The Security Forces as a Source of Insecurity
John Roosa
Imagine the following scenario: three truckloads of men armed with submachine guns and grenade launchers surround a police station late one night. They shoot their way inside and then torch it. In the chaos, sixty-one prisoners escape and over one ton of marijuana being held as evidence disappears. Some of the men then drive to the electricity relay station and force the workers at gunpoint to blackout the city. In total darkness, they head off to attack another police force in the same area. When they withdraw in the morning, after nine hours of unloading their firepower into two police facilities, they have killed seven policemen, three civilians, and suffered one casualty. This is what transpired in the town of Binjai, near Medan, on 29-30 September 2002.
Now imagine who the attackers were. Members of a powerful crime syndicate? Terrorists? Invading soldiers from a different country? Guess again. The attackers were Indonesian army soldiers stationed just down the road. They belonged to an airborne unit (Linud 100) of the army's Strategic Reserves (Kostrad).
Journalists quickly learned that the Kostrad soldiers had attacked the police station because the police were refusing to release a drug dealer who had been paying the soldiers protection money. In the parlance of today's Indonesia, the drug dealer had beking (backing). A group of soldiers had already descended upon the police station the day before the assault and aggressively demanded his release. Determined to show who controlled the drug trade in Binjai, the soldiers decided bring out their heavy weaponry and raze the police station.
The Binjai incident illustrates many of the systemic problems of today's Indonesian military. Under the 'dual-function' doctrine, the military has expansive, undefined, and unchecked powers within Indonesia. Add to this unaccountable power an insatiable drive to find off-budget sources of funding and one has a combustible combination. The late Maj. Gen. Agus Wirahadikusumah, one of the very few officers to whom the label 'reformist' could be accurately used, noted in late 1999 that soldiers had become 'backers of prostitution, gambling, and narcotics and this has become fairly widespread.'
The fact that many troops have experience in brutal counterinsurgency warfare in such areas as West Papua, East Timor, and Aceh certainly does not help them behave well once back in civil society. The Linud 100 unit that carried out the Binjai attack had served in neighboring Aceh. It was one of the units involved in the July 1999 Bantaqiah massacre in Aceh.
Police and soldiers
The hiving off of the police from the military in late 1998 has created a new difficulty for the military's lawlessness. The police have become more assertive - sometimes for the sake of their own illegal rackets, sometimes for the sake of law enforcement. After the Binjai incident, the army officers assigned to damage control wrote op-eds blaming the separation of the police from the military as the root cause of the problem. In a perverse way, they are correct. Before, the military could order the police to not interfere with its corrupt practices. Under the former chain of command, the police chief would have received an order to release the drug dealer. Now, the police, developing their own institutional autonomy, cannot be so easily ordered around. The solution to conflicts such as Binjai is obviously not to put the police back under the military s thumb.
In response to the Binjai incident, vice-president Hamzah Haz surprised many journalists with an uncharacteristically insightful comment: 'The main problem is not that the police and military have been separated. It is that there is beking of criminals and this has involved troop units. So the military leaders first have to attend to this.'
Over the past several years, there have been many similar, though less spectacular, incidents as Binjai. Let me pull out my clippings file.
On 26 December 1999, about 50 members of an army airborne battalion in East Kalimantan attacked and destroyed a police post in the village of Nipah-Nipah. They shot and killed a police corporal and seriously wounded two other policemen. The attack came hours after the policemen had stopped two soldiers riding a motorbike for a traffic violation.
On 28 April 2000, 30 soldiers of an army subdistrict command (Koramil) attacked a police station in Karawang, a town 45 km east of Jakarta. They beat five police officers and stole a gun. One of their men, a sergeant, had been arrested by the police the night before for being involved in an automobile theft.
On 19 June 2000, about 50 marines attacked a police station in the middle of Jakarta (the Mampang headquarters). They stabbed three policemen and wrecked the building. Several nights earlier policemen had brawled with a marine corporal who was a working as a security guard in a caf�.
On 15 September 2001, Kostrad troops attacked a police station in the center of the city of Madiun in East Java. This army riot was triggered by a brawl between soldiers and policemen at a gasoline station pump. A group of policemen objected when a carload of Kostrad soldiers jumped ahead in the queue. The soldiers returned to their barracks and mobilised a large crowd of their brothers-in-arms for the assault on the police station. Three civilian bystanders were killed in the shooting.
This list represents just a sample of the incidents reported in newspapers. In some cases, the soldiers attack policemen to avenge a perceived insult. In other cases, they attack when their economic activities are disturbed.
Bombing
The military has a serious problem not only with the discipline of its personnel but with the management of its equipment. Most worrisome, especially in the wake of the October 2002 bombing in Bali, is the military's lack of control over its explosives.
On 4 May 2000, a bomb made of TNT manufactured by Indonesian weapons company Pindad was found in the Attorney General's office in Jakarta. The serial number was traced back to the East Java army command but at that point the trail ended. The army never revealed how the explosives went missing or who was responsible. The bomb was thought to have been planted by men working for Tommy Suharto who was being questioned by the Attorney General around that time.
The worst bombing in Indonesia prior to the one in Bali was that of the Jakarta Stock Exchange on 13 September 2000. Ten people were killed and the building was badly damaged. Among those charged with the bombing were two military personnel. It is likely the five kilograms of TNT used in the blast came from the military. The official line from the military was that the bombers had deserted their units and acted on behalf of the Free Aceh Movement. However, there are other possibilities. Suspiciously, the two soldiers were able to escape from prison.
Hand grenades have been denotated or left in public places numerous times in Jakarta. In July 2001, one person was killed and 24 injured in two separate explosions of hand grenades. Another 12 people were injured in February 2000 when a hand grenade was thrown into a brothel in a southern part of the city.
Ammunition and guns have disappeared from storehouses. A recent case was in October 2002 when 65,000 bullets were reported missing from a Special Forces warehouse in West Java. In April 2000, the police in West Java discovered that two army sergeants and a lieutenant colonel were involved in a weapons selling syndicate. In Aceh, the independence forces have been able to purchase weapons from the military.
Fighting for Income
When it comes to defending its sources of revenue, the military can be ruthless. It is highly probable that the killing of three schoolteachers working for the mining company Freeport in West Papua on 31 August 2002 was the army's handiwork. The human rights organisation Elsham was the first to allege that the army was responsible. Elsham's claim was corroborated by the province's former police chief, I Made Pastika, who privately told journalists that the police believe the army carried out the murders. The claim has been confirmed by officials in the U.S. embassy in Jakarta who have had access to intercepts of the army's radio communications. According to Hamish McDonald's report in the Sydney Morning Herald (2 November 2002), the army wanted to pressure Freeport into paying US$10 million as protection money.
The military's involvement in the underground economy and its own protection rackets have created serious problems of discipline. Although the rhetoric of the military is all about discipline, the daily practice of the troops is a cut-throat entrepreneurialism. The recent incidents in Binjai and Timika indicate that the military is largely superfluous and counterproductive as a domestic security force. Even in conflict regions where it faces an armed insurrection (as in Aceh and Papua), it devotes much of its time to fighting civilians and policemen to secure its own revenue. The solution is simple enough: end the military's dual-function, territorial structure, and business activity and make it entirely dependent on funds allocated by the state. Implementing this solution, however, appears nearly impossible. The military is committed to the status quo and the civilian politicians are not committed to military reform.
John Roosa (jproosa@indo.net.id), a historian of South and Southeast Asia, is guest editor of this issue.
Inside Indonesia 73: Jan - Mar 2003
What's Wrong With Freeport's Security Policy?
A report by a human rights organisation in West Papua
Institute for Human Rights Study and Advocacy (Elsham)
The shooting by unidentified gunmen on 31 August 2002 on the road from Timika to the Freeport mining enclave of Tembagapura in which two American citizens and one Indonesian citizen were killed and twelve others were injured is a demonstration of the strength of militarism and impunity in Indonesia. It calls into question relations between Freeport McMoRan, PT Freeport Indonesia (Freeport's Indonesian subsidiary), and the military.
At noon on the afternoon of Saturday 31 August, a convoy of trucks carrying teachers and children from Timika's International School was seen by two Freeport employees stopping at mile 62-63 on its way back to Tembagapura. Minutes later a Freeport employee and his wife arrived at the scene and, seeing the convoy under attack, quickly returned to the mile 64 security checkpoint to call for help. Immediately after the shooting, the military blocked off the road between mile 50 and 64.
Decky Murib was an eyewitness to the attack and is currently under police protection. He was a former member of an indigenous Papuan civilian group recruited by the Indonesian Special Forces (Kopassus) to assist with covert operations. He has told Elsham investigators that Kopassus members were involved in the shooting.
Eyewitnesses have confirmed that a Freeport company vehicle from its Grasberg mining site arrived at the scene just prior to the attack. The vehicle was driven by a Freeport employee and was transporting members of the armed forces. According to standard Freeport policy, all company vehicles from the Grasberg site must be checked out in writing. Review of vehicle documents from the morning of 31 August should provide important information about the perpetrators of the attack.
The military's accusations
On the night of 31 August there was an agreement between the military and the police to patrol the area of the shooting. The next day, 1 September at 8:00am, the police were fired on while conducting a search of the area. They took cover. Later, personnel from the army unit Kostrad 515 approached claiming that they were guarding the ambush site and had just shot one of the alleged 31 August gunmen. The military brought the body of the victim, Elias Kwalik, to the side of the road, where police investigators took over the case.
The results of a medical examination on Kwalik revealed that he had been dead for approximately 12 hours prior to the 1 September shooting. A Freeport employee informed Elsham investigators that he had seen Kwalik at Mile 38 at 3:00pm on August 31, waiting for a ride, and had recommended to Kwalik that he return to Timika because of the military operations farther up the road.
Despite a lack of evidence, Indonesian military and governmental officials - as well as senior Freeport management - publicly attributed responsibility for the 31 August attack to the TPN/OPM (National Liberation Army/Free Papua Organisation). In response to such accusations, the head of the the TPN/OPM, Kelly Kwalik, issued a statement on 17 September stating that he and his group were not responsible for the shooting. He reiterated his earlier statements that he had cancelled any plans to attack Freeport and reaffirmed his commitment to establishing Papua as a Zone of Peace.
Since March 2002, indigenous Papuans' concerns about the escalating threat of an Indonesian military and police crackdown led civil society groups including Elsham to urgently pursue an initiative on conflict resolution. The groups set up a Peace Task Force in July 2002, inviting Indonesian civil and military authorities as well as TPN/OPM leaders to enter into a dialogue to establish Papua as a Zone of Peace.
The culmination of the first stage of the Zone of Peace process was a conference co-sponsored by the governor, police chief, and the provincial parliament together with Elsham and other civil society groups. It was held in Jayapura on 15-16 October 2002. Major General Mahidin Simbolon, regional commander of the Indonesian military in Papua, was the only official who refused to participate in the initiative. As part of the Zone of Peace initiative, the Task Force separately met with Papua's police chief, chairman of the provincial parliament, and governor as well as all TPN/OPM leaders, including Kelly Kwalik, with very successful responses.
Immediate background
Regardless of the peace initiative or its results, there had been an increase in military activity. The day before the shooting, on 30 August, there had been a joint armed forces operation including the army, special forces, marines, and mobile brigade police (Brimob) in the area of the shooting. Attacks on Freeport personnel and local indigenous Papuans had been escalating since December 2001.
In December 2001, two Freeport environmental unit employees were shot at the Grasberg mine site. No investigation into the attack was conducted. The shootings were reportedly carried out by unidentified gunmen wearing military uniforms.
In April 2002, Kopassus attacked indigenous Papuan civilians in the lowland hamlet of Kali Kopi in which one civilian was killed and seven others were arrested and tortured.
On 25 May 2002, five to seven Papuans holding axes and one revolver attacked Freeport security guards at the main office building in the company's Western-style suburb town of Kuala Kencana. They then fled the scene.
Despite the fact that all of these cases had been reported to Freeport security, company management took no action to investigate and apprehend the groups perpetrating these crimes. It was in this atmosphere of total impunity that the 31 August attack took place.
It should be noted that the Indonesian military has a long history of destabilising violence in the area of Freeport's mining operations. For example, in 1994, armed forces battalions 752 and 733, posing as a TPN/OPM unit, shot and killed a Freeport employee on the road near Mile 62. An Australian employee was shot and wounded in the same incident. In March 1996, the military orchestrated a 'riot' that caused the closure of the mining operation for three days. This led to an exponential increase in the number of troops based in the area.
Freeport's security policy
The 31 August attack is reminiscent of previous military assaults on Freeport employees and the military's other destructive acts directed at the company. Not only have elements of the military attacked Freeport employees and the local community, they have also stolen Freeport property. Soldiers of the army unit Kostrad 515 while on duty at Freeport in March-June 2002 stole six tons of wire from a factory at mile 74 and later sold it for Rp 8,000 [US$.90] per kilogram. They also stole Caterpillar trucks with an estimated value of US$150,000 from a warehouse at mile 39 in mid-June 2002.
From a business standpoint, these criminal activities by the company's security forces are extremely disadvantageous to Freeport shareholders' interests. Although Freeport management is aware of these cases, the corporation has taken no legal action against the perpetrators.
Freeport's lack of responsiveness is further demonstrated by its policy after the human rights violations in 1994-5. The Indonesian armed forces killed or disappeared 16 civilians, raped five local women, and tortured and arbitrarily detained dozens of other community members. While corporate management publicly stated its concern about the abuses on several occasions, Freeport continued to augment its relationship with the Indonesian military.
Since 1995, Freeport officials have claimed that Freeport's Contract of Work (COW) with the Indonesian government actually requires the company to provide logistical support to the Indonesian military and police. However, none of the company's COWs includes any such explicit stipulation.
Freeport's continual failure to act in response to human rights violations and other violent attacks in the lead up to the 31 August shootings, and even more interestingly, its failure to respond to criminal activities of the security forces against its own business interests, calls into question its security policy and its commitment to the protection of its employees and human rights more generally.
Elsham is concerned that this case will be dealt with in the same manner as the November 2001 assassination of Papuan leader Theys Eluay, which has resulted in the trial of Kopassus soldiers as individuals before a military tribunal, with no investigation into the decision-makers who ordered the killing or the state policies of which the killing was a result. Unless the policies of the Indonesian central government and Freeport security are investigated, human rights violations and attacks of this nature will continue with impunity.
Elsham (ElshamNewsService@jayapura.wasantara.net.id), founded in 1998, is based in Jayapura, West Papua. This article is extracted from a longer report issued on October 21, 2002. The full report can be obtained at Elsham's website www.geocities.com/elshamnewsservice. The army has threatened to sue Elsham for alleging army responsibility for the killings.
Inside Indonesia 73: Jan - Mar 2003
Security Disorders
Sending Troops is not Going to Solve Regional Conflicts
Douglas Kammen
Indonesia is presently faced with large-scale conflicts in the regions of Aceh, West Papua, Ambon, and Central Sulawesi. The basic remedy of successive governments in the post-Suharto period has been to send more troops to these regions. There has been a steady and dramatic rise in the number of troops deployed since 1998. These additional troops have not ended the conflicts. In fact, they have set in motion a dangerous dynamic in which the military finds itself incapable of doing anything but sending more and more troops.
The Indonesian army is organised on the basis of a territorial structure. Paralleling the civilian bureaucracy, this structure extends from the twelve regional military commands down to the village-level babinsa. It serves as the army's instrument for policing society. Troops within the structure are intended to be strongly rooted to their area and are thus referred to as 'organic' troops. If a violent conflict within a region becomes too large for them to handle, the military high command in Jakarta dispatches what are called 'non-organic' troops from other territorial commands or combat troops from the army's Strategic Reserves (Kostrad) and Special Forces (Kopassus)
In responding to the armed movements for independence in Aceh and West Papua and the Christian-Muslim violence in Ambon, Central Kalimantan, and Central Sulawesi, the military has relied on the deployment of 'non-organic' and Kostrad troops. Indeed, the military seems to have no other strategy.
Deployments
Since the fall of President Suharto in 1998 the military has sharply increased the number of troops deployed from all service branches (the army, air force, navy, and police). I will consider only army deployments in this essay since they constitute the vast bulk of the troops.
In 1998, in addition to the territorial units already in conflict zones, the army deployed at least 28 additional battalions to East Timor, Aceh and Papua. Non-organic troops were predominant in East Timor and Aceh while Kostrad troops were predominant in Papua.
In 1999, deployment increased to at least 29 battalions. While the number of troops in East Timor remained roughly the same as the previous year, it dropped in both Aceh and Papua and increased in Ambon in response to the outbreak of communal violence there.
In 2000, troop deployment further increased to at least 40 battalions. That increase took place despite the commitment of President Wahid, who took office in October 1999, to find negotiated solutions to separatism and ethnic-religious conflict. Those 40 battalions represented nearly one third of total Army troop strength. Remarkably, the Moluccan islands received the greatest number (15 non-organic and 4 Kostrad battalions), followed by Aceh (7 non-organic battalions), Papua (7 Kostrad battalions), West Timor (2 non-organic and 4 Kostrad battalions), and Poso (3 non-organic battalions).
The following year, 2001, at least 57 battalions were deployed to handle regional violence. This included a sharp increase in Aceh (8 non-organic and 6 Kostrad battalions), a modest increase in West Timor (5 non-organic and 3 Kostrad battalions), a significant decrease in Papua (2 non-organic and 3 Kostrad battalions), a larger increase in Ambon (21 non-organic battalions but only 1 Kostrad battalion), as well as stable numbers in Poso (3 non-organic battalions) and new deployments to Central Kalimantan (3 non-organic and 2 Kostrad battalions).
With improvements in Poso, Central Kalimantan, and Papua, the total number of battalions deployed in 2002 has dropped to 44. This includes 14 non-organic and 3 Kostrad battalions in Ambon and 13 non-organic and 8 Kostrad battalions in Aceh, and lower levels in West Timor and Papua.
In viewing the army's deployments, it is clear that the military's strategy to handle regional conflicts has been to throw more and more troops at them. In the four years from 1998 to 2001, the number of non-territorial battalions sent to conflict areas jumped from 28 to 57. Counting territorial troops as well as non-organic and Kostrad battalions, more than half of the Army's battalions are now bogged down in Aceh, Papua, Ambon, and along the border with East Timor. Still other units are on alert for the return of the Islamic organisation Laskar Jihad from Ambon to East Java and the safeguarding of Bali in the wake of the 12 October bombing. Other battalions have been confined to barracks because of disciplinary infractions. Escalation is reaching its limits.
A vicious cycle
The experience of the past four years suggests that the military now finds itself caught in a vicious cycle of escalation and deescalation. The logic works something like this. When regional violence increases, the military responds by sending more external troops to the region. But given the competing chains of command, the poor training of troops, the military's own deeply entrenched business interests, and the ambiguous mission assigned to the troops ('restore order'), escalation invariably leads to atrocities. When atrocities occur, civilian and military elites frequently respond by reducing the number of external troops. But this reduction creates a situation conducive to new atrocities either by the military or the local combatants. Then the cycle begins again.
Let us look more closely at this cycle of escalation-atrocity-deescalation-atrocity-reescalation. In Aceh, there was a deescalation in August 1998 when President Habibie ordered the withdrawal of external troops. In the months that followed, the remaining troops committed a series of massacres, perhaps to impress upon the Acehnese that the withdrawal did not signal a weakening of the military's resolve. The Bantaqiah massacre of July 1999, in which soldiers shot and killed 71 civilians, was the most brazen atrocity during this wave of repression. The reescalation was not immediate. President Wahid attempted to prevent the military from reescalating but he was finally forced to back down.
The reescalation in Aceh began with the creation of a new Operations Implementation Command (Komando Pelaksanaan Operasi, abbreviated Kolakops) in early 2001. Deployments of external troops began soaring. The military elite viewed the creation of Kolakops as a necessary means of ensuring that there was a single chain of command to oversee both the territorial military apparatus and external troops. A year later Kolakops was replaced by the Iskandar Muda Regional Military Command.
The same cycle can be seen in Ambon. After the first outbreak of violence in early 1999, the government began sending large numbers of external troops there. To deal with the incoming troops, the military reestablished the Pattimura Regional Military Command in May 1999. Its task was to coordinate the activities of the territorial military units and the increasing number of external troops. After a number of atrocities, the army in 2001 reduced the number of battalions from Kostrad and East Java which were seen to be siding with the Muslim population. But this change in troop deployments did not reduce the conflict. The separatist organisation, the Republik Maluku Selatan (RMS), issued a militant declaration in early 2002 which led to a new massacre of civilians. And so, as was the case in Aceh, the military responded by sending more troops and establishing yet another command, the Restoration of Security Operation Command (Komando Operasi Pemulihan Keamanan).
Strangely, the majority of battalions deployed to Ambon over the past two years have been artillery, engineering, and cavalry battalions, rather than regular infantry battalions. According to sources in Ambon, these battalions have been utilised because the army is short-handed. These units resent being posted as peace-keepers, something for which they were not trained. But that does not mean that they have neglected their own specialisations: sources report that both the Christian and Muslim communities have gained much of their expertise in assembling bombs and weapons from the artillery units on duty in Ambon.
As for Papua, the cycle has not yet run its full course there. While the first several stages have been evident in Papua, the military has thus far not sought to reescalate. Perhaps the generals in Jakarta fear that any attempt to assert centralised military control over Papua would result in increased tensions between the well-entrenched Special Forces and non-organic or Kostrad units.
This trajectory of escalation-atrocity-deescalation-atrocity-reescalation in Aceh, Ambon, and Papua is all too reminiscent of the last decade of Indonesian rule in East Timor. Lacking alternative means for resolving the root causes of conflict, military deescalation invariably leads to new atrocities by either the military or the local insurgents. The subsequent renewal of violence only seems to confirm the view - one held not only by the military but also by many civilian elites - that the military is the only institution capable of containing violence, and hence of preserving Indonesian unity. And thus escalation begins once again.
Civil-military relations
The steady rise in military deployments within Indonesia since May 1998 has led many observers to conclude that the military has new designs on political power. It is undoubtedly true that the military is in a stronger political position today than at any time over the past two decades (including the late Suharto era!), but this does not necessarily mean that the military is scheming to seize state power.
Rather, the dramatic increase in troop deployments reflects the failure of civilian elites to assert their supremacy over the military and to offer non-military solutions to the country's pressing regional problems. The civilian elites have been relying on the military to find solutions to the conflicts in Aceh, Papua, Ambon, and Poso. But passing the buck will not end the violence.
Inside Indonesia 73: Jan - Mar 2003
Editorial
Peace building in the wake of terror
Emma Baulch
This issue of Inside Indonesia is devoted to the political and social aftermath of the Bali bombing. In the mainstream press, the event was largely reported as a series of images depicting flames against a night sky, rows of body bags, charred survivors, and whole buildings laid to waste. The contributions to this edition provide a welcome contrast to this mainstream coverage by highlighting Indonesian people's efforts to resist terror, by pro-actively securing peace.
This hopeful message emerges in the lead article by Mayra Walsh in which she describes how staff and students at Darur Ridwan embraced cross cultural and inter-religious solidarity in their efforts to console each other following the bombing. Ngurah Karyadi's, Christine Foster's and Sherry Kasman Entus' contributions, which focus on Balinese people's recovery efforts, are similarly optimistic. All three stories stress Balinese people's heightened commitment to sustainable tourism development in the context of post-bomb development planning.
Other articles in this edition do not directly relate to the theme of the Bali bombing, yet echo other stories of people's attempts to secure and maintain peace in the wake of the bomb. Kautsar details Acehnese civilians' efforts to play a decisive part in the implementation of the territory's new peace accord. Jake Lynch describes Indonesian journalists' and editors' involvement in a peace journalism training workshop in Manado where they exhibited their eagerness to learn how to constructively report on conflict.
On a more somber note, Greg Fealy's and Jessica Champagne's contributions point to widespread distrust of law enforcement agencies as the root cause of popular conspiracy theories regarding the perpetrators of the bombing. Tim Behrend argues that Abu Bakar Ba'asyir, the Muslim cleric accused of masterminding a series of bombings in Indonesia that preceded the attacks on Bali, does not advocate political violence nor contain terrorist elements. Behrend nonetheless describes Ba'asyir as troublesome, for his naive politics and strongly anti-Semitic views.
These inclusions provide important counterweights to this edition's more upbeat contributions. Yet they do not overshadow them, and most of this edition's stories add considerable grit and flavour to Ed Aspinall's assessment of national politics in the wake of the bombing. He argues that, contrary to expectations, the bombing has not strengthened the hand of the military. Rather, the post-bomb national political scene now accommodates a hybrid, albeit shaky, democratic order.
Emma Baulch is a guest editor of Inside Indonesia
Inside Indonesia 74: Apr - Jul 2003
Stand your ground
A radio series gives voice to East Timorese stories of resistance to Indonesian occupation
Matt Abud
Lelo, a farmer in the eastern district of Los Palos, told of how he once carried an injured resistance leader Xanana Gusmao in a basket on his back, covered only by leaves.
On New Year's Day 2001, I watched the first sunrise together with some colleagues from the top of Mount Ramelau, the highest peak in East Timor. The mountain cast an arrow-like shadow to the west, and the whole country was laid out below us: northern and southern coasts, deep valleys rumpled together, dramatic mountain ridges criss-crossing each other all the way from the eastern coastal tip to the western border with Indonesia. It was a stunning view of a tiny country, where East Timor's Falintil guerrillas had fought a continuous war for independence ever since Indonesia's 1975 invasion. The view made me wonder how, with so little room to move, and pitted against an enormous military force, the guerrillas had kept their hopes alive for twenty-four years.
A year later, a bright young Timorese school student also confessed bewilderment. 'What did Falintil do, anyway?' she asked me 'They couldn't fight, they could only hide all the time.' It was January 2002, and six East Timorese colleagues and I were convening a discussion group at the student's school in Dili. We'd brought the discussion group together to clarify our own ideas, before starting on an ambitious story-telling project. In a few months, on 20 May 2002, East Timor was to gain full national independence. There was a great need for recognition and commemoration of the struggle and suffering that had led to the achievement of independence. Our seven-person team had been given the chance to produce a 12-part oral history radio documentary series, which would tell some of these stories. But what were the stories that people needed to hear?
Time to reflect
Our discussion group revealed that the students knew bits and pieces of their history - about the invasion, resistance, and massacres that took place in the 1970s - because their teacher had given them a project to talk to the older members of their families, and write up the stories. But they were largely unaware of events that had taken place throughout the 1980s, up until the Pope's 1989 visit and the Santa Cruz massacre in 1991. As we traveled around the country in the course of our work, people would tell us in great detail what had happened in their local area. But they didn't always know what was happening in other places, even though they commonly resisted the Indonesian occupation.
Certainly, information had been tightly controlled during the occupation. Within certain family and community networks, some stories were very well known. For example, primary-school students in the mountains were often aware of the Falintil guerrillas' activities in their area. But outside of those networks and areas, even with Timor's small, tight-knit population, oppression and suspicion kept many stories underground. After the Indonesian military's departure in 1999 these stories could now be shared with a wider, even national audience. Yet from 1999 onwards, the urgency of addressing material needs often meant there was no time for processes like storytelling, reflection, and other ways of dealing with a traumatic past.
When we talked to former resistance fighters, some were philosophical about East Timor's new reality, but many were disappointed or even bitter. Several of those who had fought as Falintil guerrillas, as well as those who had been part of civilian clandestine movement, had become marginalised in the economic difficulties and rapid changes that followed 1999's independence vote. Among a number of them, the absence of formal recognition has fuelled volatile frustrations and resentment.
For the East Timorese government, according such formal recognition presents something of a hot potato. Across the country a number of so-called 'security groups' have become established, and several observers say they could affect the country's stability. Many such groups claim strong resistance pedigree as the basis for their prestige; others dispute the veracity of those claims. For many reasons, social, political, and simply emotional, there has been a great need for Timor's memory and history to be gathered together and shared. When East Timor's independence began to draw close in 2002, non-government organisations, multinational funding agencies, resistance veterans and the UN administration, showed strong interest in making a start on this process. Beneath the aegis of a committee overseeing the demobilisation and reintegration of ex-Falintil guerrillas who hadn't been recruited into the defense force, they proposed an oral history radio documentary series that would begin broadcasting on Radio Untaet (which became Radio Timor Leste after 20 May 2002) in the lead up to independence.
We decided to call the program 'Tuba Rai Metin', which means Stand Your Ground. We put it together in Tetum, East Timor's national indigenous language (although with many other regional languages, it is not universally spoken). Radio, as an aural medium, also enhanced the material's reach. Tuba Rai Metin is therefore the first broadly accessible history of East Timor. As initially conceived, the series was to focus on the experience of the Falintil guerrillas, but this was quickly changed after many, including members of Falintil themselves, insisted on]the importance of telling how they worked together with the civilian clandestine movement.
Stories
People related stories of tragedy and strength, courage and comedy, and almost unvaryingly showed a great humility as they spoke about what they had seen and done. Lelo, a farmer in the eastern district of Los Palos, told of how he once carried an injured resistance leader Xanana Gusmao in a basket on his back, covered only by leaves. When Indonesian soldiers asked what the basket held he answered, 'Food for the pigs'. It was the same answer he gave his wife at home. She scolded him for putting the basket on the floor, only to be mortified with embarrassment when Xanana revealed himself.
Peregrinha, a young woman in the clandestine movement, recalled how she had intimidated East Timorese working for Indonesia's military by brandishing a pistol at them - a dangerous game of grass-roots brinkmanship which relied on nobody guessing the pistol was in reality a cigarette-lighter. Luis Katana recounted how he, together with colleagues, had jumped the US Embassy fence in Jakarta during the 1994 Apec meeting. He nearly didn't make it - Indonesian security forces grabbed his leg and were trying to pull him back to the Indonesian side of the fence. In the end, his friends on the other side, who had hold of his other leg, prevailed, and he dropped onto US soil.
People also told of how they communicated by hiding notes under a rock in the fields, to be collected after dark. Villagers explained how they left some leaves from their extra harvest turned over, as a signal to guerrillas for them to take it. Dogs were also an unsung weapon of the resistance - time and again sympathisers would call out to their dog, as a code to warn guerrillas in hiding that the military was approaching. In other warnings children threw rocks on the roofs of safe-houses, part of the games they were playing in the street, and an instant signal for those inside.
Knowledge empowers
Tuba Rai Metin was never an attempt to present a complete history. We did locate people's stories in rough chronological and thematic context, starting from 1975 through to the 1999 vote for independence. We aimed to put key points on the record, and to avoid emphasising any one historical phase over another. One powerful program included testimony from East Timorese who had lost family to internecine killings in the hills in the late-1970s, when Fretilin was the predominant authority. Another touched on splits between some Falintil commanders and Xanana Gusmao's leadership in the mid-1980s, which have ongoing ramifications today. In neither case did we attempt anything definitive, nor address in any great depth the many historical debates involved. But at least these parts of history could be put on the public record for a national audience.
This article is dedicated to Batista Canigio, Tuba Rai Metin team member who died of illness during the course of production.
Matthew Abud (mattabud@hotmail.com) has been working in radio in East Timor since 1999, and produced Tuba Rai Metin.
Representing history is a powerful issue of political legitimacy, in East Timor as much as anywhere else in the world. At its most obvious, current tensions between the Fretilin government and President Xanana Gusmao are contests for legitimacy at the national level. Fretilin places great store on its role leading the struggle in the seventies, and its enduring symbols, which command great loyalty, date from that era. Gusmao emphasises directions taken from the 1980s onwards when his own leadership began, which is held up as a more pluralist approach - and again, he and what he represents call up powerful loyalties. These differences were wrestled over during the resistance and many resulting splits are still alive and potent today. It is often difficult for East Timorese people (and international observers), who are not familiar with this history, and therefore have difficulty understanding contemporary East Timorese politics.
Inside Indonesia 74: Apr - Jul 2003
Making peace newsworthy
Indonesian journalists attend a peace journalism training workshop in Manado
Jake Lynch
Indonesian journalists have the advantage over most of their Western counterparts in at least one respect - experience of frontline conflict coverage.
As recent training workshops with Indonesian journalists reveal, by contrast, that many have indeed been close to violence and now carry, seared into their minds, some terrible sights and experiences from the conflicts that have scarred so many parts of the country in recent years.
In late 2002, more than 200 Indonesian journalists, including reporters and editors from SCTV, RCTI, Kompas and the Antara news agency participated in peace journalism training workshops in Jakarta, Surabaya, Makassar and Manado. The workshops were part of a broader peace journalism project, which the author helped to run, and which were developed in conjunction with the British Council, as well as several Indonesian media reform groups, and funded by the British Embassy.
The Manado leg of the trip comprised a workshop for journalists from north Maluku, as well as a field trip where participants from national news organisations filed reports for their own newsdesks, with trainers acting as consultants, encouraging them to think about how their reporting would contribute to a wider understanding of peacebuilding concepts in Indonesia.
With a plentiful supply of conflict zones to choose from, why, then, did we end up in Manado for a field trip in Peace Journalism, where we worked alongside journalists from leading news organisations as they filed reports aimed at helping Indonesian society to seek peaceful solutions to conflicts?
Peaceful conflict
Manado, the capital of North Sulawesi, is, after all, known as one of the safest places in Indonesia. In fact, Manado offers important lessons about both conflict and peace, for North Sulawesi has managed to avoid the violence engulfing its neighbours. In North Maluku and Ambon to the east, and Poso to the south, Muslims and Christians ended up at each other's throats - but not here.
Across the Celebes sea lie the troubled southern provinces of the Philippines - Mindanao, Basilan and Jolo, fingered in the War on Terror as strongholds of Muslim separatism and Abu Sayyaf kidnappers. And what's this in Manado, revealed to the more careful observer? Look again, and the cupolas of the occasional Mosque - less conspicuous but still numerous - are visible on the skyline. This colourful, vibrant, thriving city has different strokes for different folks.
What's at stake for such a community is not the absence of conflict but the capacity to respond to conflict issues with non-violent means. The word, 'conflict' is often used, in news reports, as a synonym for fighting or violence. Understanding the difference is crucial to peace journalism. In an analytical sense, conflict simply means two or more parties pursuing incompatible goals.
If, in order to avoid a repetition of the harrowing scenes witnessed by many Indonesian journalists, we required an absence of conflict, we would be condemned to perennial disappointment. The peace journalists descended on Manado to try to find out how this beautiful city has managed to live with conflict, within and without - and yet avoided lapsing into the kind of violence that has afflicted surrounding areas across a radius of hundreds of miles. Peace, in Manado, is something that many people are actively working at, all the time.
These active people include religious leaders, coming together to give messages of tolerance and mutual understanding to their followers. Relief agencies have worked to prevent the trauma brought to North Sulawesi, in the minds of thousands of refugees from North Maluku, from festering, and potentially inflaming religious sensibilities in Manado itself. The peace journalists will never forget the sight and sound of Christian children, singing Christian songs in a refugee camp, led by a Muslim teacher wearing a headscarf (jilbab).
Good news and hard news
In the hands of the more creative reporters, interviews with these children, about their hopes and experiences, became the basis for wonderful stories, full of imaginative connections and arresting images, which contain much of the music of today's Indonesia. These were great pieces of peace journalism - real contributions to the understanding we will need if a more peaceful future is to lie ahead.
Most editors would still think of these as 'features', but there was no shortage of 'hard news' in Manado either. This was the time of the Bali bomb, and Manado had its own explosion on the same night. Its location - outside the Philippines consulate - seemed to portend infiltration by outsiders, intent on drawing Manado into political struggles which have taken on a religious overtone.
The incident did draw a show of strength from the city's famous militia groups; prominent among them, Brigade Manguni, the 'Night Owls' of North Sulawesi. Their rampage through the streets, hundreds clinging to open-topped vehicles, wearing black t-shirts and shouting at the top of their voices, looked both spectacular and slightly sinister - it certainly made dramatic TV pictures.
Listen carefully to these people, though, and they project a sort of muscular communitarianism, which may not be as threatening as their appearance suggests. What would they do, if, for instance, any of their members discovered 'outsiders' in Manado? Why, hand them over to the police, of course. If they keep their word - and the signs are that, so far, broadly speaking, they have - then that would at least represent a step forward from the situation in other, more troubled parts.
In Poso, for instance, the trigger incident for the first round of rioting came when a Muslim man, injured in a street brawl with Christian youths, ran instead into a local Mosque to rouse fellow believers to take revenge. One pervasive form of structural violence in Indonesia is a lack of impartial and transparent law enforcement - so people don't trust or feel they can rely on the police. The militias in Manado were formed amid suspicions that Laskar Jihad was plotting to cause trouble. In a sense, tseirs could be a positive response - 'OK, let's give the police a helping hand, as vigilant and active citizens'.
There are dangers to this situation of course, to do with 'in-group' and 'out-group' politics. Who decides who belongs here and who does not; and how? Police were just beginning to carry out sweeps for ID cards, something the militias have been calling for, but there were fears that this could prove divisive. Word on the street was that, if you really wanted an ID card, you had to pay considerably more than the official going rate of Rp 5,000, or face an interminable wait. Those without proper accreditation were likely to be the poor, like refugees who now cling to one of the lowest rungs of the economic ladder as street vendors.
In Ethnic Conflict & Civic Life, Ashutosh Varshney, an Indian political scientist based at the University of Michigan, offers a sociological profile of 'Peaceful Cities' in India, which identifies several common characteristics. One is that members of different sections of the communi$y mingle freely in civic society.
In Manado, we met a group of volleyball players - some Christian, some Muslim; their game taking place in the shadow of one of the city's most beautiful churches, with a local religious leader (ulama) among the spectators. Equally, we discovered journalists making their own contribution. In Ambon, notoriously, the giant Jawa Pos group runs both a Christian and a Muslim newspaper, each of which has often adopted a strident sectarian stance. Here, there is just one Jawa Pos group newspaper, the Manado Post, and every day it has a double-page spread called Teropong - 'Lens' in English - devoted to cross-cutting religious issues. Christian, Islamic and other religious figures are equally at home here; a Muslim and a Christian journalist form the dynamic two-person team responsible for it.
Jake Lynch (JakeMLynch@aol.com) helped run the Peace Journalism project, and was one of the trainers at the Manado workshop.
Inside Indonesia 74: Apr - Jul 2003
How to make peace
Civilians demand a part in Aceh's peace process
Kautsar
On 9 December 2002, representatives of the Indonesian government and the Free Aceh Movement (Gerakan Aceh Merdeka or GAM) signed an agreement for a 'Cessation of Hostilities' (CoH) at a meeting in Geneva, Switzerland. The agreement was reached after a long series of negotiations between the two sides which began in early 2000 during the presidency of Abdurrahman Wahid. This has been a long and exhausting process which has produced both great hope and shattering disappointment in the past. In mid-2000 the two sides agreed to a 'humanitarian pause,' leading to a dramatic decrease in violence. Within weeks, however, the agreement began to break down and before long violence had reached an unparalleled intensity. Between January and November last year alone, according to the Aceh Commission for Disappearances and Victims of Violence (KontraS), over 1,300 people were killed.
In conflicts like that in Aceh, it is frequently only the views of the armed parties which are heard. This article presents one viewpoint from Acehnese civil society.
In addition to agreeing to a ceasefire, in very general terms, the recent peace negotiations on Aceh made three hopeful steps toward finding lasting peace in the territory. Firstly, the two sides recognised that it is crucial to build trust in order to stop conflict. Secondly, they recognised the need for freedom of political expression in civil society. Thirdly, they established a Joint Security Committee, consisting of Indonesian military (TNI), GAM, and foreign (Thai and Filipino) military representatives which will take responsibility for monitoring and decision-making in the technical matters related to the ceasefire. During the 'humanitarian pause' in 2000, there was no international involvement in the monitoring process. Moreover, the Henry Dunant Centre (HDC), the Swiss-based non-government organisation which has facilitated the talks has been upgraded to a 'mediator' role, and now has the authority to sanction violations of the agreement.
There were other positive signs, compared to previous negotiations. For the first time, prior to their commencement, the talks were widely publicised on the internet and in the mass media, both in Indonesia and overseas. In particular, the talks attracted more international interest than ever. A number of Western diplomats were present at the signing of the Agreement, and on 3 December 2002, even before the talks commenced, potential international donors gathered in Japan to start planning financial support for Aceh's reconstruction. Delegates to the conference recognised that if the peace process is to work, Aceh's civilian population must be at the centre of plans for Aceh's future.
Also for the first time, both GAM and the TNI consulted with civilian organisations prior negotiating with each other, and used issues raised at these consultations as reference material for the talks.
The agreement also provides means for victims of violence which takes place during the CoH to complain to the JSC (which is headed by a Thai military officer), which is then empowered to investigate. This means that the public has direct access to the structures responsible for maintaining peace, without being hampered by complex bureaucracies. Previously, complainants had to appeal to either GAM or the TNI, which were then responsible for reporting complaints to the JSC, although they rarely did so.
In spite of these positive steps, some sections of Acehnese civil society remain critical of the Agreement. A meeting facilitated by the Acehnese Civil Society Task Force in Banda Aceh on 16 December 2002, aimed to provide a forum for civilians to express their views on how peace should be implemented. Participants in the meeting wanted the international community to understand that the agreement only represents a first stage, not a final stage, in the resolution of conflict in Aceh. Civilian institutions are also eager for the UN to send a team to investigate human rights violations in Aceh. Most importantly, however, they are anxious to ensure their integral involvement in the implementation of any long-term peace plan.
Resolving human rights violations
Over the past 25 years, the majority of the 10,000 victims of the conflict have been civilians. Countless other civilians have been victims of human rights violations, all of which are yet to be properly investigated. Investigation of human rights violations, and a just resolution for victims (for instance, trials of human rights perpetrators) will engender public trust and optimism about the present peace process, and will help avoid future impunity.
Release of political prisoners
The detention of political prisoners and prisoners of war in Aceh is also an ongoing problem. Many people are still detained for their political beliefs, and many prisoners of war are still held at military posts. The Indonesian government and GAM therefore need to free all such persons, both to ensure civil and political liberties and to engender trust between the two parties.
Public participation in efforts to maintain a ceasefire
Like previous peace plans, the current agreement is laid out in very general terms. This means that the Joint Security Committee needs to specify more clearly how the ceasefire is going to be maintained, and how the peace process will move forward. This will require the two parties entering into further discussions in order to flesh out and agree upon the technical aspects of the peace plan. Civil institutions need to be able to participate in such discussions in order to ensure the plan's success.
The Indonesian government's attempts to interpret the Peace Agreement in accordance with its own political interests could also prove to be a significant obstacle. For example, a day after the signing of the agreement, Coordinating Minister for Security and Political Affairs, Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono, announced that GAM had accepted 'special autonomy' (a formula set down in a law passed for the province by the national parliament in 2001), and that the war would soon end. By this he meant that GAM had effectively given up on its long-held aim of Acehnese independence, something the movement's leaders vehemently deny. The Indonesian government also publicised its own version of the Agreement (which vastly different from the actual agreement). Such misinformation only serves to exacerbate tension.
What is even worse, also a day after the signing of the agreement, the Indonesian military increased the number of its posts in civilian residential areas. This has caused great unease among civilians. In East and North Aceh, people have fled their homes for fear of military reprisals. Clearly, the military's actions are quite at odds with the spirit of the peace agreement, which requires both parties to start building an atmosphere of trust, conducive to longer term resolution of the conflict.
Kautsar (redsky767@yahoo.com) is a spokesperson for a group of representatives of Acehnese civil society organisations who attended the negotiations in Switzerland in December 2002. They intend to monitor the implementation of the peace deal on the ground.
Notes from a 'five star' prison cell
Life in an Acehnese jail
Lesley McCulloch
On 10 September 2002, Lesley McCulloch wasarrested in Aceh with her friend Joy Lee Sadler and their Indonesian translator,Fitrah, and charged with visa violations, which she denied. She was heldin jail for over two months before her trial, which concluded when shewas sentenced to five months jail on 30 December, then released on 9 February.McCulloch's case is significant because it is unusual for foreigners accusedof visa violations to be detained for such a long period, rather than simplydeported. It is widely believed that the Indonesian military meant to makean example of McCulloch, an academic who has been critical of the TNI'srole in Aceh. In the foallowing account, which she wrote following the departureof her cell mates, she details prison life.
Arrested in a remote corner of South Aceh on 10September, Joy and I were suspected of violating our tourist visas. Thebus on which we were travelling was stopped at an Indonesian checkpoint.The aggressive and poorly-trained officers requested that we open our bags.Distrustful of their intentions, we insisted on placing a call to the USor UK embassy to inform them of what had become a very volatile situation.
In the same manner in which they would deal withthe local people - and having no idea how else to address the situation- the local commander became physically aggressive as he tried to separateme from my bag. Joy's response was immediate, she came to my defence; atwhich point a small fight ensued. The injury to Joy's mouth, inflictedby the commander, had not healed by the time she was released in mid-January.
For four days we were detained in South Aceh policeHQ. There were no further beatings in the police station, but the interrogationand intimidation was itself tortuous. Joy and I refused to sign the fabricatedstatements that were the result of this interrogation process. Our Acehnesecompanion, Fitrah did sign her statement. She was afraid and we understoodher fear. Joy and I were somewhat protected by our foreignness.
Me were then transported, in a convoy of 10 trucks,to Medan, North Sumatra.
On arrival in Medan, we were photographedand our fingerprints taken. Indonesian intelligence officers were alsowaiting to question us. We were tired, and Fitrah and Joy were both sick.But all requests to end the interrogation were refused.
It was 2am when I suddenly became acutely awarethat my clarity of mind was perhaps not all it should be. I became afraidI might say something which would prove problematic later. So, I lay onthe floor and closed my eyes as if asleep. The other two took the cue andadopted similar uncooperative positions. We did not respond to the ragethat followed. The interrogation was over.
Banda Aceh
Arriving in Banda Aceh the following day by plane,we were taken to provincial police HQ in Polda. Our accommodation for thenext three months was a windowless office. Further interrogation producedinsufficient evidence to convict us of the espionage-related charges calledfor by the military and police in Jakarta, but those months were a timeof extreme stress. Uncertainty and intimidation filled each day.
Our arrival at the jail was quite spectacular.An entourage of friends and activists, four lawyers and embassy staff camewith us. Joy had insisted on bringing four kittens and the mother cat thathad been sharing our room at Polda. All were accepted graciously by thestaff at the jail. And so we became just two more among 117 prisoners,only seven of whom were women.
Daily routine
The women's section of the prison is a tiny outsidearea with only two cells. Each one measures approximately three by fivemetres. Three of us shared that space; half of the cell was taken up bythe bed - a raised concrete platform with raffia mats. In the corner, thereis a squat toilet with a small concrete tank of water for flushing. Thewater comes from a communal tap outside. There is no shower or bathroom,and even as I write, seven weeks after our arrival, I have yet to cometo terms with brushing my teeth over a squat toilet.
A window and the open door allow daylight in.And one dim light bulb hangs from an almost deadly electrical cable. Turningthe bulb in the socket gives light, but almost invariably also gives abad electric shock. I have had several blistered fingers and throbbingarms from the evil socket. But much of the time there is no electricity,and at night we sit by candlelight.
The temperature in the cell is often unbearable,so too are the mosquitoes. There are also flying ants, cockroaches andmice sharing this tiny space. Sometimes it becomes rather crowded!
There is a small coffee stall, staffed by oneof the prisoners. Acehnese coffee is delicious; strong, black, and forme, unsweetened. It fortifies me for the day ahead. When the others werestill here, we would sit outside for our first discussion of the day, drinkingcoffee and occasionally eating a small block of tofu for breakfast. Talksrevolved around how well we had slept, and whether good health or sicknesswas predicted for the coming day.
If there was any water early we would drink ourcoffee more quickly and there would be a flurry of water-based activities.We took it in turns to collect a bucket of water and shower. The otherssat outside, allowing just a little privacy in the day.
Solidarity
When Joy was still here, much of the day was busywith discussing and dealing with issues surrounding her ill-health andhunger strike. We were afraid, as Joy's health visibly deteriorated inthe unsanitary and hot conditions. By day 37 of her hunger strike she wasin desperate need of intravenous nourishment. But the local hospitals wereunwilling to help because she was HIV-positive. On day 38 of her hungerstrike (3 January), Joy told me: 'I feel so weak, I want to go to sleepand never wake up.' This frightened both of us and Joy decided to try tostart her own intravenous drip. She is a nurse. In my diary that day Iwrote: 'I feel so desperate about Joy. It really was quite pathetic tosee her failed attempts to start an IV in her collapsed veins. This causeddistress to all of us. Only Dewi cried, whilst the rest of us stood insilence.'
The heat would make Joy's condition much worse.Dewi would sit and fan Joy for several hours. They would sit in silence.Joy spoke no Indonesian and Dewi no English. And Irawati massaged Joy'saches and pains in the same silent way, making soothing noises as she didso. It was really quite moving to see this silent show of solidarity andsympathy.
Slow
Unlike the men, the women are placed here to awaittrial, but once sentenced, sent to Lho'gna prison, about 17km from here.Only Joy and I were not moved to Lho'gna after sentencing. Our lawyershad requested that we be allowed to remain here in Banda Aceh. All wereafraid for my safety if transferred to Lho'gna. There are many militaryposted in that area, and by all accounts the anger that had fuelled theirearlier call that espionage charges be brought against me continues tosimmer. It is much better I remain at a distance.
The trial process is very slow and all the womenhad been in this prison for several months. With usually only one shorttrial a week, the length of this process is itself the cause of much stress.Even the most minor cases stretch out over two months. Of the seven women,three of us - Reihan, Joy and I - were political cases; Mar's was conflictrelated; and the other three were gambling and fraud. Reihan had decriedPresident Megawati at a demonstration she helped to organise. When shewas finally sentenced to six months in jail, she only had two more weeksto serve.
On days when one of us had a trial there was alwaysan air of solidarity and optimism. We would gather to hug and wish goodluck to whoever was going to court. Their return was eagerly awaited. Ifnews was good, it would lift all our spirits.
Sickness and depression
The sickness and depression suffered by many isa product of prison life. A doctor comes occasionally, but not each week,to dispense some basic medicines and write prescriptions for anything strong.Most, however, have no money to buy the medicines provided. The water usedby the men to bathe, comes from a very old (and smelly) well. Many haveopen and infected sores because of the parasites in the water. Lethargyand fever is common.
One young prisoner is in urgent need of an operation.He was shot in the foot four months ago and this foot is now badly infectedand he can hardly walk, the pain visible on his face. But the all-powerfulprosecutors won't give permission for him to be hospitalised until aftersentencing, perhaps one more month. The reason? He is too poor to pay therequested 'fee'. Bribery in the judicial system and the impact this hason the length of prison term, ill-health and stress is a favourite topicof conversation.
Alone
I am here alone now. Three of the other femaleprisoners, including Joy, have been released. The remainder have been sentto another prison. My days are very similar but much quieter, lonelierand, so it seems, longer. When Dewi, an Indonesian cellmate, and Joy werehere, I would be careful not to waken them. Sleep for all of us was alwaysat a premium. Now I have the luxury of this space all to myself. Some ofthe male prisoners tell me I have the jail's five-star accommodation. Theyare crowded four to seven people in one cell.
I have found solace in writing my diary. But thestories of human misery and tragedy I have heard in prison, made worseby the corrupt and inhumane judicial system, are at times too much to comprehend.In an attempt to relieve some of the stress, I focus on my diary.
Now, alone by day and night, I write much more.Of course, I have visitors and male prisoners still come to the fence tochat. But sometimes, the days and nights are long. I write more, not onlybecause I am alone but because I feel a sense of urgency in my writing.I don't want to forget anything about my time here.
I cannot quite believe I have successfully hiddenmy phone since being arrested. I made only one attempt to recharge it here.The loud bang wakened Joy and Dewi. And the surge of electricity that ranthrough my body almost killed me. So my phone is smuggled in and out bysome very brave friends. At night I can keep in touch with my family andfriends. Previously I fed information about our case to those campaigningfor us on the outside. Now I make arrangements for my free life, next week.
I have never been in another Indonesian prison,but I imagine the experience in many would be much worse. The poor livingconditions, bad diet, lack of exercise and now being alone have all takentheir toll. But throughout I have tried to focus on the positive. A favouredword here is simpan. It means store for later, and I have becomevery expert at that. I am mentally ticking off the days to my release,but each day is the same as those in the past seven weeks. I think aboutthe ninth too often. Time seems to have stopped and each minute, each hourstretches forever. So, I continue to chat, to write and drink the deliciousAcehnese coffee. My release is imminent, but I don't believe it. And asI walk through the front gates of the prison, I can imagine that a smallpart of my heart and mind will remain here with my friends.
Lesley McCulloch (lesleym@postoffice.utas.edu.au) is a Research Associate at the Department of Anthropology,Monash University.
Inside Indonesia 74: Apr - Jul 2003
A moderate majority
A deep local tradition of tolerance defends against militancy
The Hon Justice Marcus Einfeld AO QC PhD
It is clear that we have entered a new and dangerous phase of horror in human relations. This phase has necessarily drawn Indonesia, Australia and the whole of our region into the nucleus of the struggle.
Indonesia was aware that she needed to get tougher on terrorists - all of us knew that we should take more determined action to deal with the terrorist curse.
But this is not the time to lay blame in the crude sense of the word. It is time to work in unison to protect our world from the malevolence of terrorists and their brutal exploits. Our strategy must be twofold. We must pull out all stops to root out the criminals committed to and involved in the wholesale murder of civilians, put them on trial, and punish the guilty. And we must also look to the issues which allow fanatics to arouse and inflame the passions of those who would commit dastardly crimes.
Hopefully the Indonesian authorities will find the political and public support to clamp down heavily on extremists linked to terrorism. President Megawati's task is arduous and unenviable, but she really has only one choice.
The greatest defence against militancy in Indonesia is the deep local tradition of moderation and tolerance.
The vilification of Muslims since these attacks is a disgrace. What pedigree of humanity are we, to typecast a substantial portion of the world's population because a few of its number have committed atrocities? All religions have something to answer for in terms of violence and atrocities. Islamic nations have not decided to attack all Christians or commit general acts of pestilence akin to that which occurred in Bali. Has the lesson of Hitler's genocide of Jews not yet been learnt?
But as Bali grieves, and we all grieve for what it now stands for, not even the venerated intelligence agencies the world over can supply convincing proof that al Qaeda was involved in it, or even who and what that organisation is. In the face of such an elusive foe, logic is the first casualty. Better co-ordination between the Indonesian police and military is essential in reducing contradiction. If the army takes the lead role and undermines all the work that has been done in the last three years to build up the police as a civilian agency responsible for internal security, the stronger will develop the idea that the army was somehow involved in the bombings in the first place and the more the scepticism of an al Qaeda role.
We must also review the tenacity of our relationship with the US. Must the American dream manifest itself in the form of civilian bloodshed? The deaths we have witnessed in Indonesia were ugly, divisive and pointless. Are we about to be again forced to watch nightclubs, shopping centres or schools being bombed in Baghdad? Will the disarming of Saddam Hussein be achieved over the bodies of taxi drivers, shopkeepers and shoppers, mothers taking their children to school? Will it be achieved at all?
It is time for us all to look for a durable, feasible and sustainable international solution to Muslim extremism. Any solution will necessarily be found outside of war. Despite the extraordinary statement of US Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld that compared to Iraq, the Israel/Palestinian dispute is a 'sideshow', a settlement of that conflict is not the only solution but it is a necessary pre-requisite to a solution to Muslim extremism and militancy. The consequence of failure is more bloodshed and suffering. The dividend of success is too obvious to need stating.
We must commit ourselves to move forward towards a future free from terror, where tolerance for disparate cultures spans the globe and the safety of people free from hate becomes the religion of us all.
The Hon Justice Marcus Einfeld AO QC can be reached at einfeldm@ozemail.com.au
Inside Indonesia 74: Apr - Jul 2003
Puppeteers on wheels
An innovative shadow puppet show combats post-traumatic stress disorder in Bali
Rucina Ballinger
Following the fatal bomb blast in Kuta in October 2002, relief, in the form of medical support and money, flooded onto the island. But after the first few weeks of emergency care, Bali residents active in relief efforts began to think about what else could be done to help the victims - not only economically and physically, but emotionally and spiritually, too.
In the aftermath of the blast, people began to show signs of post-traumatic stress disorder (Ptsd). Those living in and around Kuta were of particular concern, and the prevalence of Ptsd among them spawned an idea to use shadow puppet performances (wayang) in order to disseminate information about Ptsd to local people.
As the idea developed, I Made Sidia -- a puppeteer (dalang) whose work is well known for its cutting political commentaries, became involved. Sidia gathered together a team of very creative people, and his production improvised on traditional wayang in a number of ways. Firstly, the musical accompaniment to Sidia's production included flutes, percussive instruments and a keyboard. Secondly, instead of using the traditional oil lamp (blancong) that illuminates the screen and the puppets, he computerised the show by calling upon his colleague, Dewa Made Darmawan, to create Power Point images. Thirdly, the screen was extended to three metres in width. Traditionally, dalangs sit cross-legged behind the screens no wider than their arm span. This means that they can march puppets across the screen without moving from their seated position. Sidia's wide-screen forced the dalangs to slide across the floor as they marched their puppets from one side of his wide screen to the other. To ease their mobility, Sidia had them sit on skateboards.
Nyoman Sira, Sidia's brother, made a number of new puppets out of plastic, thus adding yet another novel element to the show. Sira's puppets move beautifully and include some three-dimensional puppets which transform with the flick of a wrist into another being. One is an old woman who turns into a witch, and a favourite among audiences is a man on a giant bicycle, wheels spinning, being chased by a monkey.
For this production, Sidia chose a story called 'The Ten Names of Peace' (Dasa Nama Kerta). The story reminds viewers that demons live within each and every one of us, and we must confront and conquer them. We meet people who have lost loved ones in the bomb blast of 12 October 2002. A mother who has lost her only child (and thereby her only bread-winner), a pre-schooler whose mother was killed, a macho security guard who has lost his lust for his wife and his life, a man who is constantly sick with headaches and stomach upsets. Two clowns of the wayang, Merdah and Twalen, listen to these people's tales of woe and comfort them.
At the end of the wayang, Twalen and Merdah advise that the ten elements of peace -- earth, water, fire, wind, plants, animals, fish birds, humans and God - must be cherished, nurtured and controlled. If not, things may get out of hand, causing floods, forest fires, or even bomb blasts.
The first live show in Kuta on 12 December 2002, was very warmly received. There have also been performances in Ubud, Bona and Kepaon, Denpasar, which is home to a number of taxi drivers who were killed by the bomb. A psychiatrist introduces the show and disseminates information about Ptsd to audience members, who are also invited to stay on after the show, meet the dalang, see how the computer and the skateboards work and, if they want to, speak with the doctors.
Additional free psychiatric and psychological counselling with Dr Nyoman Sura Oka at the International Medical Corps (IMC) is available for Indonesians. Tel. (62 361) 229092.
Rucina Ballinger (rucina@indo.net.id) has been active in cultural and artistic exchange projects in Bali over the past two decades.
Inside Indonesia 74: Apr - Jul 2003
More than six decades after being inspired as an undergraduate in Sydney, Ron Witton retraces his Indonesian language teacher's journey back to Suriname