MARAWI: SECOND CHAPTER
Lake Lanao is the largest lake in Mindanao and the second largest in the Philippines. It has always been the center of the life of the Maranao, especially those who are in Marawi City. Apart from shaping the culture and traditions of its namesake province, the lake is the figurative and literal core of historical development of the capital city of Lanao del Sur, from the folkloric to the pre-colonial, all the way to the present age.
When the Spaniards established a settlement along the lake’s banks in 1639, in what is now present-day Marawi, they named it Dansalan, derived from the Maranao word dansal, meaning arrival. It was an apt designation, marking the precise shores where boats traversing the water would dock. Centuries later, in 1895, a Spanish campaign to subdue the surrounding Moro settlements culminated in the historic Battle of Kuta Marajui. The defiance of those who resisted the colonizers was permanently honored in 1956, when Dansalan was renamed Marawi through Republic Act No. 1552.
We were not able to visit Lake Lanao up close, but it served as a backdrop as we stepped on the ground where the turbulent past and the nascent future of Marawi have met in the hopeful present.
Located along the banks of Lanao Lake where the ancient Kuta Marajui or Fortress of Marawi is believed to have once stood lies the Marawi Peace Park Complex. Formerly called the Marawi City Rizal Park, the landmark now serves as the Islamic City’s symbol of hope and sign of resilience, commemorating the tragic siege while offering a glimpse into the promising future.
It only took five minutes to travel between Ground Zero and the park, which we reached at around 08:30 AM. At the forefront quadrangle are the School of Living Traditions, a monument to Philippine Hero Jose P. Rizal and the Marawi Peace Museum.
The School of Living Traditions, Rizal Monument and Marawi Peace Museum.
The most eye-catching and arresting piece in the park is the bullet-riddled minaret of the Bato Ali Mosque, the site where hostages were held captive during the Siege of Marawi. When the main mosque structure was demolished in 2020 to pave the way for a completely new house of worship, this historic minaret was preserved from the wreckage. Relocated directly in front of the Marawi Peace Museum, it provides a jarring contrast against the newly rehabilitated park complex. There it stands, permanently memorializing the terror of the recent past in a space that is still trying to fully grasp its much-awaited healing.
The silent witness. The irony of a minaret that has gone silent.
Recent history right before our eyes, within literal reach.
Walking further across the quadrangle led us to a view of the Lake, standing behind the Marawi Peace Park. It was a staggering sight: the mighty lake providing a perfect background to a park that was sculpted so meticulously it was as if it never saw war.
Although the park complex was closed to visitors during our morning arrival, forcing us to content ourselves with viewing it from the perimeter, the transformation was undeniable. Built directly upon what was once the most devastated sector of the 2017 siege, this modern expanse features manicured gardens and a sprawling lakeside promenade. From our vantage point, we could discern the clean, geometric profiles of the newly constructed Sarimanok Stadium, the Marawi Convention Center, and the Grand Padian Market. Witnessing these features from afar offered an atmospheric resonance that stood in absolute contrast to the hollow skeletons of Ground Zero. Here, on the surface, hope was tangibly coming to life.
Taking memories of nascent revival.
Friendship at the heart of the land of the Maranao.
As my eyes drifted past the fresh paint and concrete facades of the modern recovery, settling instead on the vast, unblinking horizon of the water, I realized that Marawi’s resilience is not a contemporary invention. The capacity of this city to remake itself after a catastrophe is anchored to something far older, far more elemental. To truly understand the unyielding spirit of the Maranao, one must look past the newly paved boardwalks and dive into the ancient, mythical memory of the lake itself.
According to Maranao lore, Lake Lanao was born from a cosmic correction. Long ago, the prosperous sultanate of Mantapoli grew so rapidly that it shattered the sacred equilibrium between sebangan or the east, and sedpan or the west. To restore balance, the Archangel Diabarail, known to other Abrahamic traditions as the Archangel Gabriel, intervened. Under the shroud of a barahana or a solar eclipse, angels vanished the heavy empire to the center of the earth, leaving a massive, gaping void that swallowed the sky and filled with deep blue water. When the rising tides threatened to drown the land, Diabarail summoned the four winds to carve out an escape route, sculpting the pathway that is now the Agus River.
It is a telling foundation myth: a reminder that in this land, total displacement and the sudden reshaping of the earth are woven right into the ancestry of the geography, establishing an outlet that transformed a catastrophic void into a life-giving sanctuary.
Standing at the edge of the peace park, the parallel was impossible to ignore. In 2017, the equilibrium of Marawi was shattered once again by a different kind of storm, leaving behind its own devastating void. Yet, just as the winds of myth carved an outlet for survival out of the ruins of Mantapoli, the people of the lake are once again carving a future out of the remnants of the siege. The park and its structures may be new, but the roots that feed them are ancient, deep, and entirely unshakeable.
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