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Horror behind Aceh's closed
door
By Lesley McCulloch
It
is too easy for the world to forget Aceh, an embattled,
silent and closed province in the northwest of
Indonesia. The reason is simple: international
journalists are prevented from entering legally and the
local media are either embedded in the military or
attacked - even kidnapped - when attempting to work
independently.
There is an acute sense of
lingering Suhartoism in Indonesian President Megawati
Sukarnoputri's response to Aceh - dissent has been met
with state-sponsored violence. Almost six months of
martial law has resulted in the province being all but
closed to the outside world. On average, 12 people are
killed each day, the same number are arrested and many
more simply disappear. These are the official figures;
data from locals suggest the human cost of this latest
military operation is in fact much higher.
The
misery of the Acehnese is compounded by the fact that
poverty is running at around 40 percent, food and health
security are something of the past - certainly not the
present - and many children do not attend school. The
education infrastructure no longer exists in any
meaningful form (600 schools have been destroyed); many
teachers - accused by the military of spreading
pro-independence "propaganda" - have been killed or
abducted, and pupils are often too afraid to venture far
from home.
Coordinating Minister for Political
and Security Affairs Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono has in
recent days announced an extension to martial law, which
had been due to end in mid-November. To many, this has
come as no surprise. Sofyan Daud, spokesman for the
separatist movement, said by satellite phone from Aceh:
"You know, we are never surprised by the actions of the
Indonesian government or military - and we are always
ready for them. Of course it would be much better to
return to the dialogue and stop the bloodshed, but the
Indonesians are reluctant to follow this path."
The question remains whether the extended
military operation can indeed fulfill its aims of
eliminating the movement. Said Daud: "Yudhoyono has
himself said that the operation is proving to be less
effective and more costly - in terms of both finances
and lives lost - than they had planned. We [GAM, or the
Free Aceh Movement] are still a force to be reckoned
with. So what to do now? It is a real problem for the
Indonesians - our people just wait and see. They can
never eliminate us. Some day - soon I hope - they will
realize this and resume another peace process."
With the fall of Suharto in 1998, the Indonesian
media were hailed as the freest in Asia by
over-enthusiastic or self-deluding supporters of the new
regime. It is true that they had more freedom then than
during Suharto's time, but they were by no means free.
In the weeks following the imposition of martial
law in Aceh on May 19 this year, both local and
international media were still able to cover the
military operation. As journalists traveled the
embattled province, worldwide headlines such as "Aceh's
death toll tops 100" (British Broadcasting Corp, May 29)
after only 11 days of war, and stories of
military-backed militia destroying infrastructure and
killing civilians became unpalatable to both the
Indonesian military and government. The inevitable
response - closing Aceh to the media - was met with
little opposition by the domestic populace that has
lived in a country where traditionally voices of dissent
have been silenced - one way or another. In the absence
of any "new" news, the international community quickly
lost interest.
In Indonesia a culture of
militarism and secrecy has outlived the 30-year
dictatorship of Suharto. Megawati's administration has
discovered that withholding information is an extremely
powerful weapon. Freedom of expression, association and
access to information are all fundamental rights and
constitute a large component of the cornerstone of
democracy: none are yet available in Indonesia.
The process of closing Aceh to the media was
very simple. By late May the military, and by extension
the government, was already showing signs of nervousness
because of the negative coverage. Military commander
General Endriartono Sutarto stated: "[Media] reports
covering the comments of both sides, or neutrality,
cannot be permitted because GAM's chaotic statements
will then be released and lead to confusion among
Acehnese about who is in the right." The only Acehnese
newspaper covering the war, Serambi, followed military
orders and all but stopped reporting the conflict.
Following that theme, local military operations
chief General Endang Suwarya warned journalists not to
quote, interview or write about the rebels: "I want all
news published to contain the spirit of nationalism."
Presidential decree 43/2003 (June 16 ) on
restricting the media stipulates that foreign
journalists must get permission to report on Aceh from
the minister of foreign affairs, and that local
journalists must apply to the military emergency
authority.
In the post-Suharto flush of
enthusiasm that Indonesia was firmly on the path to
reform, many hailed the country as the world's "newest
democracy". These days, since the reformasi dust
has settled, we don't hear so much praise for the
process of democratization. There has been a realization
that reformasi has, by design rather than
default, all but stalled, and that democracy is
something that only the most optimistic can see on the
horizon. For most there is only quiet acknowledgement
that nothing much has changed as Megawati struggles to
convince the domestic and international audience that
she is not simply a figurehead president while the old
Suharto guards and the military continue to reign
supreme.
Under Megawati the Acehnese continue to
inhabit an "extreme zone" where death, arrest, torture
and destruction are the norm. If Indonesia wants to
prove its democratizing credentials, the restrictions on
access to information in Aceh must be opened to a public
and independent review that should ask: "In closing Aceh
to the media, exactly what information are Megawati and
the military trying to withhold?"
Perhaps we do
not fire the bullets or draw the bayonets to kill, maim
and terrorize; nor do we light the torches to burn the
schools and houses. But our willful ignorance makes us
complicit - as it did in East Timor - to the unfolding
tragedies. The door is closed, we cannot see - we know,
but (again) choose to ignore.
Lesley
McCulloch is a research fellow in the School of
Social and International Studies, Deakin University,
Melbourne.
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