Eight years ago, the Battle of Marawi tested not only the strength of our Armed Forces but also the soul of our nation. What began on May 23, 2017, as an operation to arrest a terrorist leader escalated into a five-month struggle that would define a generation of soldiers-men and women who turned devastation into defiance and fear into faith. From the ruins of war, they rebuilt not just a city but hope itself.
The battle tested the courage and character of our troops like never before. Marawi City stood at a crossroads of faith and fury, its narrow streets transformed into the frontlines of a nation’s resolve. Almost overnight, black flags-the symbols of ISIS allegiance-rose over captured buildings. Families fled their homes as gunshots thundered across the skyline, and the fight to reclaim Marawi became one of the longest and fiercest in our country’s history.
When the Maute-ISIS group launched its assault, I was in the United States completing my studies at the U.S. Army War College. From my television screen, I watched in disbelief as a city I once knew for its warmth and devotion was engulfed in flames. I told myself that when I returned home, I would go where I was needed most. Two weeks later, I reported to then Armed Forces of the Philippines Chief of Staff General Eduardo Año. Before I could even say, ‘Send me, Sir, to Marawi,’ he said, ‘Report to Marawi.’ That was all I needed to hear.
I was designated Deputy Commander of Task Force Ranao under Brigadier General Ramiro Rey, concurrent Commander of the Special Forces Regiment. Our mission was to secure the flanks and periphery of the Main Battle Area, sustain governance in the rest of Marawi and its neighboring towns, and uphold what every Filipino deserves-safety, dignity, and the chance to rebuild their lives.
Those early days were harsh lessons in modern urban warfare. The enemy-foreign fighters and local extremists-was deeply entrenched, tunneling through walls, laying booby traps, and turning homes and mosques into fortresses. Their aim was to establish Marawi as a wilayah, or province, of the so-called Islamic State in Southeast Asia. The fighting dragged on for months-street by street, block by block, room by room.
In the early hours of the siege, martial law was declared across Mindanao. The decision remains debated to this day, but on the ground, what we enforced was a kind of martial law remembered by many civilians as protective rather than punitive-from checkpoints conducted with courtesy to curfews carried out with compassion and an unwavering commitment to keep the innocent safe. Congress later extended martial law until December 31, 2019, after which it was lifted.
The fight reached its turning point on October 16, 2017, when Isnilon Hapilon, ISIS’s designated emir in the Philippines, and Omar Maute were killed in a precision operation. The following day, Marawi was declared ‘liberated from the influence of ISIS.’ That moment marked not only the triumph of our arms but the beginning of an even greater test-the long and difficult work of rebuilding lives, homes, and trust.
But victory carried a price that only soldiers’ families truly fathom. In Marawi, we lost 168 members of our uniformed services-124 from the Philippine Army, 36 from the Philippine Marines, and eight from the Philippine National Police. Each one left behind a name spoken with pride and a chair that will forever remain empty at the family table.
Among our fallen were men whose valor became the light that guided us through the darkest days: Captain Rommel Sandoval, Medal of Valor awardee, who gave his life shielding a wounded Ranger; and Private First Class Gener Tinangag of the Marines, posthumously awarded the same honor for extraordinary gallantry. Their stories remind us that we salute not only with our hands but with our hearts.
When the guns finally fell silent, I returned to Marawi as Brigade Commander of the 103rd Infantry Brigade in Kampo Ranao. Incidentally, my uncle, the late Brigadier General Felix Brawner Jr., was also a Brigade Commander in Marawi, and I stayed in the same quarters he stayed in several years ago. This was the same hill where U.S. General Pershing lived when the American forces occupied Marawi.
Our mission then shifted from clearing operations to pursuing remnants and preventing relapse. Within six months, we neutralized Abu Dar, the last original leader of the Maute-ISIS network, effectively dismantling the core that once dreamed of turning Marawi into a permanent citadel of terror.
Nearly a decade has passed since then. The battle scars remain visible-but so does the resilience. In the Most Affected Area, once the Main Battle Area, mosques have risen again. Schools and health centers are open. A stadium stands as a symbol of community life. Yet the path home has been neither easy nor swift. The return of residents has followed a deliberate course, guided by safety as the north star. The area was reopened in phases, with permits and inspections ensuring that rebuilding would proceed on solid and secure ground.
National government agencies and partners have remained steadfast. Under the current administration, Executive Order No. 78 established the Office of the Presidential Adviser for Marawi Rehabilitation and Development (OPAMRAD) to consolidate, accelerate, and sustain recovery efforts.
What, then, did Marawi teach us? First, that peace is more than the silence of gunfire. It is justice that can be seen and felt-from compensation to livelihood, from education to healthcare, from the right to worship to the freedom to rebuild one’s ancestral home. The siege displaced over 350,000 people, and their return to normalcy is the truest measure of our success.
Second, that the Filipino soldier’s calling extends beyond combat. In Marawi, our troops evacuated civilians under fire, opened corridors for aid, and, when the smoke cleared, helped remove debris, retrieve remains, and reconnect families. The uniforms remained the same, but the mission became humanitarian. This was a war fought not only to win but to heal. Independent observers would later record the scale of damage-a sobering reminder that rehabilitation must be steady, transparent, and people-centered.
Third, that unity-across all services and with communities-is what wins urban wars. Soldiers, Marines, airmen, sailors, coast guardsmen, police, engineers, medics, and local government units formed a chain that held firm. Our allies and partners shared intelligence and technology that, combined with our troops’ tenacity and adaptability, turned the tide in a fight defined by snipers, IEDs, and fortified structures. Analysts now cite Marawi as a case study in modern urban warfare; I cite it as proof of what Filipinos can achieve when courage and compassion move in the same direction.
This month, as we mark the eighth anniversary of Liberation Day, we pause to speak the names of our fallen, to embrace their families, and to renew our promise to guard the peace they secured at ultimate cost. We owe them more than wreaths. We owe them continuity of care for their loved ones, integrity in reconstruction, and vigilance against the ideologies that prey on poverty, grievance, and misinformation.
To the people of Marawi-thank you for your patience, faith, and example. Your city’s rebirth is not merely a construction project; it is a national journey of reconciliation and hope. Every classroom reopened, every shop relit, every prayer uttered in a restored masjid is a victory over those who believed fear could divide us.
To our troops across the archipelago-remember Marawi as both a proving ground of bravery and a testament to humanity. Remember Captain Sandoval, PFC Tinangag, and all 168 of our brothers-in-arms whose lives now light the way forward. We carry their legacy when we train harder, plan wiser, and serve with deeper compassion for the people we protect.
And to our nation-let us choose, again and again, the hard work of peace. Let us build communities where extremist narratives find no foothold because children are in school, parents have livelihoods, governance is trusted, and faith is freely and respectfully practiced. If we do this, the story of Marawi will not end with ruin and rebuilding but with a generation that looks back and says: We overcame, together.
Eight years ago, we took back a city. Today, and every day after, we must keep building a future where no Filipino child ever learns the sound of war before the sound of morning prayer.