Before the fall of Libyan leader Muammar Gaddafi in October 2011, another Middle Eastern strongman, one with whom we also had memorable encounters, was overthrown in December 2003: Saddam Hussein.

We wish to stress that in recalling these encounters, we do not seek to glorify Gaddafi or Saddam. Rather, we recount these episodes as part of the tapestry of history — remembrances that carry valuable lessons in politics, governance, and, above all, humanity.

Like with Gaddafi, we first met Saddam in the 1970s, when we were a pioneering businessman in the Middle East and North Africa. Our company then was prime contractor for the Jeddah Port on the Red Sea and Jubail Port on the Persian Gulf in Saudi Arabia. We undertook electrification projects across central Saudi Arabia, mass housing and infrastructure in Iraq, Kuwait, and Jordan, and agricultural ventures in Libya.

Both men radiated an aura of power. They carried themselves with a quiet magnetism, yet behind the bluster, they could be surprisingly soft-spoken and even gracious.

In 1997, as Speaker of the House of Representatives, we met Saddam again under extraordinary circumstances. Three Filipinos had been sentenced to life imprisonment in a Baghdad jail. We led a Philippine delegation, including our wife Gina and several legislators, to negotiate their release.

Some Arab friends advised against the trip. Saddam had just executed his two sons-in-law, and the atmosphere in Baghdad was tense. But we had given our word. We went, determined to save lives.

We landed first in Qatar, then traveled to Jordan where we met our friend, Prince Muhammad, brother of King Hussein. From there, we drove across the Iraqi border in a convoy of luxury sedans bound for Baghdad, a thousand kilometers away.

Lodged in a palatial residence, we were told before dawn that only we would meet Saddam. Though uneasy, we pressed on. At a presidential palace, Deputy Prime Minister Tariq Aziz, an old acquaintance, greeted us warmly, easing our anxiety. Soon after, we were led to a man we believed to be Saddam himself, only to learn he was a look-alike, so uncanny in appearance it was unsettling.

Finally, we were driven to Tikrit, Saddam’s hometown on the Tigris. There, several stories underground, in a fortified stronghold that reminded us of Gaddafi’s desert tent, we met the Iraqi leader. Saddam spoke with courtesy. He sought no concessions, only closer ties with the Philippines. Yet we sensed the weight on his shoulders. He appeared distracted, even melancholic. After barely half an hour, he excused himself, and we were driven back to Baghdad.

By the end of our mission, the three Filipinos were freed into the custody of our embassy and brought safely home. It was a surreal experience, though far less traumatic than my visits to Iraq during the Iran–Iraq War of the 1980s.

Having spent some of our best years in the Middle East, we look with sadness at the turbulence that continues to shake the region.

When we recall those days with Saddam and Gaddafi, we think of the faces of ordinary Iraqis, Libyans, and so many others across the Middle East whose lives were caught in the tides of war, dictatorship, and upheaval. The strongmen are long gone, yet the struggle for peace, stability, and prosperity continues.

Here in Asia, the Philippines and ASEAN can, and must, play a larger role in supporting dialogue in the Middle East. Inter-parliamentary and political party diplomacy, in particular, have proven to be useful instruments of peace. They can serve as valuable platforms for confidence-building and reconciliation.

If the Middle East has taught us anything, it is that no matter how strong a man or a regime may appear, lasting strength lies not in weapons or palaces but in peace, justice, and the welfare of people. It is toward this end that we must continue to dedicate ourselves.