BOOK
REVIEW Reporter's murder a shadow-puppet
farce The Invisible
Palace by Jose Manuel Tesoro
Reviewed by Gary LaMoshi
Persecution of
the media in Indonesia remains a sadly current story. A
string of damages lawsuits and criminal prosecutions
against newspapers and journalists illustrates that,
even in this post-Suharto age of reformasi,
powerful forces still can impose their will and protect
their privileges. Jose Manuel Tesoro's portrait in
The Invisible Palace of the murder of journalist
Faud Muhammad Syafruddin uses the
slaying and the tragic, comically botched investigation
as a frame to illustrate the workings of former dictator
Suharto's Indonesia and its links to pre-Islamic
traditions that survived the New Order.
The
murdered freelance reporter, known by his nickname Udin,
wrote for Yogyakarta daily Bernas about local affairs in
the village of Bantul on the outskirts of Central Java's
biggest city, and the keeper of Javanese cultural
traditions. Many travelers find Yogya, as the locals
call it, the most charming city on Java. Alone among
Javanese cities, Yogya's sultan remains a respected,
influential figure. The current sultan serves as
governor of the province, following the footsteps of his
father, and reigns in his Kraton, an impressive,
if somewhat ragged, palace quarter.
But there's
a darker side to Yogya. Most Yogyans and Javanese are
Muslims, but their faith remains peppered with mystical
beliefs. Wayang kulit - all-night shadow-puppet
shows based on Hindu mythology - are a feature of
cultural life. For visitors, they're a charming
diversion; for Javanese, they're a moving spiritual
experience and a metaphor for how a hidden master
controls events, a metaphor that inspired the book's
title.
The supernatural retains a powerful hold
in Indonesia and includes the legend of Nyai Roro Kidul,
Yogya's Queen of the South Ocean, reigning in her own
invisible palace. Many people pray at the mosque then
seek the advice of a dukun - translated as
"mystic" or "witch doctor" - on matters from land and
business deals to impotence. Events surrounding Udin's
death sent politicians and police investigators to the
dukun.
Suharto hailed from a broken
family not far from Yogya and won his greatest military
fame with the expulsion of the Dutch colonial army from
the city, headquarters for Indonesia's post-World War II
independence movement. Many attributed the obscure
general's rise to power and his three decades of
unchallenged rule - Tesoro calls it "soft fascism" - to
supernatural influences.
When Suharto tried to
oust the leader in the village of Bantul outside Yogya,
bupati Sri Roso Sudarmo sought the help of
Suharto's half-brother Noto Suwito, the only member of
the clan who stayed put. Sudarmo pledged to contribute
Rp1 billion (US$428,000 at the time) to the Dharmais
Foundation, a Suharto-run charity, if granted another
term. Suwito was named to carry out the contribution and
co-signed Sudarmo's pledge.
Udin reported that
story and also wrote about Sudarmo's apparent skimming
of anti-poverty funds and his grandiose redevelopment
scheme for Parangtritis Beach, the realm of Nyai Roro
Kidul. These stories brought complaints from the
bupati, and Sudarmo ordered his staff to prepare
a lawsuit against Udin and his newspaper.
But
before the lawsuit could be filed, a late-night visitor
knocked on the door at Udin's home behind the photo
studio he owed with a partner. Udin's wife Marisyem
opened the door to find a muscular young man in a red
T-shirt and bandanna. He asked for Udin, saying his
motorcycle was broken and displaying a metal pipe,
apparently the reason for the disabled bike. But when
Udin came outside, the pipe became a murder weapon.
Marisyem discovered her 33-year-old husband's body
moments later, bleeding from a fatal head wound.
Yogya's most colorful detective, Edy Wuryanto,
took the case. Known for his creative undercover work
and his use of mystics, spells and charms in his
investigations, Edy contended that 99% of all crimes
were due to love or money. He steadfastly refused to
consider the possibility that Udin's murder could be
part of the remaining 1%, involving, say, politics, in a
country where journalists still face violence and police
can still be persuaded to look the other way, or even
assist.
Local reporters' probes into the killing
uncovered political links, including one official who
claimed he'd witnessed a confession from Sudarmo. But
Edy's investigation led to the arrest of Dwi "Iwik"
Sumaji, a meek driver for a sign company. Edy mixed a
cocktail of false business leads, beer, pills and Red
Bull along with the promise of "help" for Iwik if he
confessed to the murder. Edy told Iwik he'd be
protecting an important figure who would show his
appreciation, a figure Iwik identified at his trial as
"the bupati".
The catalogue of
irregularities in Edy's investigation would be funny,
except that the crime was murder and there was an
innocent man's freedom at stake. The investigator
borrowed a bag of Udin's blood that the reporter's
family had meant to bury with the body; Edy claimed he
used it as a part of a sacrifice to the South Sea Queen
to help with the probe. It also could have been the
source or prototype for the blood found on Iwik's seized
clothing. Edy borrowed a photo of Iwik's wife Sunarti
from their registration documents and then claimed it
was found in Udin's wallet. The photo supported a rumor
Edy started that Udin carried on an affair with Sunarti,
providing Iwik with a motive straight out of the
detective's own book on criminal behavior.
Prosecutors eventually tired of Edy's antics and
the holes in the case, which came under increasing
scrutiny, nationally and internationally. After
rejecting the police investigation file five times,
government lawyers finally took the case to trial,
perhaps not because they thought they could win, but
because they wanted to get rid of it. In the end, after
a year of tormenting Iwik, his family and Udin's
survivors, a court acquitted the driver. But, Tesoro
reminds readers, Udin's killer still walks free.
While the story of Udin, Iwik and the rest is
compellingly told and instructive, the true essence of
Tesoro's tale lies in one passage: "In Indonesia, as in
much of the developing world, the truth is like an
onion: Peeling away layers of lies, errors and
misunderstandings results in little but a big stink and
cloudy vision." Even today, police cannot be trusted and
the elite still holds sway. Journalists still must fear
martyrdom and, more important, every citizen can become
a victim.
The Invisible Palace by Jose
Manuel Tesoro (Equinox Publishing; Jakarta, 2004). ISBN:
9799796474; 326 pages, US$14.95.
Gary LaMoshi, a longtime
editor of investor rights advocate eRaider.com, has also
contributed to Slate and Salon.com. He's worked as a
broadcast producer and as a print writer and editor in
the United States and Asia. He moved to Hong Kong in
1995 and now splits his time between there and
Indonesia.
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Sep 11, 2004
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Syafruddin uses the
slaying and the tragic, comically botched investigation
as a frame to illustrate the workings of former dictator
Suharto's Indonesia and its links to pre-Islamic
traditions that survived the New Order. 
