JP\/21\/T06<\/p>\n
Post-conflict Poso
\nConsumed by hate, divided by faith<\/p>\n
Ruslan Sangadji & Meidyatama Suryodiningrat
\nThe Jakarta Post\/Poso, Central Sulawesi<\/p>\n
Tragically, communal conflict -- whether ethnic or religious --
\nhas been a feature of the nation since the onset of the reform
\nera. One such conflict engulfed the once peaceful regency of Poso
\nin Central Sulawesi. Though an edgy peace now prevails, the
\nviolence the conflict generated created lasting divisions that
\nmay take generations to heal.<\/p>\n
The sharp clangs of metal striking repeatedly shattered the
\nstill of the night. An all too familiar warning that raised the
\nArsyad family from their evening rest.<\/p>\n
The distant screams of \"Allahu Akbar! Allahu Akbar! Allahu
\nAkbar!\" sounded a battle cry for Mohammad Arsyad and his son,
\nAhmad.<\/p>\n
As the women huddled together, Mohammad grabbed his trusty
\nmachete and prepared to leave the house.<\/p>\n
\"This is jihad,\" Mohammad told his wife. Concern was clearly
\netched on her face. \"It is a call to duty. That's why I must
\nleave\".<\/p>\n
That night the battleground was the Catholic Church in Moengko
\nBaru district.<\/p>\n
The target: Fabianus Tibo, who would later be arrested and
\nsentenced to death for murdering a local village police officer.<\/p>\n
Five years and many shattered lives later, Mohammad still
\nrecalls the conflict that swept his once peaceful village in
\nPoso, Central Sulawesi, with defiance, albeit also with a touch
\nof regret and sadness.<\/p>\n
The reasons for the communal conflict that claimed over a
\nthousand lives differ according to who is talking. Everyone is
\never ready to blame each other for the 2000 conflict, but none to
\ntake responsibility.<\/p>\n
The only thing that is certain is that it turned neighbors
\ninto mortal enemies, once peaceful hamlets into killing fields,
\nand men of faith into godless mobs running amok.<\/p>\n
The \"peace\" that now prevails is nothing but an uneasy absence
\nof conflict. The idyllic life in Moengko Lama village, like many
\nother places in Poso, is now gone. Perhaps forever. Hardened
\nhearts, wary minds. Suspicion has now become a way of life.<\/p>\n
Those days of malice are a stark contrast to this early July
\nmorning in 2005. Sipping coffee while his wife prepares
\nbreakfast, Mohammad, now 51, looks out to his cacao field, ready
\nfor harvest. His son Ahmad, 32, is seated nearby.<\/p>\n
He appreciates these lazy mornings, though he would rather
\nkeep busy to avoid his mind wandering back to similar times when
\nhe could still look forward to a visit from his Christian
\nneighbor, Maxi.<\/p>\n
He and Maxi, who lived a few fields away, were in Mohammad's
\nown words \"like brothers\".<\/p>\n
It was more than just the customary pleasantries. As close as
\ntwo unrelated kin could be.<\/p>\n
Whenever Mohammad went to fish to supplement his income from
\ntending the fields, part of the catch would be sent over to
\nMaxi's family, and vice versa.<\/p>\n
Religion did not matter. Mutual help and assistance was a way
\nof life. Whether it be a family celebration or a religions
\ncommemoration, each would invite the other as the men helped set
\nup tents and women cooked together.<\/p>\n
The most festive time would be the harvest celebration,
\nPadungku as it is known here. A time to eat, drink and dance
\ntogether. As the sun set, villagers would join hands moving to
\nthe upbeat tempo of the Dero dance (a common communal dance in
\nPoso). They took pleasure in each other's company.<\/p>\n
Since 2000, there have been no more Padungku celebrations. The
\nonly beats that Mohammad and Maxi follow now are those of the war
\ndrums. As the conflict swept the region, the two families were
\ncondemned to divergent alliances -- one Muslim, the other
\nChristian.<\/p>\n
The fish they exchanged have been replaced by sinister looks
\nand disparaging exchanges.<\/p>\n
An irreconcilable divide has now arisen between the two
\nfamilies. Mohammad says he cannot forgive Maxi for trying to set
\nhis house on fire in a heated mob attack.<\/p>\n
\"Write this down, son. In capital letters!\" Mohammad remarked.
\n\"It was they (the Christians) who started the unrest in Poso\".<\/p>\n
To this day, people in Poso do not venture into the other
\nside's territory. Even observers and journalists have to be
\ncareful when on assignment in certain parts of Poso.<\/p>\n
Still, Mohammad says that he is thankful that peace has
\nreturned to the village. Despite retaining his animosity, he
\nhopes peace will prevail. He recognizes the futility of the
\nconflict, albeit unrepentant about the cause that he fought for.<\/p>\n
For him, the religious struggle was an obligation that had to
\nbe shouldered.<\/p>\n
The two families, like many in Muslim and Christian villages
\nthroughout Poso, now live in a peace that is devoid of harmony.
\nYes, they are neighbors, but not friends. Avoidance is the best
\nprescription against nervous pleasantries or the sudden desire
\nfor retribution.<\/p>\n
The battle lines have been drawn.<\/p>\n
\"We can be friends, but only Muslims can be brothers. We have
\nto be careful, I can no longer trust them\".<\/p>",
"url": "https:\/\/jawawa.id\/newsitem\/jp21t06-1447899208",
"image": ""
},
"sponsor": "Okusi Associates",
"sponsor_url": "https:\/\/okusiassociates.com"
}