Few images capture the “David and Goliath” challenges facing the Philippines more powerfully than footage of Chinese navy, coastguard and maritime militia intimidating Filipino vessels on the West Philippine Sea over a maritime boundary dispute. Only rarely does the southernmost island of Mindanao grab such global media attention. But a bigger story is unfolding in Mindanao that is closely tied to the archipelago’s maritime flashpoints.
After decades of conflict, a peace agreement between the national government and the Moro Islamic Liberation Front (MILF), the dominant Moro separatist group in Mindanao, was signed in 2014. The Bangsamoro peace process delivered an autonomous region for the majority Muslim population in 2019. An unprecedented period of stability and development followed. Still, around 40% of Philippines battalions are deployed in Mindanao, tasked with internal security operations. Their most important task is to quell a hodgepodge of local groups under the banner of the Islamic State East Asia (ISEA).
There is a lot on the line. Exhausted by endemic conflicts and poverty, the Bangsamoro's population are desperate for peace dividends to fully deliver. Also at stake is whether the Philippines can prevent ISEA gaining a renewed foothold in Southeast Asia. If peace falters, Manila risks tying down its armed forces in Mindanao on grinding counterinsurgency campaigns. That outcome has seismic strategic consequences that extend well beyond a forgotten peace process on an island the world barely sees.
A renewed focus on internal security operations in Mindanao undercuts the Philippines’ ability to reposition its armed forces for territorial defence at precisely the moment it is seeking to modernise its military in response to growing external security pressures. Failure in the Bangsamoro is the death knell for the Philippines’ audacious but necessary defence posture aspirations. The stakes are high.
Yet the peace process is more fragile now than at any point since the autonomous region was established seven years ago. This is evidenced in rising tensions between the peace partners, a surge in violence in local communities, fracturing on the MILF’s fringes, and uneven delivery of government services. It now seems inevitable that the Bangsamoro’s first parliamentary elections, which would end the transition authority’s tenure for the region’s first democratically elected government, will be postponed for the fourth time in as many years.
For years, I’ve seen firsthand how the Bangsamoro peace process rode that momentum with the memory of the Marawi Siege as a reminder to stay the course.
The decisive constituency in the Bangsamoro region’s fortunes are current and former combatants from violent rebel groups. These are the actors with the capacity to either anchor peace or reignite conflict. It is a complicated and diverse constituency. At one end are former MILF combatants who are formal participants in the peace process. MILF members dominate the transition authority, while tens of thousands of rank-and-file former combatants are disarming and transitioning to civilian life via the “normalisation track” of the peace process. Unfortunately, the normalisation process has been wracked by implementation problems, leaving many of the over 26,000 MILF members who have been processed disgruntled, while fuelling hesitancy and concern among the remaining 14,000 MILF.
On the other end of this spectrum are a range of violent rebel groups desperate to derail the peace process. The most concerning are local groups that have sworn allegiance to the Islamic State, such as the Daulah Islamiyah-Maute Group (DI-MG) and factions of the Bangsamoro Islamic Freedom Fighters and the Abu Sayyaf Group. They are the targets of sustained counterterrorism operations and surrender programs that seek to lure away their members. Consequently, ISEA is fractured, weak, and reliant on insularity and kinship networks to survive. Yet those groups remain resilient, active, and desperate to attract disgruntled former combatants back into the fight.
I started working in Mindanao’s conflict-impacted areas in the aftermath of the 2017 Marawi Siege, when, for five months, pro–Islamic State elements converged from around Mindanao to occupy Marawi City. In showcasing the Islamic State’s devastating potential, the Marawi Siege reignited a commitment from the national government, the MILF, and local populations to finally secure a sustainable peace. For years, I’ve seen firsthand how the Bangsamoro peace process rode that momentum with the memory of the Marawi Siege as a reminder to stay the course. That momentum has now largely dissipated.
For the last year, I’ve led a Guggenheim-funded project that interviewed hundreds of former combatants and communities across the Bangsamoro. The project’s findings suggest the balance is tipping in a dangerous direction: persistent security threats, missed reintegration opportunities, dashed expectations, and communities quietly hedging against the peace endgame’s collapse.
The final weeks of January highlighted the opportunities and challenges confronting the Philippines in this critical moment. On 21 January, President Marcos celebrated with his Bangsamoro government counterparts the BARMM’s seventh anniversary. Meanwhile, back in Manila, House representatives filed a bill to reset the autonomous region’s first elections to 28 September 2026. Two days later, four Philippines army personnel were killed in a DI-MG ambush. Then, late last week, the Philippines army clashed with a different ISEA faction, the DI-Hassan Group. Islamic State has reportedly claimed responsibility for both incidents. Meanwhile, China’s recently appointed ambassador to Manila has driven a more aggressive information effort to complement his nation’s campaign of maritime occupation. Mindanao rarely gets the spotlight, but it is a linchpin in Philippines and regional stability.
