Errand Girl No More: A Former Abu Sayyaf’s Way Out

Farida* once dreamed of being a nurse — perhaps in a country like Saudi Arabia — and lift her family out of poverty in Sulu, Mindanao, an island in the southern Philippines beset for decades by long-standing insurgency and terrorism.

“I wasn’t an honor student, but I was industrious,” she said, clad in a black hijab as she held the mobile phone, her face glowing from the screen. This is our second interview, via Facebook Messenger last September.

But Farida couldn’t afford a college education. Instead, in 2018, at 25 years old, she married Mohammed*, a fighter for the Abu Sayyaf Group (ASG) — the most notorious terrorist group in the Philippines — and became an errand girl for the group soon after.

Founded in 1991 by Abdurajak Abubakar Janjalani, the ASG is an Islamist terrorist organization well known for suicide bombings, kidnap-for-ransom activities, and beheadings of local and foreign hostages in the country, with a stronghold in Mindanao. Its aim is to create an independent Islamic State in the southern Philippines.

Farida knew Mohammed was an ASG fighter before they first began seeing one another, but she liked him, she said. She knew what she was getting herself into. She also insisted that her family had no objections.

In our first interview in Sulu last May, I met with Farida in her makeshift home with her husband and two children. Farida said she was a willing runner, who went out to buy food stocks for the group, sometimes every two weeks. They paid her around USD $20, which she, in turn, spent on her family’s needs.

If she was employed to do anything other than grocery shop, she wouldn’t confess to it. She said that she spent most of the time between errands inside their home out of fear of seeing soldiers and witnessing clashes against the military.

On December 1, 2018, then-President Rodrigo Duterte activated the 11 Infantry Division (11ID) to strengthen the Philippines army’s troop deployment in Sulu to counter security threats from the ASG. It was the start of his administration’s intensified military pursuit against the group in the province, which resulted in mass displacements and a climate of terror within the community.

Push or pull factors

It may surprise many that women like Farida would join violent extremist groups, but their reasons are varied and complex.

Experts have identified pull and push factors that can influence, motivate, and recruit women into extremism, such as pull factors like social media campaigns or a political yearning to partake in building the network, and push factors like socioeconomic concerns, political marginalization, and repression in society.

Some women join out of love for — or submission to — their husbands, or out of a desire to find a husband within the organization. Such was the case for some Western women who joined violent extremist groups like IS and Al Qaeda: some were seduced deliberately, while others truly fell in love, according to research from the International Center for the Study of Violent Extremism (ICSVE).

Other motivations are more personal, including being a true believer in the group, looking for material rewards, seeking redemption, or escaping problems or difficult environments.

In other cases still, because women are traditionally reduced to secondary roles in many societies, the idea of taking part in an organization with a higher purpose makes them feel relevant and empowered.

When both push and pull factors are at play, the commitment from women recruits is even deeper, analysts say.

As for Farida, joining the ASG was an act of love for her husband, she said, not necessarily because she adopted their beliefs. Neither was being the niece of an ASG commander in Sulu —and the emir of the Islamic State (IS) in the Philippines — she insisted.

Others would disagree. “Because she is a relative, she was really influenced,” said Lt. Col. Nelicar Corsino, former commander of the 15th Civil Military Operations (CMO) battalion under 11ID. “What was taught to them was adapted because they are relatives.”

But one push factor stood out for Corsino during the debriefing of ASG surrenderees in Sulu — and it wasn’t familial influence: “to survive” was the primary reason many surrenderees joined, she said, knowing that “the ASG has money.”

Some were recruited because they felt their communities were neglected by the government, or they were frustrated by the destabilization of their province, said Corsino, who is now a deputy at the Office of the Army Adjutant in the Philippine Army. “They couldn’t establish a stable livelihood due to the conflict, and they are displaced someplace else.”

Recruiting women is a terrorist tactic. Islamic culture limits inspection on women, hence posing a challenge to the soldiers who are mostly men, said Corsino.

“Sometimes, they are being used as [the group’s] asset,” said Corsino, referring to people being used by terrorist groups to gain something in their favor or advantage, like running errands, facilitating supplies, or acting as lookouts.

Other times, however, women are employed well beyond the non-violent roles they are expected to hold. “According to some soldiers, they’ve seen female ASGs finishing up the job to kill their enemies in previous encounters, like beheading,” said Corsino.

A whole-of-government approach to surrender

In addition to the 11ID, Tausug soldiers — from the dominant Muslim ethnic group in Sulu described as “brave warriors” — were recruited as part of the Duterte administration’s counterterrorism efforts. Among the soldiers were women, who were critical in gaining the trust of women surrenderees, said Corsino.

Her team was half Muslim and half Christian, and their joint efforts — along with the women in her battalion — paved the way for the surrender of 36 ASG members under her watch.

Of these surrenderees, she distinctly remembers Farida.

Farida could barely walk when she surrendered to Corsino’s team on January 10, 2021. She was “too thin and almost malnourished” at the time, said Corsino. “She was in a sorry state.”

By then, Farida could no longer do her usual errands. Since 2019, intensified military operations in the area made even the most basic amenities scarce. “We had no food to eat anymore, no more medicines,” she said.

Her husband — who was a “very active” ASG fighter, according to Corsino — surrendered first, after his relative, one of Corsino’s soldiers, convinced him to.

After nearly two months, Farida followed out of fear for her life and her family’s well-being, especially after security forces apprehended one of her siblings for interrogation. “I was scared for them,” she said.

An 11ID official told me via Viber message that there were 11 women ASG “supporters” who surrendered since 2018, while 10 were apprehended. Some of the surrenderees were wives of ASG fighters.

“We try to think of them as victims in this long-standing conflict,” Corsino said.

Upon surrender, the 11ID and the Department of Social Welfare and Development (DSWD) were the first government units to respond to their needs. 11ID command provided financial assistance and other basic services — such as food, medicines, and clothing — to surrenderees and their families. Meanwhile, DSWD gave them USD $500 each, including to Farida and her husband, to start anew.

As a personal effort, the CMO also extended financial assistance to some surrenderees in dire need, which lasted for over a year.

Sulu Governor Abdusakur Tan, meanwhile, lent a farm to a few surrenderees, where they could plant vegetables and harvest as they rebuilt their lives out of ASG.

Former ASG members who surrendered or were apprehended with standing arrest warrants and cases are awaiting trial, but many have gone through deradicalization programming and livelihood skills training before they were released to return to the community. When people surrender, Corsino said, they have nothing else with them, so it’s crucial to introduce them to a sustainable livelihood.

As Farida looks back on her past life with the militants, she regrets joining the ASG and choosing a dangerous path. “Of course, ma’am,” she said. “My family was affected.”

She’s at peace with her decision to surrender. “We are all fine now. Thank you, Lord,” she said on camera with me, raising her hands up in the air .

She also expresses her deep gratitude to Corsino and her team, who facilitated her surrender. “She really helped us a lot.”

Farida, now 30, has two young children to care for, ages one and four. She seems resigned to the fact that she will never be a nurse. “I have children to look after,” she said with a smile. But she has hope that her children will go on to fulfill the dream of a university education she once dreamt of.

*Names have been changed to protect the privacy of the subjects.