NewsWeaving Peace: A PCID Convenor’s Perspective on Faith & Displacement
MANILA, 20 June 2025—Far from the busy capital of the Philippines lies Marawi, a vibrant city that boasts an interwoven connection between Maranao culture and Islamic faith. However, when the conflict between extremist groups and government forces broke out in 2017, the once vibrant city was left in ruins, leaving many of its people displaced. Thousands of people were forced to leave their homes, bringing nearly nothing in their possessions. Now, almost a decade later, many are used as faceless and nameless statistics of casualties, and most still lack permanent homes. The voices of numerous internally displaced people (IDPs) remain unheard in the field of government and policies– systems that should supposedly protect the rights of every human being.
For PCID Convenor, civic leader, and humanitarian advocate Samira Gutoc, the Marawi siege is not a distant memory. It is a lived experience and a continuing crisis. Speaking at a 2025 World Refugee Day panel titled “Stories of Displacement: Palestine & Beyond,” organized by the Palestine Collective and the Philippine Center for Islam and Democracy at De La Salle University, Ms. Gutoc’s account of the Marawi siege served as a mirror that reflected cracks in the broken system of the Philippines.
“There was no structural support to bring people, senior citizens, pregnant women to a form of transportation,” she says. “It was like a death march, with 6-12 hours of walking from Marawi to a place of light. From Marawi to a place of resettlement. From Marawi to a place where you can seek refuge and safety.”
A native of Marawi herself, Samira Gutoc provides a firsthand account of the systemic neglect IDPs face in national policymaking. “There have been no structural laws to address displacement from calamity and conflicts between people,” she stressed, pointing to a critical gap in legislative protection and long-term support.
Amid this silence, Ms. Gutoc finds importance in the role of interfaith dialogue, an essential tool in mending and uniting communities. “In Islam, love means that if you kill one person, it is as if you kill the whole of humanity. In Christianity, they say to love thy neighbor as thyself. In Jew, love yourself as if you love your neighbor.” Although these quotes come from different religious books, they all hold the same essence. “There is no difference between the three Abrahamic religions,” she added, highlighting humanity’s shared capacity for compassion, respect, and peace, despite diversity and differences.
Ms. Gutoc also recalled the story of Father Terisito “Chito” Suganob, a Christian priest held captive during the siege. Muslim leaders swiftly ordered his rescue, risking their lives to save someone of a different faith. At the same time, Christian volunteers rushed into Iligan City, under martial law, to aid thousands of displaced Muslim evacuees. As a rescue volunteer herself, Ms. Gutoc saw these acts of courage and solidarity firsthand. These stories, she emphasized, show how interfaith action can persist even in times of war.
But displacement, she added, is not a singular event. “Displaced persons continue to be fundamental stories that we, and the youth, must continue to champion and rally,” she said. Displacement serves more than physical ties; it threatens the survival of identity, tradition, and culture. In Marawi, for example, weaving is more than an art form. It is a vibrant expression of resilience, history, and community. Yet, for many displaced children, the opportunity to learn this tradition is lost.
Thus, storytelling becomes an act of preservation and resistance. The voices of IDPs must not only be heard; they must be woven into the fabric of law and protected through deliberate action. Ms. Gutoc’s call is clear: justice must be rooted in compassion, and peace must be interlaced with faith. Only then can displaced communities begin to rebuild not just homes, but also lives.