Friday, October 28, 2005

From East Timor to Aceh

East Timor, the Geography of the Militias, 1999 The day of self-determination, August 30, 1999 The Independence Day, May 20, 2002. Aceh, PHIA Poster, Langsa, Eastern Aceh. Mahdi's Aceh in Distress, Banda Aceh, Oct, 2005. General Elections, Apr, 2004, Aceh General Elections, Apr, 2004, Tiro, Pidie, Aceh General Elections, Apr, 2004, Sawang, Aceh. Aceh at war, DM, Darurat Militer, 2003-04 Tsunami, Sadness. Tsunami, A South Korean NGO, Meulaboh, Jan. 2005 Tsunami, Ulee Lheue, Aceh, Feb. 2005. Juha Christensen, Helsinki, Apr, 2005. M.Ahtisaari, CMI, Helsinki, Jan-August, 2005. Helsinki, August 2005 Peace Talks, Helsinki Jan-August 2005 The Signing Ceremony, Helsinki, August. 15, 2005 Ready for de-commisioning, Central Aceh, Sept. 2005. Peace = Anti Militarism

Thursday, October 27, 2005

Jusuf & Ramli, Two New Friends from Banda Aceh

M.Jusuf One evening just as I needed a public transport, I came accross one man riding a Honda vehicle. I realized, Pavilyun Seulawah at Blang Padang Square is not a good place to find a transport mean, be it a becak or ojek, let alone a labi-labi (small van for 10 people, called oplet elsewhere). I just said hallo to someone passing with his Honda. We had a small chat, then he offered to bring me to Media Centre at Jalan Merak, Sukadamai. He introduced himself as M. Jusuf, a young man but I called him Pak Jusuf. He's a kind man, very sincere. He refused to accept money for bringing me to the place where I should be. Later he invited me to break fasting, buka puasa, at his very simple place where he sells sugarcane water, air tebu. His "restaurant" turned out to be a very popular one. Every day, about three hours before buka puasa, everybody came to buy his sweet sugar cane water. Jusuf is simple, kind and sincere. He even called me when I'm already in Holland. I told him just send a SMS, which he did. Here is the man, M. Jusuf, at work with his sugarcanes: see photo. Ramli A.Dally Pak Ramli is another very nice Acehnese man. I got his name from a friend who told me about this very unique person. Ramli A. Dally used to work at Pusat Dokumentasi & Informasi Aceh (PDIA), a documentary center on Aceh, now unfortunately vanished, swollen by the tsunami. So many unique and precious documents on Aceh, in particular on the Dutch war in Aceh, are now gone. All one can hope for Aceh is to acquire copies from museums in the Netherlands. Pak Ramli could tell stories for hours based on his knowledge about those documents at the PDIA. One of his very good true stories is about the duel and peace between Teuku Abeuek, an ulleebalang of West Aceh, and a Dutch officer called, Lietenant J.H.J. Brendgen, in 1920s. This story I recorded, and wrote, linking it to the Helsinki peace deal, for a TEMPO column published Oct. 17, which I reproduce here (see below). Ramli is simply a very good narrator, a very kind man with great interest in Acehnese history. He brought me to the cemetery of Dutch soldiers killed in the Aceh war (1873-1920). A honest man I love to remember. See: two photo's of him, a close up and at the Dutch cemetery.

Sunday, October 23, 2005

Ben Anderson's "Petrus Dadi Ratu"

preface September 30, 1965 In late 1965 and early 1966, one of the greatest mass killings of the twentieth century was carried out in Indonesia, the slaughter in a few weeks of hundreds of thousands of real or alleged Communists. The massacres set the stage for Suharto’s thirty-two-year dictatorship. Behind them lay events of a few days, still sinister and obscure. On September 30, 1965 a group of middle-ranking army officers, most of them originating from the Diponegoro Division centred in Semarang, and once commanded by Suharto, attempted a coup de force in Jakarta. Claiming that a Council of Generals was planning to seize power from Sukarno, President of the country since independence, they killed six top generals in Jakarta, took Sukarno to an air base outside the capital, and proclaimed a revolutionary council. In Central Java, local garrisons followed suit. Lieutenant-Colonel Untung of Sukarno’s Presidential Guard was nominal leader of the movement, backed by forces from two battalions in the capital; youths from a recently formed militia containing Indonesian Communist Party (PKI) volunteers were entangled as auxiliaries. The two Army generals who controlled major concentrations of troops in Jakarta—logically prime targets for the strike—were left untouched. The senior was Suharto. In the course of October 1, he quickly gained control of the situation, putting the leaders of the movement to flight and taking over the air base where they had installed Sukarno. The following day, the risings in Central Java were crushed. With the President now in his hands, Suharto proclaimed the Communist Party, which Sukarno had relied on as a counterweight to the Army, the author of the events of September 30. Two weeks later, a nation-wide pogrom was unleashed to exterminate it. The PKI then numbered some three million members—the largest Communist Party in the world outside Russia and China. By the end of the year, nothing was left of it. In March 1966 Sukarno, held under surveillance in the Presidential Palace, was forced to sign a decree giving Suharto executive authority. A year later, this new left review 3 may jun 2000 5 became the formal basis for Suharto’s assumption of the Presidency, well after he had in practice become the absolute ruler of the country. Suharto’s New Order lasted until 1998, when the Asian financial crisis fi nally brought him down. Military terror outlived him in East Timor. But with the election of Wahid as President in 1999, survivors have begun to speak out, breaking the silence that for three decades surrounded the massacres of 1965. But the events that paved the way for the slaughter have yet to be fully explained. Did a Council of Generals ever exist? Who really planned the ‘movement of September 30’, and what were their intentions? Was the PKI, or a section of its leadership, party to the coup? How did Suharto manage to seize power so quickly? The first detailed attempt to consider these problems was a confidential paper by Benedict Anderson and Ruth McVey, written in January 1966, and eventually published by the Cornell Modern Indonesia Project in 1971.1 For this analysis, Benedict Anderson was banned from Indonesia by the military dictatorship for twenty-six years. Last year, able to travel to the country again, he delivered an address in Jakarta in which he urged the need for Indonesians to face the swamp of murder and torture on which the New Order had been built, rather than merely protesting its corruption.2 In the months since, as Wahid has widened the space for political expression, the start of a catharsis has moved more quickly than anyone could have expected. Among the documents to emerge on the genesis of Suharto’s regime, the Defence Speech of Colonel Abdul Latief—leading survivor of the September 30th movement—at his trial in 1979, has been the most pregnant. We publish below Benedict Anderson’s review of it, written in Indonesian for the Jakarta weekly Tempo of 10–16 April of this year. 1 A redaction of some of its findings by Peter Wollen was released in NLR I/36, March–April 1966.2 See ‘Indonesian Nationalism Today and in the Future’, NLR I/235, May–June 1999. 6 nlr 3 benedict anderson PETRUS DADI RATU In the early 1930s, Bung Karno [Sukarno] was hauled before a Dutch colonial court on a variety of charges of ‘subversion’. He was perfectly aware that the whole legal process was prearranged by the authorities, and he was in court merely to receive a heavy sentence. Accordingly, rather than wasting his time on defending himself against the charges, he decided to go on the attack by laying bare all aspects of the racist colonial system. Known by its title ‘Indonesia Accuses!’ his defence plea has since become a key historical document for the future of the Indonesian people he loved so well. Roughly forty-five years later, Colonel Abdul Latief was brought before a special military court—after thirteen years in solitary confi nement, also on a variety of charges of subversion. Since he, too, was perfectly aware that the whole process was prearranged by the authorities, he followed in Bung Karno’s footsteps by turning his defence plea into a biting attack on the New Order, and especially on the cruelty, cunning and despotism of its creator. It is a great pity that this historic document has had to wait twenty-two years to become available to the Indonesian people whom he, also, loves so well.1 But who is, and was, Abdul Latief, who in his youth was called Gus Dul? While still a young boy of fi fteen, he was conscripted by the Dutch for basic military training in the face of an impending mass assault by the forces of Imperial Japan. However, the colonial authorities quickly surrendered, and Gus Dul was briefl y imprisoned by the occupying Japanese. Subsequently, he joined the Seinendan and the Peta in East Java.2 After the Revolution broke out in 1945, he served continuously on the front lines, at first along the perimeter of Surabaya, and subsequently in Central Java. Towards the end he played a key role in the famous General Assault of March 1, 1949 on Jogjakarta [the revolutionary capital just cap- new left review 3 may jun 2000 7 tured by the Dutch]: directly under the command of Lieutenant-Colonel Suharto. After the transfer of sovereignty in December 1949, Latief led combat units against various rebel forces: the groups of Andi Azis and Kahar Muzakar in South Sulawesi; the separatist Republic of the South Moluccas; the radical Islamic Battalion 426 in Central Java, the Darul Islam in West Java, and finally the Revolutionary Government of the Republic of Indonesia [CIA-financed and armed rebellion of 1957–58] in West Sumatra. He was a member of the second graduating class of the Staff and Command College (Suharto was a member of the fi rst class). Finally, during the Confrontation with Malaysia, he was assigned the important post of Commander of Brigade 1 in Jakarta, directly under the capital’s Territorial Commander, General Umar Wirahadikusumah. In this capacity he played an important, but not central, role in the September 30th Movement of 1965. From this sketch it is clear that Gus Dul was and is a true-blue combat soldier, with a psychological formation typical of the nationalist freedom-fighters of the Independence Revolution, and an absolute loyalty to its Great Leader.3 His culture? The many references in his defence speech both to the Koran and to the New Testament indicate a characteristic Javanese syncretism. Standard Marxist phraseology is almost wholly absent. And his accusations? The first is that Suharto, then the Commander of the Army’s Strategic Reserve [Kostrad], was fully briefed beforehand, by Latief himself, on the Council of Generals plotting Sukarno’s overthrow, and on the September 30th Movement’s plans for preventive action. General Umar too was informed through the hierarchies of the Jakarta Garrison and the Jakarta Military Police. This means that Suharto deliberately allowed the September 30th Movement to start its operations, and did not report on it to his superiors, General Nasution and General Yani.4 By the same token, Suharto was perfectly positioned to take action against the September 30th Movement, once his rivals at the top of the 1 Kolonel Abdul Latief, Soeharto Terlibat G30S—Pledoi Kol. A. Latief [Suharto was Involved in the September 30 Movement—Defence Speech of Colonel A. Latief ] Institut Studi Arus Informasi: Jakarta 2000, 285 pp. 2 Respectively: paramilitary youth organization and auxiliary military apparatus set up by the Japanese.3 Ironic reference to the title Sukarno gave himself in the early 1960s.4 Nasution was Defence Minister and Chief of Staff of the Armed Forces, Yani Army Chief of Staff. Yani was killed on October l, and Nasution just escaped with his life. 8 nlr 3 military command structure had been eliminated. Machiavelli would have applauded. We know that Suharto gave two contradictory public accounts of his meeting with Latief late in the night of September 30th at the Army Hospital. Neither one is plausible. To the American journalist Arnold Brackman, Suharto said that Latief had come to the hospital to ‘check’ on him (Suharto’s baby son Tommy was being treated for minor burns from scalding soup). But ‘checking’ on him for what? Suharto did not say. To Der Spiegel Suharto later confided that Latief had come to kill him, but lost his nerve because there were too many people around (as if Gus Dul only then realized that hospitals are very busy places!). The degree of Suharto’s commitment to truth can be gauged from the following facts. By October 4, 1965, a team of forensic doctors had given him directly their detailed autopsies on the bodies of the murdered generals. The autopsies showed that all the victims had been gunned down by military weapons. But two days later, a campaign was initiated in the mass media, by then fully under Kostrad control, to the effect that the generals’ eyes had been gouged out, and their genitals cut off, by members of Gerwani [the Communist Party’s women’s affiliate]. These icy lies were planned to create an anti-communist hysteria in all strata of Indonesian society. Other facts strengthen Latief’s accusation. Almost all the key military participants in the September 30th Movement were, either currently or previously, close subordinates of Suharto: Lieutenant-Colonel Untung, Colonel Latief, and Brigadier-General Supardjo in Jakarta, and Colonel Suherman, Major Usman, and their associates at the Diponegoro Division’s HQ in Semarang. When Untung got married in 1963, Suharto made a special trip to a small Central Javanese village to attend the ceremony. When Suharto’s son Sigit was circumcised, Latief was invited to attend, and when Latief’s son’s turn came, the Suharto family were honoured guests. It is quite plain that these officers, who were not born yesterday, fully believed that Suharto was with them in their endeavour to rescue Sukarno from the conspiracy of the Council of Generals. Such trust is incomprehensible unless Suharto, directly or indirectly, gave his assent to their plans. It is therefore not at all surprising that Latief’s answer to my question, ‘How did you feel on the evening of October 1st?’—Suharto had full control of the capital by late afternoon—was, ‘I felt I had been betrayed.’ anderson: Indonesia 9 Furthermore, Latief’s account explains clearly one of the many mysteries surrounding the September 30th Movement. Why were the two generals who commanded directly all the troops in Jakarta, except for the Presidential Guard—namely Kostrad Commander Suharto and Jakarta Military Territory Commander Umar—not ‘taken care of’ by the September 30th Movement, if its members really intended a coup to overthrow the government, as the Military Prosecutor charged? The reason is that the two men were regarded as friends. A further point is this. We now know that, months before October 1, Ali Murtopo, then Kostrad’s intelligence chief, was pursuing a foreign policy kept secret from both Sukarno and Yani. Exploiting the contacts of former rebels,5 clandestine connexions were made with the leaderships of two then enemy countries, Malaysia and Singapore, as well as with the United States. At that time Benny Murdani6 was furthering these connexions from Bangkok, where he was disguised as an employee in the local Garuda [Indonesian National Airline] office. Hence it looks as if Latief is right when he states that Suharto was two-faced, or, perhaps better put, two-fisted. In one fist he held Latief–Untung–Supardjo, and in the other Murtopo–Yoga Sugama7–Murdani. The second accusation reverses the charges of the Military Prosecutor that the September 30th Movement intended to overthrow the government and that the Council of Generals was a pack of lies. Latief’s conclusion is that it was precisely Suharto who planned and executed the overthrow of Sukarno; and that a Council of Generals did exist —composed not of Nasution, Yani, et al., but rather of Suharto and his trusted associates, who went on to create a dictatorship based on the Army which lasted for decades thereafter. Here once again, the facts are on Latief’s side. General Pranoto Reksosamudro, appointed by President/Commander-in-Chief Sukarno as acting Army Commander after Yani’s murder, found his appointment rejected by Suharto, and his person soon put under detention. Aidit, Lukman and Nyoto, the three top leaders of the Indonesian Communist Party, then holding ministerial rank in Sukarno’s government, were murdered out of hand. And although President Sukarno did his utmost to prevent it, Suharto and 5 From the 1957–58 civil war, when these people were closely tied to the CIA as well as the Special Branch in Singapore and Malaya.6 The legendary Indonesian military intelligence czar of the 1970s and 1980s. 7 A Japanese-trained high-ranking intelligence offi cer. 10 nlr 3 his associates planned and carried out vast massacres in the months of October, November and December 1965. As Latief himself underlines, in March 1966 a ‘silent coup’ took place: military units surrounded the building where a plenary cabinet meeting was taking place, and hours later the President was forced, more or less at gunpoint, to sign the super-murky Supersemar.8 Suharto immediately cashiered Sukarno’s cabinet and arrested fifteen ministers. Latief’s simple verdict is that it was not the September 30th Movement which was guilty of grave and planned insubordination against the President, ending in his overthrow, but rather the man whom young wags have been calling Mr. TEK.9 Latief’s third accusation is broader than the others and just as grave. He accuses the New Order authorities of extraordinary, and wholly extralegal, cruelty. That the Accuser is today still alive, with his wits intact, and his heart full of fire, shows him to be a man of almost miraculous fortitude. During his arrest on October 11, 1965, many key nerves in his right thigh were severed by a bayonet, while his left knee was completely shattered by bullets (in fact, he put up no resistance). In the Military Hospital his entire body was put into a gypsum cast, so that he could only move his head. Yet in this condition, he was still interrogated before being thrust into a tiny, dank and filthy isolation cell where he remained for the following thirteen years. His wounds became gangrenous and emitted the foul smell of carrion. When on one occasion the cast was removed for inspection, hundreds of maggots came crawling out. At the sight, one of the jailers had to run outside to vomit. For two and a half years Latief lay there in his cast before being operated on. He was forcibly given an injection of penicillin, though he told his guards he was violently allergic to it, with the result that he fainted and almost died. Over the years he suffered from haemorrhoids, a hernia, kidney stones, and calcification of the spine. The treatment received by other prisoners, especially the many military men among them, was not very different, and their food was scarce and often rotting. It is no surprise, 8 Acronym for Surat Perintah Sebelas Maret, Decree of March 11, which turned over most executive functions ad interim to Suharto; the acronym deliberately exploits the name of Semar, magically powerful figure in Javanese shadow puppet theatre. 9 ‘Thug Escaped from Kemusu’: the Suharto regime regularly named all its supposed subversive enemies as GPK, Gerakan Pengacau Keamanan, or Order-Disturbing Elements. The wags made this Gali Pelarian Kemusu—Suharto was born in the village of Kemusu. anderson: Indonesia 11 therefore, that many died in the Salemba Prison, many became paralytics after torture, and still others went mad. In the face of such sadism, perhaps even the Kempeitai10 would have blanched. And this was merely Salemba—one among the countless prisons in Jakarta and throughout the archipelago, where hundreds of thousands of human beings were held for years without trial. Who was responsible for the construction of this tropical Gulag? History textbooks for Indonesia’s schoolchildren speak of a colonial monster named Captain ‘Turk’ Westerling. They usually give the number of his victims in South Sulawesi in 1946 as forty thousand. It is certain that many more were wounded, many houses were burned down, much property looted and, here and there, women raped. The defence speech of Gus Dul asks the reader to reflect on an ice-cold ‘native’ monster, whose sadism far outstripped that of the infamous Captain. In the massacres of 1965–66, a minimum of six hundred thousand were murdered. If the reported deathbed confession of Sarwo Edhie to Mas Permadi is true, the number may have reached over two million. 11 Between 1977 and 1979, at least two hundred thousand human beings in East Timor died before their time, either killed directly or condemned to planned death through systematic starvation and its accompanying diseases. Amnesty International reckons that seven thousand people were extra-judicially assassinated in the Petrus Affair of 1983. 12 To these victims, we must add those in Aceh, Irian, Lampung, Tanjung Priok and elsewhere. At the most conservative estimate: eight hundred thousand lives, or twenty times the ‘score’ of Westerling. And all these victims, at the time they died, were regarded officially as fellow-nationals of the monster. Latief speaks of other portions of the national tragedy which are also food for thought. For example, the hundreds of thousands of people who spent years in prison, without clear charges against them, and without any due process of law, besides suffering, on a routine basis, excruciat 10 Japanese military police, famous for war-time brutality.11 Then Colonel Sarwo Edhie, commander of the elite Red Beret paratroops, was the operational executor of the massacres; Mas Permadi is a well-known psychic.12 The organized slaughter of petty hoodlums, often previously agents of the regime. A grim joke of the time called the death-squads of soldiers-in-mufti ‘Petrus’, as in St. Peter, an acronym derived from Penembak Misterius or Mysterious Killers. 12 nlr 3 ing torture. To say nothing of uncountable losses of property to theft and looting, casual, everyday rapes, and social ostracism for years, not only for former prisoners themselves, but for their wives and widows, children, and kinfolk in the widest sense. Latief’s J’accuse was written twenty-two years ago, and many things have happened in his country in the meantime. But it is only now perhaps that it can acquire its greatest importance, if it serves to prick the conscience of the Indonesian people, especially the young. To make a big fuss about the corruption of Suharto and his family, as though his criminality were of the same gravity as Eddy Tansil’s,13 is like making a big fuss about Idi Amin’s mistresses, Slobodan MiloŇ°evic´’s peculations, or Adolf Hitler’s kitschy taste in art. That Jakarta’s middle class, and a substantial part of its intelligentsia, still busy themselves with the cash stolen by ‘Father Harto’ (perhaps in their dreams they think of it as ‘our cash’) shows very clearly that they are still unprepared to face the totality of Indonesia’s modern history. This attitude, which is that of the ostrich that plunges its head into the desert sands, is very dangerous. A wise man once said: Those who forget/ignore the past are condemned to repeat it. Terrifying, no? Important as it is, Latief’s defence, composed under exceptional conditions, cannot lift the veil which still shrouds many aspects of the September 30th Movement and its aftermath. Among so many questions, one could raise at least these. Why was Latief himself not executed, when Untung, Supardjo, Air Force Major Suyono, and others had their death sentences carried out? Why were Yani and the other generals killed at all, when the original plan was to bring them, as a group, face-to-face with Sukarno? Why did First Lieutenant Dul Arief of the Presidential Guard, who actually led the attacks on the generals’ homes, subsequently vanish without a trace? How and why did all of Central Java fall into the hands of supporters of the September 30th Movement for a day and a half, while nothing similar occurred in any other province? Why did Colonel Suherman, Major Usman and their associates in Semarang also disappear without a trace? Who really was Syam alias Kamaruzzaman14—former official of the Recomba of the Federal 13 Famous high-flying Sino-Indonesian crook who escaped abroad with millions of embezzled dollars.14 Allegedly the head of the Communist Party’s secret Special Bureau for military affairs, and planner of the September 30th Movement. anderson: Indonesia 13 State of Pasundan,15 former member of the anti-communist Indonesian Socialist Party, former intelligence operative for the Greater Jakarta Military Command at the time of the huge smuggling racket run by General Nasution and General Ibnu Sutowo out of Tanjung Priok, as well as former close friend of D. N. Aidit? Was he an army spy in the ranks of the Communists? Or a Communist spy inside the military? Or a spy for a third party? Or all three simultaneously? Was he really executed, or does he live comfortably abroad with a new name and a fat wallet? Latief also cannot give us answers to questions about key aspects of the activities of the September 30th Movement, above all its political stupidities. Lieutenant-Colonel Untung’s radio announcement that starting from October 1st, the highest military rank would be the one he himself held, automatically made enemies of all the generals and colonels in Indonesia, many of whom held command of important combat units. Crazy, surely? Why was the announced list of the members of the so-called Revolutionary Council so confused and implausible?16 Why did the Movement not announce that it was acting on the orders of President Sukarno (even if this was untrue), but instead dismissed Sukarno’s own cabinet? Why did it not appeal to the masses to crowd into the streets to help safeguard the nation’s head? It passes belief that such experienced and intelligent leaders as Aidit, Nyoto and Sudisman17 would have made such a string of political blunders. Hence the suspicion naturally arises that this string was deliberately arranged to ensure the Movement’s failure. Announcements of the kind mentioned above merely confused the public, paralysed the masses, and provided easy pretexts for smashing the September 30th Movement itself. In this event, who really set up these bizarre announcements and arranged for their broadcast over national radio? 15 In 1948–49, the Dutch set up a series of puppet regimes in various provinces they controlled to offset the power and prestige of the independent Republic. Recomba was the name of this type of regime in Java, and Pasundan is the old name for the Sundanese-speaking territory of West Java. 16 The Movement proclaimed this Council as the temporary ruling authority in Indonesia, but its membership included right-wing generals, second-tier leftwingers, and various notoriously opportunist politicians, while omitting almost all figures with national reputations and large organizations behind them. 17 Secretary-General of the Communist Party. 14 nlr 3 Most of the main actors in, and key witnesses to, the crisis of 1965, have either died or been killed. Those who are still alive have kept their lips tightly sealed, for various motives: for example, Umar Wirahadikusumah, Omar Dhani, Sudharmono, Rewang, M. Panggabean, Benny Murdani, Mrs. Hartini, Mursyid, Yoga Sugama, Andi Yusuf and Kemal Idris.18 Now that thirty-five years have passed since 1965, would it not be a good thing for the future of the Indonesian nation if these people were required to provide the most detailed accounts of what they did and witnessed, before they go to meet their Maker? According to an old popular saying, the mills of God grind slowly but very fi ne. The meaning of this adage is that in the end the rice of truth will be separated from the chaff of confusion and lies. In every part of the world, one day or another, long-held classified documents, memoirs in manuscript locked away in cabinets, and diaries gathering dust in the attics of grandchildren will be brought to His mill, and their contents will become known to later generations. With this book of his, ‘shut away’ during twenty-one years of extraordinary suffering, Abdul Latief, with his astonishing strength, has provided an impressive exemplification of the old saying. Who knows, some day his accusations may provide valuable material for the script of that play in the repertoire of the National History Shadow-Theatre which is entitled . . . well, what else could it be?—Petrus Becomes King. In traditional Javanese shadow-theatre, Petruk Dadi Ratu is a rollicking farce in which Petruk, a well-loved clown, briefly becomes King, with predictably hilarious and grotesque consequences. For Petrus, read Killer—see note 12 above. Suharto notoriously saw himself as a new kind of Javanese monarch, thinly disguised as a President of the Republic of Indonesia. 18 Omar Dhani: Air Force chief in 1965, sentenced to death, had his sentence reduced to life imprisonment, and was recently released. Sudharmono: for decades close aide to Suharto. Rewang: former candidate member of the Communist Party’s Politbureau. Panggabean: top general in Suharto’s clique and his successor as commander of Kostrad. Hartini: Sukarno’s second wife in 1965. Mursyid: Sukarnoist general heading military operations for the Army Staff in 1965, subsequently arrested. Yusuf and Idris: both these generals played central roles in the overthrow of Sukarno. anderson: Indonesia 15

Wednesday, October 19, 2005

Menjadi "Jawa" di Aceh

Aboeprijadi Santoso, 18 Oktober 2005 Adakalanya suatu kelompok etnik menjadi subyek historis yang amat dominan di negeri lain dengan kelompok etnik lain. Manakala negeri itu menjadi daerah konflik berkepanjangan dan rakyatnya jadi korbannya, maka wajar jika etnik dominan tsb menjadi bulan-bulanan – dia menjadi suatu simbol-target. Itulah yang terjadi dengan etnik Rusia dalam tragedi Baltik di bawah Uni Soviet. Seperti itu pula kisah “Jawa” bagi Aceh di bawah Belanda dan Orde Baru. Jawa=penjajah Anggap saja Aceh adalah sebuah laboratorium sosial-historis yang merekam “Jawa” sebagaimana dipandang oleh masyarakat lokal. Suka atau tidak, dalam persepsi Aceh, “Jawa” adalah sebuah simbol kuat yang mewakili sosok penjajah. Para pengamat Aceh tinggal membuka buku-buku sejarah tentang bagaimana Belanda bertingkah di Aceh dengan menggunakan serdadu Jawa. Sekarang pun, orang Aceh tak usah memilah-milah sejarah, mereka tinggal menengok de Petjoet Kerkhof, pekuburan di pusat kota Banda Aceh (satu satunya pemakaman di sentrum suatu ibukota di jagad ini). Di sana dapat ditemukan nama-nama Ambon, Manado, dsb, tapi yang terbanyak adalah nama serdadu Belanda dan Jawa. Zaman sekarang, idem dito. Orang tinggal membuka-buka koran-koran di masa Orde Baru, lagi-lagi nama-nama jenderal-jenderal dan serdadu Jawa menghiasi berita-berita tentang operasi ini dan operasi itu, sampai Operasi Jaring Merah (DOM 1989-98) yang membuat Aceh menjadi ladang bersimbah darah. Orang desa di Aceh tahu benar siapa yang menyuruh mereka berjemur atau berkubang berjam-jam bagai kerbau di sawah, merayap puluhan meter dengan siku, atau menjilati dinding untuk menghapus slogan “merdeka” dan “referendum” di tahun 1998-2000, dsb. Indonesia-Jawa Maka, ketika pasca-Soeharto, Aceh bangkit, saat Gerakan Aceh Merdeka (GAM) dan gerakan sipil bergolak, “Jawa” pun kembali menjadi simbol, praduga, stereotipe tentang sosok penjajah. Istilah “Indonesia-Jawa” menjadi pembeda antara Indonesia yang Jawa dan Indonesia yang lain. Ketua Delegasi RI dalam perundingan Helsinki, Menhukham Hamid Awaluddin sempat bercerita bahwa dalam sidang pertama RI-GAM selama berjam-jam dia harus mendengar protes dan keluhan Delegasi GAM tentang “penjajah Indonesia-Jawa”. “Nah, gue mau bilang ape, gue kan orang Bugis!” begitu konon Hamid mengeluh. Menurut hemat saya, Hamid kurang paham makna simbolisme dari umpatan GAM. Politik publikasi vs politik etnisisme Ketika meliput acara terbuka pertama peringatan ulangtahun GAM, Desember 1999, kami dibawa ke desa Teupin Raya, Pidie. Sejumlah wartawan lokal dan asing, kebanyakan non-Jawa, harus diperiksa pejabat GAM sebelum memasuki lapangan tempat upacara. Seorang wartawan Jakarta berseru kepada komandan GAM, “wah, ada Jawanya satu, Bang”. Rupanya koran Jakarta produk Orde Baru ini memainkan politik Machiavelisme-etnisisme dalam mengejar headline dengan mengirim wartawan-wartawan non-Jawa. Tapi si Panglima sagoe GAM tenang-tenang saja. “Ini kan Radio Nederland, bukan Jawa” katanya merekayasa dalih. Jadi, GAM yang mengejar publikasi mencari alasan pragmatis. Bagi GAM, politik publikasi akhirnya mengalahkan politik etnisisme. Tapi politik etnisisme tidak hanya monopoli Orde Baru dan GAM. Di Washington 2001, ada pertemuan aktivis yang tak boleh dihadiri mereka yang non-Aceh. Di Kuala Lumpur, 2003, ada konperensi Aceh dengan satu sesi khusus buat aktivis-aktivis asal Aceh. Seorang kolega dengan nama Jawa sering meliput Aceh tanpa repot karena dia kebetulan etnis Tionghoa. Warisan masa kolonial sampai Orde BaruTetapi, inti stereotipe “Jawa” di Aceh sebenarnya lahir dari garis panjang peran dominan aparat negara (kolonial sampai Orde Baru) yang menghadirkan peran kunci figur-figur Jawa. Di sini, politik etnisisme lahir dari persepsi-diri tentang sejarah hubungan antara kelompok sendiri dan kelompok dominan, yang berubah menjadi kelompok target. Ini tampak di Bosnia, tapi juga di Riau, Medan, dsb, di mana ratusan eks-transmigran Jawa terhempas dari Aceh Timur oleh politik pembersihan etnis oleh GAM dan mereka yang mengaku “GAM”. Mereka dijuluki “Anak Anak Soeharto”. Di sini, jelas, stereotipe “Jawa” lahir dari kekuasaan Orde Baru Soeharto dan dampaknya bagi Aceh. Politik etnisisme menjadi produk dari konflik masyarakat dan pusat negara. Selang lima tahun, GAM kewalahan di lapangan, sementara TNI - seperti Belanda di Indonesia dan ABRI di Timor Timur - tak berhasil mematahkan perlawanan lokal. Desember 2004, datang tsunami yang membawa karunia di balik musibah (blessing in disguise). RI dan GAM berdamai di Helsinki, Agustus 2005. Kini, giliran Jakarta berpolitik etnisis. Bukan kebetulan, tak satu pun delegasi RI ke Helsinki asal Jawa. Bukan etnisisme atau rasialismeLima tahun meliput konflik Aceh, keluar masuk desa-desa di Aceh Utara, Bireuen dan Meulaboh, saya menyimpulkan bahwa stereotipe tentang “Jawa” itu, meski cukup kuat, namun tak serta merta perlu dicap ‘etnisisme’ atau ‘rasialisme’. Dari banyak narasumber, teman-teman asal Aceh, GAM maupun yang bukan GAM, hampir tak ada yang memanggil saya dengan “Santoso”, sementara para aktivis dan kolega memanggil “Tossi”. Kebanyakan narasumber Aceh lebih suka menyapa “Aboe”, sedangkan sapaan “Aboe” biasanya diperuntukkan bagi orang tua yang disegani. Ini, tentu, tidak berlaku buat saya yang bukan Aceh dan bukan sesepuh. Menurut Murizal, kolega wartawan asal Aceh, sebutan “Aboe” adalah isyarat keakraban dan kehangatan. Rupanya, Aceh membuat saya tidak menjadi “Jawa” di Aceh. Jawa = korupsi kekuasaan Menjadi “Jawa” adalah memenuhi persyaratan dari persepsi lokal tentang Jawa, sebab “Jawa”, bagi Aceh, bukan sekadar etnik Jawa, melainkan (bagian dari) kekuasaan (sic!) Jawa. Dia bisa direpresentasikan oleh kekuasaan kolonial Belanda, Soekarno maupun Orde Barunya Soeharto. Singkatnya, “Jawa” di Aceh mewakili korupsi kekuasaan, termasuk pelanggaran besar HAM. Walhasil, terjadilah stereotipe anti-“Jawa” yang mengungkap simbol target sebagai produk historis Aceh dalam melawan penjajahan - tak perlu ada hubungannya dengan etnik atau pribadi yang kebetulan asal Jawa. © Radio Nederland Wereldomroep, all rights reserved

Monday, October 17, 2005

Perang & Damai Gaya Aceh

TEMPO Edisi. 34/XXXIV/17 - 23 Oktober 2005 Kolom Perang & Damai Gaya Aceh Aboeprijadi Santoso · Wartawan Radio Nederland, kini di Aceh TEUKU Abeuek, Uleebalang (Ketua Wilayah) di Pameue, Aceh Barat, sudah lama jadi sumber kekesal-an penguasa Hindia-Belanda pada 1920-an. Dia dicurigai membantu logistik pemberontak, tapi selalu pintar mengelak tuduhan. ”Mengapa Teuku membantu orang-orang muslim dengan memberi makan?” Sang Teuku menjawab, ”Tuan harus mengerti, di Aceh tak seorang pun tamu keluar dari rumah dengan perut lapar. Itu adat Aceh. Saya wajib menghormati tamu dengan menyuguhkan nasi.” Berulang kali interogasi semacam itu terjadi, berulang kali Belanda kena batunya. Menolak alasan si Teuku bisa dikira tak peduli adat. Padahal, pemerintah kolonial tegak justru dengan cara dan legitimasi menjunjung adat. Pernah Tk. Abeuek menyindir dengan lembut: ”Tuan musti tahu, di negeri kami, para musafir kami ukur jarak dan lamanya mereka bepergian. Saya tak boleh ber-tanya apa dia seorang muslimin (pemberontak), apa bukan. Tapi, sebagai seorang beradab, saya wajib memberi bekal, bukan?” Lagi-lagi, bagi Belanda, yang mengaku mengemban ”misi peradaban”, ulah si Teuku ini menjengkelkan karena dilematis. Masalahnya, sudah keadaan damai kok masih bermain ”subversif”. Sebaliknya, bagi orang Aceh, mereka yang meneken Maklumat Korte Verklaring itu kan orang pe-nguasa saja. Takluk dan taat, bagi kaum muslimin (pemberontak, di mata Belanda) hanya kepada maklumat Allah-, bukan kepada manusia. Sejak perang panjang 1873, Aceh pada 1920-an mulai- mantap. Uleebalang, sebagai pejabat tinggi Belanda- dan tokoh yang disegani masyarakat lokal, tak boleh ditangkap- begitu saja. Balans politik kawasan bisa terancam di ujung tanduk. Maka harus dicari akal untuk menghabisi Tk. Abeuek, dan terpilihlah perwira dari satuan elite marrechausse, Letnan Infanteri J.H.J. Brendgen. Uniknya, Brendgen menyiapkan tugas dengan saksama. Diam-diam dia pergi ke Bandung, belajar ilmu pe-dang. Kembali ke Aceh, dia mengundang Tk. Abeuek ”ber-adu tangkas, menarikan pedang”. Tk. Abeuek kontan menyanggupi. ”Syaratnya, yang kalah harus mati,” usul Brendgen. ”Setuju!” Teuku menyahut, tegas. Duel pun berlangsung. Letnan Brendgen kagum melihat- Tk. Abeuek mengayun pedang. Lama berlaga, gelang ta--ngan Brendgen lemas. Pedangnya terpelanting. Tubuhnya terkulai, Brendgen mengaku kalah, ”Teuku, bunuhlah aku!” Tk. Abeuek menjawab, ”Ambil pedangmu!” Brendgen tetap minta dibunuh, dan si Teuku tetap menolaknya. Akhirnya, Tk. Abeuek mengajak Brendgen makan bersama rakyat. Di tengah kenduri besar, Brendgen bertanya ”Mengapa Teuku tak mau membunuhku?” Teuku menjawab, ”Karena Tuan tak mau ambil pedang.” Walhasil, duel dan kenduri itu berubah menjadi momentum perdamaian terhormat yang tak pernah terbayangkan sebelumnya. Brendgen menghormati kesepakatan kematian, dan Tk. Abeuek, selaku kesatria, puas: duel itu tak berakhir dengan membunuh lawan tak berdaya. Foto: Ramli.A.Dally Kisah nyata yang tersimpan lama di memori lokal itu kini marak, seperti dituturkan oleh Ramli A. Dally, mantan pegawai Pusat Dokumentasi dan Informasi Aceh (PDIA), yang mendengarnya dari Brendgen sendiri, pada 1970-an. Brendgen belakangan dikenal menghormati dan mencintai- Aceh, fasih berbahasa Aceh, bahkan pandai ber-azan. Kini, di gerbang kuburan De Kerkhof, Banda Aceh, terukir ”J.H.J. Brendgen. Vriend van Atjeh” (sahabat Aceh), walau Brendgen sebenarnya dikubur di Belanda. Foto: Brendgen terukir di gerbang De Kerkhof Sekarang, kisah duel dan damai tadi dapat menjadi semacam model acuan bagi banyak orang Aceh untuk menafsirkan nota kesepahaman RI dan GAM di Helsinki, sekaligus untuk menguji pelaksanaannya. Moral cerita itu—bahwa suatu pertarungan sengit dapat berak-hir secara bermartabat—dapat menjadi panutan khalayak untuk menerima dan mengawasi pelaksanaan MoU Hel-sinki. Damai mini tanpa wasit ala Teuku Abeuek dan Brendgen tentu tak sama dengan MoU, namun keduanya menyiratkan bahwa hubungan konflik dapat berakhir ketika perdamaian tercapai secara bermartabat. Duel tadi, se-perti setiap pe-rang, merupakan momentum besar yang memacu masyarakat menjadi—dalam model sosiologi klasik Durkheim—semacam ”komuniti moral”. Di situ gengsi, moral, dan kepentingan mapan masing-masing pihak bersatu menjadi taruhan telanjang di hadap-an masyarakat. Wajar jika martabat perdamaian ala Tk. Abeuek dan Brendgen menjadi tolok ukur bagi martabat pelaksanaan perdamaian Helsinki. Itu pula bedanya duel Aceh dengan duel klasik Romawi atau duel Once Upon a Time in the West-nya Sergio Lionne, yang demi harga diri para petandingnya semata, tanpa melibatkan, dan tanpa hikmah, bagi masyarakat. Kebalikan damai mini tadi pernah terjadi pada 1980-an, ketika keluar ancaman di Pidie, ”Barang siapa memberi rokok kepada GAM akan dibunuh!” Tak mengheran-kan, dengan muatan segudang pelanggaran hak asasi, ungkapan ”Kemerdekaan tinggal rokok siebak teu!” (kemerdekaan tinggal sebatang rokok lagi) belakangan jadi populer di Aceh. Lelah oleh konflik 29 tahun plus tsunami, sekarang, pada detik-detik damai menuju berakhirnya militarisasi- Aceh, Desember 2005, Aceh—selaku komuniti politik dan komuniti moral—mendukung perdamaian Helsinki. Itu sebabnya, Aceh pantas bercermin pada Teuku Abeuek dan Letnan Brendgen, meski untuk masa kini perlu di-ingat -adanya ancaman ”milisi” maupun ”GAM liar”. Dengan kata lain, giliran para protagonis di lapangan dan politisi di Jakarta menjaga martabat diri sendiri, -dengan cara ikhlas menjaga komitmen Helsinki.