Algazelus

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐨𝐞𝐦: “𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐀 𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐃𝐀𝐖𝐍”
Algazelus 03.26.26

When the tide withdrew from our coral shores,
I heard my grandfather’s breath in the wind—
A prayer that still trembles beneath the palms,
A pledge to guard what time cannot rescind.

From the rusted rifles and scar‑filled fields,
We harvested stories, not just the bone,
Each wound a stanza, each loss a refrain,
Teaching us that peace is more than a tone.

The colors of our skin—sepia, mahogany,
The threads of faith that braid the island’s loom—
Are not borders but the hues of a single cloth,
Woven together in one shared room.

Our rituals, old as the monsoon’s sigh,
Are not chains but bridges over the sea;
When we lift the drum, we lift each other’s heart,
And hear the echo of a common plea.

Ancestral lands—mountain, plain, and reef—
Hold the fingerprints of all who tread,
Their honor is our compass, their integrity,
The compass needle that points ahead.

We are the puzzle, each piece unique,
Yet the image is whole only when we fit;
No piece can claim the picture without the rest,
Thus we assemble with humility lit.

To protect the earth is to protect the soul,
Sustainable harvests, clean tides, green rain
Development is not a tower of steel—
It is a garden that feeds each vein.

Our children will inherit not our swords,
But schools, farms, and a sunrise bright;
We must sow tomorrow’s hope in today’s furrows,
So they may walk in unshadowed light.

Self‑determination—our birthright’s song—
Is louder than any foreign decree;
We claim the right to write our own verses,
To script the future we wish to see.

Historical wounds will not bleed forever,
If we stitch them with justice’s thread
Truth and reparations are the balm,
That steadies the heart that once bled.

Peace, then, is not the silence of fear,
But the chorus of many voices in tune;
It is the rhythm of hands joined in work,
A symphony under the same moon.

So let us rise—grandchildren of the brave—
With fire in our eyes and love in our hands;
For the puzzle is whole when each piece shines,
And peace becomes the shore on which we stand.

++++++

The speaker is a grandchild of a Sulu mujahideen, reflecting on a decade of struggle and envisioning a shared peace.

Greetings of peace!

I am currently engaged in an academic research project involving a journal article that investigates the overarching question, "WHERE IS THE MONEY GOING?" from perspectives outside the members of the Development Budget Coordination Committee (DBCC). I would like to invite your participation in this scholarly discussion.

Assuming your role as a key member of the DBCC—which includes entities such as the Department of Budget and Management (DBM) as Chair, the National Economic and Development Authority (NEDA), the Department of Finance (DOF), the Bangko Sentral ng Pilipinas, and the Office of the President—you hold the authority to determine the overall budget allocations and sectoral ceilings.

Please consider the following questions:

1. Which three (3) sectors would you prioritize for government funding? Would your focus be on Social Services, Economic Services, General Public Services, Defense and Security, or the Environment? Kindly provide a brief rationale.

2. As part of this administrative body, what are your top three (3) program priorities? Would these be Education, Infrastructure, or Universal Healthcare? Please elaborate.

3. If you could issue an inspiring message to inspire change or increase awareness among your peers, what would it be?

This inquiry is a component of an academic exploration into peace and security.

Your insights are valuable. We aim to gather responses from at least 50 participants, including students and professionals.

Kindly share your answers through Algazelus along with your GCash number to receive a modest token of appreciation.

Thank you for your contribution—your voice can influence meaningful change.

𝑩𝑬𝒀𝑶𝑵𝑫 𝑵𝑼𝑴𝑩𝑬𝑹𝑺: 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑿𝑻 𝑫𝑬𝑷𝑬𝑵𝑫𝑬𝑵𝑻 𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑳𝑰𝑻𝒀 𝑶𝑭 𝑷𝑶𝑽𝑬𝑹𝑻𝒀 𝑰𝑵 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑺𝑼𝑳𝑼 𝑨𝑹𝑪𝑯𝑰𝑷𝑬𝑳𝑨𝑮𝑶

Poverty cannot be reduced to a single cause or a single definition. I recall my father’s words as we hauled a bangkang dagat (small wooden boat) back to shore after a long day of fishing. He said, “We may not have cash to buy a new radio, but we have the sea that feeds us and the community that shelters us.” In that moment, I sensed the inadequacy of a single poverty metric. The market could not price the peace we felt while watching a sunset over the Basilan Strait, nor could it capture the pride of weaving pisin that tells stories of ancient sultanates.

Poverty is a market failure when essential services, infrastructure, and credit are missing; it is not a market failure when cultural, ecological, and social safety nets already provide a buffer against scarcity.

In the Sulu Archipelago, the Western income‑based metric tells only part of the story. Natural resources, traditional belief systems, communal reciprocity, and historical marginalization intertwine with market dynamics to shape what “poverty” truly means for island residents.

Therefore, labeling poverty strictly as a market failure would be both misleading and incomplete. The more accurate stance—captured in two words—is “Context‑Dependent.” Policies aimed at alleviating poverty must simultaneously address market shortcomings (infrastructure, credit, information) and honor the non‑market dimensions that sustain families: cultural identity, ecological stewardship, and communal solidarity.

Only through such an integrated, locally grounded approach can we move beyond the poverty label and toward genuine, sustainable well‑being for the peoples of Sulu.