious Affairs Minister Suryadharma Ali also called Shiites “heretical,” thereby tacitly justifying the violent attacks on them on the island of Madura.99 In coincidence with these reports, in 2014, the Setara Institute for Democracy and Peace in Jakarta documented 220 cases of violent attacks on religious minorities in 2013, an increase from 91 such cases in 2007.100 Earlier the Wahid Institute and The Jakarta Post had criticized that radical groups are condoned by the authorities,101 and religious minorities persistently complain that little is done to bring the perpetrators of religious violence to justice. Examples named were the cases of the “17 people responsible for the destruction of churches in the Central Java town of Temanggung,” who “were sentenced to only 4–5 months in jail and the murderers of three Ahmahdiya members were jailed for only 3–5 months.”102 Former Indonesian Religious Minister Suryadharma Ali, a diehard Islamic conservative, flatly denied that there is a problem at all. According to him, “Indonesia is the best in the world in terms of religious tolerance. Is America like that?”103 This is very much in line with a fatwa (legal opinion) issued by the Majelis Ulema Indonesia (MUI) – another organizational stronghold of conservative Islam – which outlawed liberal Islamic thought and pluralism.104 Interfaith leaders subsequently castigated the MUI for failing to come up with an edict banning the increasing use of violence against different religious groups.105 Critics also relate what they regard as a climate of intensifying intolerance to the indiscriminate use of Indonesia’s blasphemy law. They argue

Conflict and peace in Mindanao and Maluku  89 that the law, originally enacted by the Suharto regime to prevent the emergence of more religions than the six constitutionally recognized ones,106 is poorly defined and hence can be easily abused for political purposes. The Setara Institute, for instance, found that so far the law has been used 97 times: only eight times during the Suharto era, the remainder in the Era Reformasi.107 In most cases it was applied against religious minorities, while cases against mainstream Muslims led to acquittals.108 The most controversial case was the recent sentencing of ethnic-Chinese Jakarta Governor Basuki “Ahok” Purnama, a Christian, to two years in jail for citing a Koran verse, which his political opponents successfully used to derail his re-election campaign. Human rights activists denounce the law as a strike against religious freedom, the criminalization of beliefs, freedom of speech,109 and a tool for political purposes that is used by an unholy alliance of ultra-conservative politicians, elements of the military and the police, and militant conservative Islamic organizations. Critics deplore that the large religious associations such as Nahdlatul Ulama and, in particular, Muhammadiyah, have so far done too little to defend pluralism and to rein in the militants, a view, however, that is not shared by Magnis-Suseno (Magnis-Suseno 2011: 22).110 Yet, like in the Philippines, most observers did not attribute the phenomenon of rising religious intolerance to religion per se. For them, religion is only an amplifier of other problems. The late Hasyim Muzadi, former chairperson of the Nahdlatul Ulama, for instance, opined that many religious conflicts in Indonesia were actually rooted in social status disparity or political reasons.111 Corruption, nepotism, and economic marginalization, as well as the deep inequalities and injustices associated with them, were identified as fertile ground for recruiting religious extremists.112 The key to greater religious harmony, some therefore argued, is improved access to socioeconomic welfare and education.113 In order to curb the rise of religious intolerance, press articles persistently cite voices in favor of an intensified interreligious dialogue. Reports highlighting best practices in interfaith relations complement this endeavor. Examples corroborating Magnis-Suseno’s less alarmist assessment of interreligious relations are Jakarta Post articles commending a Nahdlatul Ulama (NU) youth organization branch (Banser) that helped to secure churches in Poso,114 and NU protests against attacks on an interfaith forum in Surabaya by the FPI.115 Even the Indonesian government, while on the one hand strengthens conservative Islamic bodies such as the MUI,116 on the other promotes interreligious dialogue as a country championing moderation (Nguitragool & Rüland 2015; Rüland 2017). Yet interreligious dialogue is also criticized as an elite phenomenon which mainly involves the moderates.117 Sumanto Al Qurtuby, the author of

90  Conflict and peace in Mindanao and Maluku a major study on the conflict in the Moluccas, wrote on interfaith dialogues in the Jakarta Globe: There are a number of reasons why such interfaith dialogues [have] so far had only little success in overcoming religiously-inspired conflicts. First, many if not most interfaith dialogues are merely formal, ceremonial conversations, often taking place in luxurious hotels. As a result, with few exceptions, such interfaith meetings are a waste of time and money, and little more than “feel-good-talkfests” that do not fully grapple with real problems of interfaith relations and interfaith tensions on the ground. Worse yet, the meetings usually involve “moderate factions” of both religions, and do not engage with the “real actors” of religious violence: the extremists. [. . .] In order to become successful, such interfaith meetings must bring leaders of conservative-militant groups of both sides to the negotiating table.118 Sin Syamsuddin, the chairman of Muhammadiyah, and Abu Hafsin, the head of the central Java chapter of the Religious Harmony Community Forum (FKUB), concur, fearing that the situation will not improve markedly as long as interfaith dialogues do not become more representative.119 Abu Hafsin was quoted by The Jakarta Post, stating that interfaith dialogues have so far failed to widely promote tolerance, due to a limited understanding and education at the grassroots level, many groups remained reluctant to spread the concept of pluralism. The majority of people from the middle to low-income brackets are not yet ready to move toward democracy, he says, and create institutions under the name of democracy, but fail to implement these values in their daily lives. Consequently, religion could spark conflict within the community because those at the grassroots level are still easily provoked by religious issues.120 Moreover, interreligious dialogues are often not conducted at regular intervals, involve a changing set of people, and thus lack consistency.121 But interreligious dialogues, even if organized comprehensively, are no panacea. What is also urgently needed is “intra-religious dialogue” or dealing with the “near-other” – in other words, taming the groups that foment intolerance.122 This is essential particularly in conflict regions such as Maluku, where moderate Muslim clerics admitted that it is difficult for them to control militant religious leaders who often are returnees from the Middle East and seek to hijack mosques in the province.123

Conflict and peace in Mindanao and Maluku  91 In sum, the chapter has shown that as predicted in our explanatory model (see chapter 2), discourses are an important shaper of interreligious relations. For Mindanao as well as Maluku it could be shown that myths and stereotypes reproduced hostile attitudes against the religious “other” and in the wake of deteriorating socioeconomic conditions facilitated the outbreak of violence. However, the chapter also suggests, more in the case of Maluku than in Mindanao, that religious discourses, which highlight interreligious commonalities such as the manipulation and victimization of both warring religious groups by external actors and the (re-)discovery of a common traditional culture, may also become an enabling factor for peacebuilding initiatives. While such a positive discourse may lead to an end to interreligious violence, it is not a sufficient condition for a “positive peace” or reconciliation. For instance, if, as in the case of Maluku, the overarching national post-conflict interreligious discourse is characterized by tensions and acrimony, this has repercussions on the relations between religious groups on the local level. Under such conditions it is unlikely that peacebuilding will transcend the mere coexistence of the antagonists and proceed to reconciliation. In other words, peacebuilding does not deliver a state in which violence flaring up again can be ruled out with certainty.

Notes 1 Authors’ interview, 11 September 2015. 2 See also Jubair (2007: 47). 3 Thereby referring to the fact that MILF cadres fought in Afghanistan in the 1980s. 4 “Aquino invites Church to study BBL,” available at: www.cbcpnews.com/ cbcpnews/?p=53563 (accessed 27 May 2017). 5 Philippine Daily Inquirer, 23 May 2015. 6 Philippine Daily Inquirer, 19 March 2015. 7 See, for instance, statements of former Zamboanga City Mayor Ma. Clara Lobregat, a leading critic of peace negotiations with the MILF. Lobregat warned the government: “You don’t understand these people. They will not stop until they create an independent Islamic state here in Mindanao.” Lobregat was also a supporter of President Estrada’s “all-out war” in Mindanao in 2000. See Philippine Graphic, 22 September 2003. 8 Philippine Daily Inquirer, 6 June 2015. 9 Malaya, 2 March 2015. 10 Philippine Daily Inquirer, 27 March 2014. 11 Philippine Daily Inquirer, 9 March 2015. 12 Philippine Daily Inquirer, 17 February 2015. 13 Philippine Daily Inquirer, 6 February 2015. 14 Philippine Daily Inquirer, 2 March 2015 and 2 June 2015. 15 Minda News, 14 July 2015. Retired Supreme Court Chief Reynato Puno concurred, predicting that “The BBL could lead to a national crisis whether or not it becomes law.” See Manila Bulletin, 4 June 2015.

92  Conflict and peace in Mindanao and Maluku 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26

27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48

Philippine Daily Inquirer, 26 July 2015. Philippine Daily Inquirer, 8 April 2015. Philippine Daily Inquirer, 23 July 2015. Philippine Daily Inquirer, 10 September 2014 and 28 January 2015. This disapprovingly referred to the mediation role of the government of Malaysia since 2001. See The Manila Times, 24 June 2015. Philippine Daily Inquirer, 25 October 2012. Minda News, 14 July 2015. Philippine Daily Inquirer, 20 June 2015. Philippine Daily Inquirer, 8 April 2015. Philippine Daily Inquirer, 30 January 2015. The Ampatuans are a local clan that has its stronghold in Maguindanao province. The clan received notorious publicity in November 2009, when clan members in a clan feud (rido) ambushed supporters and relatives of another local politician, Ismael Mangadadatu, in the early stages of the 2010 elections. Among the slain were 32 journalists. Philippine Daily Inquirer, 30 January 2015. Philippine Daily Inquirer, 24 March 2015. Philippine Daily Inquirer, 6 April 2014. Ibid. Philippine Daily Inquirer, 28 March 2014. Ibid. Miriam Coronel Ferrer, head of the government peace panel, cited in the Philippine Daily Inquirer, 8 April 2015. Ibid. “‘Vague’ self-rule provision present in draft BBL – priest,” available at: www. cbcpnews.com/cbcpnews/?p=52633 (accessed 27 May 2017). “Can Peace be Attained through the Bangsamoro Basic Law?” available at: www.cbcpnews.com/cbcpnews/?p=52393 (accessed 27 May 2017). Ibid. Ibid. Philippine Daily Inquirer, 17 May 2015. “CBCP chief: Don’t silence groups excluded from BBL,” available at: www. cbcpnews.com/cbcpnews/?p=54427 (accessed 27 May 2017). Philippine Daily Inquirer, 16 October 2012. “Ateneo presidents support new Muslim region,” available at: www.rappler. com/nation/108168-ateneo-presidents-bbl-bangsamoro-basic-law (accessed 27 May 2017). Minda News, 14 July 2015. “Quevedo calls for openness not anti-Moro biases in BBL,” available at: www.cbcpnews.com/cbcpnews/?p=52599*hyperlink broken (accessed 27 May 2017). “BBL ‘in limbo,’ says cardinal,” available at: www.cbcpnews.com/ cbcpnews/?p=69548 (accessed 27 May 2017). “Bishop raises alarm over terrorism in Mindanao,” available at: www.cbcpnews. com/cbcpnews/?p=81208 (accessed 27 May 2017). Similar Quimpo (2016: 20). For details on the Silsilah Dialogue Movement, see D’Ambra (2011b) and Espiritu (2017). “PIME missionary: lack of agreement between Muslims and government behind Mindanao attacks,” www.asianews.it/news-en/PIME-missionary:-lack-

Conflict and peace in Mindanao and Maluku  93

49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65

66 67 68 69 70

71 72 73 74 75

of-agreement-between-Muslims-and-government-behind-Mindanao-attacks36254.html (accessed 27 May 2017). Minda News, 14 July 2015 and “Bishops back a BBL rooted in ‘social justice,’ ” available at: www.cbcpnews.com/cbcpnews/?p=59886 (accessed 27 May 2017). Internet communication, 12 January 2018. For a description, see Gutierrez (1999: 331–332). Far Eastern Economic Review, 28 March 1996, p. 30. Far Eastern Economic Review, 24 August 1995, p. 26. See also International Crisis Group 2011a: 9, 2011b: 5). Rushford (2006: 30). “Catholic Church ‘supportive’ of BBL – MILF negotiator,” available at: www. cbcpnews.com/cbcpnews/?p=54264 (accessed 27 May 2017). Manila Standard, 12 April 2015. BIFF spokesman Abu Misry Mama as quoted by the Philippine Daily Inquirer, 29 January 2015. Philippine Daily Inquirer, 24 November 2014. Philippine Daily Inquirer, 18 August 2015. The Jakarta Post and Kompas belong to the Gramedia Group owned by founder Jakob Oetama and the Wanandi brothers. Jakarta Globe is owned by the Riady family, which controls the Lippo Group, a large real estate developer. For details, see the careful accounts of Bräuchler (2003, 2004, 2005). Members of the D8 are, apart from Indonesia, Turkey, Iran, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Malaysia, Egypt, and Nigeria. For instance, in Surabaya, Situbondo, Tasikmalaya, Rengasdenglok, and Jakarta, see Magnis-Suseno (2011: 20). The belief in conspiracy found its expression in the belief of many Indonesian Muslims that the terrorist 9/11 attacks in New York and Washington were not the work of Islamist extremists, but in reality engineered by the US Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) and the Israeli secret service, Mossad. See also Chapter 4. The Jakarta Post, 15 May 2004. “Christian and RMS conspiracy to annihilate the Muslim Community of Ambon-Moluccas.” The formation was made official on 18 December 2000 (Böhm 2006: 370). The Jakarta Post, 15 May 2004. See also “Declaration of War” by Laskar Jihad Commander Ustadz Ja’far Umar Thalib, broadcast on Radio SPMM (Voice of the Maluku Muslim Struggle) on 1–3 March 2002; as published by the Indonesian newspaper “Berdarah” website on 8 May  2002, available at: http://websitesrcg.com/ambon/documents/ laskar-jihad-010502.htm (accessed 30 November 2002). See also The Jakarta Post, 5 and 6 May 2002. Cases of forced Islamization have been acknowledged by Moluccan provincial authorities (Böhm 2006: 123). See also The Jakarta Post, 17 January 2000. For early speculations about the “external factor” see The Straits Times, 23 January 1999. Such allegations were supported by Defense Minister Mahfud M.D. and his predecessor Juwono Sudarsono (International Crisis Group 2000: 18). See also an interview with the Catholic Bishop of the Diocese of Amboina in The Jakarta Post, 17 January 2000.

94  Conflict and peace in Mindanao and Maluku See also The Jakarta Post, 30 March 2009. See also The Jakarta Post, 22 May 2015. The Jakarta Post, 1 February 2013. For a critical assessment of the assumed links between Jemaah Islamiyah and international terror networks such as Al-Qaeda, see Rüland (2003). 80 Apart from the established Partai Persatuan Pengangunan (PPP), which already existed in the New Order period, other Islamic parties formed in the Era Reformasi were, inter alia, the Partai Kebangkitan Bangsa (PBS), the Partai Amamat Nasional (PAN), and the Partai Bulan Bintang (PBB), to name the more significant ones. 81 For a very nuanced discussion of this phenomenon, see the recently defended PhD dissertation of Mirjam Lücking (2016). However, Lücking rejects the widespread notion that practicing an Islamic lifestyle is equivalent to an increasing “Arabization,” as some observers claim. See also Lücking (2017). 82 Muhammad Wildan presented these figures at a guest lecture at the Freiburg Institute for Advanced Studies (FRIAS) on 1 June 2015. See also John McBeth, “Is Indonesia teetering towards Theocracy?” available at: Setara Institute, http://setara-institute.org/en/english-is-indonesia-teetering-toward-theocracy/ (accessed 31 May 2017). 83 The Jakarta Post, 26 November 2008. 84 The Jakarta Post, 7 October 2010. 85 The Jakarta Post, 6 December 2012. 86 Ibid. 87 The Jakarta Post, 6 December  2012; similarly, the Jakarta Globe, 29 December 2014. 88 Ibid. 89 Ibid. 90 Jakarta Globe, 9 July 2013. 91 Jakarta Globe, 20 March 2014, 4 June 2014; The Jakarta Post, 30 June 2010. 92 In one reported case, the house of a pastor was burnt; in another, community members were injured by affiliate organizations of the FPI disrupting mass. The Jakarta Post, 11 August 2011. 93 John McBeth, “Is Indonesia Teetering toward Theocracy?” available at: Setara Institute, http://setara-institute.org/en/english-is-indonesia-teetering-towardtheocracy/ (accessed 31 May 2017). 94 The Jakarta Post, 7 May 2013. 95 Jakarta Globe, 1 June 2013. 96 Jakarta Globe, 31 October 2014 and The Jakarta Post, 16 March 2012. 97 Jakarta Globe, 7 May 2013. 98 Ibid. 99 The Jakarta Post, 13 February 2013. 100 Jakarta Globe, 25 August 2014 and The Jakarta Post, 18 May 2012. 101 The Jakarta Post, 7 June 2012. 102 The Jakarta Post, 18 May 2012. 103 Jakarta Globe, 7 July 2013. 104 The Jakarta Post, 30 July 2005 and 8 August 2005. 105 Ibid. 106 Setara Institute, “Civil Society Groups Call for Changes to the Blasphemy Law that Convicted Ahok,” available at: http://setara-institute.org/en/english-civil-



76 77 78 79

Conflict and peace in Mindanao and Maluku  95 society-groups-call-for-changes-to-the-blasphemy-law-that-convicted-ahok/ (accessed 31 May 2017). 107 John McBeth, “Is Indonesia Teetering toward Theocracy?” available at: Setara Institute, http://setara-institute.org/en/english-is-indonesia-teetering-towardtheocracy/ (accessed 31 May 2017). 108 Setara Institute, “Civil Society Groups Call for Changes to the Blasphemy Law that Convicted Ahok,” available at: http://setara-institute.org/en/english-civilsociety-groups-call-for-changes-to-the-blasphemy-law-that-convicted-ahok/ (accessed 31 May 2017). 109 Jakarta Globe, 21 November 2014. 110 The Jakarta Post, 16 May 2011. 111 The Jakarta Post, 18 May 2012. 112 The Jakarta Post, 28 September 2010, 7 October 2010. 113 The Jakarta Post, 18 May 2012. 114 The Jakarta Post, 24 December 2014. For nearly 20 years, the Banser militia has guarded Christian churches at Christmas and during the Easter night (Magnis-Suseno 2011: 22). 115 The Jakarta Post, 12 June 2013 and 30 May 2014. 116 John McBeth, “Is Indonesia Teetering toward Theocracy?” available at: Setara Institute, http://setara-institute.org/en/english-is-indonesia-teetering-towardtheocracy/ (accessed 31 May 2017). 117 The Jakarta Post, 16 February 2011. 118 Jakarta Globe, 22 March 2015; see also The Jakarta Post, 28 November 2008 and 16 February 2011. 119 The Jakarta Post, 28 November 2009. Such statements have also been made in the Moluccas. See The Jakarta Post, 26 March 2007 and Rev Jacky Manuputty in The Jakarta Post, 30 August 2006. 120 The Jakarta Post, 16 February 2011. 121 The Jakarta Post, 14 September 2009. 122 The Jakarta Post, 28 February 2010. 123 Authors’ interview with a Moluccan Ustadz, 1 October 2015.

References Al Qurtuby, Sumanto (2015): “Christianity and Militancy in Eastern Indonesia: Revisiting the Maluku Violence,” Southeast Asian Studies 4(2): 313–339. Al Qurtuby, Sumanto (2016): Religious Violence and Conciliation in Indonesia: Christians and Muslims in the Moluccas, London & New York: Routledge. Anson, Mohammad Hasan, Sukandar, Rudi, Peranto, Sopar, Karib, Fathun, Cholid, Sofyan  & Rasyid, Imron (2014): Post Violence Segregation, Violence, and Reconstruction Policy in Ambon, Jakarta: National Violence Monitoring System (SNPK) – The Habibie Center (THC). Bacani, Benedicto R. (2005): The Mindanao Peace Talks: Another Opportunity to Resolve the Moro Conflict in the Philippines, Washington, DC: United States Institute of Peace, Special Report. Bartels, Dieter (2009): “When God has no Answer, Search for Ancestral Wisdom: Revival of Traditional and Colonial Institutions in Conflict Resolutions between Muslims and Christians in the Central Moluccas, Indonesia,” Paper Presented

96  Conflict and peace in Mindanao and Maluku at the International Workshop on Religion in Dispute and Conflict Resolution: Cases from Post-New Order Indonesia, Lembang, 18–21 March 2009, organized by the Max-Planck-Institute for Social Anthropology, Halle/Saale, Germany, and the Research Center for Regional Resources, Indonesian Institute of Sciences. Böhm, Cees J. (2006): Brief Chronicle of the Unrest in the Moluccas 1999–2006, Ambon City: Crisis Centre Diocese of Amboina. Bräuchler, Birgit (2003): “Cyberidentities at War: Religion, Identity, and the Internet in the Moluccan Conflict,” Indonesia 75: 123–151. Bräuchler, Birgit (2004): “Public Sphere and Identity Politics in the Moluccan Cyberspace,” The Electronic Journal of Communication 14(3 and 4): 1–12. Bräuchler, Birgit (2005): Cyberidentities at War: Der Molukkenkonflikt im Internet, Bielefeld: Transcript. Bräuchler, Birgit (2015): The Cultural Dimension of Peace: Decentralization and Reconciliation in Indonesia, Basingstoke & New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Bubandt, Nils (2001): “Malukan Apocalypse. Themes in the Dynamics of Violence in Eastern Indonesia,” In: Ingrid Wessel & Georgia Wimhöfer (eds.), Violence in Indonesia, Hamburg: Abera, pp. 228–253. Buendia, Rizal G. (2005): “The State-Moro Conflict in the Philippines. Unresolved National Question or Question of Governance?” Asian Journal of Political Science 13(1): 109–138. Centre for Humanitarian Dialogue (2011): Conflict Management in Indonesia  – An Analysis of the Conflicts in Maluku, Papua and Poso, Lausanne: Centre for Humanitarian Dialogue. Cole, Benjamin (2009): “The Philippines Media: Agent of Stability or Restraint?” In: Benjamin Cole (ed.), Conflict, Terrorism and the Media in Asia, London & New York: Routledge, pp. 61–81. D’Ambra, Sebastiano (2011b): “The Mindanao Conflict and the Silsilah Dialogue Movement,” In: Thomas Schreijäck (ed.), Prekäres Christsein in Asien: Erfahrungen und Optionen einer Minderheitenreligion in multireligiösen Kontexten, Ostfildern: Matthias Grünewald Verlag, pp. 77–99. Davis, Michael (2002): “Laskar Jihad and the Political Position of Conservative Islam in Indonesia,” Contemporary Southeast Asia 24(1): 12–31. Duncan, Christopher R. (2013): Violence and Vengeance. Religious Conflict and Its Aftermath in Eastern Indonesia, Ithaca & London: Cornell University Press. Espiritu, Belinda F. (2017): “Peace Profile: Sebastiano D’Ambra,” Peace Review 29(1): 112–119. Gunaratna, Rohan (2017a): “The Islamic State’s Northward Expansion in the Philippines,” Counter Terrorist Trends and Analyses 9(5): 1–4. Gunaratna, Rohan (2017b): “The Siege of Marawi: A Game Changer in Terrorism in Asia,” Counter Terrorist Trends and Analysis 9(7): 1–5. Gutierrez, Eric (1999): “The Re-Imagination of the Bangsamoro. 30 Years Hence,” In: Kristina Gaerlan  & Mara Stankovitch (eds.), Rebels, Warlords and Ulama: A Reader on Muslim Separatism and the War in Southern Philippines, Manila: Institute for Popular Democracy, pp. 305–347.

Conflict and peace in Mindanao and Maluku  97 Hall, Lois Ann (2010): “‘Gensan Is Halu-Halo’: A Study of Muslim/Christian Social Relations in a Regional City of the Southern Philippines,” Ph.D. Dissertation, Perth: University of Western Australia. Hefner, Robert W. (2000): Civil Islam: Muslims and Democratization in Indonesia, Princeton & Oxford: Princeton University Press. International Crisis Group (2000): Overcoming Murder and Chaos in Maluku, Jakarta & Brussels: International Crisis Group, Asia Report, No. 10. International Crisis Group (2011a): The Philippines: Back to the Table, Warily, in Mindanao, Jakarta & Brussels: International Crisis Group, Update Briefing No. 119. International Crisis Group (2011b): The Philippines: A New Strategy for Peace in Mindanao, Jakarta  & Brussels: International Crisis Group, Asia Briefing No. 125. International Crisis Group (2016): The Philippines: Renewing Prospects for Peace in Mindanao, Brussels: International Crisis Group, Asia Report No. 281. Jubair, Salah (2007): The Long Road to Peace: Inside the GRP-MILF Peace Process, Cotabato City: Institute of Bangsamoro Studies. Juergensmeyer, Mark (2000): Terror in the Mind of God. The Global Rise of Religious Violence, Berkeley: University of California Press. Kastor, Rustam (2000): Konspirasi Politik RMS dan Kristen Menghancurkan Ummat Islam di Ambon-Maluku, Yogyakarta: Wihadh Press. Leandicho Lopez, Mellie (2006): A Handbook of Philippine Folklore, Quezon City: University of the Philippines. Liow, Joseph Chinyong (2006): Muslim Resistance in Southern Thailand and Southern Philippines: Religion, Ideology, and Politics, Washington, DC: East-West Center, Policy Studies 24. Lücking, Mirjam (2016): “Indonesians and Their Arab World. Guided Mobility among Labour Migrants and Mecca Pilgrims,” Ph.D. Dissertation, University of Freiburg, Department of Anthropology. Lücking, Mirjam (2017): “Working in Mecca. How Informal Pilgrimage-Migration from Madura, Indonesia, to Saudi Arabia Challenges State Sovereignty,” European Journal of East Asian Studies 16(2): 248–274. Magnis-Suseno, Franz (2011): “Christen in Indonesien. Aktuelle Situation und Perspektiven für die Zukunft,” In: Thomas Schreijäck (ed.), Prekäres Christsein in Asien: Erfahrungen und Optionen einer Minderheitenreligion in multireligiösen Kontexten, Ostfildern: Matthias Grünewald Verlag, pp. 15–26. Majul, Cesar Adib (1976): “Some Social and Cultural Problems of the Muslims in the Philippines,” Paper Prepared for a Seminar Sponsored by the Persatuan Mahasiswa Universiti Kebangsaan Malaysia (University of Kebangsaan Malaysia Students Union), held in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, 25–28 July. Molloy, Ivan (1983): The Conflicts in Mindanao: Whilst Revolution Rolls On, The Jihad Falters, Melbourne: Monash University, Centre of Southeast Asian Studies, Working Paper No 30. Muriany, Telly  & Unde, A. Alimuddin (2011): “Conflict News in the Ambon Express Daily. Media Responsibility Study in Creating Political Social Stability in Maluku,” Jurnal Komunikasi KAREBA 1(1): 66–76.

98  Conflict and peace in Mindanao and Maluku Neumann, Hannah (2013): “Through the Eyes of the Locals: Two Post-war Communities and Their Struggles from War to Peace,” Ph.D. Dissertation, Free University of Berlin. Nguitragool, Paruedee  & Rüland, Jürgen (2015): ASEAN and its Cohesion as an Actor in International Forums – Reality, Potential and Constraints, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Quimpo, Nathan Gilbert (2016): “Mindanao: Nationalism, Jihadism and Frustrated Peace,” Journal of Asian Security 3(1): 1–26. Ricklefs, Merle Calvin (1993): A History of Modern Indonesia since c. 1300, Houndmills: Palgrave Macmillan. Rüland, Jürgen (2003): “Südostasien nach dem 11. September 2001. Islam, Sicherheit und Demokratie in einer strategischen Weltregion,” Zeitschrift für Politikwissenschaft, Heft 1(3): 143–163. Rüland, Jürgen (2017): “Democratizing Foreign-Policy Making in Indonesia and the Democratization of ASEAN: A Role Theory Analysis,” TRaNS: Trans – Regional and – National Studies of Southeast Asia 5(1): 49–73. Rushford, Greg (2006): “The Morass in Mindanao,” Far Eastern Economic Review, December, 29–33. Schulze, Kirsten E. (2002): “Laskar Jihad and the Conflict in Ambon,” The Brown Journal of World Affairs IX(1): 57–69. Sidel, John T. (2006): Riots, Pogroms, Jihad: Religious Violence in Indonesia, Ithaca & London: Cornell University Press. Spyer, Patricia (2002): “Fire Without Smoke and Other Phantoms of Ambon’s Violence: Media Effects, Agency, and the Work of Imagination,” Indonesia 74: 21–36. Steenbrink, Karel (2001): “Interpretations of Christian-Muslim Violence in the Moluccas, Indonesia, 1999–2000,” Studies in Interreligious Dialogue 11: 64–91. Talibas-Nunez, Rosalita (1997): Roots of Conflict: Muslims, Christians and the Mindanao Struggle, Makati: Asian Institute of Management.

6 Church-based projects as game changers? Attitudes towards religious conflict, peacebuilding, and reconciliation in Cotabato and Ambon While the methodology of chapters 4 and 5 rested on the layers of lower abstraction, chapters 6 to 9 focus on layers of higher abstraction (see chapter 3, Figure 3.1). After a short introduction of the sites where local surveys took place and providing general information on the activities of Christian peace agents, the subsequent parts of chapter 6 analyze the survey responses in eight villages in Cotabato and Ambon. We present a selection of descriptive empirics on salient themes including respondent attitudes on religious and ethnic identity, structural violence, physical and social segregation, perceptions on governmental peace initiatives (such as the Bangsamoro Basic Law in Mindanao), participation in peace projects, attitudes towards statebased peace projects, and changing perceptions on other religious groups.

Cotabato/Mindanao, Philippines: the setting As mentioned in the methodology chapter, the sites chosen for our surveys in Mindanao were the municipalities of Pikit and Kabacan. Pikit is located in the province of Cotabato and with 154,000 inhabitants (2015 census) it is the province’s largest municipality. Administratively, the municipality is subdivided into 42 barangays. Pikit’s economy is largely agricultural, with coconut and freshwater fish as the major products. Pikit was found to be very conducive for the survey because it was the location of a successful “peace zone,” in the establishment of which church actors had a major role. For our survey, we have chosen the barangays of Nalapaan and Kalacacan. Generally speaking, the peace process in Mindanao takes place at two different levels, namely the vertical and the horizontal. The vertical level is the process in which the MILF negotiates with the Government of the Philippines (GRP) in formal peace talks, whereas the horizontal level refers to local peace initiatives (Layson 2003; Rood 2005). As the peace talks at the vertical level were sluggish and prone to many setbacks, civil society

100  Church-based projects as game changers? groups initiated grassroots initiatives in order to prevent the military and insurgents from using the local community as a battlefield and hiding place (Rood 2005: 24). Peace Zones are thus an attempt to build peace from below and, hence, on a “community’s unilateral declaration” (Coronel Ferrer 2013: 234). They rest on the belief that peacebuilding in protracted conflicts should proceed in stages. Before a comprehensive conflict resolution can be achieved, Peace Zones first seek to mitigate and reduce violence, or – as outlined in the theory chapter – establish a state of “negative peace” (Coronel Ferrer 2013: 14). This is tantamount to an attempt to install a system of institutionalized and rule-based conflict management (Neumann 2009: 19), countering and hopefully transforming local cultural traditions of feud (rido) and revenge (Larousse 2001: 510), and instead building on modes of conflict resolution that “conform with local tradition and culture” (Coronel Ferrer 2013: 233). Between 1998 and 2005, such local Zones of Peace mushroomed in Mindanao, increasing to more than 80 by 2005 (Neumann 2009: 20; Coronel Ferrer 2013: 233–234). The starting point of the “Space for Peace” in Nalapaan/Pikit was provided by local developments in the barangay Nalapaan. In June 1997, the Armed Forces of the Philippines (AFP) attacked the local MILF camp and the whole area became a battlefield, with active participation from the civilian population because the MILF searched for support from the local community in Nalapaan (Iyer 2004: 14; Diaz 2003: 156). As a result, the Christians in Nalapaan believed that the Moros supported the MILF and the Moros believed that Christians were helping the AFP (Iyer 2004: 14; Diaz 2003: 156). In 2000, as a consequence of another military offensive, President Estrada’s “all-out war” against the MILF, local people had to flee their homes and were moved to evacuation centers. One month later, the people were persuaded by Taban Mindanao, a local NGO, and the Archbishop of Cotabato to return to their homes. Father Layson, the priest of Pikit’s Immaculate Conception Parish (IMC), went with them and the idea of Nalapaan, declaring a “Space for Peace” came into being (Iyer 2004: 15, Diaz 2003: 156ff.). From July to November  2000, MILF, AFP, and local municipal authorities negotiated with each other to make Nalapaan a safer place (Iyer 2004: 16). Father Layson played a key role in the process of setting up the Peace Zone in Pikit.1 Mainly due to his efforts, the conflict parties began to negotiate, with Philippine security forces and the rebels eventually agreeing to a territorially limited ceasefire. Although conflict parties refused to surrender their weapons, they nevertheless committed themselves to stop fighting in the municipal area (Neumann 2009: 58). As a result, Nalapaan remained peaceful when, in 2003, President Aquino started a military offensive in Mindanao (ibid.: 59).

Church-based projects as game changers?  101 The IMC Pikit had a “Culture of Peace” team, which promoted a “tripeople culture of peace in Mindanao communities” (consisting of Muslims, Christians, and Lumads), and developed a “Culture of Peace module.” It was decided that all members of Nalapaan would participate in Culture of Peace training. On 1 February 2001, Nalapaan was eventually declared a “Space for Peace” (ibid.: 19; Berliner, Anasarias & Casas Soberón 2010; Neumann 2013: 235). In 2002, the neighboring barangay Panicupan asked for support from the IMC to follow Nalapaan’s example. Father Layson helped and negotiated with the authorities to get Panicupan recognized as part of the “Space for Peace,” resulting in the declaration of a “Space for Peace” in Panicupan in June 2002. In 2003, the “Space for Peace” in Pikit was extended to five other barangays (Neumann 2009: 25). Thus, the “GiNaPaLaD Ta Ka Space for Peace” was established. The acronym “GiNaPaLaD Ta KA” consists of the capital letters of the seven barangays Ginatilan, Nalapaan, Panicupan, Lagundi, Dalengaoen, Takepan, and Kalakaan, which means “I bless you.” The core program of the Peace Zone can be characterized as “comprehensive.” It includes training and workshops on interreligious dialogue and “Culture of Peace” training, which was developed on the basis of a module by the Peace Education Center of the Cotabato City-based University of Notre Dame.2 The workshops on the ground include awareness building with respect to conflict transformation, forgiveness, and reconciliation. Psycho-social activities, such as trauma healing, also figure prominently in the local peacebuilding programs (Neumann 2009: 52). In the field of governance, peace work seeks to establish power-sharing consociational processes of decision making and restorative justice (Neumann 2013: 240). In addition, the program in the Peace Zone includes socioeconomic assistance and training. Much of the socioeconomic work of the Church in Pikit is organized in cooperation with local NGOs, most notably with Balay Mindanao.3 Key issues for the socioeconomic program are housing and shelter, as well as water problems and waste disposal. Another important part of the Peace Zone is the local Monitoring Group called “Bantay Ceasefire” (Ceasefire Watch). This group consists of local male residents who are engaged as civilians in the protection of the barangays: if any incident happens, it is their duty to go to the area in order to undertake fact finding and employ effective rumor control to prevent the escalation of smaller incidents. Bantay Ceasefire has trained with and has a close working relationship with the Nonviolent Peaceforce, an International NGO network with local headquarters in Cotabato City. Lastly, one major part of the church-based work in the Peace Zone is to provide shelter for refugees. The Peace Zone has protected Muslims and

102  Church-based projects as game changers?

Cotabato Cotabato City Kalacacan Nalapaan Pikit

Bangilan Cupayon Kabacan

Pikit draft: C. Lübke, cartography: K. Schmitt

district

Bangilan „Barangay“

Map 6.1  Fieldwork sites in Cotabato Note: draft: C. von Lübke, cartography: K. Schmitt. Copyright OpenStreetMap contributors (openstreetmap.org), Inkatlas.

Christians in evacuation centers. Many church premises have been used for the housing of refugees over several months.4 For the counterfactual analysis (see chapter  7) we have chosen the municipality of Kabacan as a comparative case. Kabacan is also located in the province of Cotabato and has a population of approximately 90,282 people (2015 census). It consists of 24 barangays. It is a market center and like Pikit also mainly produces agricultural goods. For the survey we have identified the barangays Cuyapon and Bangilan. Kabacan is the neighboring municipality to Pikit and, by and large, has a similar history of violence and conflict, but is not part of the Peace Zone. Thus, although the level of conflict and violence has been similar, the level of church-based intervention is comparatively lower than in Pikit.

Ambon/Maluku, Indonesia: the setting In Indonesia, we selected Ambon City as the main site for fieldwork. The city of Ambon is located in the East Indonesian province of Maluku. With some 395,000 inhabitants (2014), it is by far the largest city in the province and a major urban center in East Indonesia. About 60 percent of the city’s population are Christians and almost 40 percent are Muslims (based on 2010 census data), thus contrasting from religious group composition

Church-based projects as game changers?  103 in the province as a whole where today Muslims constitute a majority of approximately 60 percent (see also chapter 4). Ambon City is the capital of Maluku and seat of the provincial government. Administratively, Ambon is subdivided into five districts and 50 urban communities (kelurahan). The city is the administrative, educational, service, and commercial center in Maluku. An important economic factor is its port, which is by far the largest in the province. At 6 percent (2015), Ambon City’s economic growth is slightly higher than Indonesia’s average growth (4.9 percent, 2015), and with a poverty rate of approximately 4.5 percent, Ambon City ranges distinctly below the national poverty rate (9.8 percent, 2015). In Ambon City, we chose four villages for our interview sample: Poka, Rumah Tiga, Lembra Argo, and Ahuru. Church-based projects were mainly organized in the villages of Poka and Rumah Tiga. The programs of churchbased projects in Ambon included, for example, the establishment of the so-called crisis centers. On the Christian side, there were two crisis centers: a Catholic center and a center managed by the Protestant Church (Gereja Protestan Maluku, GPM). These centers provided emergency aid for victims and survivors of the violent clashes, gathered information, and provided protection for displaced persons. While initially these emergency measures concentrated on the religious in-group, at a later stage they were also extended to Muslims in a deliberate attempt to overcome prevailing

Ambon 1038

Lembah Argo Poka Rumah Tiga 930

Ambon

Ahuru

draft: C. Lübke, cartography: K. Schmitt

Map 6.2  Fieldwork sites in Ambon Note: draft: C. von Lübke, cartography: K. Schmitt. Copyright OpenStreetMap contributors (openstreetmap.org), Inkatlas.

104  Church-based projects as game changers? religious stereotypes.5 The centers were also involved in fact finding and produced press statements in order to counter false rumors. Church-based help was key for the resettlement and rehabilitation of the affected communities. In all four villages in our sample, many new houses were built for the local community. Like in Cotabato, in Ambon churches were also involved in diverse post-conflict peacebuilding programs. The latter were initiated by Christian and Muslim NGOs, but there were also influential individuals involved in direct dialogue. One of the most remarkable success stories of peace work in Maluku was the interreligious group “Tim 20 Wayame” in the village of Wayame. The team consisted of local leaders and villagers; ten Christian and ten Muslim personalities. They defined strict behavioral rules for the villagers, which enabled them to maintain a modicum of harmony between Christians and Muslims. Such rules included the prohibition of mutual provocations, the ban of provocative religious symbols, a ban on burials in Wayame for villagers who died in battle and the prohibition of weapon production (Al Qurtuby 2016: 142). At the end of the conflict, Wayame was the only village on Ambon that was not hit by communal violence (Panggabean 2004: 429). The intense interaction and communication between Protestant pastors and Muslim religious leaders and their message that there was not a conflict of religion facilitated the preservation of religious tolerance (Centre for Humanitarian Dialogue 2011: 24).6 Two other noted peace activists, Sister Brigitta Renyaan on the Catholic side and Rev Jacky Manuputty on the Protestant side, started their peace work in a movement initiated in April 2000 by a West Javanese Muslim, Ichsan Malik, which became known as Baku Bae (“Enough is Enough”), and sought to mobilize the grassroots for peace. However, Manuputty in particular was increasingly convinced that a peace that is not the product of local reconciliation work is fragile. The “workshop-to-workshop forums in Java,” he critically stated, “did little to take into account the local circumstances and traditions.”7 The first tangible measures of church-based, local, post-conflict peace work were two peace zones, one set up in Pohon Puleh, the other in Passo, two villages on Ambon (Böhm 2006: 198; Bartels 2009: 17). In December  2003, Manuputty joined other religious forces such as the Ambon chapter of the Indonesia Ulema Council (MUI), the Catholic Diocese of Ambon, and others to establish an Interfaith Council (Lembaga Antar Imam Maluku) that sought to promote peaceful coexistence and fight prejudices by highlighting the commonalities of the religions (ibid.). Manuputty also became a leading figure in an affiliate NGO, the Maluku Interfaith Institution for Humanitarian Action (ELALEM) (ibid.). ELALEM, with the support of the Japanese International Cooperation Agency (JICA), engaged in institutional capacity building, and promoted pluralism

Church-based projects as game changers?  105 and community empowerment, centering on economy, social life, and security. It also urged Christian and Muslim clerics to engage in what became known as “peace sermons,” that is, spreading peace messages during their sermons in their respective religious communities (Anson et al. 2014: 125).8 Together with the Muslim cleric Ustadz Abidin Wakano, Manuputty also initiated a live-in program in which clerics from the Christian and Muslim sides would spend a night in the house of members of the other religious community. The program was very successful, although  – as Manuputty admitted  – still focused on elites, while “grassroots dialogue was still limited.”9 Sister Brigitta was one of the main activists of the Concerned Women’s Movement (Gerakan Perempuan Peduli), an organization founded in August 1999, which not only targeted Catholic and Protestant but also Muslim women.10 The shared identity of motherhood paved the way for interreligious activities, such as evening prayers during the mayhem in Ambon City. However, more consequential were subsequent moves to reach out to children, mothers, day schools, and other family institutions with the objective of encouraging children and mothers to persuade their fathers and husbands to stop fighting. Mothers, in particular, were urged to educate their children in a “culture of peace,” thereby preventing them from joining militias as child warriors which, known as agas and linggis, fought on both sides of the conflict (Schulze 2002: 63; Centre for Humanitarian Dialogue 2011: 25; Al Qurtuby 2016: 75). Later, the project also included trauma healing components as many persons were confronted during the violence with extreme suffering and abject atrocities.11 More recent Protestant initiatives included the “peace provocateur” initiative which – following the riots in 201112 – sought the help of new media to respond quickly to rumors and provocations in an attempt to preempt the escalation of violent incidents. They responded to the fact that provocations and rumors spread rapidly through SMS messages (Anson et al. 2014: 23). Peace provocateurs are thus engaged in monitoring activities which are crucial in making the right de-escalating decisions in times of tension. Like in the Philippines, many projects seek to involve the young generation. The purpose of these projects is to keep the disastrous consequences of the conflict alive in the collective memory and to implant in the young generation the fundamental idea of peace. Serving as “entry points” for such programs are activities tailored to youth-specific interests, such as sports events, which are followed by spiritual elements and interreligious dialogue.13 However, for the stringency of our research design it is important to note that – unlike in Cotabato – in our four survey villages in Ambon, it was not possible to clearly distinguish villages with church-based peace projects and those without. As frequently occurs in social research, the social reality

106  Church-based projects as game changers? did not reflect the laboratory-type rigor of the research design. In Ambon, the church-based projects are strongly interconnected with state-sponsored projects. This means that there is no clear-cut difference between church and state efforts as in the Peace Zone in Pikit/Cotabato. As a consequence, the local people cannot distinuigish for certain who or which agency actually distributed aid or organized peace programs. This had repercussions on our counterfactual analysis: assessments made by respondents on interreligious relations and their attitudes towards the religious other might not always be the sole result of church-based projects.

Descriptive statistics and empirical trends Identity formation: religion versus ethnicity In both Mindanao and Maluku, previous research has shown that there are overlapping and conflicting levels of identity: nation, ethnicity, kinship, etc. To assess the salience of these identity markers, our questionnaires included several indicators of religious and ethnic identity. In the Maluku case, our results highlight that religious and ethnic identities remain very strong. An overwhelming majority of Christian respondents consider their religious identity as “important” (17 percent) or “very important” (82 percent). The response among Muslim residents in our survey reveals equally strong sentiments. Here, the Muslim identity is considered “important” by 33 percent and “very important” by 67 percent of the respondents. Similar emphasis is placed on ethnic identities. A  large majority of all residents (irrespective or their religious background) confirm that affiliations to ethnic groups continue to be important or very important aspects (roughly 98 percent). The ethnic factor is equally pronounced in the case of Mindanao. Here, the notion of ethnicity is contested due to the politicized “Bangsamoro” identity. The central aspect of the peace agreement was the envisioned establishment of Bangsamoro – as a new mode of regional governance replacing the existing Autonomous Region of Muslim Mindanao (ARMM). Our survey results in Mindanao show that this regional ethnic affiliation (Bangsamoro) remains a point of contention. This becomes obvious in the strongly diverging responses of Christians and Muslims in the Cotabato region. The results confirm that Christians do not exhibit a “Bangsamoro” identity. They neither express consent nor do they attach any substantial meaning to the “Bangsamoro” concept. Indeed, the responses of Christian residents in Cotabato (see Table 6.1) signal an outright rejection of efforts to establish “Bangsamoro” as a political entity. This finding confirms the results of our discourse analysis: on the basis of the dominant national discourse,

Church-based projects as game changers?  107 Table 6.1  Bangsamoro identity statement How important is the following statement? “I am proud to be a Bangsamoro” Group

Very Important Neutral Not Completely Don’t important important irrelevant know

Muslims 77% Christians   3% Lumads   1%

20%   9%   2%

  1% 10%   8%

  1% 40% 44%

  1% 38% 36%

0% 0% 3%

No answer 0% 0% 6%

Source: Authors’ survey.

the Christian majority in the Philippines does not agree with the notion of autonomy for Mindanao or parts of Mindanao. To put it more pointedly, the “Bangsamoro” narrative does not exist in the Christian discourse. However, in sharp contrast to the Christian rejection of the Bangsamoro identity, almost all Muslim respondents did agree with the statement “I am proud to be a Bangsamoro.” As a consequence, ethnicity was chosen as an important aspect in our QCA analysis (see chapter 9) in order to test what impact participation in church-based projects has on the prevalence of ethnic affiliation or ethnic identity formation. The QCA analysis will provide answers to the question of whether “exclusivist” ethnic attachments or identity formation can impact on projects like the Pikit Peace Zone in a negative way or, by contrast, whether projects like the Peace Zone can attenuate ethnic frictions. Structural violence: faith, ethnicity, and fundamentalist attitudes The questionnaire also included questions that sought to analyze whether the respondents have liberal and tolerant or fundamentalist attitudes towards the role of faith in general and their relationship to members of other ethnic or religious groups in particular. As explained in the theory chapter (chapter 2), fundamentalist religious attitudes are defined as a strong set of principles concerning faith or morals. Drawing on Galtung’s concept of structural violence, strong fundamentalist attitudes can inflict a certain level of structural violence; especially if one religious group dominates the social sphere and enforces a set of narrowly defined religious values on the other group. The results in Ambon are ambivalent. On the one hand, partly differing from the nationwide surveys cited in chapter  5, the vast majority of respondents (Christians and Muslims) displayed liberal and tolerant attitudes: they agree that different ethnic and religious groups should respect

108  Church-based projects as game changers? each other and, at the same time, disagreed with the idea that one religious or ethnic group will always dominate the other. In addition, over 90 percent of the respondents agreed that religious or ethnic diversity enriches Indonesia. While we have no compelling explanations for these deviations from nationwide surveys, it could well be that Moluccans have learned the lessons of the conflict and that their more tolerant interreligious attitudes signal the newfound coexistence of Christians and Muslims after the Malino II accord. This rather positive picture is also reflected in a statement regarding the justification of violence. A sizable majority of the respondents (72 percent) rejected the statement that violence can be justified if it serves the group’s religious objectives. An even greater share (roughly 77 percent) rejected the idea that violent actions can be justified on ethnic grounds. On the other hand, less encouraging – and indicating a certain degree of segregation – is the finding that interfaith marriages receive little support in Ambon. Only 18 percent of the respondents support the notion that their “child may marry someone from a different religion – provided they love each other,” while almost 70  percent would withhold their blessing. The picture is different when it comes to marriages across ethnic groups. Here, more than 90 percent agree with the statement that their child “may marry someone from a different ethnic group – provided they love each other.” Thus, in the Maluku case, religion is a stronger “marker” of otherness or alienation than ethnicity. This, of course, has implications for the role of religious actors in the conflict transformation process. The results in Cotabato are only slightly different from those in Ambon. Here, the vast majority agreed with the statement that “different ethnic and religious groups in the Philippines should respect each other.” However, in Cotabato, a smaller share of respondents – roughly 62 percent – rejected the proposition that “one religious group will always dominate the other.” A similar share of rejection is observable regarding the domination of one ethnic group: roughly 60 percent reject this proposition. In Cotabato, there is also a clear majority supporting the notion that religious diversity (73 percent) and ethnic diversity (71 percent) are enriching the Philippines. In Mindanao, we find an overall stronger inclination towards justifying violence on ethnic or religious grounds. A closer look at the local surveys reveals that only four in ten respondents rejected the idea that violence can be justified on the grounds of ethnic (42 percent) or religious reasons (43 percent). Unlike in Ambon, however, a large majority of respondents in Cotabato confirmed that their children could marry someone from a different religion (roughly 90  percent). The same holds true for inter-ethnic marriages: here, 91  percent of the respondents signal their blessing. This result is somewhat surprising, given that existing Philippine surveys from

Church-based projects as game changers?  109 the 1970s to 1990s indicated that Muslims and Christians were critical or opposed to interreligious marriages (Talibas-Nunez 1997). All in all, the presented results provide a first indication of religious and ethnic cleavages and their salience for justifying violent action. Some of these aspects will be discussed and elaborated in further detail in the chapter on Qualitative Comparative Analysis (QCA) below, where narrowly confined religious/ethnic attitudes will feature as analytical conditions. Residential and social segregation As outlined in the theory chapter, residential segregation can pave the ground for religious or ethnic alienation and, in doing so, imply a rise in structural violence. In Ambon and its surrounding islands, residential segregation is evident in several communities. This is also the case, albeit to a lesser degree, in Mindanao. The settlement pattern in most residential areas in the barangays of Cotabato is characterized by segregation. While a small number of communities feature a mixed setting, most residential areas remain segregated along religious and ethnic lines. Lumads cannot and will not live in Moro areas, and there are only a few cases in which Christians and Muslims live next to each other. We further analyzed whether the residential (physical) segregation is matched by a social (psychological) segregation. The result for Mindanao is very clear: residential segregation does not automatically translate into social segregation. The vast majority of respondents – 81 percent – indicated that their social relationships cut across religious boundaries; a result confirming Neumann’s earlier findings (Neumann 2013: 229). Another indication of the presence of social capital is discernable in two additional survey items. First, 84  percent of all respondents in Cotabato state that they are members of community groups, local associations, or volunteer organizations. Second, and even more importantly, survey results indicate that a considerable majority of respondents would permit their children to join local association groups with mixed ethnic (95 percent) or religious (96 percent) membership. By contrast, associational membership in Maluku is considerably lower (31 percent). Moreover, parents’ inclination to permit their children to join inter-ethnic (73 percent) and interreligious (62  percent) associations is also less pronounced. These findings suggest a relatively high level of social capital in Cotabato and a somewhat lower level in Ambon.14 Two theory-guided arguments can be used to explain these diverging indications on social capital in the two regions. The comparatively large membership in community or volunteer organizations in Mindanao can be partly explained on the grounds of “fictive kinship” (Rood 2005). The

110  Church-based projects as game changers? notion of fictive kinship implies that membership of a community organization replaces or matches the membership of a wider family or kin-related structure. According to Rood, this can have positive implications for the role of civil society (including the churches, one of the most powerful institutions of civil society) in the conflict transformation process. In the Maluku case, the role of civil society is explained by Tonny Pariela’s concept of “preserved social capital” (Pariela 2008). Drawing on the experience in Ambon, the idea of preserved social capital refers to importance of adat (customary) traditions. Some communities in Ambon are considered role models for interreligious coexistence and conflict transformation. Successful cases often feature efforts in the spirit of the pela gandong system. This system, which has been outlined in the chapters on the regions’ historical background (chapter 4) and religious discourses (chapter 5), highlights the importance of traditional village partnerships and alliances that cut across religious and ethnic backgrounds. In conclusion, our data do not indicate that residential segregation is translated into social segregation. This is an encouraging finding; not least because our research suggests that different religious groups in selected communities have demonstrated a high level of mutual respect, dialogue, and cooperation. Perceptions of the Bangsamoro Basic Law (BBL) The proposed establishment of a Bangsamoro autonomous region, which has been promoted by President Duterte and would provide the Moro population with enhanced autonomy and resources, remains a contentious and divisive aspect in Philippine politics. Our survey findings in Cotabato resonate with ongoing local and national debates. They show that 88 percent of all respondents were aware of the Bangsamoro Basic Law (BBL) debate; but they also highlight that perceptions of Christian, Lumad, and Muslim communities differ distinctly on the issue of greater autonomy. While Muslim respondents strongly favor the proposed bill (96 percent), non-Muslim respondents remain highly critical. As outlined in Table 6.2, merely 17 percent of the Christian respondents and only 15 percent of the Lumad respondents support the passing of the BBL bill. Project participation: the role of the Christian Churches Of central importance in our questionnaire is the role of Christian Churches in general and the participation of the respondents in church-based projects.15 The findings for Ambon illustrate that a large majority agree that it was “essential for the project to be set up by religious actors” (merely

Church-based projects as game changers?  111 Table 6.2  Attitudes towards the Bangsamoro Basic Law Do you support the Bangsamoro Basic Law (BBL)? Muslims Christians Lumads All respondents

Yes

No

Don’t know

No answer

96% 17% 15% 53%

  4% 83% 82% 47%

0% 0% 1% 0%

0% 0% 2% 0%

Source: Authors’ survey.

13  percent of the respondents disagreed with this statement). Moreover, three out of four respondents (74 percent) supported the idea that Christian Churches should focus their work on socioeconomic issues – including antipoverty measures, emergency relief work, and small-scale development initiatives. The idea of a stronger focus on charitable/caritative social work (53  percent) or pastoral work (52  percent) received an affirmative  – but less resounding – response. With respect to interreligious relationships, a considerable share of Christian respondents perceive the treatment of Muslim residents as respectful (22 percent disagree with this statement). Muslim respondents agree with this assessment: roughly 96 percent confirm an overall respectful treatment of Muslim residents in church-funded projects. In Cotabato, survey results reveal more homogenous preferences regarding the thematic orientation of church projects. Respondents in Pikit and Kabacan placed similar weight on socio-economic (78  percent), charitable/caritative social work (78 percent), and pastoral work (79 percent). The statement that Muslim residents were treated respectfully in the context of Christian project efforts was broadly confirmed in the survey (92 percent affirmation among Christian respondents and 98 percent affirmation among Muslim respondents). Similar to Ambon, a large majority also confirms that religious actors should play a key role in Pikit’s reconciliation process (roughly 87 percent). Religious versus state actors Do respondents perceive projects conducted by religious and state actors differently? The results for Cotabato are clear: a vast majority of respondents reports significant differences in the conduct of projects by religious and state actors (see Table 6.3). The results from our surveys and interviews in Pikit and Kabacan are revealing. While religious actors are widely seen as inclusive, fair, and less biased in their project management, state actors

112  Church-based projects as game changers? Table 6.3  Religious and state actors in Mindanao Is there a difference between the work done by religious and state actors for the community? Cotabato Muslims Christians Lumads All respondents

  83%   83% 100%   85%

Ambon 70% 81% Does not apply 79%

Source: Authors’ survey.

are often criticized for applying more preferential, politicized, or even clientelist practices. In addition, religious actors are valued for their effective and swift execution of projects and delivery of aid; whereas state-funded project efforts are often burdened by time- and cost-inefficient operations. Several interviewees also confirmed that corruption remains a key issue in the implementation of state projects. The survey in Ambon points to similar results. Once again, a vast majority of Christians and Muslims confirm that religious and state actors approach projects in distinctly different ways (Table 6.5). The reasoning for these differences also revealed striking similarities. Religious actors were described as comparatively less biased and more transparent. The distribution of funding and aid by the churches was often regarded as less discriminatory or clientelistic. Consistent with the responses in Cotabato, religious actors were viewed as more responsive and target-oriented, while government efforts were often regarded as slow and inefficient. The overall critical assessment of state-led implementation of emergency relief and rehabilitation projects in both regions tallies well with the findings of chapters  4 and 5, where process tracing and discourse analyses indicated that state bureaucracies remain prone to corruption, administrative inefficiency, and skewed service provision. Satisfaction of expectations and images of the “others” Did church-based peace projects succeed in meeting expectations of community participants? Overall, the results in Ambon show that 76 percent of the respondents feel that church projects were in line with their expectations. Our survey indicates that respondents’ expectations include the following key aspects: “better spiritual life,” “strengthening faith,” “help support for conflict victims and displaced persons,” “welfare and socioeconomic

Church-based projects as game changers?  113 assistance,” “improvements for my family and the community,” and the “attainment of peace.” The results for Cotabato pointed in similar directions, indicating that project activities were largely in consonance with their initial hopes: a majority of 61 percent indicates that their expectations were fulfilled. These expectations included aspects such as “advancements in development and livelihood,” “knowledge on peace and interreligious dialogue,” “life without fear,” “peace and unity,” and “putting an end to displacement.” These findings also suggest that church projects with holistic orientations are likely to be more successful. Arguably, projects focusing on interreligious dialogue, general faith matters, or spiritual life are more likely to succeed if respondents also benefit from socioeconomic advancements. In other words, improvements in communal mindsets may be more sustainable if they are matched by improvements in economic welfare.16 As one participant pointedly expressed it: “It is okay to show me how to treat my religious neighbors. But they also need to show me how to prevent my goat from starving.” Consistent with these findings, Father Bert Layson has repeatedly promoted the comprehensive/holistic approach of the Cotabato Peace Zone program. A very sensitive question that is not only related to project expectations but also to the results and impact of the church projects is the question about the image the respondents had of the individuals from other religious groups before they took part in the project. The results for Ambon are quite positive because only a negligible minority of less than 3  percent of the respondents made negative comments about other religious groups. Thus, what is obvious in Ambon is the fact that there are no relevant differences between Christians and Muslims in their attitudes towards or images of members of the other religion.

Table 6.4 Christian attitudes in Ambon towards members of other religious groups prior to participation in church-based projects Positive Characterizations of Individuals from Other Religious Groups

Negative Characterizations of Individuals from Other Religious Groups

Same human beings; partnership, friendship, good relationship, brothers; good people, ordinary citizens; friends; brothers of other faiths

Enemies; being suspicious of the other religion; anger, hate, revenge; opponents

Source: Authors’ survey.

114  Church-based projects as game changers? Table 6.5 Christian attitudes in Cotabato towards members of other religious groups prior to participation in church-based projects Positive Characterizations of Individuals from Other Religious Groups

Negative Characterizations of Individuals from Other Religious Groups

People just like me; friendly; Only care about their own respectful, honest; open-minded religion; enemies, hate; no trust, traitors; no interest in peace, killer, hypocrite; no respect, discriminating against Christians Source: Authors’ survey.

Table 6.6 Muslim attitudes in Ambon towards members of other religious groups prior to participation in church-based projects Positive Characterizations of Individuals from Other Religious Groups

Negative Characterizations of Individuals from Other Religious Groups

Friendly; respectful, honest; open-minded

Enemies, land grabber; no interest in peace, no care for others; anti-Muslim; they never trust the Moros

Source: Authors’ survey.

In Cotabato, on the other hand, the results differ among Christians, Muslims, and Lumads. Only a minority of the Christian respondents described Muslims in positive terms. Responses are summarized in table 6.5. Vice versa, Muslim respondents also exhibited many negative attitudes, although more Muslim respondents than Christian respondents used positive descriptions for Christians. These findings corroborate survey results of the 1970s to 1990s, which unanimously came to the conclusion that local Muslims had a more positive image of Christians than vice-versa (Talibas-Nunez 1997: 37–43, 67, 79).17 Lumad respondents displayed historically grounded anti-Moro sentiments. Their descriptions of Muslims exhibited a largely negative image of Moros, including descriptions such as: “closed mindset,” “kidnapper,” “killer,” “bomber,” “cause of conflict,” “discriminating against indigenous

Church-based projects as game changers?  115 people,” “have no interest in peace,” “no interest in development,” and “hate.” Even more significant for our research objective is the question about the image the respondents have of individuals from other religious groups after taking part in the project. The results for Cotabato are, once again, distinguished between Christian, Muslim, and Lumad respondents. Christian respondents overwhelmingly described Muslim neighbors in positive terms after participation in the Cotabato Peace Zone project. Table 6.7 Christian attitudes in Cotabato towards members of other religious groups after participation in church-based projects Positive Characterizations of Individuals from Other Religious Groups

Negative Characterizations of Individuals from Other Religious Groups

“peace, peaceful mind;” “friendship;” “more intermarriage;” “open-minded;” “friendship;” “respecting each other;” “close, better relationships;” “understanding;” “hatred has changed;” “no more fear;” “people just like me;” “gained trust”

“Muslims are people too, but I have reservations in dealing with Muslims;” “no changes because until now we do not trust them because crimes/ violence are still happening and they are the very perpetrators;” “I gained confidence, but [only] a little, not complete trust;” “Muslims are people too, but I have reservations in dealing with Muslims”

Source: Authors’ survey.

A vast majority of Muslim respondents also used positive descriptions for Christians after participation in the Peace Zone project in Cotabato. While there were also still some minor negative statements by a small minority of Muslim respondents, the majority of Lumad respondents had changed attitudes and used positive descriptions for Muslims after participation in the Peace Zone project. In fact, there was only one Lumad respondent who still entertained reservations about Muslims, indicating that he did not completely trust them.18 Overall, the results for Ambon were even more positive after project participation. There were no major differences between Christian and Muslim attitudes and their change of attitudes. There was, quite importantly, a majority of those who also described individuals belonging to the religious other in positive terms. This visible and positive change in attitude in both project sites and within all religious groups made a lasting impact in both conflict transformation

116  Church-based projects as game changers? Table 6.8 Muslim attitudes in Cotabato towards members of other religious groups after participation in church-based projects Positive Characterizations of Individuals from Other Religious Groups

Negative Characterizations of Individuals from Other Religious Groups

“Although there is less discrimination, “Respecting each other;” “working violence and crime prevail” together, cooperation with others;” “friendship, close, better relationship;” “open-minded;” “Christians are good people, people like Moros, brothers and sisters, friends;” “not all Christians and Lumads are land grabbers;” “Christians are victims too, of economic injustices done by the government;” “peace, peaceful mind;” and “helpful, gained confidence” Source: Authors’ survey.

Table 6.9 Muslim attitudes in Ambon towards members of other religious groups after participation in church-based projects Positive Characterizations of Individuals from Other Religious Groups

Negative Characterizations of Individuals from Other Religious Groups

“Equal;” “the same people;” “all religions are the same;” “people from other religions are the same as us;” “better relationships;” “building (new) relationships;” “brothers;” “friends;” “change my view from enemy to fellow;” “desire for peace;” “awareness of peace;” “live in safety” Source: Authors’ survey.

societies. Probing this attitude change will be another key issue in our QCA analysis (see chapter 9).

Notes 1 Authors’ interview with Father Layson, 13 September 2015. 2 The Notre Dame University in Cotabato City stands out for developing one of the first university-based peace education pograms in the Philippines. The

Church-based projects as game changers?  117

3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

15 16 17 18

university’s Center for Peace Education, founded in 1988, offers a Master’s program in Peace and Development Education. The Center has also acquired reputation for its extensive outreach programs, which included interaction with international organizations. With the military it also targeted a major conflict party (Coronel Ferrer 2013: 235). Others mentioned by Father Layson include Oxfam and AustralAid. Authors’ interview, 13 September 2015. Authors’ interview with Father Layson, 13 September 2015. Authors’ interview with Rev Jacky Manuputty, 4 October 2016. Manuputty also emphasized that such interreligious aid measures were not one-way affairs as Muslims also started similar initiatives. On Tim 20 Wayame, see also the doctoral dissertation of Tonny D. Pariela (2008). The Jakarta Post, 30 August 2006. For a more enthusiastic appraisal of Baku Bae, see Hilda Rolobessy and Justus Pattinawane in an interview with the authors on 30 September 2015. The Jakarta Post, 30 August 2006. The Jakarta Post, 30 August 2006 and authors’ interviews with Rev Jacky Manuputty, 1 October 2015 and 4 October 2016. The Jakarta Post, 1 January 2003. Authors’ interviews with Sister Brigitta, 3 May 2016 and 4 October 2016 and The Jakarta Post, 1 January 2003. See International Crisis Group (2011). Authors’ interviews with Rev Jacky Manuputty, 1 October 2015, 2 May 2016 and 4 October 2016. This is corroborated by a report by the Center for Humanitarian Dialogue, stating that in Ambon “there were roughly ten local NGOs before the conflict. By 2001, this number had increased to more than 600. Today there are around thirty NGOs only ten of which are active.” (Centre for Humanitarian Dialogue 2011: 30). It should be noted that Christians in Mindanao and Maluku differ in respect to their denominations: while Christian communities in Mindanao are mostly Catholic, their counterparts in Ambon are mostly Protestant. On the anti-mobilizing effects of development, see also Coronel Ferrer (2013: 11). This finding is also corroborated by Neumann’s study who found that “Muslims are far more reserved in their comments” on Christians (Neumann 2013: 227). Neumann, too, attributes these attitudinal changes to the dialogues as a key element of NGO and church projects (Neumann 2013: 232).

References Al Qurtuby, Sumanto (2016): Religious Violence and Conciliation in Indonesia: Christians and Muslims in the Moluccas, London & New York: Routledge. Anson, Mohammad Hasan, Sukandar, Rudi, Peranto, Sopar, Karib, Fathun, Cholid, Sofyan  & Rasyid, Imron (2014): Post Violence Segregation, Violence, and Reconstruction Policy in Ambon, Jakarta: National Violence Monitoring System (SNPK) – The Habibie Center (THC).

118  Church-based projects as game changers? Bartels, Dieter (2009): “When God has no Answer, Search for Ancestral Wisdom: Revival of Traditional and Colonial Institutions in Conflict Resolutions between Muslims and Christians in the Central Moluccas, Indonesia,” Paper Presented at the International Workshop on Religion in Dispute and Conflict Resolution: Cases from Post-New Order Indonesia, Lembang, 18–21 March 2009, organized by the Max-Planck-Institute for Social Anthropology, Halle/Saale, Germany, and the Research Center for Regional Resources, Indonesian Institute of Sciences. Berliner, Peter; Anasarias, Ernesto & de Casas Soberón (2010): “Religious Diversity as Peacebuilding. The Space for Peace,” Religion Peace Conflict Journal 4(1): 1–12. Böhm, Cees J. (2006): Brief Chronicle of the Unrest in the Moluccas 1999–2006, Ambon City: Crisis Centre Diocese of Amboina. Centre for Humanitarian Dialogue (2011): Conflict Management in Indonesia  – An Analysis of the Conflicts in Maluku, Papua and Poso, Lausanne: Centre for Humanitarian Dialogue. Coronel Ferrer, Miriam (2013): Costly Wars, Elusive Peace: Collected Articles on the Peace Process in the Philippines 1990–2007, Diliman, Quezon City: University of the Philippines Press. Diaz, Patricio P. (2003): Understanding Mindanao Conflict, Davao City: Mindanao News and Information Cooperative Center (MNICC). International Crisis Group (2011): Indonesia: Trouble again in Ambon, Update Briefing No. 128, Jakarta & Brussels, available at: www.crisisgroup.org/~/media/ Files/asia/south-east-asia/indonesia/B128%20Indonesia%20 – %20Trouble%20 again%20in%20Ambon.pdf (accessed 1 February 2016). Iyer, Pushpa (2004): Peace Zones of Mindanao, Philippines: Civil Society Efforts to End Violence. Case Study, Cambridge, MA: CDA Collaborative Learning Projects. Larousse, William (2001): A Local Church Living for Dialogue: Muslim-Christian Relations in Mindanao-Sulu (Philippines) 1965–2000, Rome: Editrice Pontificia Universita Gregoriana. Layson,. Robert C. (2003): “Reflections on Public Participation in Peace Processes in Mindanao: Learning from Public Participation in Peacemaking,” Conference paper, General Santos City. Neumann, Hannah (2009): Friedenskommunikation: Möglichkeiten und Grenzen von Kommunikation in Konfliktransformation, Berlin: LIT Verlag. Neumann, Hannah (2013): “Through the Eyes of the Locals: Two Post-war Communities and Their Struggles from War to Peace,” Ph.D. Dissertation, Free University of Berlin. Panggabean, Samsu Rizal (2004): “Maluku: The Challenge of Peace,” In: Annelies Heijmans, Nicola Simmonds & Hans van de Veen (eds.), Searching for Peace in Asia Pacific: An Overview of Conflict Prevention and Peacebuilding Activities, Boulder & London: Lynne Rienner, pp. 416–437. Pariela, Tonny D. (2008): Damai: Di Tengah Konflik Maluku: Preserved Social Capital sebagai Basis Survival Strategy, Salatiga: Universitas Kristen Satya Wacana.

Church-based projects as game changers?  119 Rood, Steven (2005): Forging Sustainable Peace in Mindanao: The Role of Civil Society, Washington, DC: East-West Center Washington. Schulze, Kirsten E. (2002): “Laskar Jihad and the Conflict in Ambon,” The Brown Journal of World Affairs IX(1): 57–69. Talibas-Nunez, Rosalita (1997): Roots of Conflict: Muslims, Christians and the Mindanao Struggle, Makati: Asian Institute of Management.

7 No reconciliation without church projects? Comparative assessments of local experiences and attitudes in Cotabato and Ambon This chapter sets out to examine whether church-based activities (CBA) are positively associated with community members’ perceptions of other religious groups. In which ways, and to what extent, are church-based measures linked to the transformation of conflict-related attitudes and mindsets in Mindanao and Maluku? Overall, the empirical results in this chapter provide a mixed picture. Based on systematic survey settings, which allow us to identify community groups with high and low “treatment levels” of CBA participation, we find a discernable link between participation and selected attitudinal indicators. But it is also evident that the levels of significance in the association between participation in church-based activities and tolerant/inclusive attitudes differ substantially – both between outcome dimensions and between the two focus regions. The discussion in this chapter proceeds along the following lines. The subsequent section explicates the methodological frame that underpins the counterfactual and correlational analyses in Mindanao and Maluku. The third section provides an empirical assessment of respondent attitudes based on controlled village-level comparisons (across treatment and nontreatment groups) and individual-level correlation estimates.

Methodological frames to local project contexts As explained in chapter  3, controlled case comparisons are based on the idea of identifying and examining counterfactual cases that evince different participation levels in church-based activities. Consistent with Mill’s logic of “method of difference,” the objective was to find analytical units of comparison that match in important respects (including exposure to conflict, historical backgrounds, and cultural underpinnings) and, at the same time, vary in the explanatory variable. By focusing on these “amplified variations” in CBA participation it becomes possible to test whether differences in church-based activities coincide with corresponding differences

No reconciliation without church projects?  121 in attitudinal outcomes (i.e., mindsets that bode well for peaceful cohabitation and reconciliation). Within this systematic setting, we conduct a number of village-level comparisons and correlational analyses in Mindanao and Maluku. Our first assessment (as outlined in the methodology section below) focuses on a counterfactual comparison across carefully selected village communities in both conflict regions. In Mindanao, the approach was straightforward. The establishment of a “Zone for Peace” in the municipality Pikit, which emerged as a center for reconciliatory church-based activities in the conflict-ridden region, offered a valuable baseline. As outlined in chapter 6, it appeared sensible to choose two treatment villages within the designated Peace Zone and compare them with two control villages in a neighboring municipality (Kabacan) outside the zone. The final selection of local cases was also guided by the premise that selected villages should feature interfaith populations with mixed Muslim/Christian populations. Based on several interviews with local partners in Pikit and Kabacan, we ultimately identified four village communities that matched the described criteria  – Kalacacan and Nalapaan (within Pikit’s Peace Zone) and Cuyapon and Bangilan (in Kabacan, outside the Peace Zone). In Maluku, we encountered a more fluid project environment. In-depth interviews with local church leaders and academics at Pattimura University highlighted that there are no clear demarcation lines and designated zones that would predetermine the selection of cases. Drawing on consultations with local experts,1 we selected two villages with reportedly high levels of church-based activities (Poka and Rumah Tiga), and two units of comparison with low levels of church-based activities (Ahuru and Lembah Argo). All four villages are characterized by mixed Muslim/Christian populations. Based on the systematic selection of treatment and control villages in Mindanao and Maluku, we then – in the first analytical step – proceeded to assess observable differences in attitudinal outcomes. To gauge these differences, we drew on original household surveys, which address a random stratified selection of roughly 50 respondents per village.2 The assessment of a broad selection of conflict-relevant “attitude statements” (outlined in Table 7.1 below) allows us to shed empirical light on the link between levels of church-based activity (which vary systematically across treatment and control cases) and observable manifestations of more tolerant and reconciliatory mindsets. The second analytical step adds an additional layer of correlational analyses. Here, the level of participation in church-based activities is framed in a scalar rather than in a binary way. Local project realities show that individual involvement in church-based activities can be very diverse. Within any given village community, some residents have participated in more

122  No reconciliation without church projects? comprehensive ways in church efforts than others. This holds true in treatment villages but also (to a lesser extent) in control villages. To better capture these variations, we construct a scalar indicator that combines two survey variables: first, participation/non-participation in church projects (survey question Q25), and, second, the reported scale of project participation (survey question Q38a), which comprises up to seven dimensions – including interfaith dialogue, reconciliation, forgiveness, truth seeking, humanitarian aid, economic development, and youth empowerment. The resulting unweighted eight-scale indicator (where “0” expresses non-participation and rising values denote the cumulative presence of the seven CBA dimensions outlined above) is then used for correlation analyses with attitudinal outcome indicators. The advantage of this correlational approach is that we attain more nuanced insights into variations of church-based activities and associated attitudes.

Empirical results – counterfactual and correlational analyses The empirical results of counterfactual analysis across treatment and control villages provide initial indication of a positive link between high participation in church-based activities on the one hand, and more reconciliatory mindsets on the other. Table 7.1 summarizes the results that draw on different attitude statements expressed in our survey. The evaluation of outlined attitude statements is based on a five-point Likert scale that allows one to gauge whether respondents “totally agree” (2), “agree” (1), “remain indifferent” (0), “disagree” (−1), or “totally disagree” (−2) with a given proposition. The counterfactual analyses in Ambon indicate that treatment villages (Poka/Rumah Tiga) exhibit, by and large, more favorable attitudinal outcomes than control villages (Ahuru/Lembah Argo). This is evident across indicators related to aspects of interfaith tolerance – for instance, in statements such as “different religious groups in Indonesia should respect each other” (1.78 versus 1.62) and “in order to attain peace, Muslims, Christians and other groups have to seek compromises” (1.64 versus 1.40). The results of another tolerance indicator, denoting that “my child may marry someone from a different religion provided they love each other,” are less encouraging. Here, treatment villages display an overall negative stance (average Likert score of −0.43) and control villages an even more disapproving value (−0.94), indicating that interfaith marriages continue to be socially contested in Ambon. Meanwhile, a number of negatively framed statements that indicate notions of religious or ethnic intolerance – including propositions such as

Table 7.1  Attitudinal outcomes across treatment and control villages

Outcome Indicators Positive (+)/Negative (–) Attitudes Ethnic/Religious Tolerance (+) Different religious groups in Indonesia/the Philippines should respect each other (Q8b) (–) In Maluku/Mindanao one ethnic group will always dominate the other (Q8c) (–) Violence can be justified if it serves our religious cause (Q8g) (–) Violence can be justified if it serves our ethnic cause (Q8h) (+) My child may marry someone from a different religion provided they love each other (Q8i) (+) In order to attain peace, Muslims, Christians, and other groups have to seek compromises (Q13a) Secular/Pluralist Norms (+) Religion should be kept out of politics (Q14b) (+) We should cherish the pluralism of religions/faiths (Q14h) Perceptions on Faith (+) Faith gives me strength in coping with problems (Q7a) (+) Faith helps me respect others (Q7f)

Maluku Cases (Ambon)

Mindanao Cases (Cotabato)

Treatment Villages

Control Villages

Treatment Control Villages Villages

  1.78

  1.62

  1.53

  1.75

−1.46

−1.31

−0.42

−0.60

−0.99

−0.84

−0.32

−0.26

−1.08

−0.99

−0.36

−0.28

−0.43

−0.94

  1.13

  1.21

  1.64

  1.40

  1.46

  1.79

  0.83

  0.48

  0.57

  0.49

  1.74

  1.67

  1.26

  1.34

  1.52

  1.53

  1.55

  1.71

  1.50

  1.46

  1.56

  1.75

Source: Authors’ survey data from Mindanao and Maluku (2016). Estimates in bold indicate hypothesis-confirming results – namely, higher outcome values for positively framed attitudes (+); or lower outcome values for negatively framed attitudes (–). Outcome values range from 2 (totally agree) to −2 (totally disagree).

124  No reconciliation without church projects? “violence can be justified if it serves our religious cause,” “violence can be justified if it serves our ethnic cause,” or “one ethnic group will always dominate the other” – are clearly refuted in treatment villages (Likert scores of −0.99, −1.08, and −1.46, respectively), and to a higher degree than in respective control villages (−0.84, −0.99, and −1.31, respectively). The survey also entails statements on secular and pluralist values. Propositions along the lines that “religion should be kept out of politics” and that Indonesians are to “cherish the pluralism of religions” receive more support in communities with a high level of church-based activities. What is interesting, however, is that the former statement on secular norms is generally met with less agreement (0.83 versus 0.48) than the latter statement on pluralist ideals (1.74 versus 1.67). Arguably, this finding resonates with the spirit of the Indonesian Constitution, which strongly emphasizes principles of pluralism and, at the same time, qualifies its secular understanding with belief in a supreme divinity.3 Yet, as discussed above, it contradicts the nationwide surveys quoted in chapter 5. Another relevant dimension is the evaluation of reconciliatory aspects of faith. Here, the survey data exhibits affirmative but indistinct attitudinal outcomes. The two statements – “faith gives me strength in coping with problems” and “faith helps me respect others” – are met with broad agreement across all villages in Ambon. Treatment and control communities display similar responses (with Likert scores around 1.50) across the board. In sum, the presented village-level comparisons of attitudinal differences in Ambon highlight a moderately strong and consistent association between participation in church-based activities and a more affirmative stance towards religious/ethnic tolerance and pluralist values. Treatment villages show favorable attitudinal results in nine out of ten indicators (see Table 7.2). The survey results in Cotabato are less consistent overall. Merely three out of ten indicators in the counterfactual comparison (third column in Table 7.2, marked in bold) suggest that high participation in church-based activities coincides with more tolerant and pluralist attitudes. These include higher rejection levels on statements that violence can be justified on religious or ethnic grounds as well as a more affirmative stance on the separation of politics and religious affairs. In all other remaining components (Table 7.2), however, we find that control villages show favorable attitudinal scores. In a second analytical step, we conducted a number of correlation analyses to further probe the association between church-based activities and attitudinal outcomes. Overall, the results provide additional evidence for an affirmative answer to the first research question. They indicate that higher levels of participation in church-based activities are indeed associated with

No reconciliation without church projects?  125 Table 7.2  Correlation of CBA participation with ethnic/religious tolerance  Survey Indicators

CBA Participation, CBA Participation, Maluku Mindanao

(1) Different religious groups in [our country] should respect each other (Q8b) (2) [In this region], one ethnic group will always dominate the other (Q8c) (3) Violence can be justified if it serves our religious cause (Q8g) (4) Violence can be justified if it serves our ethnic cause (Q8h) (5) Our child may marry someone from a different religion provided they love each other (Q8i) (6) In order to attain peace, Muslims, Christians, and other groups have to seek compromises (Q13a)

  0.01

  0.16*

−0.13*

  0.03

−0.19*

−0.26*

−0.13*

−0.25*

  0.16*

−0.01

  0.21*

  0.21*

Source: Authors’ survey data from Mindanao and Maluku (2016). Estimates in bold indicate intuitive results – that is, positive correlations between CBA participation and positively framed attitudes (Q8b/Q8j/Q13a), or negative correlations with negatively framed attitudes (Q8d/Q8h/Q8i). *Significance of correlation estimates (at least) at the 0.1 level.

higher levels of tolerance and reconciliatory attitudes. What is more, correlational associations appear strong for both Southeast Asian conflict areas. Once the analysis moves from village-level comparisons to individuallevel correlations (see Tables 7.3 and 7.4), we can identify more consistent contributions of participation in church-based activities to ongoing conflict transformations. In Mindanao, eight out of ten attitudinal statements (that were introduced above) show the expected signs, and seven of them are significant at the 0.1 level. The respondents from Pikit’s Peace Zone4 clearly indicate that there is a positive link between the extent to which villagers are involved in church projects and the degree to which they exhibit tolerant and reconciliatory attitudes. For instance, a greater scope of participation in church-based activities correlates negatively with statements referring to religiously justified violence (−0.26) or ethnically justified violence (−0.25); and positively with statements alluding to interfaith respect (0.16), interfaith compromises for peaceful cohabitation (0.21), and a pluralism of religious beliefs (0.21). Furthermore, Pikit’s respondents with high levels of participation in

126  No reconciliation without church projects? Table 7.3 Correlation of CBA participation with secular/pluralist norms and faith perceptions  Survey Indicators

CBA Participation, Maluku

CBA Participation, Mindanao

(1) Religion should be kept out of politics (Q14b) (2) We should cherish the pluralism of religions/faiths (Q14h) (3) Faith gives me strength in coping with problems (Q7a) (4) Faith helps me respect others (Q7f)

0.21

0.08

0.23*

0.21*

0.14*

0.41*

0.14*

0.22*

Source: Authors’ survey data from Mindanao  & Maluku (2016). Estimates in bold indicate intuitive results  – that is, positive correlations between CBA participation and positively framed attitudes (Q14b/Q14h/ Q7a/Q7). *Significance of correlation estimates (at least) at the 0.1 level.

church-based activities confirm that faith is a means of “coping with problems” (0.41) and learning to “respect others” (0.22). The correlation results for Ambon show a strong consistency as well. Here, ten out of ten coefficients show the expected signs (eight of them significant at the 0.1 level). In other words, Ambonese residents with more comprehensive involvement in church-based activities are more likely to respond to attitudinal statements in favorable ways. Correlation estimates are strongly indicative of positive associations between church-based activities and religious/ethnic tolerance, secular and pluralist norms, and reconciliatory aspects of faith. All in all, the outlined case comparisons and counterfactual analyses offer a valuable starting point for the discussion of potential effects of church-based activities in Mindanao and Maluku. Although the emerging findings are not fully conclusive, they nonetheless highlight a noteworthy association between participation in church-based activities and emerging reconciliatory mindsets. Associations with church-based activities seem to be more consistent in individual-level correlation analyses than in counterfactual assessments. Overall, the results from the unique field surveys in Mindanao and Maluku provide first indications of positive associations with church-based activities, which now stand to be substantiated in the chapters below, where we apply statistical regression and Qualitative Comparative Analysis (QCA).

No reconciliation without church projects?  127

Notes 1 Three church leaders (Father Böhm, Sister Brigitta, and Rev Jacky Manuputty), and one Pattimura professor (Tonny Pariela), were particularly helpful in identifying villages with greater or fewer church-based activities. 2 The initial aim was to conduct questionnaires with 50 randomly chosen respondents in each village  – evenly stratified across Christian and Muslim faith. In Indonesia, this ideal-typical frame was attainable not least because Ambon has not been marred by major violent conflicts over the past five years. In Mindanao, however, the picture was a distinctly different one. During the fieldwork in Pikit (especially during the administration of survey questionnaires in March 2016) the security situation deteriorated to such an extent that foreign experts were advised to leave the region. Against this backdrop, field teams were forced to compromise: in both Kalacacan and Bangilan, enumerators administered 30 questionnaires. In Nalapaan, the respondent number rose to 65 to compensate for a temporarily skewed distribution of Christian and Muslim respondents. 3 Indeed, Article 36a reiterates the national maxim Bhinneka Tunggal Ika that calls upon all Indonesians to strive for unity among diverse ethnic groups. Meanwhile, the understanding of secularism is bound by the fact that the constitution’s Pancasila preamble enshrines belief in a supreme divinity (“Ketuhanan yang Maha Esa”), casting religious faith as a stabilizing pillar of the Indonesian state. See also Magnis-Suseno (1989, 2015). 4 In Mindanao, survey questionnaires for villages outside the peace zone (i.e., Cuyapon and Bangilan) did not address detailed questions on church project dimensions, in part due to rising security risks and time constraints. It was therefore not possible to calculate the eight-scale participation indicator (based on survey question Q38a; see methodological notes above) for non-peace zone residents. As a result, the reported correlational estimates for Mindanao are based on individual questionnaires in Kalacacan and Nalapaan (covering 95 out of 175 respondents).

References Magnis-Suseno, Franz (1989): Neue Schwingen für Garuda: Indonesien zwischen Tradition und Moderne, München: Kindt Verlag. Magnis-Suseno, Franz (2015): Garuda im Aufwind. Das neue Indonesien, Bonn: Dietz.

8 Church-based projects matter A provincial meso perspective from Maluku

To triangulate the findings from the qualitative interviews and counterfactual comparisons, this section complements the local data collected in Cotabato and Ambon with a provincial meso level analysis. It takes a closer look at a unique provincial dataset to assess the association between churchbased activities and reconciliation indicators. The discussion that follows will be organized in two parts. The first part describes the compilation and assembly of our subnational data. The second part presents and interprets the results of the multivariate regression estimates.

Compilation and assembly of the data As outlined in the research design, the phenomenon to be explained, the dependent variable, is the degree of non-violence. For assessing the absence of violence, we drew on Indonesian1 household survey data (PODES), which include village-level perceptions of various aspects of communal life and development. The PODES data were carefully compiled for all subdistricts in the province of Maluku.2 Indicators on local conflict and violence, which are highly relevant for our study, feature prominently in two particular survey years, 2004 and 2013. We use these two points in time and create a “declining death toll” indicator by subtracting reported conflictrelated homicides in 2013 from those in 2004. The resulting values (which turn positive once homicide numbers decline over time) constitute a proxy for the overarching objective of peaceful cohabitation in local communities. The unit of analysis for all variables in the regression estimates is the sub-district level (kecamatan). The province of Maluku consists of 112 sub-districts with an average population of approximately 15,000 people. The “district level” was not chosen because it would have resulted in a very limited number of observation points (11 districts); and a focus on the “village level” was unfeasible because identifying church-based project efforts in over one thousand villages would have been virtually

Church-based projects matter  129 impossible, not least because local churches in Maluku have insufficient data on the spatial boundaries and time frames of their project activities, but also because project documentation has been partially destroyed in conflict-induced fires. The independent variable in this analysis is given by the presence of church-based activities (CBAs) that foster peaceful cohabitation. There are no standardized or easily accessible sources that provide a good approximation of these activities across subnational units. In the absence of such, we constructed perception-based measures by drawing on in-depth interviews and expert cross-checks. We consulted four of Ambon’s most knowledgeable church actors (Father Costan, Father Böhm, Sister Brigitta Renyaan, and Rev Jacky Manuputty), who were chiefly involved in Catholic and Protestant reconciliation projects and could provide valuable information on the “where” and “what” of church-based activities. Accordingly, the indicator of church-based activities is constructed by combining these two aspects. The first aspect captures which “church community” is active in which subdistricts. Based on the distinction of (a) Catholic, (b) Protestant, and (c) joint Catholic/Protestant efforts, we generated three dummy variables for each of these categories. The second aspect pertains to the general scope of churchbased efforts. Here, we assigned scale values in ascending order reflecting the comprehensiveness of observable church activities, ranging from “no activity” (value 0), through “activities fostering the physical reconstruction of housing and infrastructure” (value 1), to “activities promoting interfaith dialogue, trauma healing, or reconciliation” (value 2). By multiplying the outlined scope variables with the respective church community variables, we generated three indicators of church-based activities for the quantitative analyses, namely: (1) “Catholic CBAs,” (2) “Protestant CBAs,” and (3) “Joint CBAs.” The integral values of these independent variables range between 0 and 2, respectively. In addition, we added three control variables. These include the potential oversight of local security forces, approximated by the distance to the next district police station (in kilometers). We also controlled for relative economic status: by calculating the share of families in each sub-district that are considered “prosperous” or “pre-prosperous” it was possible to construct a proxy for household prosperity. Moreover, we controlled for the size of the respective sub-district communities by adding a population variable to the equation.

Results of regression analyses The quantitative analyses shed further light on the research proposition regarding the association between church-based activities and the

130  Church-based projects matter attainment of non-violence. The results of the ordinary least square (OLS) estimates are summarized in Table 8.1 below. Two results stand out in particular. First, OLS estimates indicate that coefficients of the independent variable “Catholic CBAs” are positive and significant at the 0.01 level (without controls) or 0.05 level (with controls). Second, regression results also show that “Joint CBAs” (i.e., instances of combined Catholic and Protestant project efforts), are positively associated with reduced degrees of local violence (coefficients are also significant at the 0.01 or 0.05 levels). The estimates for “Protestant CBA” efforts, in contrast, do not indicate a clear relationship. OLS coefficients are not significant: t statistics amount to 1.11 (without controls) and 0.25 (with controls), respectively, and hence the data does not allow us to specify an association with measures of reduced violence.

Table 8.1  Multivariate regression results (sub-district data) Dependent Variable: Declining Death Toll (difference in reported conflict-related homicide rates in 2003 and 2014) Catholic CBAs

0.09***

0.07**

(2.82)

(2.63)

Protestant CBAs

0.04 (1.11)

Joint CBAs (Cath & Prot)

0.11*** (2.85)

Distance to Police Station (2003)

0.01 (0.25)

Household Prosperity (2003)

4.74 e-09 (0.49) 0.02

7.89 e-09 (0.84) 0.03

(2.27) 2.8 e-09 (0.28) 0.02

(0.25) 3.15 e-05 (1.59) −0.09 (−1.19)

(0.21) 1.48 e-05 (0.79) −0.06 (−0.92)

56 0.07

56 0.13

Constant

−0.03 (−1.29)

−0.02 (−0.89)

−0.03 (−1.29)

(0.26) 2.17 e-05 (1.25) −0.08 (−1.21)

Observations Adjusted R2

56 0.11

56 0.03

56 0.13

56 0.13

Population (2003)

0.09**

Sources: Subnational dataset compiled from BPS PODES household data, 2003 and 2014; CBA indicators are based on in-depth expert interviews and repeated cross-checks (see above). Note: t statistics in parentheses; *significant at 10%; **significant at 5%; ***significant at 1%.

Church-based projects matter  131 Overall, these results provide further support to the hypothesized link between church-based activities and non-violent cohabitation in the case of Maluku. Due to endogeneity restrictions and the limited scope of our data, we do not claim that this OLS analysis, of and by itself, establishes a causal relationship. It does, however, highlight a significant positive association between Catholic and joint Catholic/Protestant project efforts, and a reduced incidence of conflict-related violence. This finding, combined with the findings from the counterfactual case comparisons (in chapter 7), lend further credibility to the claim that church-based activities have made a notable difference to local community life in Ambon and its surrounding sub-districts.

Notes 1 In the Philippines, the limited availability of subnational data did not allow for regression analyses to be conducted; unfortunately, the Philippine National Statistics Bureau does not collect/provide key indicators below the provincial level (which made it impossible to assemble a local conflict dataset). 2 The Indonesian Central Bureau of Statistics (BPS) collects village-level survey data (PODES) on an annual basis.

9 Church-based projects, income, and education Factors that matter for reconciliation1

The objective of this chapter is to apply a fuzzy-set Qualitative Comparative Analysis (QCA) that provides insights on how contextual settings can influence locals’ attitudes towards conflict transformation. Drawing on the survey data from Mindanao and Maluku (375 respondents from eight village-level locations), the aim of this particular QCA design is to discern potential effects on individual attitude change not only by looking at project participation (as in the previous chapters) but also by gauging a set of relevant socioeconomic, ethnic, and religious conditions. Our QCA design features six conditions which were identified and extracted from the survey data and one outcome indicator. The outcome indicator (methodologically equivalent to the “dependent variable” in regression analysis) is concerned with measuring the attitude change of community members towards other religious groups that participated in local conflicts. This outcome includes an intertemporal component. Two survey data points are used to determine self-perceived improvements in attitude “before” and “after” participating in a church-based activity.2 Furthermore, the outcome score contains three sets of questionnaire results measuring attitudes towards other religious beliefs, towards religious violence, and towards members of other religious groups.3 The six conditions considered in this research design include the following aspects: first, participation in church-based activities (Q25 and Q31a); second, the level of education (approximated by “the highest attained school degree,” QB05); third, the level of income and financial wellbeing (approximated by reported annual incomes and consumption baskets, Q1a-x and B06); fourth, the level of social capital and community solidarity (approximated by self-perceived social positions, levels of local respect and trust, Q15b and Q8n/m); fifth, the level of fundamentalist religious preferences in politics and state affairs (approximated by influence of religious norms in state affairs and politics, Q14b, Q14j, Q14k); and sixth, the level of ethnic

Church-based projects, income, and education  133 identification of respondents (approximated by the importance of ethnic membership, Q6c_a, Q8k, and Q13b).

Research objective and propositions In the following research setup, the established conditions are to be tested for their effect on the outcome. The QCA method based on Boolean algebra provides a unique opportunity to not only analyze the isolated effects of conditions on the outcome but also to consider the relevance of specific effect combinations as well. The QCA research design provides “terms” (or condition combinations) as results, indicating which conditions together have a measurable effect on the outcome. Using this technique, interactions of reinforcing or mitigating effects become visible in the resulting combinations.4 Based on outlined conditions, the analysis was guided by a number of research propositions:

Proposition 1: Higher participation levels correspond with stronger attitude improvement. Proposition 2: Higher educational levels correspond with stronger attitude improvement. Proposition 3: Higher income levels correspond with stronger attitude improvement. Proposition 4: Higher social capital levels correspond with stronger attitude improvement. Proposition 5: Higher levels of fundamentalist religious attitudes correspond with weaker attitude improvement. Proposition 6: Higher ethnic identification corresponds with weaker attitude improvement.

We briefly consider each of these propositions. Church-based activities are intended to contribute to interfaith dialogue, peaceful cohabitation, and local reconciliation. The participation levels in such activities (proposition 1) should therefore provide a positive effect on our designated outcome. Higher levels of education (proposition 2) are likely to stimulate personal reflection and provide new socioeconomic opportunities, both of which may reduce personal grievances and stimulate interfaith tolerance. Higher income levels (proposition 3) go hand in hand with less precarious living conditions and, as such, with lower risks of economically induced mobilization against other religious groups. The effect of social capital (proposition 4) depends on the nature and scope of local solidarity. If local solidarity and trust are narrowly confined to members of one specific religious and/

Table 9.1  QCA truth table (outcome: positive attitude change), all observations Partici­ Edu­ Income Social Funda­ Ethni­ Outcome n pation cation mentalist city

Incl

PRI

1 1 1 1 0 1 1 1 1 0 0 1 0 0 1 0 0 0 1 0 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 0 0 0 0 1 1 0 0 0 0 1 1 1 1 1 1

0.82 0.91 0.93 0.76 0.66 0.88 0.90 0.86 0.82 0.69 0.74 0.87 0.78 0.74 0.77 0.74 0.67 0.73 0.92 0.65 0.86 0.89 0.86 0.89 0.93 0.93 0.89 0.84 0.86 0.74 0.79 0.75 0.79 0.89 0.82 0.78 0.79 0.71 0.72 0.92 0.86 0.88 0.91 0.87 0.86

0.51 0.69 0.78 0.27 0.18 0.52 0.68 0.49 0.37 0.21 0.30 0.49 0.33 0.32 0.29 0.24 0.14 0.20 0.62 0.12 0.49 0.53 0.39 0.55 0.71 0.73 0.60 0.43 0.46 0.19 0.37 0.22 0.35 0.58 0.45 0.27 0.28 0.22 0.18 0.69 0.42 0.47 0.64 0.56 0.51

1 1 1 1 0 1 1 1 0 1 1 1 1 1 0 1 1 0 1 0 1 1 0 1 1 1 1 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 1 1 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0

0 1 1 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 1 1 0 0 1 0 1 1 0 0 0 1 1 1 1 0 0 0 1 1 1 1 1 0 1 0 0 0 0 1 1 1 0 0

1 1 1 1 1 0 1 0 0 1 0 1 0 1 1 0 0 1 0 0 1 0 0 1 0 0 0 1 0 1 1 0 0 1 1 1 1 1 0 0 1 1 1 1 0

1 1 0 1 1 1 0 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 0 1 0 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 0 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 0 1 0 0 1 0 0 0 1

0 0 0 1 1 1 0 1 1 1 0 1 0 0 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 0 0 0 1 1 1 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 0 1 1 0 0 0

1 1 1 1 0 1 1 1 1 0 0 1 1 0 1 0 0 0 1 0 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 0 1 0 1 1 1 1 1 0 0 1 1 1 1 1 1

21 17 17 17 13 12 12 12 12 12 12 11 11 11 10 10 9 8 7 7 6 6 6 5 5 5 5 5 5 5 5 5 5 4 4 4 3 3 3 2 2 2 2 2 2

Church-based projects, income, and education  135 Partici­ Edu­ Income Social Funda­ Ethni­ Outcome n pation cation mentalist city

Incl

PRI

0 0 0 0 0 1 1 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0.79 0.79 0.80 0.82 0.72 0.90 0.90 0.89 0.78 0.78 0.80 0.82 0.80 0.74 0.78

0.30 0.27 0.35 0.38 0.20 0.58 0.50 0.60 0.24 0.24 0.29 0.36 0.31 0.20 0.26

1 1 1 0 0 0 0 0 1 1 0 0 0 0 0

1 1 1 1 0 1 1 0 1 0 1 1 1 0 0

1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 1 1 1 0 1 1

0 0 0 0 1 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

0 1 0 0 0 0 1 0 1 1 1 0 1 1 0

1 1 1 1 0 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 0 1

2 2 2 2 2 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1

Note: Results are calculated by using QCA for R (Thiem & Dusa 2013).

or ethnic group – “bonding” social capital – then one might not expect pronounced attitude changes. However, if a community evinces solidarity and trust networks that cut across religious and ethnic boundaries (i.e., “bridging” social capital), it is more likely to find positive changes in interfaith attitudes. Fundamentalist religious orientations (proposition 5) imply strong leanings towards religious identification and solid belief systems and, as such, they can diminish reconciliation efforts. Ethnic identification (proposition 6) is assumed to delimit the effect of reconciliation, not least because strong ethnic cleavages are likely to reinforce conflict-accelerating mindsets and “us against them” mentalities. The QCA truth table, sorted by number of cases, shows which combinations are most frequent in respect to associated cases. Table 9.1 summarizes the results. Notably, the first four combinations all include “education,” “social” and “participation” and are associated with the positive outcome of attitude improvement towards members of the other religious group. To visualize salient condition combinations in a more discernable and visually appealing way, Figure 9.1 presents a Venn diagram based on the truth table results outlined above. The Venn diagram makes it possible to visualize which of the six conditions are strongly linked to positive outcomes (i.e., improved respondent attitudes towards other religious groups). At high inclusion5 levels of 0.8, our data indicates the trends outlined in Figure 9.1. Each of the six overlapping

136  Church-based projects, income, and education INCOME 2 EDUCATION

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2 FUNDAMENTALISM FUNDAMEN

1 PARTICIPATION 0

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Figure 9.1  QCA Venn diagram (outcome: positive attitude change), all observations

“oval shapes” represents one condition. The elevated (and slightly shaded) oval shape, for instance, encompasses all observations that fulfill the condition “participation.” Dark gray shadings imply inclusion levels of 0.8 or more. This indicates that at least 80 percent of all observations in a given set of conditions (i.e., a specific truth table row) confirm the expected positive outcome: an improved attitude towards the other religious group. Light gray shadings indicate that inclusion levels (share of confirming observations) are below 0.8 and hence suggest a lower “goodness of fit.” White shadings signify that there are no observations for this particular combination. The numbers in each of these shaded fields indicate the quantity of cases that conform with the respective combination of conditions. Overall, the Venn diagram already provides a strong indication as to what condition combinations are closely associated with observable attitude improvements. Certainly, participation in church-based activities appears to

Church-based projects, income, and education  137 be highly relevant for positive attitude change in a large number of cases. This is evident in the dark gray shading of the elevated oval shape for participation (see Figure 9.1). In contrast, the conditions ethnic identification (“ethnicity”), social capital (“social”), and fundamentalist religious orientations (“fundamentalism”) appear to be associated with lower rates of inclusion. The larger share of light gray shadings in the three respective oval shapes associated with these conditions implies a weaker association with overall attitude improvements.

QCA reduction and result interpretation The outlined results can be further elaborated on and specified by applying a set-theoretic reduction process. By applying an “Enhanced Quine McCluskey Algorithm” (EQMCC), which is available in software packages such as R, it is possible to reduce all the potential combinations of conditions (outlined in the truth table above; see Table  9.1) to a smaller number of highly relevant combinations. The results of this algorithmic reduction are displayed in Table 9.2. The output in Table  9.2, which is based on computer simulations with minimum inclusion levels of 0.75 and minimum PRI levels6 of 0.50, highlights a number of interesting results: The first two resulting terms feature the presence of “education” and “income” as prominent conditions, accompanied by the respective absence of the “fundamentalism” and “ethnicity” factors.7 The two described factor combinations show the highest Inclusion and PRI scores and, thus, indicate a relatively high effect on attitude improvements. These two results support four of our propositions (nos. 2, 3, 5, and 6). In other words, they indicate that community members with high educational attainment and income levels, as well as low ethnic or fundamentalist religious orientations, are likely Table 9.2  QCA results for the outcome “attitude improvement”

(1) EDUCATION*INCOME*~FUNDAMENTALISM (2) EDUCATION*INCOME*~ETHNICITY (3) EDUCATION*SOCIAL*~FUNDAMENTALISM (4) SOCIAL*~FUNDAMENTALISM*~ETHNICITY (5) INCOME*FUNDAMENTALISM*~ETHNICITY (6) EDUCATION*PARTICIPATION

Inclusion

PRI

0.86 0.86 0.85 0.84 0.83 0.75

0.60 0.63 0.58 0.57 0.54 0.54

Note: Results with high inclusion (>0.75) and high PRI (>0.5); results are calculated on the basis of EQMCC (Enhanced Quine McCluskey Algorithm) in R. For technical details see Thiem and Dusa (2013).

138  Church-based projects, income, and education candidates for attitude changes in the direction of tolerance and reconciliation. This finding is corroborated by the case of Wayame (see chapter 6), a village with a high share of well-educated middle class families (Panggabean 2004: 429). Wayame was the only location in Ambon City that was able to maintain interreligious peace during the entire conflict (Al Qurtuby 2016: 109). The next combinations – education*social*non-fundamentalism and social*non-fundamentalism*non-ethnicity – serve to highlight the positive effect of social capital. This positive effect is pronounced both in the presence of high education and low fundamentalist effects (which may reinforce a “bridging” rather than a “bonding” type of social capital); and in the combined absence of strong fundamentalist religious and ethnic orientations (which, again, may foster a bridging or cross-cutting character of social networks). These results lend support to the fourth proposition, namely that well-interconnected individuals with social relationships transcending religious or ethnic divides are likely to show attitude improvements. The fifth result – income*fundamentalism*non-ethnicity – suggests that uncompromising or fundamentalist religious orientations can in some cases exert a positive influence on attitudes. The outlined combination indicates that well-to-do residents with low ethnic orientations and high levels of religious piety or zeal can show reconciliatory attitudes. Our interview data suggests that this is particularly likely in cases where fundamentalist religious orientations are inspired by values of forgiveness and compassion. Consistent with the truth table above (see Table  9.1), the sixth result highlights the positive effect of participation in church-based activities. According to the calculations, project participation is particularly influential once it coincides with high levels of education. With Inclusion/PRI rates of 0.75 and 0.54 respectively, these results evince a high level of consistency. They also tally well with patterns in the Venn diagram (Figure 9.1), which indicate high consistency levels (inclusion values of 0.80 or above; dark gray shading) in the areas where “participation” and “education” coincide.8 Overall, this finding also serves as a reminder that church-based projects, which aim at fostering reconciliation and peaceful coexistence, may be particularly successful if accompanied by rising education standards.

Test for robustness: estimations for reverse outcome One way to add further robustness to QCA findings is to estimate consistent factor combinations for the absence of a specific outcome as well. The literature on advanced QCA analysis recommends as a standard of good analytical practice the estimation of “non-outcomes” in a separate analysis (Schneider & Wagemann 2010: 12f). In line with this recommendation, the

Church-based projects, income, and education  139 Table 9.3  QCA results for non-outcome “attitude improvement”

(1) ~EDUCATION*ETHNICITY (2) ~EDUCATION*INCOME*~SOCIAL *FUNDAMENTALISM (3) PARTICIPATION*ETHNICITY (4) SOCIAL*~PARTICIPATION (5) INCOME*~PARTICIPATION (6) FUNDAMENTALISM*~PARTICIPATION

Inclusion

PRI

0.89 0.87

0.74 0.57

0.80 0.78 0.75 0.75

0.59 0.60 0.55 0.61

Notes: Results with high inclusion (>0.75) and high PRI (>0.5); results are calculated on the basis of EQMCC (Enhanced Quine McCluskey Algorithm) in R. For technical details see Thiem and Dusa (2013).

following output (Table 9.3) was generated to examine which combinations are associated with an absence of attitude improvements. As outlined in Table  9.3, the combination non-education*ethnicity is consistently associated with the non-outcome. The concurrence of low education and strong ethnic identification hence appears to coincide with no attitude improvements towards the other religious group. The high Inclusion and PRI values signal a high degree of certainty regarding this effect. The second most consistent combination is the combination of noneducation*income*non-social*fundamentalism. Low levels of education and social capital, combined with high levels of income and fundamentalist religious orientations, seem to be a recipe for low attitude improvements. This lends additional support to the above-described education and social capital propositions, but it also indicates that higher income levels can be of no effect to reconciliatory attitudes when they coincide with less education and strong fundamentalist religious orientations. The last three results in Table  9.3 provide additional insights into the effects of participation in church-based projects. It is evident that an absence of project participation goes hand-in-hand with an absence of desirable attitudinal change which, inversely, highlights that participation in churchbased activities has a positive effect. This does not seem to be the case, however, if project participation is combined with high levels of ethnic orientation (third result). Here the negative effect of “ethnicity” exceeds the repeated positive effect of “participation.”

Concluding remarks The QCA analysis reveals a rich picture of interactions between selected conditions. We can observe that combinations with the factors “education,”

140  Church-based projects, income, and education “income,” and “participation” are consistently associated with a positive outcome. Thus, there is a strong indication that respondents with higher levels of schooling, economic security, and project participation are most likely to report attitudinal improvements towards the other religious group over time. Strong ethnic orientations feature as the predominant negative factor in attitude change. Mental divides along ethnic divides lead to less tolerance. Estimates for the non-outcome (i.e., the absence of attitude improvements) show that the combination of strong ethnic identification and low educational levels is consistently associated with low improvement. Networks of communal solidarity and trust, commonly associated with the notion of “social capital,” have stronger positive effects once they are “bridging” intra-group divides (i.e., coincide with lower ethnic or fundamentalist religious orientations). Overall, the QCA analysis provides additional support for the finding that participation in church-based activities has positive effects on participants’ attitudes towards reconciliation. Equally importantly, it offers valuable insights into contextual factors that surround church projects. These suggest that higher levels of education, personal prosperity, and (in a more contingent way) social capital are accelerators of observable attitude improvements, whereas ethnic identification and (to some extent) fundamentalist religious orientations are likely to be detrimental to reconciliatory efforts.

Notes 1 The authors gratefully acknowledge the substantial technical contributions of Mr Felix Ettensperger (University of Freiburg) to this chapter. 2 The questions that establish this comparison are Q46 (“What image did you have of the individuals from other religious groups before you took part in the reconciliation project”) and Q48 (“What image did you have of the individuals from other religious groups after you took part in the reconciliation project”). 3 These indicators were drawn from the survey questions Q8h, Q14g, and Q13c. 4 For a detailed discussion of the QCA technique and its theoretical foundations see, for instance, Ragin (1987, 2000, 2006) and Schneider and Wagemann (2006, 2007, 2010). 5 The level of inclusion (Thiem  & Dusa 2013) or consistency (Ragin 1987) reflects the percentage of observations in each set-theoretic combination of conditions (i.e., in each truth table row) that conforms with the outcome in question. This percentage value represents a goodness of fit: it “indicates how closely a perfect subset relation is approximated” in the given data (Ragin 2008: 44). Inclusion levels of 0.75 or 0.80 are widely recommended in the QCA literature as benchmarks for a good set-theoretic fit (Rihoux & Ragin 2009; Schneider & Wagemann 2012). 6 The PRI (proportional reduction of inconsistency) value is an additional measure addressing the issue of rows that might be consistent with both the outcome and its negation. See Schneider & Wagemann (2012: 242–244). The lower the

Church-based projects, income, and education  141 PRI value, the higher the outlined risk of inconsistency. In our analysis, we set the minimum PRI at 0.50. 7 A brief note on notations: the operator “ ~ ” signifies the absence/negation of a condition; the operator “ * ” signifies the combination of conditions. 8 Interestingly, the few inconsistencies (signified by light grey shadings) are fields that entail the conditions “ethnicity” and “fundamentalism” as codetermining factors; a result that highlights the possible detrimental influence of these latter two conditions.

References Al Qurtuby, Sumanto (2016): Religious Violence and Conciliation in Indonesia: Christians and Muslims in the Moluccas, London & New York: Routledge. Panggabean, Samsu Rizal (2004): “Maluku: The Challenge of Peace,” In: Annelies Heijmans, Nicola Simmonds & Hans van de Veen (eds.), Searching for Peace in Asia Pacific: An Overview of Conflict Prevention and Peacebuilding Activities, Boulder & London: Lynne Rienner, pp. 416–437. Ragin, Charles C. (1987): The Comparative Method: Moving Beyond Qualitative and Quantitative Strategies, Berkeley: University of California Press. Ragin, Charles C. (2000): Fuzzy-Set Social Science, Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Ragin, Charles C. (2006): “Set Relations in Social Research: Evaluating Their Consistency and Coverage,” Political Analysis 14(3): 291–310. Ragin, Charles C. (2008): Redesigning Social Inquiry: Fuzzy Sets and Beyond, Chicago, IL: Chicago University Press. Rihoux, Benoit  & Ragin, Carles C. (eds.) (2009): Configurational Comparative Methods: Qualitative Comparative Analysis (QCA) and Related Techniques, Los Angeles: Sage Publications. Schneider, Carsten Q.  & Wagemann, Claudius (2006): “Reducing Complexity in Qualitative Comparative Analysis (QCA): Remote and Proximate Factors and the Consolidation of Democracy,” European Journal of Political Research 45: 751–786. Schneider, Carsten Q.  & Wagemann, Claudius (2007): Qualitative Comparative Analysis (QCA) und Fuzzy Sets – Ein Lehrbuch für Anwender und jene, die es werden wollen, Opladen: Barbara Budrich. Schneider, Carsten Q. & Wagemann, Claudius (2010): “Standards of Good Practice in Qualitative Comparative Analysis (QCA) and Fuzzy-Sets,” Comparative Sociology 9: 1–22. Schneider, Carsten Q.  & Wagemann, Claudius (2012): Set-theoretic Methods for the Social Sciences: A guide to Qualitative Comparative Analysis, New York: Cambridge University Press. Thiem, Alrik & Dusa, Adrian (2013): “QCA: A Package for Qualitative Comparative Analysis,” The R Journal 5(1).

10 Conclusions and implications Strengthening church capacities for peacebuilding

Drawing together the threads of the conceptual and empirical discussions, this concluding chapter summarizes key findings of this research that set out to trace, contextualize, and measure contributions of reconciliatory church projects in two Southeast Asian conflict regions. Based on these findings, we also discuss some tentative implications for general conflict transformation efforts in Mindanao and Maluku and ongoing church projects.

Project findings At a general level, this study fills an important empirical gap in peace research. It sheds novel, systematically generated, empirical light on the local peace activities of religious actors – the Christian churches – in post-conflict constellations. Although adverse field conditions (see chapter  3) forced us to scale down the scope of field surveys and interviews in Mindanao, the resulting data nonetheless provided a sound basis for village-level and individual testing in the form of counterfactual comparisons, correlational analyses, and QCA estimations. In addition, the availability of provincewide conflict data in Maluku made it possible to compile a unique subdistrict dataset for multivariate regression analyses. Due to sustained efforts of combining different analytical and methodological perspectives, this study has generated more nuanced and robust research findings than a unidimensional (quantitative or qualitative) approach would have. Revisiting the first of the two research questions formulated in chapter 1, that is, the ways and the extent to which church-based activities contributed to conflict transformation in Mindanao and Maluku, four major conclusions can be drawn. First, perhaps the most resounding message that emerges from this study is that church-based projects do matter. Our survey reveals that Christian project activities in the field of conflict transformation and reconciliation have been, by and large, well received. Indeed, a vast majority of

Conclusions and implications  143 respondents in Cotabato and Ambon found it highly relevant that peace projects were organized by religious actors. Reasons for the strong preference for church-led peace projects arguably include the notion that religious peace actors are widely seen as guardians or benefactors of marginalized groups or households – irrespective of expressed religious beliefs. Moreover, church-based efforts in some communities are often praised for their accompanying focus on poverty alleviation, which includes an emphasis on hands-on activities that yield tangible improvements for local livelihoods. Ordinary people that have gone through ordeals of violence and destruction and have experienced long spells of political, economic, social, and cultural discrimination and deprivation tend to value material needs more than (or at least equal to) cultural and spiritual ones. Closely related to this insight is, second, the fact that according to the survey results church-based projects tend to receive higher approval rates than state projects. The majority of respondents feel that church projects are preferable because they treat followers of Christian and Muslim faiths with equal respect. Religious actors are often seen as inclusive, fair, and unbiased mediators, while state actors at times display favoritism and more arbitrary treatment. Moreover, religious actors are commended for their proper and timely execution of projects and delivery of aid, while state actors are criticized for slow and inefficient execution. Interviewees also alluded to the fact that state projects are often fraught with corruption, while church-based projects are not. Our interview data and the insights generated through process tracing and discourse analysis in both conflict regions adds further support to these findings. Overall, the survey and interview data indicate that church activities have been well in line with the expectations of local residents in both conflict areas. Third, and likewise, highly significant insights arise from the survey data and empirical assessments in chapters 6 to 9. These chapters examine the extent to which project participation affect peace-oriented outcomes. Counterfactual comparisons and correlational analyses indicate a significant link between higher participation and more tolerant/inclusive attitudes, especially once individual-level correlational analyses are considered. Regression analyses add further support to these positive associations. A  set of multivariate OLS estimates (across more than 50 Maluku sub-districts) indicate that both the “presence of Catholic project activities” and the “presence of joint Catholic/Protestant activities” are positively and significantly associated with reported reductions in violence. In other words: churchbased activities have fostered interreligious understanding and better knowledge of the religious other. Stereotypes and hostile attitudes towards other faiths have notably declined. The fact that there has been visible and positive attitudinal change – in both conflict regions and across all religious

144  Conclusions and implications groups – provides additional support to the argument that the peace work of the churches has made a profound contribution to ongoing conflict transformation efforts. Fourth, interreligious dialogues, in conjunction with peace projects, are potentially an important element for conflict transformation in both cases under study. However, interreligious dialogues are often scattered, intermittent, inconsistent, and insufficiently nested. They tend to flow in top-down and outward-in directions and, as such, take on shapes that are distinctly elite-driven and disconnected from the grassroots (Böhm 2006: 395; Neumann 2009: 70).1 For interreligious dialogues to become an effective peace-inducing mechanism, they would require more emphasis on genuine inclusion and higher levels of intra-religious cohesion between moderate and extreme elements in each religious community. The second research question informing this book sought to provide insights on the extent to which these church-based efforts have been affected by specific economic, political, or social contexts. At least seven major findings stand out here. First, there is substantial evidence that religion was not the main driver of local conflicts in Mindanao and Maluku, although combatants and those directly affected by the violence – especially in Maluku – believed that precisely this was the case. However, when religion became a means of politicizing, polarizing, and mobilizing supporters for non-religious objectives, thereby transforming an interest-based conflict into a value-based conflict (see also chapter 2), it became increasingly challenging for religious actors to initiate and conduct peace and reconciliation activities. Under such conditions, a discursive dynamic unfolds that deeply entrenches and reproduces collective memories, stereotypes, and prejudices of the “religious other” in the contending religious groups’ mindsets – culminating in the idea that the annihilation of all opponents would be a necessary step for resolving the conflict. Narratives of “religious cleansing” and “conversion” do not provide a fertile ground for successful peace projects. Yet the Maluku case has also shown that war fatigue and the rediscovery of cultural and ethnic commonalities can set in motion a countervailing peace discourse and transcend religious divisions. The path dependencies created by discursive and cognitive processes are stronger in the southern Philippines than in Maluku, making it more complicated to initiate lasting peace accords in the former region. Unsurprisingly, and in contrast to Maluku, previous peace solutions in the southern Philippines have collapsed and current efforts surrounding the Bangsamoro Basic Law have also been on the verge of failing. In Maluku, the Malino II agreement still holds and has endured the (short-lived) resurgence of riots and provocations in 2004 and 2011.

Conclusions and implications  145 Second, even more difficult is peace work for religious actors if material and cognitive conflict drivers inextricably intertwine. We found much evidence for such a combination of tangible “material” and “cognitive causes” in Mindanao and Maluku. In the beginning of both conflicts, “grievances” played an important role. In particular, this seems true for the Maluku case. As violent conflict became entrenched in the southern Philippines, it became blurred with the concurrent presence of clan feuds and shadow economies, suggesting that notions of “greed” and “opportunity” became increasingly important motivations for conflict parties to undermine peace solutions. Yet – as argued above – conflicts have turned particularly violent in both regions due to an intensifying discursive dynamic that legitimated force and violence as a seemingly most effective means to ultimately terminate the conflict. Third, the study suggests that not only local discourses but also discourses at the national level  – more in the Philippines than in Indonesia  – have adversely influenced both conflicts and thus curtailed the scope of church actors’ peacebuilding efforts. In the Philippines, a postcolonial syndrome persists in which long-established stereotypes and biases against the Muslim minority continue to flourish. Yet Indonesian religious discourses also tend to fuel religious intolerance and, as such, thwart the efforts of church actors to promote reconciliation and the emergence of “positive peace.” In Maluku, however, religious peace actors have learned how to prevent spoilers and provocateurs (which mainly originate from outside the province and include security personnel and religious hard-liners of both sides) from reigniting violence.2 Ambon’s “peace provocateurs” movement is a case in point and highlights that social resilience can preempt or at least mitigate confrontational actions. Fourth, negative events  – such as the tragic Mamasapano incident in the Philippines in late January  2015  – seriously impede the peace work of religious actors. They tend to have an amplifying effect on existing, already deeply entrenched stereotypes and prejudices. They strengthen path dependencies, help to reproduce negative representations of the “religious other,” and are used as pretexts to derail peace initiatives by parties disinterested in an accommodating and just peace. This is less the case in Maluku, where more successful attempts to curtail hard-liners and provocateurs have given rise to a more stable status quo in which trivial incidents no longer incite protracted violence. Fifth, our analysis suggests that indeed – as posited in the theory chapter (see chapter 2) – local customary law plays a major role in the settlement of violent conflict and in the process of peacebuilding. For church-based peace projects with the objective of facilitating reconciliation and conflict transformation, Mindanao’s rido culture provides a more difficult cultural

146  Conclusions and implications context than the pela gandong customary law (adat) in Maluku – as shown by the high number of unresolved feuds (see chapter 4). Although in local peace projects, such as the ones in Pikit, traditional mediation practices have been revived and combined with hybrid approaches together with state-based formal law and strengthened restorative justice at an intracommunity level (Neumann 2013: 245), inter-community mediation in Mindanao is confronted with serious trust deficits and is hardly working (Kreuzer & Weiberg 2007; Neumann 2013: 253). Church activists are well aware of this obstacle, as impressively formulated by Father Roberto Layson, the architect of the Pikit Peace Zone: I am also a priest. Where did we go wrong? We preach Christianity; it means love. We preach Islam; it means peace. And yet there is violence among our faithful. Sometimes the violence is committed in the name of God. What is the role of the religious leaders? Are we credible? This is a very strong challenge to Islam and Christianity and probably it should also challenge the Lumad religions and spirituality. (cited in Magno Torres III 2007: 7) In Ambon, local traditions of peaceful conflict settlement not only target the intra-community level but explicitly also the inter-community level. Moreover, these traditional mechanisms of preserving peace between villages have been actively adopted by church actors, although – as shown in chapter 5 – this approach should not be romanticized and taken as a panacea. Ambon’s sizeable migrant population has been largely ignorant of these traditions, and acculturating outsiders into them is time-consuming and hardly rewarded by success. Moreover, it took religious peace workers themselves a long time to rediscover local culture as an asset for peacebuilding; in fact, only after decades of modernizing religion by purifying it from indigenous elements. The conclusion to be drawn from the effects of customary law and traditional culture on peacebuilding in Mindanao and Maluku is thus clear: it matters. Peace activists have to take it into account in their peacebuilding efforts; not least because of the long-held objective of “modernizing” local belief systems and purifying them from indigenous elements. Sixth, a context variable supportive of church-based peace projects in Mindanao is the finding that residential segregation is not equivalent to social segregation. This is due to a comparatively high level of social capital in the form of local associations, which in Mindanao is somewhat more developed than in Maluku and thus is a helpful condition for peace projects of the churches. Seventh, QCA estimations (chapter  9) provided important individuallevel insights into salient contextual factors surrounding the peace projects

Conclusions and implications  147 in Mindanao and Maluku. Among many possible combinations of conditions, a select few correspond closely with reported attitude improvements. Apart from “project participation,” salient positive factors include “education” and to some extent “income” and “social capital,” thereby confirming findings generated by the other methods employed in this study. QCA estimates indicate that social capital is particularly conducive if it does not align with restrictive ethnic or fundamentalist religious orientations and, hence, serves to “bridge” existing intra-group divides. All in all, the combined assessment of these empirical vantage points provides a strong analytical base for affirming the first research question (which pertains to potential contributions of church-based activities) and for qualifying the second research question (i.e., weighing the influences of other concurring social, economic, and political factors).

Where to go from here? The last section of this study offers some initial and therefore still very tentative reflections on what practical implications the findings of this research project might have. One immediate and firm conclusion we derive from this study is that Christian Churches should continue and even increase their engagement in peacebuilding projects. This is genuinely consistent with the moral foundations of Christianity – and other religions alike – which persistently highlight central values that promote peace, love, respect for the other, reconciliation, and forgiveness. A recent study and project survey of Catholic peacebuilding activities suggests that the Catholic Church has not neglected this field of activity in conflict zones around the world, but it nonetheless casts doubt on claims that it pursues a comprehensive approach (Baumann 2013). Repeatedly in our fieldwork, we encountered religious peace activists who deplored the fact that existing projects are scattered, that there is limited continuity and sustainability, that there is insufficient coordination between church actors, and that, as a consequence, there is a lack of coherence and “nesting” between projects, programs, and Christian denominations. In short, what is urgently needed is a more systematic approach beyond the confines of individual congregations and church organizations. Knowledge on (post-)conflict transformation and peacebuilding is difficult to tap. Experiences generated from church-based activities are mostly buried in confidential technical project progress reports (which are regularly requested by church donors), and monopolized by a few project organizers who have long and systematically worked in this field and maintain close interactions with local practitioners and experts on the ground (including personalities such as Father Sebastiano D’Ambra and Father Bert Layson

148  Conclusions and implications in Mindanao, or Rev Jacky Manuputty in Ambon). Accordingly, we would like to propose that Bishops Conferences (or one of their aid delivering executive arms, for example, MISEREOR in Germany) establish a communication and information unit which – in close cooperation with project leaders and practitioners on the ground – can collect, manage, and publish relevant information, data, and best practices in the field of conflict transformation and reconciliation. On the basis of this knowledge production and knowledge management – be it through their own research or joint efforts in cooperation with established peace research institutes – the unit should contribute to a systematic upgrading of church actors’ capacities in this highly significant field of global church affairs. It would be also desirable to develop an effective dissemination strategy of “good practices” that can be accessed by church actors in other countries. Ideally, such a dissemination strategy should make full use of new media and information technologies (e.g., podcasts, videos, virtual libraries, and online forums). The mass media should also be considered as potential partners for such dissemination efforts, not least because in the Philippines and Indonesia there is a modicum of affinity on the part of quality mass media for church-based peace initiatives during and after armed conflicts. By doing so, church-based peace advocates would also increase their influence on discursive scope conditions, which – as we have seen – are or have been problematic in the conflict constellations under study. In order to overcome the scattered nature of church-based peace projects, to create a more comprehensive peace agenda, and to nest projects better in existing programs, we also propose more coordination and concertation between involved churches and church organizations. For German church actors or church-based donor organizations with an international agenda, this would entail more concerted efforts to establish and foster links to counterparts from other countries that are active in Philippine and Indonesian peace projects. Closer ecumenical links should also be contemplated and can be achieved by interacting and cooperating with Protestant Churches. Such project alliances would generate new opportunities for joint learning, complementarity, and cost sharing, and therefore pave the ground for more sustainable and geographically comprehensive initiatives by the churches. They would help to create the critical mass needed to make such projects more sustainable. As field interviews suggest, it is critical to incorporate livelihood and developmental components in the design of church-based peace projects. This seems particularly important in conflict regions where economic deprivation and marginalization is a defining feature, or where large numbers of people have been displaced or affected by looting and vandalism. Under such adverse conditions, rehabilitation components are inevitable and often

Conclusions and implications  149 highly effective. The reconciliatory effects of such measures can even be enhanced if rehabilitation, reconstruction, and development aid benefits not only members of the own religious group, but also works to the benefit of other, even adversarial, religious communities. The experiences of peace activists and project initiators in both regions suggest that interreligious aid strategies create trust and reinforce reconciliatory measures. Moreover, people are more prepared to participate in peace projects with cognitive and spiritual dimensions if projects also pave the way for improvements in everyday living conditions. Increased income and wealth, in and of itself, is hardly a sufficient ingredient for peacefulness, but the results from our QCA estimates persuasively showed that under certain conditions income can serve as a supportive factor for ongoing peace activities. This is more likely, for instance, if well-to-do residents have low ethnic biases or fundamentalist religious biases. Yet, while material dimensions are vital, one should not ignore that sociopsychological traumas caused by atrocities among war victims constitute a potentially powerful impediment to peacebuilding that deserves due attention. Against this backdrop, it is advisable to conduct culture of peace seminars that alleviate deeply entrenched prejudices from atrocious war experiences and downgrade the desire for revenge. Ideally, these seminars would provide a valuable space for participants to give testimony and exchange personal experiences. By providing such spaces and enabling such exercises, the church would create a foundation for what Father Bert Layson calls the attainment of “peace constituency.”3 Another key challenge is that local interfaith and peace activities must become dissociated from their elitist flavor (Dietrich 2005: 163). While it is important to create a core group that exerts leadership, it is also pivotal to garner the support of important intermediaries and grassroots actors for the implementation of peace and reconciliation activities. Fluctuating or contested elite structures may not provide a strong safeguard against situations where local communities are mobilized, emotionalized, and encouraged to engage in violence. While “hotlines” in the form of horizontal communication channels among leaders are crucial to de-escalate popular furor, it is likewise important that leaders also have vertical channels of communication to local community members. This is what some of our interview respondents termed the significance of “intra-religious dialogue,” which must be part and parcel of any initiative on interfaith dialogue. The QCA estimates also highlighted education as a key requisite for successful peace activities. This tallies well with the activities and ideas of many church actors we interviewed in both conflict regions. Better education is, first and foremost, a way to alleviate poverty and enhance local prosperity. However, the significance of education reaches far beyond this

150  Conclusions and implications material/economic rationale. Education is also a crucial ingredient for the development of positive attitudes towards peace and religious tolerance. Some projects thus do not only propagate joint education of Christians and Muslims; even more importantly, they strongly plead for peace education at a very early age. Starting peace education at the pre-school level would have distinct advantages: it inculcates ideas of peace into the minds of local people at very early stages of socialization; it lays the ground for a deep internalization of positive attitudes towards interfaith action; and it helps to habitualize peaceful behavioral patterns. Part of this peace education is implanting respect for other religions, which, for instance, can be facilitated by the joint celebration of important religious holidays such as Christmas or Idul Fitri (the end of Ramadan). In fact, many of the church-based peace projects we encountered in Mindanao and Maluku address local youth. Their motivation is threefold: the first objective is to discourage people, young men especially, from becoming combatants; the second rests on the belief that norms and habits acquired during the process of primary socialization are more entrenched in a personality (and that it is thus more effective to target young persons for the promotion of the ideas of peaceful coexistence and eventually reconciliation); and the third is to prevent the next generation from forgetting former war atrocities, lest they behave carelessly and re-ignite religious violence. It is thus advisable that religious actors lobby for the introduction of peace curricula at public schools and the introduction of peace studies as an academic discipline at local universities. Nevertheless, a word of caution is needed with respect to education. It is certainly not a panacea for the resolution of protracted armed conflict between hostile religious groups. Education can also be double-edged. If it does not deliver what it promises (that is, the eradication of discrimination and socioeconomic betterment), it can also have quite unintended consequences and become a mobilizing factor for rebellion. The educational programs of the Philippine government after 1957 in Muslim Mindanao are a typical case in point. As this educational offensive was discriminatory and did not qualify Muslim graduates to attain adequate jobs, it accelerated frustration and eventually created a vocal Muslim counter-elite that was much more radical than the established traditional Muslim nobility. These educated youngsters were the heralds of a new generation of militant leaders and separatist organizations, including the MNLF. Some of the MILF leaders also attended Christian universities like Notre Dame University in Cotabato City which spearheaded peace education (Larousse 2001: 504; Coronel Ferrer 2013: 235).4 Another recommendation pertains to the use of new media. Peace projects, much more than at present, should work with innovative and mobile

Conclusions and implications  151 media platforms. The experience in Cotabato and Ambon, for instance, has shown that new electronic media can be successfully used for peace monitoring and fact finding. Yet, given that new communication technologies can also be hijacked by external provocateurs to foment strife, it is important to design in advance technical and organizational countermeasures that curtail the cyber war as documented by Birgit Bräuchler in Maluku (Bräuchler 2004, 2005). Finally, peace projects must also respond to the fact that religion is often only a superficial cause of armed conflict and that seemingly religious motives are often rooted in political rivalries, clan feuds, and shadow economies. Muslim Mindanao provides a sobering example. Peace education must therefore address the embedded material and cultural contexts of violent conflicts which, once again, highlights the importance of socioeconomic and political development as a concomitant of peace initiatives. The more it is possible to create stable and equitable living standards for a majority of the population, the less likely it is that local communities will engage in the multifarious facets of shadow economies. As such, the potential for hostility at the grassroots level declines, as does the willingness of ordinary people to cooperate with or participate in clandestine networks. However, as indicated above, that is by no means a sufficient condition for successful local church-based peacebuilding activities. So far, it seems, at least in Mindanao, that church-based projects have not yet been able to transform the highly hierarchical nature of the region’s clan structure, which at the end of the day often supersedes the norms and knowledge acquired through peacebuilding activities. These are only some thoughts that come to mind when reflecting on the results of the project. Designers of future peace activities should be conscientious of local contexts and committed to enhanced information and communication standards that allow church actors to connect seamlessly across different countries and operational levels to a much greater extent than is the case today. These qualifications notwithstanding, it should be also stressed that the studied church-based activities in Mindanao and Maluku have demonstrated persuasively that (post-)conflict peace work matters and that it is genuinely rewarding to deepen existing knowledge bases and continue to professionalize project activities.

Notes 1 See also Rev Jacky Manuputty and Catholic Diocese of Amboina Bishop, Petrus Canisius Mandagi, in The Jakarta Post, 30 August 2006 and 26 March 2007. For Mindanao Atty Benny Bacani, 7 September 2015. 2 See, for instance, a press report about the arrest of high school students in Ambon with alleged ties to the Islamic State. Jakarta Globe, 11 August 2014.

152  Conclusions and implications 3 Authors’ interview, 13 September 2015. 4 A case in point is MILF chairman Murad Ebrahim, a Notre Dame graduate. Former vice chairman of political affairs Ghazali Jafaar also received his education at Notre Dame. See Far Eastern Economic Review, 23 February 1995, p. 27.

References Baumann, Marcel (2013): Kirchliche Beiträge zur nachhaltigen Friedenskonsolidierung in Post-Konflikt-Gesellschaften: Eine Literaturstudie, Baden-Baden: Nomos. Böhm, Cees J. (2006): Brief Chronicle of the Unrest in the Moluccas 1999–2006, Ambon City: Crisis Centre Diocese of Amboina. Bräuchler, Birgit (2004): “Public Sphere and Identity Politics in the Moluccan Cyberspace,” The Electronic Journal of Communication 14(3 and 4): 1–12. Bräuchler, Birgit (2005): Cyberidentities at War: Der Molukkenkonflikt im Internet, Bielefeld: Transcript. Coronel Ferrer, Miriam (2013): Costly Wars, Elusive Peace: Collected Articles on the Peace Process in the Philippines 1990–2007, Diliman, Quezon City: University of the Philippines Press. Dietrich, Karoline (2005): Interreligiöse Zusammenarbeit: Erfahrungen der Hilfswerke und Literaturstudie zu Indonesien, Malaysia, Philippinen, Münster: LIT Verlag. Kreuzer, Peter  & Weiberg, Mirjam (2007): Zwischen Bürgerkrieg und friedlicher Koexistenz: Interethnische Konfliktbearbeitung in den Philippinen, Sri Lanka und Malaysia, Bielefeld: Transcript. Larousse, William (2001): A Local Church Living for Dialogue: Muslim-Christian Relations in Mindanao-Sulu (Philippines) 1965–2000, Rome: Editrice Pontificia Universita Gregoriana. Magno Torres III, Wilfredo (2007): “Introduction,” In: Wilfredo Magno Torres III (ed.), Rido: Clan Feuding and Conflict Management in Mindanao, Makati: Asia Foundation, pp. 3–29. Neumann, Hannah (2009): Friedenskommunikation: Möglichkeiten und Grenzen von Kommunikation in Konfliktransformation, Berlin: LIT Verlag. Neumann, Hannah (2013): “Through the Eyes of the Locals: Two Post-war Communities and Their Struggles from War to Peace,” Ph.D. Dissertation, Free University of Berlin.

Index

Note: Page numbers in italics indicate figures and page numbers in bold indicate tables on the corresponding page. Abdhir, Zulkifli (Marwan) 44 Abu Sayyaf Group 43, 46, 60n28, 74–75 Afable, Guillermo 74 AFP see Armed Forces of the Philippines (AFP) Agenda for Peace 12 Ahmadis 88 Ahuru (Ambon City) 103 al-Baghdadi, Abu Bakr 45 Ali, Suryadharma 87–88 Al Khobar group 46 Ambon (Indonesia): Christian minority in 50–51; church-based peacebuilding in 57–58, 110–112, 143; civil war in 53–57; customary law (adat) 52–53, 55, 84, 110; electronic media and 151; fieldwork sites in 103; interfaith tolerance in 122, 124; jihadists and 54–56; Muslim-Christian conflict 49–58; Muslim majority in 49–50; Muslim migration to 52; peacebuilding in 55–57, 146; peace provocateur initiative 105, 145; perceptions of other religious groups 113, 113, 114, 115, 116; Protestantism in 52–53; religious vs. state actors in 112; residential segregation in 109; social capital in 109–110; war fatigue 55; see also Maluku (Indonesia)

Ambon City (Indonesia): church-based peacebuilding in 103–106; crisis centers in 103–104; economy of 103; on interfaith marriages 108; religious attitudes in 107–108; religious groups in 102–103; on religious violence 108; violence in 57, 105 Ambon Crisis Center 28 Ampatuans 92n26 analytic eclecticism 4, 23 Aquino, Benigno, III 48–49 Aquino, Corazon 42, 100 Aquino administration 44–45, 48–49, 72–73 Arguelles, Ramon C. 48, 73 armed engagements 17n2 Armed Forces of the Philippines (AFP) 100 ARMM see Autonomous Region of Muslim Mindanao (ARMM) Assefa, H. 15 Association of Muslim Intellectuals 51 Attamimi, Muhammad 56 Autonomous Region of Muslim Mindanao (ARMM) 42, 45, 59n4, 59n5, 70, 77, 106 Bagaforo, Colin 74 Baku Bae peace movement 83–84, 104 Bangsamoro Basic Law (BBL): anti-Muslim discourse and 73–74; attempts to weaken 77, 144;

154 Index Catholic Church support/opposition to 48–49, 73–75; discrediting of 71–74; enactment of 44–45, 59n17; implementation of 45; public support for 70, 110, 111; secession fears 73–74 Bangsamoro identity 106–107, 107 Bangsamoro Islamic Freedom Fighters (BIFF) 44–45, 74–75, 78 Bangsamoro Organic Law (BOL) 59n17 Bangsamoro region (Philippines) 44–45 Bantay Ceasefire (Ceasefire Watch) 101 Barracudas and Blackshirts 40 Basic Christian Communities (BCC) 47 BBL see Bangsamoro Basic Law (BBL) Bertelsmann Transformation Index (BTI) 1–2, 24 Bertrand, J. 53 Bishops-Ulama Conference (BUC) 48–49, 77 blasphemy laws 88 Böhm, Kees 28, 32 Bourdieu, P. 15 Boutros-Ghali, Boutros 12 Bowo, Fauzi 88 Braithwaite, J. 16 Bräuchler, Birgit 151 BTI see Bertelsmann Transformation Index (BTI) BUC see Bishops-Ulama Conference (BUC) Bugis, Butons, and Makassarese (BBM) 52 CAB see Comprehensive Agreement on the Bangsamoro (CAB) Cabantan, José 74 Capalla, Fernando R. 48–49, 73 Catholic Bishops Conference of the Philippines (CBCP) 28, 48, 74–75 Catholic Church: on Maluku conflict 80; MILF perceptions of 77; MoroMoro plays 68; peacebuilding activities 48–49, 58, 73–75, 100–102, 104–105, 147–148; political role of 47–48, 57–58, 73–74; support/opposition to BBL 48–49, 73–74; support/opposition to CAB 48–49 Catholic Diocese of Amboina 82

Cayetano, Alan Peter 71 CBCP see Catholic Bishops Conference of the Philippines (CBCP) Center for Islamic and Society Studies (PPIM) 86 Center for Strategic and International Studies (CSIS) 86 Center for the Study of Islam and Society 86 Christian church: conflict resolution and 2; peacebuilding activities 110–111, 142, 147–148; socio­ economic issues and 111; see also Catholic Church; Protestant Church Christians: media discourse of 79; negative stereotypes of 81; perceptions of Muslims 80, 114–115; perceptions of other religious groups 113, 114, 115, 115; religious discourse of 80–81; war rhetoric of 83 church-based activities (CBA): conflict transformation 133, 135–137, 140, 142–144; contextual settings and 140, 146–147; correlation analysis of 124–125; counterfactual analysis of 122, 124; customary law and 145–146; electronic media and 150–151; good practices and 148; holistic orientations of 113; impact of negative events on 145; interfaith dialogues and 144; interfaith tolerance and 114–115, 115, 116, 122, 123, 124–125, 125, 126, 133; peaceful cohabitation and 129–130, 130, 131, 133; perceptions of other religious groups 113, 113, 114, 114, 120–122; poverty alleviation and 143; reconciliatory attitudes and 140; religious discourse and 145; religious vs. state actors in 111–112, 112, 143; role of Christian churches in 110–111; satisfaction of expectations 112–113; violence reduction and 143–144; youth and 150; see also peacebuilding clan feuds (rido) 46–47, 92n26, 145 Coker gang 57, 60n43 Collier, P. 11 comparative analysis 24–25, 25, 29–30 Comparative Area Studies (CAS) approach 22

Index  155 Comprehensive Agreement on the Bangsamoro (CAB) 44–45, 48–49, 73 Concerned Women’s Movement (Gerakan Perempuan Peduli) 105 conflict evolution 14–15, 16 conflict resolution 2, 15 conflict transformation: church-based activities and 133, 135–137, 140, 142–143; civil society in 110; contextual settings and 132–133, 135–137, 137, 138, 140; defining 15; education and 132–133, 137–140, 147; ethnic orientations and 133, 135, 137, 137, 138–139, 139, 140; interfaith dialogues and 144; national discourse in 67–68; peacebuilding activities and 15–17; QCA design and 132–133, 135–139, 139, 140, 146–147; reconciliation and 15–16; religious fundamentalism and 137; social capital and 133, 135, 138, 140 contextual analysis 24–25, 25, 26 corruption 85 Cotabato (Philippines): church-based peacebuilding in 99–102, 111, 113, 143; electronic media and 151; fieldwork sites in 102; interfaith tolerance in 123, 124; Peace Zones in 113, 115; perceptions of BBL 110; perceptions of other religious groups 114, 114, 115, 116; religious attitudes in 108; religious vs. state actors in 111–112; residential segregation in 109; social capital in 109; see also Pikit (Cotabato) Crisis Center of the Diocese of Amboina (CCDA) 79 cultural violence 9 Culture of Peace 101, 105 customary law (adat) 52–53, 84, 110, 145 D’Ambra, Sebastiano 49, 75, 147 Defensor, Miriam Santiago 71 Dela Cruz, Romulo 48, 73 De La Pena, Edwin 74 Deles, Teresita 73 democracy 12, 90 Democratic Party Development (DEPAdev) 27, 35n3

Dewan Da’wah Islamiyah Indonesia (DDII) 54, 80 discourse: anti-Muslim 67–74, 78; on the BBL 71–74; corruption in 85; defining 28; external interests and 83–84; instrumentalization of history in 80; local peacebuilding traditions in 84; Maluku conflict 78, 80–85; Moluccan separatism in 81–82; Moros (Filipino Muslims) 75–78; Muslim-Christian conflict 67–77; political 28; religious cleansing in 82–83, 144; religious violence and 14–15; see also religious discourse discourse analysis see media/discourse analysis Dosado, Jesus 74 Duterte, Rodrigo 45, 59n17, 110 education: peacebuilding and 149–151; reconciliatory attitudes and 132–133, 137, 137, 138–140, 147; unintended consequences of 150 electronic media 150–151 Ellis, D. G. 8 Episcopal Council for Interreligious Dialogue (ECID) 48–49 Espina, Leonardo 71 Estrada, Joseph 43, 100 ethnic cleansing 72, 76 ethnicity: church-based activities and 107; conflict transformation and 34; identity and 106; intra-state conflict and 1; marriage across groups 108; reconciliatory attitudes and 133, 135, 137–139, 139, 140; residential segregation and 109; social segregation and 86; socioeconomic disparities and 10; tolerance and 107–108, 122, 123, 124, 125, 126 Fearon, J. 11 Ferrer, Miriam Coronel 28, 73 fictive kinship 109–110 field interviews 25–27, 31–32 field observations 27 focalization 11, 12, 76, 78, 80, 81 Forum Komunikasi Ahlus Sunna Wal Jamaah (FKAWJ) 80 Foucault, M. 28

156 Index Framework Agreement on the Bangsamoro (FAB) 28, 44, 72, 74 Front Kedaulatan Maluku (Maluku Sovereignty Front, FKM) 82 Front Pembela Islam (FPI) 54 fundamentalism see religious fundamentalism Galido, Elenito 74 Galtung, J. 8–9, 15, 107 GiNaPaLaD Ta Ka Space for Peace 101 Gutierrez, Dinualdo 74 Guzman, Herlo P., Jr. 30 Hafsin, Abu 90 Hapilon, Isnilon 45–46 Haz, Hamzah 82 Hechter, M. 10 Heryawan, Ahmad 88 Hizb ut-Tahrir 85 Höffler, A. 11 Ilagas 40 Immaculate Conception Parish (IMC) 100–101 Indonesia: anti-Chinese violence in 80; blasphemy laws 88; BTI indicators 24; characteristics of 23–24; Christian minority in 50–51; church-based peacebuilding in 24; comparative analysis of 23–24, 29–30, 30, 31; contextual analysis 25–27; Islam in 49; Islamization policy 51–53, 80; media/discourse analysis 28; media in 82; Muslim-Christian conflict 50–52, 80–84; national discourse in 78–86; peacebuilding in 17; reconciliation and 17n3; religious actors in 2; religious discourse in 145; religious intolerance in 87; religious violence in 88; Roman Catholic Church and 47, 50, 57; sharia law in 86; transmigration 52; see also Ambon (Indonesia); Maluku (Indonesia) Indonesian armed forces (TNI) 53–55, 82 Indonesia Ulema Council (MUI) 104 insurgencies 11, 45 Interfaith Council 104 interfaith dialogues 90, 133, 144 interfaith marriage 87, 108–109

intra-religious dialogue 90 intra-state conflict: ethnicity and 1; greed/opportunity in 11; growth in 1; religious division and 1, 11–12; root causes of 10–12; socioeconomic disparities and 10–11; weak central governments and 11; see also Muslim-Christian conflict Iqbal, Mohagher 17n3, 28, 58n1, 68, 76–78 Islam: blasphemy laws 88; conservatism in 88, 90; minorities in 88; peacebuilding activities 104–105; religious violence and 88; rise in fundamentalism 81, 86, 94n80; sharia law and 41, 43, 55, 70, 86; see also Muslims Islamic State (IS) 43, 45–46, 78 Jaafar, Ghazali 76 Japanese International Cooperation Agency (JICA) 104 Jeddah Accord (1987) 42 Jeddah Declaration (2016) 45 Jemaah Islamiyah 60n42, 85 Jesuits 68 Juergensmeyer, M. 80 Jumoad, Martin 74 Justice for Islamic Movement (JIM) 74 Kabacan (Cotabato) 99, 102, 111 Kalla, Jusuf 55 Kastor, Rustam 56, 82 Katzenstein, P. 4, 23 KNIL see Koninklijk Nederlands Indisch Leger (Royal Netherlands East Indies Army) Kodam XVI Pattimura 55 Komite Indonesia untuk Solidaritas Dunia Islam (KISDI) 54, 80 Koninklijk Nederlands Indisch Leger (Royal Netherlands East Indies Army) 50–51 Kopassus units (Special Forces Command) 56–57 Kreuzer, P. 45 Kudarat, Muhammad 41 Laitin, D. D. 11 Laskar Jihad (LJ) 54–56, 80–83 Laskar Kristen 56

Index  157 Laskar Mujaheddin 54 Layson, Roberto 100–101, 113, 146–147 Lederach, J. P. 8, 14–15, 17 Ledesma, Antonio 48, 74–75 Lembra Argo (Ambon City) 103 liberal peace project 12–13 Loupatti, Berthy 56 Lumads 114–115 Macapagal-Arroyo, Gloria 43 Mac Ginty, R. 8, 16 Magnis-Suseno, Franz 86, 89 Magsaysay, Ramon 40 Majelis Permusyawaratan Rakyat (People’s Consultative Assembly, MPR) 84 Majelis Ulema Indonesia (MUI) 55, 89, 104 Malik, Ichsan 82, 104 Malino II accord 56, 58, 85, 144 Maluku (Indonesia): Catholic Church in 80; Christians in 51; church-based peacebuilding in 9, 104, 128–130, 130, 131, 146; coexistence in 85–86; conflict in 38, 54, 144; corruption in 85; customary law (adat) 146; faith perceptions 126; identity markers in 106; instrumentalization of history in 80–81; interfaith tolerance in 123, 125; local discourse in 78–85; map of 3; media in 78–80; MuslimChristian conflict 78–87, 90; Muslim migration to 50; peaceful cohabitation in 129–130, 130, 131; perceptions of other religious groups 121; Protestantism in 50; religious discourse in 80–86; religious intolerance in 88; transmigration to 52; war economy in 11; see also Ambon (Indonesia) Maluku Interfaith Institution for Humanitarian Action (ELALEM) 104 Maluku Sovereignty Front (Front Kedaulatan Maluku, FKM) 56 Mamasapano incident 70–71, 75 Mandagi, Petrus Canisius 32, 58, 83 Mangadadatu, Ismael 92n26 Manuputty, Alex 82 Manuputty, Jacky 32, 104–105, 148 Marcos, Ferdinand 41, 71

Marcos, Ferdinand, Jr. 71 Marcos regime 41–42, 47–48 Masariku network 80 Mau’dudi, Syed Abul 43 Maute brothers 45–46 Mayall, J. 9 media/discourse analysis 27–28, 67–68 Memorandum of Agreement – Ancestral Domain (MOA-AD) 44 methodology: analytic eclecticism in 4, 23; comparative analysis 22–25, 25, 29–31; Comparative Area Studies (CAS) approach 22; contextual analysis 24–25, 25, 26; in-depth field interviews 25–27, 31, 31, 32; field observations 27; fieldwork 34; media/discourse analysis 27–28; mixed methods approach 22–24; multivariate regression analysis 25, 32–33, 129–131; pragmatism in 23; process tracing 25, 27–28; qualitative comparative analysis (QCA) 29, 33–34, 132–139; surveys 31, 31 MILF see Moro Islamic Liberation Front (MILF) Mill, J. S. 29, 120 MIM see Mindanao Independence Movement (MIM) Mindanao (Philippines): Christian migration to 40, 47, 76; churchbased peacebuilding in 9, 48–49, 145–146; clan alliances in 46; clan feuds (rido) in 46–47, 145; conflict in 46, 144; faith perceptions 126; identity markers in 106; on interfaith marriages 108–109; interfaith tolerance in 123, 125, 125; Islamic state in 43, 45; map of 3; Muslim-Christian conflict in 40–46; Muslim-Christian relationships 69, 75; Muslims in 38–39, 67–69; negative stereotypes of 67–74, 91; peacebuilding process in 74–75, 99; Peace Zones in 100; perceptions of other religious groups 121; religious discourse in 91; on religious violence 108; religious vs. state actors in 112; residential segregation in 109; as second-class region 70; social capital in 109–110, 146;

158 Index Spanish missionaries in 38–39; see also Cotabato (Philippines) Mindanao Independence Movement (MIM) 41 Misuari, Nur 41, 42, 43, 59n6, 59n7, 73 mixed methods research 22–24 MNLF see Moro National Liberation Front (MNLF) Mobile Brigades (Brimob) 55 Moluccan separatism 81–82 Moro Islamic Liberation Front (MILF): on annexation of Philippines by US 58n1, 76; on the BBL 76–77; on Catholic Church 77; conflict with AFP 100; discourse analysis 28; national discourse and 68, 70, 72, 78; negative depictions of 68, 71; peace process and 43–44, 76–78, 99; reconciliation and 17n3; religious identity and 43; resistance to integration by 40 Moro-Moro plays 68 Moro National Liberation Front (MNLF) 41–43, 45, 59n7, 74, 78 Moros (Filipino Muslims): autonomous region for 41; betrayal of 71–72, 76–77; Christian attitudes towards 69–70; conflict and 39–44; cultural development of 39; discourse and 75–76; integration of 39–40; loss of ancestral lands 40, 42; militant organizations and 41, 74; as minority 39; negative stereotypes of 67–74, 78; poverty of 40, 43; religious identity and 43; self-government transition 44; stigmatization of 39, 45 Muhammadiyah 89–90 MUI see Majelis Ulema Indonesia (MUI) multivariate regression analysis 25, 32–33, 129–131 Murdani, Benny 51 Muslim-Christian conflict: causes of 53–55; Christian discourse on 80–84; colonial roots of 38–39, 50–51; customary law (adat) and 52–53; demographic changes and 50–52; instrumentalization of history in 80–81; jihadists and 54–56; Maluku (Indonesia) 78–87, 91;

militant organizations and 40–41, 45–47; Mindanao (Philippines) 40–46; Muslim discourse on 75–77, 81–84; Muslim impoverishment and 40, 42; national discourse on 67–76, 85; peace negotiations 41–45, 48–49; Protestant Church and 57–58; security personnel and 56–57; Silsilah Dialogue Movement and 75; social disparity and 89; Spanish missionaries and 38–39; war fatigue 55 Muslim nobility 39–41; see also Moros (Filipino Muslims) Muslims: civil war and 53–55; depiction in Moro-Moro plays 68; holy war (jihad) 54–55; Indonesian bureaucracy and 51; Indonesian transmigration and 52; interfaith marriage and 109; media discourse of 79–81; negative stereotypes of 68, 145; perceptions of Christians 80–81, 114–115; perceptions of other religious groups 114, 114, 115, 116; radicalization of 88, 90; religious discourse of 81–82; religious extremism 85; socioeconomic disparities 40; war rhetoric of 82–83; women 105; see also Islam; Moros (Filipino Muslims) Mutilan, Mahid 48–49 Muzadi, Hasyim 89 Nahdlatul Ulama 89 Nalapaan (Cotabato) 99–101 National Secretariat for Social Action (NASSA) 49 negative peace 9, 15 Neumann, H. 69, 109 New Order regime 50–51, 80 New People’s Army (NPA) 47 non-governmental organizations (NGOs): peacebuilding and 69, 100–101, 104; relief measures 85 Nonviolent Peaceforce 101 Orang Basudara (Brotherhood) program 84 Organization of the Islamic Conference (OIC) 41, 80

Index  159 Pabillo, Broderick 74 Pancasila Youth 53 Pangandaman, Liningding 59n5 Panicupan (Cotabato) 101 Pariela, T. 110 Partai Amanat Nasional (PAN) 83, 87, 94n80 Partai Bulan Bintang (PBB) 94n80 Partai Demokrasi Indonesia – Perjuangan (PDI-P) 87 Partai Golongan Karya (Golkar) 87 Partai Keadilan Sejahtera (PKS) 86 Partai Kebangkitan Bangsa (PBS) 94n80 Partai Persatuan Pengangunan (PPP) 94n80 Pattimura 81 peacebuilding: activities of 14–15, 16; Catholic Church and 48–49, 58, 73–75, 100–102, 104; church-based 99–106, 112–113, 147–148; conflict transformation and 15–17; crisis centers in 103–104; customary law (adat) and 55; democracy and 12; dimensions of 14–16, 16; discursive processes in 15; education and 149–151; electronic media and 151; elite structures in 149; external actors and 12–13; impact of war experiences on 149; interreligious 149; liberal peace project and 12–13; local agency and 13–14, 17; local traditions for 84; MuslimChristian cooperation 104–105; Muslims and 104–105; negative 9; NGOs and 69, 84, 100–101, 104; peace sermons 105; Peace Zones in 100–102; positive 9, 15, 84, 91, 145; Protestant Church and 103–104; religious actors and 2–3, 14, 143; research in 12–13; UN initiatives for 12; vertical level of 99–100; victim identity in 69–70; see also churchbased activities (CBA) peace education 150–151 peaceful cohabitation 129–130, 130, 131 peace provocateur initiative 105, 145 peace sermons 105 Peace Zones: community peacebuilding in 100; holistic approach of

113; monitoring groups in 101; perceptions of other religious groups 115; Pikit (Cotabato) 69, 99–101, 107, 125, 146; refugee shelter in 101–102; socioeconomic assistance/ training 101; training and workshops for 101 pela gandong pacts 52, 55, 84, 110, 146 Pentagon gang 46, 60n27 People Power Revolution 48 Philippine National Police (PNP) 44, 71 Philippines: American colonial power in 39, 76; attitudes towards Moros in 67–68; Bangsamoro region 44–45; BTI indicators 24; characteristics of 23–24; Christian migration to 40; church-based peacebuilding in 24; civil war in 41–42; comparative analysis of 23–24, 29–30, 30, 31; conflict in 38; contextual analysis 25–27; Islamic state in 43, 45–46; Islamophobia in 68–72, 74; media/ discourse analysis 28; Moro-Moro plays 68; Moro self-government in 44; Muslim-Christian conflict in 38–46, 70; Muslim provinces in 39, 41–43; national discourse in 67–75; negotiations with MILF 99; peacebuilding in 17, 70, 99; reconciliation and 17n3; religious actors in 2; religious discourse in 145; Spanish missionaries in 38–39; violence in 45–47; see also Cotabato (Philippines); Mindanao (Philippines) Pikit (Cotabato): church-based peacebuilding in 111, 125–126; economy of 99; ethnicity and 107; interfaith tolerance in 125–126; Peace Zones in 69, 99–101, 107, 125, 146 Pimentel, Aquilino 71 Poka (Ambon City) 103 political discourse 28 positive peace 9, 15, 84, 91, 145 post-conflict peacebuilding see peacebuilding pragmatism 23

160 Index preserved social capital 110 process tracing 25, 27–28 Protestant Church: church-based peacebuilding by 57–58, 103–105; crisis centers 103; customary law (adat) and 55; Dutch colonists and 50; on Maluku conflict 80; modernizing reforms 52–53; political role of 57–58 Protestant Church of the Moluccas (GPM) 82 Purnama, Basuki 89 Putnam, R. D. 34 QCA see qualitative comparative analysis (QCA) qualitative comparative analysis (QCA): conflict transformation 29, 33–34, 132–133, 136, 136; nonoutcomes in 138–139, 139; social capital 34; technique of 33; truth table 134, 135, 135 Quevedo, Orlando 48, 74–75 Quimpo, N. G. 40 Qurtuby, Sumanto Al 89 Qutb, Syed 43 Radio Suara Perjuangan Muslim Maluku (SPMM) 80 Rais, Amien 83 Ramos administration 42, 48–49 Ramos-Misuari peace agreement 76 Rayewai, Yorrys 53 reconciliation: church-based activities and 29, 101, 104, 122, 128–129, 133, 138, 140, 142, 145, 147–148; conflict transformation and 15; impact of ethnic identity on 135; impact of fundamentalism on 135; impact of religious discourse on 145; local actors in 13, 149; material grievances impacting 40; national context and 85; peacebuilding and 12; process of 16–17; religious actors and 111, 144; traditional customs facilitating 55; youth and 150; see also conflict transformation; peacebuilding Regional Autonomous Government (Philippines) 42 religion: conflict and 151; content of 9; identity/morality and 10; value conflict and 10

religious actors: church-based projects and 110–111; peacebuilding activities of 2–3, 14, 143; reconciliation process 111; vs. state actors 111–112, 143 religious cleansing 82–83, 144 religious conflicts 8–11; see also Muslim-Christian conflict religious discourse: Christian 81–82, 87; ethnic cleansing in 76; extremism and 85; interfaith 90; intolerance in 87–90; intra-religious 90; Maluku conflict and 80–86, 90; Moluccan separatism in 81–82; Muslim 81–82, 86–87; MuslimChristian cooperation 104–105; religious cleansing in 82–83, 144; violence in 81, 145 religious division: as catalyst for conflict 10, 14–15; cultural violence and 9; intra-state conflict and 1, 11–12, 144; social conflict and 2, 9–10; socioeconomic disparities and 10–11 religious fundamentalism: conflict and 9, 34; increase in 81, 85, 94n80; perceptions of other religious groups 107; reconciliatory attitudes and 34, 132–133, 135, 137, 137, 138; religious intolerance and 85; sara laws and 80; structural violence and 107 Religious Harmony Community Forum (FKUB) 90 religious identity: Bangsamoro 106–107, 107; Christians and 106; fundamentalism and 135, 137–138; Moros (Filipino Muslims) 43; Muslims and 106; socioeconomic disparities and 10 religious tolerance: church-based activities and 113–115, 115, 116, 120–122, 123, 124–125, 125, 126, 133; education and 150; extremism and 85–87; interfaith dialogue for 90, 104 religious violence: attitudes towards 108, 132; discursive processes in 14–15; Indonesia 88; justice and 88; peace curricula 150; religious depictions of 81 Renyaan, Brigitta 32, 104–105

Index  161 Republic of South Maluku (RMS) 79, 81 residential segregation 109–110, 146 Ressa, Maria A. 68 restorative justice 16 Richmond, O. 8 rido see clan feuds (rido) Roman Catholic Church 47, 50, 57 Rood, S. 110 Ruhulessin, John 84 Rulfo, Ramon 68 Rumah Tiga (Ambon City) 103 Salamat, Hashim 43, 59n7, 76 sara laws 80 Secillano, Jerome R. 74 Senghaas, D. 15 sharia law 41, 43, 55, 70, 86 Silsilah Dialogue Movement 75 Silvestri, S. 9 Sin, Jaime L. 47 social capital: conflict transformation and 34, 133, 135, 138, 140; customary law (adat) and 110; fictive kinship and 109–110; Mindanao (Philippines) 109–110, 146 social conflict 2, 9–11 Social Harmony program 84 social segregation 109–110, 146 socioeconomic disparities: churchbased activities and 101, 111–113, 148; conflict evolution and 14, 26; conflicts and 10–11, 33; conflict transformation and 12, 151; ethnicity and 10; Muslim deprivation and 40; Philippine civil war and 53; religious conflicts and 90; religious identity and 10; resettlement and 40 Soliven, Moximo 68 Southern Baptist Church 58 Southern Philippines Council for Peace and Development (SPCPD) 42 South Moluccan Republic (RMS) 51 Space for Peace 101

Spanish missionaries 38–39 structural violence 107, 109 Subianto, Prabowo 84, 88 Suharto administration 50–53, 80, 84, 89 surveys 25, 30, 31, 31, 32, 34, 87, 99, 102, 108, 111, 121, 124, 126, 142 Syamsuddin, Sin 90 Taban Mindanao 100 Tambiah, S. J. 11 Thalib, Ja’far Umar 56, 82 Tiglao, Roberto 72 Tim 20 Wayama 104 Torrens system 40 Torres, W. M., III 47 transmigration 52 transvaluation 11, 12, 78, 80, 81 Tripoli Agreement (1976) 41–42 Tripoli Agreement (2001) 43 Ulama League of the Philippines 49 United Nations (UN) 12 Usman, Abdul Basit 44 value conflict 10 victim identity 69–70 Villegas, Socrates B. 74 violence: armed engagements and 17n2; clan feuds (rido) 46–47; concept of 8–9; greed/opportunity and 11; grievances and 11; inter- / intra-insurgent 45; religious discourse and 81; structural 107, 109; types of 8–9 Wahid, Abdurrahman 54, 83 Wahid, Zannuba 87 Wakano, Ustadz Abidin 105 war economy 11 war fatigue 15, 55 Wayame 104, 117n6 Weiberg, M. 45 Wildan, M. 86