That formula ‘Kill or be killed’
Aboeprijadi Santoso ; A Journalist
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JAKARTA
POST, 01 Oktober 2015
It was sometime after Idul Fitri
in mid-December 1965, when we were returning home by car from Malang, East
Java, to Bandung in West Java, that we suddenly had to stop near a bridge in
Central Java. And like everyone else we walked toward the bridge where the
crowd stood. To everyone’s great shock, there were about 20 to 30 dead bodies
floating in the river — untouched.
There was, in retrospect, nothing
special about it since the national media, in particular the army dailies of
Angkatan Bersenjata and Berita Yudha, had, by then, already extensively and
spiritedly reported the Army campaign to destroy the members and supporters
of the Indonesian Communist Party (PKI).
What was most conspicuous,
however, was that none of those villagers were talking to each other in
public about what they had seen. Some whispered among themselves. I asked
someone there about it, but received no reply. They just watched for a few
seconds, then quickly moved and went away. No one dared to approach the
corpses.
The villagers apparently
understood that they were being exposed to the fatalities of the day, of the
fate of their parents, sons, daughters, friends or fellow villagers, who were
persecuted and killed simply because they were on the “wrong side”.
In other words, the corpses of those alleged
communists or left wing activists and their families were to remain there to
convey the unspoken message of the local authorities: stay put or be killed.
What happened in that village, of
course, was just a microcosm of what had tragically engulfed the whole nation
— in particular Central and East Java, Bali, Aceh, North Sumatra and eastern
Indonesia.
Today, a half-century later, we
hear yet again the same message that preceded and accompanied the mass
killings of the mid-1960s: either you kill them, or you’ll be killed if they
win — a stereotypical assertion that fallaciously assumes an “if-history” to
be real.
In 2003, at the height of the Aceh
conflict in Pidie regency, media colleagues and I saw a corpse of a young
Acehnese ustadz (preacher) from less than a meter’s distance. He was
allegedly responsible for inciting local villagers to help the
rebellion.
The dead man was tied to a small
tree, his throat cut with fresh blood still visible, at a site easily seen by
anyone passing the village. Similar to the 1965 scene, this body was also to
remain there until it was found and removed, not by the authorities, but by
the locals.
That public showing of corpses in
1965 in Central Java and of the dead preacher in 2003 in Pidie performed
exactly the same function as that of a huge number of obsolete marine boats
and amphibious vehicles that I saw on the shore in front of the government
office in 1994 in Dili, East Timor, that had been there, abandoned since the
1975 invasion.
They all showcase methods to
intimidate the locals when a state power is about to break an opposition
force, and purge the masses assumed to be the backbone of that
opposition.
In short, it’s a classic state
problem of how to more or less permanently eliminate its enemy and keep the
public silent forever.
Did Soeharto, a former colonial
Royal Netherland East Indies Army (KNIL) soldier, learn the method of shaping
Rust en Orde (tranquility and order), from the implementation of that motto
of the similarly violent Dutch colonial state?
More pointedly, perhaps, the
deadly warning “kill or be killed” could also have been inferred from the
famous three-hour speech of Himmler — the Nazi architect of the Holocaust —
explicating the Nazi’s “final solution” doctrine of “rule or be ruled by the
Jews”, which they believed would decide the fate of the German race.
Similarly for Indonesia in the
mid-1960s, “kill or be killed” was the magic formula of state propaganda –
next to the lie that PKI-affiliate Indonesian Women’s Movement (Gerwani)
women had mutilated the bodies of the generals - that proved effective to
incite hate and anger in those days.
There are reasons to believe that
this kind of propaganda may generally still be effective today though not
necessarily for the same reasons as 50 years ago.
After all, today’s ruling
generation was, for the greater part, educated under the New Order system,
and remains ideologically akin to it. Vested interests and religiously
motivated groups among the rising middle class may welcome any ideological
weapon to fight any perceived threat.
Meanwhile, however, there has been
some sort of moral awakening and rise of the politics of memory since the
mid-1990s in Indonesian civil society — somewhat parallel to the early phase
of the intellectual awakening among history teachers and artists in
post-Franco Spain, which led to the adoption of the Historical Memory Law in
2007 to re-assess the tragic impacts of Spain’s 1930s Civil War.
While attempts to dig up mass
graves of 1965 were mostly local, articles, books, novels, films and audio
visual material showings and public debates were published even before the
National Commission of Human Rights’ investigation and media revelations of
the 1965 killings in 2012.
Next came the great popularity —
despite widespread resistance by groups instigated by local authorities — of
Joshua Oppenheimer’s two award-winning films (The Act of Killing and The Look
of Silence) about the perpetrators and victims of the 1965 massacres.
That may just be the beginning of
an awakening, which may be as inevitable as new generations come and reckon
with the inevitable questions. They will inquire as to how this proud nation,
which once cited humanity as its motive for national independence, could have
allowed such mass killings to occur and leave a legacy of national trauma and
impunity for so long.
This is the reason that it is so
important to review the 1965 massacres and its impact in order to find the
truth before everything else. ●
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