Reclaiming public ritual can help resolve conflict
Taufik Rahzen
When Herb Feith and I first met in 1984 I was reading a book on Gandhian non-violence by Rajni Kothari entitled A step into the future. Herb was astonished to find an Indonesian reading this. I found it in a flea market. That was the beginning of a long friendship. His ideas made us change the focus of the student discussion group I was leading then, from 'technology and philosophy' to 'peace'. This was the first group of its kind after the repression of 1978.
In 1985 we held a Peace Camp at Parangtritis Beach near Yogya. It was attended by students from all over Java. We wore black as a protest against the military. Very symbolic. Then we restarted the student press network, which the military had destroyed because of student protests against Suharto.
Then in February 1989 the Lampung massacre occurred, in which hundreds of Muslim villagers were shot in a military raid in rural southern Sumatra. We held a demonstration at Gadjah Mada University in protest. This was unheard of in those days and very dangerous. Actually it came out of an intense internal debate. Some students wanted to retaliate with violence. They spoke of urban guerrilla warfare. Others used the word 'non-violence'. Then I thought of the word 'anti-violence'. That became the theme of the protest, not just there but in other cities as well.
The Tien Anmien massacre happened in Beijing in the same year, and this led to 'anti-violence' protests around Indonesia. These did not just oppose violence by the military, but also violence used by big business, violence suffered by women, violence to impose the Pancasila ideology, or any kind of violence to resolve conflict. I was asked to write an Anti-Violence Manifesto, which was published in Inside Indonesia (July 1989).
Probably my most amazing experience was joining the Peace Camp in Iraq during the Gulf War early in 1991. There were 75 of us from many different countries, including three Indonesians, in tents in the desert on the border with Kuwait. Iraqi and US troops were visible on opposite sides. It was scary. I chickened out and went back to Baghdad. That was a bad choice. The first cruise missiles landed on government buildings right next to where we were camped! Herb Feith gave me travel money, but it was only enough for a one-way ticket. So I traveled travel back overland. I was a year on the road, learning how the Muslim world felt about the Gulf War and writing for the Indonesian media. That war destroyed all ideology for me.
Ritual
The 1998 protests that brought down Suharto were another moment when anti-violence ideas were strong. However, I myself had moved on by that time. Already in our student discussion group of the mid-1980s we wondered why all ideological experiments in Indonesia seemed to end in violence. Religion was the same. Romo Mangunwijaya used to say that the Indonesian character was amuk, like a volcano, that is, to be calm on the surface but then suddenly to explode.
I have now lost all interest in ideology. The only thing that matters to me is how we can have a world without violence. How can people resolve their conflicts without discrimination, with complete respect for plurality and human potential?
Every society has a dominant pattern of change. Here in Indonesia it is not ideology or rational knowledge, but ritual. The ceremony is the crucial ingredient in everything, from weddings to corruption and the economy. Ritual takes place in a public space and in public time, which is an extraordinary time. It belongs to everyone. All leaders use ritual - Sukarno, Suharto, Gus Dur, and Megawati. Clifford Geertz once wrote a book about the 'theatre state' in Bali. Ritual binds people together, and is therefore a method of resolving conflict.
The regular sekaten celebration in Yogyakarta is a good example. The Balinese with their completely routine rituals are another. In Kutai, East Kalimantan, they have long had the Erau festival every September, to mark the moment when the sun is directly overhead. It is not just for Kutai Malays but for Dayak and Banjar people too.
The problem is that the Erau festival was recently taken over by the local government and turned into a huge tourist attraction. This has been the case with ritual everywhere in Indonesia. The state dominates almost all public space and public time. It is no longer public, but Republic space and time! For example President Suharto made 23 June National Family Day just because it was the Javanese birthday of his wife Bu Tien.
Peace-making
In order to recover the peace-making potential of ritual, we have to reclaim that public space and time. My friends and I do that by reviving old rituals and festivals and investing them with new meaning or, more often, by making new, multi-cultural festivals.
One of the best new festivals I became involved in was held in the traditional Balinese villages of Sidemen and Tirtagangga on 9/9/99. Four completely different groups came together here for a joint cultural performance. Besides the Sidemen Balinese, there were Papuans from Komoro, near the Freeport mine; Bissu, the transvestite priests from South Sulawesi; and people from Larantuka in Flores. The Balinese were Hindu, the Papuans Protestant, the Bissu Muslim, and the Florinese Catholic - not all of them equally orthodox mind you!
They all experienced culture shock getting there. The Papuans lost all their dancing paraphernalia during the flight except a priceless statue they carried in their laps. The Florinese came on a ferryboat that was full of traumatised East Timor refugees. The Bissu were marginalised in their own society, and had never been outside South Sulawesi. None of them were fluent in Indonesian. To get them talking, the Balinese took them around to the rice fields, to see what Balinese eat. It worked. That night they held the performance together. It was very moving. At the end, the Florinese gave a hand-woven cloth to the Balinese, while the Balinese gave a wonderful mask to the Papuans. The Papuans gave their statue to the Bissu (instead of to the organisers as they had planned), and the Bissu gave one of their cloths to the Florinese.
After the meeting, each group felt they were given fresh confidence to go home and do something creative. The Komoro dancers did a festival. The Bissu elected a new leader after letting it slip for thirty years!
Another dream I have is to make a Culture Ship that travels around the eastern archipelago. Buildings are too static and Java-centric. People come to ships to trade. That is a good moment for a meeting between people, and for a celebration.
Herb phoned me from the airport in Jakarta two days before he died. We shared our concern about the war in Afghanistan, and its implications for the Muslim world. 'Taufik', he said, 'we have to step into the future.'
Taufik Rahzen lives in Bandung and directs the Indonesian Festival Alliance (Aliansi Indonesia Festival, Alif).
Inside Indonesia 70: Apr - Jun 2002
Do-it-yourself freedom
How to escape the mainstream, big money, newspaper thought police
Alexandra Crosby
While the mass media monster may appear to be growing stronger, fed on the fat of advertising and corporate sponsorship, new species of independent media are popping up in Yogyakarta. Angry about their lack of access to mainstream politics, and empowered by the 'do it yourself' philosophy, people are expressing their authentic thoughts and feelings by the cheapest print medium available, photocopied zines.
Debu is a brand new zine launched in November, 2001. It is put together by an organisation of street musicians called Serikat Pengamen Indonesia (SPI), among whom is Ibob. SPI began creating their own media under the New Order regime. Before 1998, they made political pamphlets criticising the government and military and announcing actions. These were distributed as widely as possible at bus terminals and train stations.
Ibob recalls this was a 'very repressive period... we could hardly move.' Underground media were being produced, but in a much more restricted form and not nearly in the quantities that they are today. SPI experienced constant intimidation from the military. As a protective mechanism, their material did not contain names or addresses which could be linked back to the group. The fall of Suharto in 1998 was a significant turning point. SPI now feels able to produce Debu, which openly identifies names, addresses, and contact details.
However, intimidation still occurs. Members of SPI recently experienced violent repression from the military again, which leaves Ibob uneasy that this apparent 'opening up' of the political environment will not last. But while it does, Ibob sees alternative media as crucial for expressing radical ideas. 'We must take advantage of this opportunity while we can. Debu is is an expression and affirmation of our political strength and an assertion of our rights as urban poor.'
Exi is part of a collective called anakseribupulau which makes a zine about environmental issues. He says that because there is no profit motive, alternative media can address important issues the mainstream media will not touch. Anakseribupulau (Children of a Thousand Isles) is produced with whatever money the collective can scrounge together at the time. No one is paid for their work or their time. There is no advertising, no business sponsors and no editorial selection. Although the result has more spelling mistakes than glossy photos, and has a circulation of just a few hundred, it is totally open to contributions. 'This,' Exi says proudly, 'is a free, independent medium.'
Emma
Emma makes a zine about gender equality called Kotak Komik. It is distributed through women's collectives as well as student and other activist networks. 'Mainstream media always support the status quo of capitalism and patriarchy. They never print writings or education directed toward ordinary people,' she complains. When asked whether mainstream media have the capacity to address issues of gender inequality, Emma was adamant that under a capitalist system this would be impossible. 'Under this system,' she goes on to say, 'ordinary people don't have access to the mainstream mass media because it is controlled by capital. So we must create our own media.'
Emma sees zines as not only an alternative to the mass media, but to academic textbooks. She is unsatisfied with a lot of writing from the Left in Indonesia because it fails to encourage debate and criticism. Emma doesn't wish to put her energy into media which are out of the reach of most Indonesians.
Ibob, Exi and Emma all agree, the problems with mainstream media are inseparable from those with gender inequality, the environment, and social injustice. Zines are a forum to educate ourselves about how we can live together on this earth without destroying it or each other. By creating media such as Anakseribupulau, Debu, and Kotak Komik, anybody who wants to, has the power to contribute to the debates which affect us all. When asked about the importance of alternative media in Indonesia today, Exi's response was emphatic. 'When faced with so much oppression, inequality, and injustice in the world, we have no choice but to speak out, in whatever way we can.'
Michel Foucault once remarked, 'We are subjected to the production of truth through power, and we cannot exercise power except through the production of truth.' Dissatisfaction with the mainstream media in Indonesia essentially reflects a rejection of the centralised powers which produce it. The emerging zine scene in Yogyakarta is an exciting development in a growing culture of resistance and criticism.
Emma, Ibob, and Exi can all be contacted at kismiana2001@yahoo.com, debu_spi@lovemail.com , and anak_seribupulau@yahoo.com.au. Alexandra ('Sasha') Crosby (alicrosby@hotmail.com) was a student in Yogya with Acicis. She and her friends produced a zine called 'Arus'.
Inside Indonesia 70: Apr - Jun 2002
Revolution of hope
Independent films are young, free and radical
Katinka van Heeren
The voice of an old man singing a song of the time of Indonesia's struggle for independence, a song of pride, hope, and great expectations for the future. His singing is accompanied by the image of the Indonesian flag, SangMerah-Putih, the symbol of the nation's pride and glory. Yet, the flag is not blowing bravely and fiercely in the wind, but is weakly flapping around the flagpole, a symbol of the confusion and disappointment of so many in Indonesia today. This fragment is the last scene of the short Indie (independent) film Kepada yang terhormat titik 2 ('To the esteemed: '). It was produced in Purwokerto, Central Java, and had its premiere there on 18 January 2002.
The film is an unpretentious account of how common people in Purwokerto see their municipality. It captures city life with a deliberately gritty touch, showing the lives of street vendors, street kids, and farmers. At the end, an old peasant recounts that throughout his life nothing Jakarta has done ever improved the meagre livelihood of Purwokerto farmers.
Kepada yang terhormat titik 2 is part of a new development in Indonesian cinema. The spirit of reformasi in 1998 permeated into the Indonesian film scene and gave birth to a movement characterised by great diversity. The independent film has become an exciting and popular model for young Indonesians who want to make their own films. They have formed a community of so-called Mafin (Mahluk Film Independen, Independent Film Creatures), which holds its own film festivals. They exchange ideas on the subject of film on the internet and at get-togethers.
The independent film movement really began with the film Kuldesak ('Cul-de-sac'). This anthology of four short features dealt with the problems of middle class Jakarta youth - drugs, homosexuality, and the feeling of absolute desolation. Its four young filmmakers decided in 1996 to produce an 'underground' film that broke free of all the rules of film production under the censorious New Order. Despite the freer political climate, one of the most radical scenes of this film, two boys kissing in a bus, was censored. It appeared to be too revolutionary even for reformasi. Today these four have become leading filmmakers, producing national successes - Petualangan Sherina by Mira Lesmana and Riri Riza, Jelangkung by Rizal Mantovani - and even an international one - Pasir berbisik by Nan T Achnas.
Rebellious
The unexpected fall of Suharto enabled this film to reach movie theatres throughout Indonesia in November 1998. Reformasi was reaching its peak, and many restrictions on film production and exhibition were not being applied. Its rebellious production and fresh contents and techniques set Kuldesak apart from both the films produced by an earlier generation and from the everyday soap operas on television. The press labelled it the first-ever Indonesian 'independent' film, and often highlighted its 'non-Indonesian' features. The film was highly successful among young audiences. In several cities ticket counter queues stretched into the street.
Kuldesak, made by four filmmakers who 'just went for it', triggered a euphoric energy among other aspiring young Indonesians. The freer political climate encouraged a sense of freedom and creativity. Also important was the wide availability of new audio-visual technologies such as digital video cameras and projectors. In 1999 the Community of Independent Film (Komunitas Film Independen, or Konfiden) began to hold a series of film screenings and discussions in the bigger cities of Java. The objective was to introduce the concept of independent film to a wider public. They were also a warm-up for the first Indonesian Independent Film and Video Festival (FFVII), held in Jakarta at the end of October 1999.
This festival aimed to provide independent filmmakers with a forum to screen their films. More ambitiously, it hoped to revive Indonesian film as a whole, which had virtually died in the last decade of New Order rule. The film industry had collapsed under the combined weight of three factors. Restrictive rules were becoming ever more draconian. Secondly, a business group owned by Suharto's relative Sudwikatmono (Subentra's Studio 21 chain of quality cinemas) disadvantaged local films by showing almost exclusively Hollywood. And thirdly, soapies made for the new commercial TV stations since the early 1990s proved to be highly popular.
Since that year, a similar festival has been held annually - this year will be the fourth. Konfiden now also organises filmmaking workshops, publishes a monthly bulletin, and is developing a permanent cinema laboratory in Jakarta where new filmmakers can come to learn.
Meanwhile, others also formed matching communities in several cities in Java, Lampung (southern Sumatra), Makassar, Palu (also in Sulawesi), and in Bali. These organise their own festivals, complete with discussions, workshops, and bulletins. Generally speaking the films screened are rather unsophisticated and inexperienced in their technique. However, the topics are often stimulating and original. Many include maverick ideas. One example of a very popular indie film is Revolusi harapan ('Revolution of hope'), by Nanang Istiabudi. This is a surrealistic story about a gang of thugs who go out on command to kill and pull the teeth of artists, students, and others who are in any way critical. Dunia kami, duniaku, dunia mereka ('Our world, my world, their world'), by Adi Nugroho, narrates the life of a transvestite in Yogyakarta. And Kameng Gampoeng Nyang Keunong Geulawa ('The village goat takes the beating'), by Aryo Danusiri, is a chilling testament of survivors of torture inflicted by the Indonesian Special Forces Kopassus. It was filmed in Tiro, northern Aceh.
As members of the various communities discovered each other on the internet and began to visit each other's festivals, they began to think about a coalition. About a hundred people from all over Indonesia came together in Yogyakarta for the National Indie Film Festival late May and early June 2001. At the end, after great deliberation, they decided to form a national affiliation of independent film communities. The next step was to establish an information centre (ICE). It operated an internet mailing list called Forum Film, coordinated out of Yogyakarta. They also planned to hold a national meeting every two months.
On 26 August 2001, during the BatuIndieFilmmakerMitting held in Batu (a resort near Malang in East Java), the various communities tried to formulate a collective vision. They wanted a program to acquaint a broader public with the medium of film in general, and 'film independen' in particular. After an all-night debate, three new ICE divisions were set up. In addition to the earlier Forum Film mailing list, a web site was to be coordinated from Malang, and an archive and a publication division were begun in Jakarta. The four ICE divisions would each remain autonomous bodies, standing for the same ideal but free to formulate their own policies. For example, the publication division has taken the shape of a new organisation called Terapis (Terapi Sinema, cinema therapy). It will publish books, a magazine, and a bulletin, and intends to organise workshops and seminars as well as produce educational films.
Local pride
One reason why the independent film movement has adopted the form of a national alliance, in which the different communities remain 'independent' and have an equal say, is the fear of domination by Jakarta. This fear, a New Order legacy, has had a positive spin-off. Many new independent films try to reflect the characteristics of their home region. The filmmakers want to make something that differs in every sense from a film that would have been produced in Jakarta - something that carries local pride and joy.
For example, Di antara masa lalu dan masa sekarang ('Between the past and the present', by Eddie Cahyono) is the reflections of an old man about the guerrilla struggle for independence, and Topeng kekasih ('Mask of love', by Hanung Bramantyo) is entirely in Javanese and concerns the Oedipus Complex. Both these films depict a typical Yogyakarta atmosphere. Ah sialan ('Oh shit', by Danis) is about the problems of student life in Malang. Kepada yang terhormat titik 2, made by Dimas Jayasrana and Bastian, students at the Jenderal Soedirman University in rural Purwokerto and premiered in the same city, is another creative manifestation of this feeling.
Katinka van Heeren (cvanheeren@hotmail.com) is writing a PhD dissertation at Leiden University, the Netherlands. Websites: www.konfiden.or.id www.forum-film@yahoogroups.com, email: terapis terapis@cinephiles.net.
Inside Indonesia 70: Apr - Jun 2002
BP and the Tangguh test
A multi-billion dollar gas project in a remote Papuan bay needs scrutiny
Down to Earth
In recent years BP - the world's third largest oil group - has become recognised in industry circles as one of the greenest and most socially responsible energy multinationals. It is 'pro-engagement': the company courts NGO opinion, funds conservation organisations and has signed various agreements committing it to respect human rights and protect the environment. The company claims green credentials by investing in solar power and cutting greenhouse gas emissions within its own operations.
NGOs and communities with direct experience of BP's operations see another side of BP which clashes with the public image. BP has been accused of collusion in human rights abuses in Colombia and has clashed with indigenous forest-dwellers in Venezuela's Orinoco delta. Further controversy has focused on projects and investments in Angola, Tibet, Sudan and Alaska. These all point to a yawning gap between words and deeds.
The company insists its new Tangguh liquefied natural gas (LNG) project in West Papua's Bintuni Bay should not be judged by past projects - but what other concrete evidence is there to go on?
It is also worth looking at BP's main partner in the Tangguh project. This is Pertamina, the notoriously corrupt state-owned oil company which has a dirty record on human rights too. Pertamina is in partnership with Exxon Mobil in Aceh where troops paid to guard the gas installations have committed a series of well-documented human rights abuses.
For the people living in villages around Bintuni Bay BP's project will mean irreversible change. Over 500 people will be moved from their homes in Tanah Merah to a newly created village 3.5 km to the west in Saengga. Forests will be cut - with resulting loss of resources and biodiversity. Gas platforms, pipelines, processing plant, port facilities, airstrip and employee accommodation will be built on the 3,416 ha project site. In Bintuni Bay, shipping will increase and local fishing activities will be disrupted. There will be an influx of outsiders as workers are brought in to construct the facilities.
Many of the changes to the physical environment can be predicted and plans can be drawn up to minimise some of the negative effects. This is what BP is attempting to do through the environmental impact analysis (Andal) process. But other changes are not so easily foreseen. These include the key question of security at the site - and arrangements for guarding the site will depend on external, factors outside the company's control.
Human rights
There is great concern that the Indonesian military (TNI) will initiate conflict in nearby areas in order to justify the need for a strong security presence at the site. Villagers have expressed fear about the military in various meetings with BP staff. People in Sidomakmur, for example, a village that lies within what BP describes as the 'indirectly affected area', were 'very concerned that the Tangguh Project might use the military in their operations. They have had experiences with the military guarding the sawmill and logging operations'.
Last year's military repression in Wasior, in which ten people were killed, others 'disappeared' and many homes burned down, has already been linked to the Tangguh project. Papuan observers point out that the killing of five police mobile brigade (Brimob) officers which sparked intensive military operations in Wasior, was timed to coincide with the visit of the British Ambassador to the region in June last year. The implied intention was to send a strong message to BP that they cannot do without the 'help' of the security forces.
For the TNI, big projects have always meant big opportunities for extra pay to guard project sites - a situation that has led to a sharp increase in the incidence of human rights abuses - at the Freeport/ Rio Tinto mine in West Papua and at Exxon Mobil's gas installations in Aceh. In the Bintuni Bay area itself, there is already a Brimob presence which has had negative consequences for local people. According to the Far Eastern Economic Review, the Djayanti Group, which has timber, plantations and fishing interests in Bintuni Bay, pays a 20-man police detachment 'to enforce land grabs from local residents.'
When confronted with questions on security, BP staff insist they want to reduce dependence on the military - at one stage the idea of creating a 'military-free zone' at Tangguh was floated. The company's 'Community Development Strategy' document says that trust and acceptance by the local community will be crucial: 'We pledge to work with Pertamina to ensure critical national resources are protected primarily through our acceptance by the local populace as a responsible, and welcome member of the community; thus eliminating the need for extraordinary efforts by security forces to preserve and protect people and facilities.'
How BP will deal with military opposition to this plan has not been publicly outlined yet. This is one of the issues that BP's human rights impacts study should be looking at. The study is being conducted by Bennett Freeman, a member of the Clinton administration's state department staff, contracted by BP. Freeman was one of the main architects of the US/ UK Voluntary Principles on Security and Human Rights which BP signed up for. Before leaving for West Papua, he contacted the UK-based NGO, Tapol and was keen to find out who, if not the TNI, would be suitable candidates for guarding the facilities. The possibility of 'buying off' the TNI was also raised.
The price may be high. The security forces are in a strong position to make demands and there is very little political will on the part of President Megawati to exercise any meaningful control over the military. The so-called 'security approach' used by president Suharto for dealing with unrest in West Papua and other trouble spots is back in vogue under Megawati, after her predecessor's attempts at dialogue were thwarted. In November Megawati's senior minister for political and security affairs, Bambang Yudhoyono Susilo, announced that a further 32,500 police and soldiers would be sent to conflict areas including West Papua and Aceh. The following month, Megawati said the military should 'be firm in carrying out their job and not to be worried about accusations of human rights abuses'.
Unlike other companies operating in West Papua, BP has made some effort to communicate its project plans to local communities and consult villagers on impacts, resettlement and compensation. It is far from clear, however, that communities have all the information and opportunities for dialogue that they want, as there are already signs of dissatisfaction. Over the resettlement of Tanah Merah, BP acknowledges that despite 'substantial upgrades to their current situation' being planned, the resettlement still has 'the potential for dissatisfaction.' The villagers have not been informed when they will be moved - a situation that is leading to some frustration, according to Indonesia's mining advocacy network, Jatam. The community is also very concerned about the prospects of pollution from the BP site threatening their shrimp, crab, fish and mangrove resources on which their livelihoods depend.
The issue of compensation is causing resentment too: land rates set in 1997 by the local government, were as low as Rp15 - Rp30 per square metre. (Rp10,300 = US$1.)
Despite BP's commitment to transparency, not all available information has been made public. A large document containing the Terms of Reference for the Environmental Impact Analysis which BP head office assured NGOs was available as a public document, turns out not to be public after all. (DTE has obtained a copy of this document.) It is important that all information - including the results of the human rights impact study - is made accessible to communities affected by the project and the NGOs working with them, if BP really wants to be perceived differently from other investors.
Codes of conduct
The British government's very public support for Tangguh reflects a high level of confidence in Indonesia's investment opportunities. According to British energy minister Brian Wilson, Britain was Indonesia's biggest investor in the oil/ gas sector in the year 2000 and second largest overall after Japan. Over the last thirty years Britain has invested more than any other country apart from the US in the oil/ gas sector. Wilson, who visited Indonesia in November last year, said that BP had committed to a total of US$11 billion in investments, with $1.9 billion in current capital to be spent on Indonesian projects, including Tangguh. In total BP planned to invest $3-4 billion developing Tangguh.'We continue to see great opportunities for cooperation in energy', he said.
Business codes of conduct or business principles have been developed by multinational companies, NGOs, governments and international bodies such as the UN agencies, and the EU in response to public pressure for companies to be socially and environmentally responsible. While many of the objectives in these codes are positive, their main drawback is that they are voluntary. There are no sanctions if the principles are not followed and there is no independent outside body to monitor compliance.
Indigenous communities attending a meeting on mining in London last year argued that voluntary initiatives are not acceptable. A statement drawn up by participants said:
'In recent years the mining industry has become more aggressive and sophisticated in manipulating national and international laws and policies to suit its interests. The mining laws of more than seventy countries have been changed in the past two decades. Laws protecting indigenous peoples and the environment are undermined.'
'For this reason NGOs supporting indigenous groups want "politically and legally enforceable measures that will hold the mining industry accountable, above all to mining and exploration-affected communities.' (London Declaration 20/Sep/01)
Down to Earth (email dte@gn.apc.org, web www.gn.apc.org/dte) is the UK-based international campaign for ecological justice in Indonesia. Extracted with permission from its February 2002 newsletter (DtE 52).
Inside Indonesia 70: Apr - Jun 2002
The life and death of Theys Eluay
The murdered Papuan leader was an ambiguous figure
At Ipenburg
There was always something ambiguous about Theys Hiyo Eluay. He became a focal point in the struggle for Papuan independence. But he was also seen as close to top army and police commanders, and the Kopassus special forces were his friends. Theys did not have much support in his home area of Sentani, outside Jayapura, where memories were still vivid of the large number of people killed through him by the Indonesian army.
Theys Eluay was educated in the 'advanced primary school' (Jongensvervolgschool) in Yoka, Sentani, in the Dutch colonial period. He studied meteorology and later worked as an assistant meteorologist. He came from a family of traditional heads (ondoafi) in Sere village. Although not entitled to the responsibility, he became ondoafi himself because of his relatively advanced education.
After the Dutch relinquished power in 1963, Indonesia tried to eliminate Papuan protest against its integration into Indonesia. Theys assisted the army by pointing out people who were pro-Dutch and anti-Indonesian. This action caused many victims in the small Sentani community of about 15,000. Some are still in hiding in PNG. Theys was one of about 1,000 Papuans selected to vote for integration with Indonesia in 1969. He campaigned in favour of a positive vote. In 1971 Theys became a member of the provincial parliament.
However, by 1980 his influence had declined. This made him feel frustrated. He joined the officially sponsored Papuan Customary Council Assembly (Lembaga Musyawarah Adat Papua), first for the Sentani area and then for the province of Irian Jaya. In 1990 he became chairman of the provincial council. After 1996 this council became more politicised.
Morning Star
In October 1998 Theys Eluay, Don Flassy, and two students were arrested for holding meetings to discuss the raising of the Morning Star flag on 1 December 1998. When Theys was freed after a week, he appeared on the front page of the Cendrawasih Pos, stating that West Papua did not need to ask for independence as it had already been independent ever since 1 December 1961. The Papuans, he said, only wanted their sovereignty back. This interview highlighting Theys was a strong contrast with previous editorial policy, which had ignored independence demands.
The focus on Theys continued, and certainly increased the circulation of Cendrawasih Pos, the only province-wide daily. Other leaders in the struggle, like Tom Beanal or Herman Awom, were rarely featured. There were weeks when Theys was pictured almost every day on the front page. 'Theys is weeping', 'Theys is angry', the headlines said. 'Theys is sick and has to go to Singapore', and 'Friends at once' (after fetching the new military commander from the Sentani airport). All this increased Theys' popularity enormously. He had the courage to say things other people were afraid to say in the open. Yet all the time Theys remained very close to the top of the army and police. He was the customary (adat) leader, and now also the Great Leader of the Papuans. As such he was accepted into the select group of the most powerful in the province.
The rise of Theys Eluay started soon after the Team of One Hundred had gone to Jakarta to meet President Habibie, in January 1999. Afterwards the team announced, without a single dissenting voice, that the result of the dialogue initiated by Habibie was that Papuans wanted independence. The mobilisation in favour of independence had been done by Foreri, the Forum Rekonsiliasi Rakyat Irian Jaya (Forum for the Reconciliation of the Papuan People). This was an initiative of church leaders, joined by adat leaders, students and women's organisations. Theys Eluay, Tom Beanal and Gaspar Sibi were the adat leaders.
Theys was a self-appointed leader. He began to call himself Great Leader of the Papuan People some time in 1998. He proposed the Morning Star flag be raised after his birthday celebration on 12 November 1998. In reaction, the army said they would create a bloodbath if the forbidden flag should be raised. Theys then cancelled the event, saying that December was the month when the Prince of Peace was born and no violence should take place.
In 1999 Theys again announced a flag raising for 1 December, but then again wanted to cancel it. This time, however, his followers strongly resisted the cancellation. So Theys supported the flag raising. The army and police, after a visit to Irian Jaya by the national police chief, insisted it was illegal. Nevertheless, on 1 December 1999 people throughout the province raised the forbidden flag. This was a major achievement. Order was maintained by the pro-independence militia known as Satgas Papua. Papuans saw that independence was possible, and that they were still a majority in their own land. Most migrants preferred to stay at home, so on that one day Papuans dominated the streets, an unusual experience.
In September 1999 Theys proposed to hold a Great Meeting (Rapat Akbar) to give voice to 'M' (merdeka, independence). The idea spread, and in February 2000 a Great Debate (Musyawarah Besar, Mubes) was held to discuss the future of West Papua and to determine a strategy for the independence struggle. The Free Papua Movement (OPM) was also present. However, Theys had by then a large force of young people at his own disposal - the Papua Task Force (Satgas Papua). They were responsible for security at the Mubes.
Actually the majority wanted Tom Beanal to chair the Mubes, but with such a large number of satgas close by, Theys could not be ignored. A compromise was struck, and both became 'Great Leaders of the Papuan People'.
The Mubes decided to organise a congress with a wider representation than the Mubes. The Second Papuan Congress took place in May-June 2000. Theys stood up at the beginning of the meeting and said: 'I am the chairman, while you are the vice chairman, right?' Tom tacitly agreed, as he did not want a quarrel at the beginning of such an important congress. Unity was crucial.
The Presidium of the Council of Papuans (Presidium Dewan Papua, PDP) got a mandate to act on behalf of all Papuans. It was asked to report on progress towards independence by 1 December 2000. The provincial and national governments accepted the PDP as representing Papuan opinion. However, as PDP chairman Theys usually did not consult his fellow members. They often knew what Theys was doing only by reading the papers. For one of them, Benny Giay from Paniai, it became too much when Theys in October 2000 honoured the departing army commander by elevating him to the rank of 'Great Warrior of the Papuans'. Papuans from the highlands said they would not raise funds and pigs for somebody who had been ordering the killing of Papuans. Benny Giay then left the PDP.
Achievements
Theys had many achievements. He had the flair and courage to make statements the people understood. He raised an awareness of being Papuan. He supported the formation of 'command posts' (pos komando, posko) to guard villages and even cities. This came in response to the situation in the Moluccas, where outside provocateurs stirred up a religious conflict. These posko were very popular. They were built all over the province, and effectively took over control from the army and police. The police later dismantled them.
The Satgas Papua was also immensely popular. Theys Eluay controlled a small army of about 5,000 young men and women, led by his son Boy Eluay. They got some training, and were easily recognised by their black T-shirts and trousers. The satgas gave a purpose to marginalised young Papuans who had fallen victim to alcoholism and petty crime. He also from the beginning spoke out for peaceful means. Appealing to the Papuan religious heritage, he said prayer was to be their weapon. All over the province continuous prayer sessions were held. Through Theys the Papuans became more united.
At the same time, Papuans distrusted his good relationships with those they saw as their oppressors. Was Theys a spy, a provocateur? Or was he double spy, also cheating the army, Kopassus and the police? In either case, Theys was playing with fire. Radical highland Papuans twice threatened Theys with death if he should back down over the flag raising issue - in 1999 and 2000.
Theys may have underestimated the danger of any double play. Or he may have allowed the army and the police to use him, just like he accepted the support of Yorris Raweyai, head of the pro-Suharto Pemuda Pancasila youth organisation. Yorris was in turn supported by Tomy Winata, a businessman with Kopassus connections. Tomy also had business interests in Irian Jaya. In return, Theys possibly thought of getting immunity for his political activity of mobilising Papuan awareness. His natural skill in public relations made him popular with the press. Soon every man and woman in the streets of Java knew about the Papuan struggle. His dramatic and unexpected death on 10 November 2001 fascinated a lot of people in Indonesia and abroad. Theys, it seems, died at the hands of the very people who just before had honoured him publicly as the Great Leader and Hero of the Papuan Struggle. He and his driver considered these people their personal friends.
In the theology in which Theys believed, to die for a cause is nothing strange. It was what Jesus did. He had intimated to close friends that he was prepared to die for the cause. In the end Theys meant more for the struggle because of his death. In his death he united all the factions. He became a symbol for the absence of law that threatens every Papuan. He became a hero in the line of Arnold Ap, executed in 1984, and Thomas Wainggai, reputedly killed in 1996.
At Ipenburg (ipen@jayapura.wasantara.net.id) is graduate program director at the I S Kijne theological college in Jayapura.
Inside Indonesia 70: Apr - Jun 2002
Indonesia - US military ties
September 11th and after
Kurt Biddle
'Every lame duck political idea that couldn't get any mileage in the past ten years, has now been repackaged in light of the events of September 11th and is now being sold under the guise of anti-terrorism.' - Congressional staffer
September 11th has changed our world. That's true, but not everything has changed. Tensions that began in the early 1990s between Congress and the Pentagon over aid to the Indonesian military continue. Only the Pentagon's justifications have changed. And the Indonesian military is just as brutal as ever.
US-Indonesian military ties were first restricted after the 1991 Santa Cruz massacre in Dili, East Timor, in which more than 270 people were killed by Indonesian troops with US-supplied weapons. The massacre prompted human rights groups and activists to demand that Congress sanction the Indonesian military (TNI). Consequently, the US Congress restricted most military aid to Indonesia by refusing to fund the International Military and Training (IMET) program for TNI personnel in October 1992. In July 1993, after years of unrestricted weapons transfers to Indonesia, the State Department, under congressional pressure, blocked a transfer of US F-5 fighter planes from the Jordan to Indonesia, citing human rights as one of the reasons.
In 1994, the State Department banned the sale of small and light arms and riot control equipment to Indonesia. In 1995, Congress restored some military training funding under the Expanded IMET (E-IMET) program, which purports to be an 'educational program' briefing officers on issues of human rights, military justice and civilian control of the military. In June 1997, then-Indonesian president Suharto wrote to President Clinton rejecting E-IMET and a proposed sale of F-16 jet fighters. Suharto stated that he would not accept restrictions on military transfers based on human rights.
Throughout the 1990s the Pentagon clearly violated Congressional intent and continued to train Indonesian special forces troops (Kopassus) in urban guerilla warfare, surveillance, sniper marksmanship and 'psychological operations' tactics. In March 1998, the existence of this JCET (Joint Combined Exchange Training) program was publicised by Congressional allies of the East Timor Action Network (ETAN), who fought for and won an end to such training to the TNI.
East Timor
When Indonesian military, police and their militia proxies razed East Timor after the referendum vote in August 1999, then-President Clinton was forced by public outrage to ban all joint military exercises and commercial arms sales. Later that year Congress put part of this ban into law. The 2001 Foreign Operations Appropriations Act renewed those conditions, which must be met before normal military ties can be restored. These include the return of refugees to East Timor, and accountability for military and militia members responsible for human rights atrocities in East Timor and Indonesia. They also require Indonesia to actively prevent militia incursions into East Timor and to cooperate fully with the UN administration in East Timor. The President is required to certify to Congress that the conditions have been met.
The scorecard on the conditions isn't good. The incursions into East Timor have stopped, although January's UN Secretary General's report on Untaet said that 'hard-line militia may still pose a long-term threat.' According to the UN, there remain sixty to seventy thousand refugees in West Timor. One of the most important remaining issues is accountability. The Indonesian military and police along with their milita proxies killed thousands of East Timorese people, burned towns to the ground, destroyed eighty percent of the half-island's infrastructure and forced or led more than a quarter of a million villagers into Indonesian-ruled West Timor. The international community will be watching the long-awaited and much-delayed trial in Indonesia, but it seems few have much hope that it will bring justice.
September 11th
Just eight days after the attacks in New York and Washington on 11 September 2001, the Indonesian president Megawati Sukarnoputri kept a previously scheduled appointment with President Bush. In the short meeting, Bush promised to lift the embargo on commercial sales of non-lethal military items. Indonesian military officials and much of the Indonesian press thought that Megawati had scored a victory in restoring military ties. Many speculated that Bush was offering Megawati a recruitment bonus to join his coalition against terrorism.
But in an off-the-record conversation, a White House official explained that the package Bush presented to Megawati was completed on September 10th, and not a word was changed after the events of the next day. Much of what Bush promised Megawati was from the administration's review of US-Indonesian military ties policy that had taken place over the northern summer. Bush is limited to what military support he can offer Indonesia, since most of the money for training and equipment is restricted by Congress.
Mega's visit was highly symbolic: the president of the world's most populous predominantly Muslim nation comes to Washington. Megawati would be useful to Bush in building his new coalition, demonstrating that a war on terrorism wouldn't be a war on Islam. But Megawati's trip was plagued before she even left Jakarta by Vice President Hamzah Haz' comments on his hopes that the September 11th attacks 'can cleanse the sins by the US.' (Later, Megawati's own comments criticising the US war in Afghanistan further angered many in Washington.)
Now that the Congressional appropriations cycle has finished, we see a mixed Washington policy towards the Indonesian military. In the 2002 Foreign Operations Appropriations Act, Congress renewed and bolstered the ban on training and funding of the TNI. What originally were six conditions were expanded to seven. Congress saw that the military was acting in much the same brutal way towards people still within Indonesia's borders, so the conditions were reassessed. For example, because the UN relinquishes sovereignty to East Timor's government this May, the Congress dropped the condition of complying with the UN Transitional Administration. The new conditions include releasing political detainees (activists serving prison time include Faisal Syamsuddin, chair of the Jakarta chapter of the Aceh Referendum Information Center SIRA); allowing the UN and other international humanitarian organisations and representatives of recognised human rights organisations access to conflict areas such as Aceh, West Papua, Maluku and West Timor; and demonstrating a commitment to civilian control of the armed forces by reporting to civilian authorities audits of expenditures of the armed forces.
An audit of TNI finances is a key condition for accountability and civilian control. The International Crisis Group estimates that just 30% of the TNI's budget comes from Jakarta, the rest of the money is through the military's own fund-raising efforts, from both legal and illegal businesses. Human rights advocates argue that if civilians do not control the purse strings of the TNI, civilians will not have control of the military. Conditions regarding accountability and return of refugees to East Timor remained part of the law.
However, in a last minute move while finalising the Defence Department Appropriations Act, Senator Daniel Inouye (a Democrat from Hawaii) inserted language appropriating US$17.9 million to establish a Regional Defence Counter-terrorism Fellowship Program at the behest of Admiral Dennis C Blair, Commander in Chief of the US Pacific Command (CINCPAC). The new program contains no restrictions on which countries can participate, thereby allowing training for Indonesia. Both men have long opposed existing congressional bans on training for the TNI.
US battlefield?
The Pentagon seems to be chomping at the bit for military involvement in Indonesia. One of the most vocal advocates for military ties with Indonesia is Deputy Secretary of Defence Paul Wolfowitz, a US ambassador to Indonesia for three years during the Reagan administration. He has repeatedly argued that Washington should help Indonesia fight terrorists. Wolfowitz told the Far Eastern Economic Review, 'Going after Al Qaeda in Indonesia is not something that should wait until after Al Qaeda has been uprooted from Afghanistan.' It remains to be seen if and how the US will be involved in Indonesia, but with 600 US military 'advisers' on the ground in the neighbouring Philippines, some see Indonesia as the next battlefield.
Many at the Pentagon and in the administration call the TNI the only viable institution in Indonesia. Admiral Blair claims he wants the same goals as Congress does for the TNI, but disagrees with congressional methods. He argues that 'engagement' will teach the Indonesian military to respect democracy, human rights and civilian control.
But the TNI hasn't met the basic conditions that Congress passed into law before training can resume. For years the Pentagon trained and equipped the Indonesian military, but this contact certainly did not instill the TNI with a respect for human rights. The military terrorises their own population every day. Over 1,800 were killed in Aceh last year, and the military committed more killing in West Papua, including what appears to be the Kopassus assassination of Papuan independence leader Theys Eluay in November 2001. TNI atrocities show no sign of abating.
Unless the Indonesian military is placed fully under civilian control (including budget and command), stays out of politics (and not just when it is convenient for their goals), focuses on external defence, and stops committing human rights abuses - in other words, becomes a professional military - the US must not support them. The US should focus on helping civil society groups build Indonesia's democracy, and not hinder democracy by supporting a military that is both corrupt and brutal.
Kurt Biddle (kurt@IndonesiaNetwork.org) is Washington coordinator for the Indonesia Human Rights Network (http:www.indonesianetwork.org).
Inside Indonesia 70: Apr - Jun 2002
In this issue
Viva Timor Lorosae!
Gerry van Klinken
A free East Timor was one of the dreams that inspired the birth of Inside Indonesia in 1983. We published more than sixty articles in support of it. Now that it's here, this edition goes out with our best wishes to the people.
From his Jakarta cell after he was captured in 1992, independence fighter Xanana Gusmao inspired Indonesian activist Titi Irawati by saying Indonesia could not be democratic unless East Timor was free. Not just Titi, but all the Indonesians featured in this edition - seven of them! - continue to believe that, even if now-president Xanana has prudently stopped advising Indonesians about democracy.
After 30 August 1999, with East Timor no longer 'inside' Indonesia, we restricted our coverage to the post-colonial issues for Indonesia. This edition shows those issues remain urgent. So what's still on the agenda?
First of all, the very freedom of East Timor itself. East Timorese fought for a state of their own that would protect them from exploitation and human rights abuse. As the forces of globalisation are stripping protective powers from states everywhere, the question is: can East Timor become a state that protects its weaker citizens? Mansour Fakih asks this question in his lead article, as do several others.
Second, freedom with justice. The audacity with which Indonesian troops destroyed East Timor in front of the eyes of the world in September 1999 must not be forgotten. It was the finale of 24 brutal years that have scarred the nation for a long time to come. A short attention span is causing international support for a war crimes tribunal to wane. John Miller in this edition explains one alternative - civil courts around the world.
The demand for justice over these crimes won't just go away. Richard Tanter, in our strong human rights section, reminds us that similar crimes committed in Indonesia over 35 years ago continue to cast their shadow today - and not only on Indonesians. Right now, similar crimes are being committed in Aceh.
New beginnings
Not as dramatically as Timor Lorosae perhaps, Inside Indonesia is also making a new beginning. We have a new board, new editors and office staff, and new energy. Five long-standing board members have said goodbye after years of devoted effort. They are David Bourchier, Kathy Gollan, Krishna Sen, Pat Walsh and Ron Witton. Most have been with the magazine since 1983. David, Kathy and longest of all Pat edited it at one time or another. We owe them a big terima kasih. We know they'll always be there for us still.
Four new members took their place: Michele Ford, Leon Jones, Anton Lucas and Stanley Adi Prasetya. Three stayed on from before: Ed Aspinall, Vanessa Johanson, and Gerry van Klinken. We now have two Jakarta-based board members. We are also broadening the editorial base. Four editors will each take on one edition a year. They are : Dave McRae, Vanessa Johanson, Jennifer Lindsay and Michele Ford. I will stay on as coordinating editor. The Melbourne office also has new staff: Clare Land and Dilrukshi Gajaweera. Melinda Venticich will say goodbye after nearly ten years. Melinda has been in many ways the backbone of the organisation,. These new people are all exceptionally talented. One of Clare's jobs will be to talk with potential funders. If you are one of them, she'd love to be in touch.
Gerry van Klinken is the Editor of Inside Indonesia
Inside Indonesia 71: Jul - Sep 2002
East Timor on the Net
The latest on this new nation at your fingertips
John M Miller
News
The east-timor (formerly reg.easttimor) list is an e-mail news list that distributes news and documents from a wide range of sources, mainstream and alternative, official and non-governmental. The frequency of postings varies with the pace of events. A selection of past postings going back to mid-1998 is available at http://etan.org/et/default.htm. For information about subscribing to the full list or an abridged alternative send a blank e-mail to info@etan.org.
For daily web-based news often with pictures, video or audio try Radio Australia (http://goasiapacific.com/specials/etimor/default.htm), the BBC (http://news.bbc.co.uk/hi/english/world/asia-pacific/default.stm) and Easttimor.com (http://www.easttimor.com/). Lusa provides regular coverage in Portuguese (http://www.lusa.pt/) with some English translations.
The UN
The UN's Untaet site (http://www.un.org/peace/etimor/etimor.htm) will no doubt soon be renamed for the new UN mission, Unmiset - but the link will remain the same. It contains Untaet's regulations and media briefings and links to UN documents and Unamet's archive. It also has links to UNDP in East Timor and the UN High Commissioner for Human Rights sites.
News from UN headquarters in New York is available at its Countdown to Independence site (http://www.un.org/apps/news/infocusRel.asp?infocusID=27&Body=timor&Body1=)
ReliefWeb (http://www.reliefweb.int/w/rwb.nsf/vLCE/East+Timor?OpenDocument&StartKey=East+Timor&Expandview), another UN site, focusses on refugees, humanitarian relief and reconstruction, collecting documents from UN agencies, humanitarian and other NGOs and governments.
From East Timor
The website for the East Timor government (http://www.gov.east-timor.org/) is currently haphazardly maintained, but offers contact info for government departments. The Commission for Reception, Truth and Reconciliation is found at http://www.easttimor-reconciliation.org/.
East Timorese NGO's and media are beginning to find their voices on the web. See for example the NGO Forum (www.geocities.com/etngoforum/), Lao Hamutuk (http://www.etan.org/lh) and Suara Timor Lorosae (in Bahasa Indonesia, though other languages are promised http://www.suaratimorlorosae.com/).
History, culture and economy
Although no longer maintained, TimorNet (http://www.uc.pt/timor/atop.html) contains historical, ethnographic and other background. As do the Timor Aid and Etra sites.
Mother Jones offers a primer on the history of the Indonesian occupation (http://www.motherjones.com/east_timor/), and Znet archives much of Noam Chomsky's commentary on the issue (http://www.zmag.org/CrisesCurEvts/Timor/timor_index.htm).
InfoTimor links to documents on economics and development in English and Portuguese (http://www.uc.pt/timor/atop.html). The Conference on Sustainable Development covers those topics in English and Bahasa Indonesian (http://members.tripod.com/sd_east_timor/)
Documents on Timor Gap oil issues from the official Australian view can be found at http://www.isr.gov.au/resources/timor-gap/index.html and from an alternative perspective at http://www.gat.com/Timor_Site/.
Human rights
Tapol (http://www.gn.apc.org/tapol/home.htm), Human Rights Watch (www.hrw.org) and Amnesty International's (http://www.amnesty.org/) web sites contain many of the reports and media releases on East Timor. A database of suspects in 1999's violence is available at:
http://yayasanhak.minihub.org/mot. The Justice System Monitoring Project is watching trials in East Timor (http://www.jsmp.minihub.com/).
While many activist sites are no longer maintained, other support groups are still actively campaigning and regularly posting analyses and action suggestions. The International Federation for East Timor site contains a global directory of activist groups (www.etan.org/ifet). Some of the more active sites, in addition to the human rights groups above, include the East Timor Action Network (www.etan.org), Asia Pacific Coalition for East Timor (http://www.iidnet.org/adv/timor/overview.htm), International Platform of Jurists for East Timor (http://www.antenna.nl/~ipjet/) and the Back Door Newsletter that focusses on Australia (http://www.tip.net.au/~wildwood/).
A comprehensive list of active web links on East Timor can be found at http://www.etan.org/resource/websites.htm.
John M Miller (fbp@igc.org) is media and outreach coordinator of the East Timor Action Network (http://www.etan.org/), facilitates the east-timor news list, and is webmaster of the Etan, International Federation for East Timor, and Lao Hamutuk websites.
Inside Indonesia 71: Jul - Sep 2002
Theatre blossoms
A sampling of performances in Java
Julie Janson
My travels in Java coincided with the writing of my own new play The crocodile hotel, about a teacher's experiences in the Northern Territory, the Yolgnu (Aboriginal people in Arnhemland), and their relationship to Indonesia. I saw many Indonesian plays and was seduced by the vibrant energy of artists who were enjoying the creative freedom of Indonesia's reformasi era.
Yudi Ahmad Tajudin is the artistic director of Teater Garasi in Yogyakarta; Kusworo Bayu Aji is its executive director. The company creates two new performances a year and often tours to Jakarta and Surabaya.
At Utan Kayu theatre in Jakarta, I lined up with the young crowd eager to see Garasi's latest production, Percakapan di ruang kosong (Conversation in an empty room), a collaboration between the performers and the writer/ director Gunawan Maryanto. We crowded into the theatre space and took a place on the concrete floor, crouching in the darkness in anticipation. Three ash-covered actors, looking like they were set in concrete industrial cylinders, stared at us in the darkness. The audience was given medical masks, and the floor was covered in ash, perhaps a reference to the World Trade Centre disaster site. The actors recited the poem about a man taking a second wife. A beautiful woman entered, sheltering from rain under a banana leaf. She edged through the ash in a storm to the music of Sundanese drums and an electronic soundscape. She encountered a dog-man and eventually she too became a dog. Then the 'other woman' entered, creating a rich physical distortion between ugliness and delicate emotion.
Much of the work is non-verbal, but Garasi is intoxicated by Javanese traditional music and the influence of the Jathilan performance, which has a ritual basis and is performed in the open streets. They take their inspiration from Jalan Malioboro, Yogyakarta's main thoroughfare, which throbs day and night with music, and where it is possible to see seventy-year-old buskers playing the zither and singing to Dutch tourists.
In Yogyakarta, I met an old friend from Sydney, the musician Sawung Jabo. He was workshopping an innovative movement performance with street people, the desperate and creative young. He spoke about the inter-gang fights in Jakarta, with homemade bows and arrows. He hoped that the theatre and music would give them a means of expressing their feelings about current events. When I returned some months later, Jabo invited me to a rehearsal of Diantara langit dan bumi kita bergerak (We move between earth and sky) by the group Teater Oyot Suket (Grass Roots). The setting was dramatic, an earth floor outside an old house set amongst rice paddies and surrounded by flaming torches.
Aceh
Another friend, the playwright and actress, Ratna Sarumpaet, told me that her group was performing at the Bandung Performing Arts School theatre and said that I had to come. Her new play Alia, luka serambi Mekah (Alia, the wound of the verandah of Mecca) is about the war in Aceh. As in all of Ratna's plays, it concerns a woman fighting for justice. There were 32 actors so the performance had a strong ensemble character. The use of traditional Acehnese dance created a strong sense of village community. Ratna wrote about her play: Alia becomes number one enemy of the authorities ... breaking through the trap of traditional convictions for women, she becomes a person of vision and carries out the teachings of her religion (Islam) with the perspective of justice, the rights of men and women, including the rights of the dead.
When Ratna arrived in Bandung on 16th August she was interviewed on television. Immediately after the broadcast, the police came to the STSI university campus to see her. They asked her why she had not obtained permission for the performance, and she replied that it was art and as it was in a college it was no concern of theirs. The police left. I was struck by this woman's bravery, remembering that she had begun the play while in jail for three months during the days leading up to the overthrow of Suharto. In political terms, her plays are powerful documents that she takes around Indonesia, Europe and the US to educate people about human rights issues in Indonesia. In theatre terms, the plays are didactic and are prone to long impassioned declamatory speeches. Nevertheless they display a courage that is unmatched anywhere.
Overall, the modern and traditional theatre I witnessed in Java during 2001 is vital and dynamic, and it is time it was showcased in international arts festivals. If more Indonesian corporate sponsors would support these groups then the task of touring overseas would be less daunting. Indonesian theatre arts are unique, and the world awaits them.
Playwright Julie Janson (juliejanson@bigpond.com) was the Asialink Literature Resident in Indonesia 2001. Her travels were supported by the Australia Indonesia Institute and the Australia Council for the Arts.
Inside Indonesia 71: Jul - Sep 2002
Witness denied
Australian media responses to the Indonesian killings of 1965-66
Richard Tanter
In the aftermath of the Untung coup and the Suharto countercoup of September 30th and October 1st, 1965 between 100,000 and 1,000,000 Indonesians were killed by the Indonesian army or by civilians supported and encouraged by the army. This genocide was the foundation of Suharto's three decades of power, and beyond that for the whole of post-Vietnam War Southeast Asia. The killings can be regarded as the constitutive terror of the New Order state. How was this genocide seen in Australia? What could Australians have learned from reading the press of the day?
In mid-1966, while the killings that had started in October the year before were continuing unabated, the Australian Prime Minister Harold Holt visited the United States. Speaking to the Australian-American Association at the River Club in New York, Holt expressed his satisfaction with the pro-Western shift of Indonesian foreign policy and economic policy under Suharto after March 1966. This was hardly a surprising position for a conservative politician, but the language that Holt chose to employ was startling:
'With 500,000 to 1 million Communist sympathisers knocked off, I think it is safe to assume a reorientation has taken place.'
As a representation of genocide, the casual brutality of the first part of the politician's sentence (a million people 'knocked off') is stunning. Surely this is what the American psychologist of state terror, Robert Lifton, calls 'psychological numbing' at work: an adjustment to the normality of mass murder. And yet the brutality of Holt's throwaway line was enhanced for his listeners by the smug joke in the second part of the sentence: 'I think it's safe to assume a reorientation has taken place'. It is not hard to imagine the knowing smiles and even guffaws of the powerful and wealthy American audience.
Yet Holt's slip in New York was significant not just in the brutal clarity of his manner of speaking. Holt's remarks were reported the next day in the New York Times, but not, so far as I can discover, in any Australian newspaper. It is most implausible that no Australian US-based correspondents were present. The fact the remarks were not reported at home was not an accident. Even in the roughhouse atmosphere of Australian 1960s anti-communism, Holt had gone much further than would have been safe. Speaking to an invitation-only audience of powerful friends abroad, Holt relaxed his normal political guard and openly revealed the fundamental outlook of Australian anti-communism and racist perceptions of Indonesia. The Australian reporters touring with the Prime Minister or their editors protected their readers from the need to face the historical and moral reality of the genocide next door. (It was to be thirteen years before Holt's remarks were brought to wider attention in Noam Chomsky and Edward Herman's pathbreaking study of the systematic media differentiation of 'constructive' terror (Indonesia) and 'nefarious' terror (Cambodia) in their The Washington connection and Third World fascism.)
In Australia today there is very little awareness of the 1965 killings. In my own experience, apart from those with a close interest in Indonesian affairs, very few people have any knowledge of this set of massive crimes against humanity. While recent public opinion polls show a widespread negative image of New Order Indonesia in Australia, this is largely derived from perceptions of the Indonesian invasion of East Timor. And of course, most people who know nothing of the Indonesian killings in 1965-66 know a great deal about the Khmer Rouge killings a decade later.
This ignorance is not a matter of forgetting something once known. An Australian public opinion poll conducted in the early 1970s by the political scientist Rodney Tiffen showed that while more than half the respondents could identify President Suharto, not a single person mentioned the killings as part of their description of their image of Indonesia.
How can this ignorance or amnesia of genocide in the country nearest Australia be explained?
The first question is a simple question of fact: exactly what information about the killings in Indonesia was provided by the mainstream media of the time? The newspapers of the city of Melbourne Australia's second largest city and the heartland of the old-monied conservative dominance epitomised by Holt make a reasonable sample of the press coverage of the day. I examined all issues between October 1, 1965 and August 30th, 1966 of Melbourne's two daily morning newspapers. These together dominated the Melbourne market: the tabloid Sun News-Pictorial and the 'quality broadsheet' The Age. Both newspapers published many articles on Indonesian politics at the time at least one or more each day. This was almost as many as were published on Vietnam, and far more than at any other time in Australian media history. Most stories were given great prominence in the papers, appearing either on the front page or the principal foreign affairs page.
The Sun
Coverage of the killings in both papers was extremely limited, and grossly distorted. The Sun, the more popular paper, while publishing almost daily major reports on Indonesia, published only five articles in eleven months that even mentioned killings of communists.
Two minor articles in November 1965 reported small numbers of PKI members killed in Java.
The execution of D N Aidit, the PKI leader, was reported in December.
President Sukarno's statement in January 1966 that 87,000 had been killed was reported on two occasions, but in a manner that suggested it was an unreliable report by an irrational politician.
On March 9th 1966, the political columnist Douglas Wilkie discussed Jakarta students as 'rioting in a good cause' (ie. anti-Sukarno), but then went on to make an extremely intriguing statement:
'Many of the students are tools of the Moslem extremists who butchered some 300,000 of their Communist countrymen with kris and club after the September 30 revolt.'
Two aspects of the way this single sentence is written are important. Firstly, in March 1966, the columnist is referring to the mass killings in a way that suggests they are common knowledge already: he sees no need to explain the reference to his readers. Yet those readers would not have been able to find that information in The Sun.
Secondly, Wilkie's allusions to killings by 'kris and club' and to 'Moslem extremists' are characteristic of contemporary Australian (and US) references to both the killings and to Indonesian politics as a whole. 'Indonesia' is a different world from 'here' (Australia), one characterised by immaturity ('It's children's hour in Jakarta'), and by unknowable and irrational causation ('Moslem extremists'), with connotations of racially informed separateness (Indonesians kill with 'kris and club').
Apart from these tiny allusions and reports, nothing appeared in this newspaper until early August of 1966, by which time most of the killings had stopped. On August 5, The Sun's prolific Jakarta correspondent Frank Palmos published a powerful and detailed report beginning: 'More than one million people died in the massacres triggered by the attempted coup in Indonesia on October 1 last year.' The graphic detail in the full-page report came from army participants in the killings, and from a military research report carried out in part by university students. Palmos' report also emphasised the irrational 'blood lust' and 'constant semi-amok' behaviour of young Islamic men.
In sum then, the largest newspaper in Melbourne barely mentioned the killings in the ten months while they were in full sway, and then allowed only a single detailed report to be published. There were no follow-up articles after Palmos' report. The limited information that did appear represented Indonesians as irrational and unknowable racial others.
The Age
Coverage of Indonesia in The Age was even greater than in its popular rival, and coverage of the killings was more extensive. Despite this, The Age's coverage was equally limited and distorting. Like The Sun, The Age published several minor reports of communists killed in fighting in late 1965. It also reported President Sukarno's January pleading for an end to the killings, though in a less hostile manner. In the remainder of 1966, The Age published three articles reporting the killings in some detail. Two of these were somewhat detailed reports by New York Times senior correspondents C L Sulzberger in April and Seymour Topping in August.
The flavour of Sulzberger's report, which did emphasise the genocidal quality and scale of the killings, can be guessed from its original title in the New York Times: 'When a nation goes amok'. Topping's article in August was a much more sober and more detailed account, based on extensive travel in Java, Bali and Eastern Indonesia. There was no editorial comment on Topping's report, nor any follow-up by any of The Age's own writers. When I asked one journalist who wrote extensively on Indonesia that year for The Age why he and his colleagues did not cover the genocide story, he answered, 'Well it's easy to criticise now, Richard. But in those days it was near impossible to get out of Jakarta.' When I put this to Seymour Topping, who like other New York Times correspondents travelled widely and reported in depth on the genocide, he replied, 'That was simply untrue. You could do it if you wanted to.'
Yet in January 1966, much earlier in the period of the killings, The Age published a detailed eyewitness account of the killings by one of its own reporters, Robert Macklin. In 500 words Macklin provided a graphic and convincing account of mass murder that could have left no reader in doubt of what was happening in Indonesia. In journalistic terms, it was a world scoop. Yet, given both its importance and its virtually unique status, Macklin�s article was published deep in the newspaper, well away from both the front page and the foreign affairs section, next to the daily cattle market price reports. Short of not publishing it at all, there could have been no better way of ensuring it went unnoticed.
There was no follow-up either by Macklin or the paper's Southeast Asian correspondent. Macklin himself wondered at the time whether editors of the paper who he even then knew to have close relationships with Australian security organisations had effectively spiked the story.
The choice of words with which The Age discussed Indonesian affairs in themselves carried powerful effects. As in The Sun, paternalistic and racialist assumptions of irrationality and immaturity were common. The day that Sulzberger's April article with its emphasis on amok and kris appeared, The Age editorial discussed Indonesia, without mentioning the killings, expressing the hope for a new direction in condescending but revealing terms:
'It is too much to hope that the new Indonesian regime will be logical; our best hope is that it will be practical.'
Yet there was a far more effective rhetorical device used by the Australian media to deal with the delicate problem of both acknowledging and denying the fact of genocide at the same time. The Southeast Asian correspondent of The Age, a senior journalist and academic political scientist named Creighton Burns, published a great many articles on Indonesian politics in this period. However, only one sentence in many hundreds actually mentioned the killings:
'Djakarta virtually escaped the violence which swept Indonesia in the wake of the October coup, and which resulted in the death of thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands, mostly Communist supporters and sympathisers.'
Burns here provides an early example of a formulation that was to become widely employed in the years to come in western writing on the killings. As George Orwell might have noted, the key to the political effect of the passage lies in the grammar: there is no agent of violent death here. Abstract and disembodied violence 'sweeps Indonesia', resulting in Communist death. In other versions, which were to be repeated during the East Timor crisis of 1999, the phrasing is even more telling: 'X number of Communists died in the wave of violence...'
The agent-less and passive voice was appropriate for what was needed in 1966, and was repeatedly used. Because of the report by Macklin (and later by Sulzberger, Topping, and other sources such as Palmos), it was impossible to deny the holocaust directly. Equally, it was politically highly undesirable that the agency of the army and its instigation of Islamic groups be emphasised.
Wherever possible The Age avoided direct reference to the killings, and effectively suppressed its own inconvenient world scoop by Macklin. When reference to genocide was unavoidable, the highly effective solution was to use the rhetoric of the passive voice. Writing about mass murder in the passive voice provided a remarkably effective complement to simple avoidance and suppression via a form of words that allowed both knowledge of genocide and denial of genocide at the same time. Denial - in the psychoanalytic sense - always involves a process of actively repressing knowledge.
Witness
'Witness' has a double meaning in English. There is firstly the person who takes the role of 'witness' in relation to an event, the person who says 'this is what happened'. My first question then is, where were the Australian witnesses? In what way did Australian newspapers report the Indonesian killings of 1965-66? What did Australian political figures say at that time? What was said in the Australian community at that time?
But there is a second meaning of the word 'witness' in English, a sense captured in the phrase 'to bear witness', meaning to speak of what has been seen, to speak actively of what has happened, and to not be silent. The Australian media and political response to the Indonesian genocide was a matter of 'witness denied' in this sense as well. This is significant not just in the real-politik world, but in the moral sense that many people assume flows from Auschwitz onwards: a responsibility to bear witness to holocaust and genocide. Unlike in Indonesia itself, in 1960s Australia, speaking truth to power required no great risk. Yet, witness was systematically denied.
I began this work trying to answer what seemed to me to be an odd puzzle: why didn't people my age and older in Australia know about the killings? That simple puzzle has led to somewhat more complicated puzzles, bearing a great deal of moral and intellectual weight. It has been a saddening study, particularly tracing back through the intellectual history of the study of Indonesian politics and history in Australia.
All of our work is an act of representation, but we have paid astonishingly little attention to our own intellectual history. The story of the representation of the Indonesian genocide is the point where anti-communism, the demands of the national security state, and in the Australian case at least, a deep measure of racism, fused to smother and then sever the connection to a shared humanity and moral responsibility.
Richard Tanter (rtanter@hotmail.com) teaches at Kyoto Seika University in Japan.
Inside Indonesia 71: Jul - Sep 2002
More than six decades after being inspired as an undergraduate in Sydney, Ron Witton retraces his Indonesian language teacher's journey back to Suriname