After the Revolution
After the Revolution
By Jujur Prananto
It had been his intention now for some time to return to his
village and visit his aged mother as soon as he wrapped up his
tour of several foreign countries.
Over the last two months he had read news on the Internet and
in newspapers, and heard on television that the situation in the
country continued to improve. Furthermore, a colleague wrote an
email saying "it's safe enough for you to go home without being
harassed by anyone".
And when he got off his plane, he saw that it was true that
the country was improving. The immigration officer attended to
the passengers respectfully, far from giving the impression of
someone hunting for prohibited items. At the departure gate there
were no more illegal taxi drivers offering their services. Legal
taxis and airport buses formed a neat line outside the terminal.
The streets of the capital were clean. At the street lights there
were no more hawkers, buskers or beggars. Bus terminals were free
from scalpers and people formed orderly lines at the ticket
windows.
Hendaru had difficulty understanding how his country, which
had been torn apart by injustice and dictatorship for 10 years,
resulting in the complete absence of legal certainty, was able to
make this transition to a calm, safe and peaceful country.
Indeed, after the "Oppressive Order" regime of President
Amangkurat was toppled and the High Assembly successfully
organized a general election which, according to the United
Nations, was "very credible", the situation in the country had
changed rapidly. The elected president, Prof. Dr. Gunadarma, SH,
SE, MSc., and his new Cabinet successfully formed a credible
government. And law enforcement, which formed the backbone of the
new government, was reliable and answerable to both the
government and the people.
* * * *
"Where are you getting off, Mas?" Hendaru awoke from his
daydreams at the sound of the driver's voice, becoming conscious
of the fact that he was the only passenger left in the vehicle.
"At the next crossroad, the one to Sekartaji village."
"Are you going to visit your mother?"
"How do you know?"
"I heard it on the news on TV last night. The newscaster said
Mas Hendaru was returning to his village."
"Oh ... "
"I'll tell you, I'm proud to have Mas Hendaru in my van."
"Ah, but who am I really."
"Everybody in the village knows that Mas Hendaru is the most
zealous student to wave the revolutionary flag in our country. I
always read the news about the demonstrations you led, Mas. I
didn't believe banners could topple the government, but
apparently they did. I am amazed at what you did, Mas."
"But my struggle is nothing if it is not supported by all of
society."
"That's true, Mas. That is true. Will you get off here?"
"Oh, yes." Hendaru took some money from his wallet, but the
driver refused it. "No, Mas. It's not necessary."
"Please, take it. I'm just an ordinary passenger who must
pay."
"No, I'm the one who should pay you, Mas."
"Why should you pay me?"
"Thanks to your struggle Mas, my daily needs are affordable.
The price of gas has decreased, spare parts too. The bank
interest rates are very low, and it's easy to get a loan, too. I
now own this car. I bought it with assistance from the Bank
Perkreditan Desa's car leasing program."
"I appreciate your point that everything is more affordable,
but still you shouldn't refuse to accept the money I owe you."
After several more seconds of offering and refusing the money,
the driver finally relented. But as he was putting the money in
his pocket, the driver looked at it with confusion. "I'm sorry,
Mas. What kind of money is this?"
"Oh, I'm sorry. Those are American dollars."
* * * *
Hendaru's mother welcomed her son with tears of joy that
streamed from her nearly blind eyes. She had not believed her
neighbors who said her son would return home, dismissing the news
that they had heard on the television.
"So, is it true you have become an important person?"
"That is just talk, Mom."
"But it's true you have traveled around the world as far as
America?"
"It's not going around the world, Mom. Though it is true
America is far away."
Suddenly Hendaru didn't have the strength to answer even the
simplest question from his mother. He did not want to say "I am
an activist", because his mother would again ask him, "What's an
activist?" He did not want to say "I am a fighter for democracy",
because he did not know how to explain the concept of democracy
to his mother. So, after thinking for several seconds, he finally
replied, "I am like Pak de Tarmiji, Mom."
"Oh, you are an information specialist?"
"Something like that. The difference is Pak de Tarmiji gives
information to people in the villages about how to increase their
crops, while I give information to people in other countries
about the situation in our country."
"Oh, my God ... so you're a civil servant now?"
"Not yet, Mom, not yet. I mean, no, I'm not. I'm still a
student."
"Goodness, you haven't finished your studies?"
* * * *
Resting in his quiet and comfortable old house, Hendaru began
to feel the aches and pains he had been too preoccupied to notice
before. His leg, which had been smashed by a rifle butt during a
demonstration in the front of the presidential palace, hurt
again. His kidney, where he had been kicked by soldiers when he
was abducted, ached. And his lungs, which had been damaged during
the months he had been locked up in a special cell in the Kampung
Manggis prison, had not recovered.
All these problems forced him to the regency hospital for
treatment, and it took about a month of visits before he finally
felt able to leave the village. So, he said good-bye to his
mother and went back to the capital and his leased house, which
had been the headquarters for the struggle.
There was Maruli, the youngest, most militant, most loyal
member of the struggle, sleeping soundly on the long bench in the
back room. Maruli had been a gifted student with vision, but riot
police had beaten him, causing a cerebral hemorrhage and damaging
his nervous system. He was never the same person, emotionally or
mentally, and sometimes it seemed as if he had reverted to the
age of an elementary school student.
Maruli was surprised to wake up and see Hendaru standing over
him.
"Ah! It's been too long, Abang. All of our friends have gone.
It's just me here, living in this office, for this office, for
the sake of our struggle!"
"How do you get food?"
"Our friends give me some money each month. What about you?"
Hendaru was suddenly aware that he also needed a means of
survival, he needed to eat and to drink like other people, but
what little savings he had would run out soon if he didn't find
some way to make money. The problem was: what could he do?
He switched on the computer, opened the group's financial
report and was surprised to see there was no more than Rp 5
million in the coffers. They had received Rp 300 million from the
Benz Foundation four months ago -- a large part of which was used
to finance a march through the capital by 2,000 students to
"celebrate freedom" in front of the High Assembly -- and after
that there was no more income. But the bills would keep coming,
the rent on the house, the electricity, the telephone and the
water.
Hendaru started calling his comrades, but he could only reach
a few of them, and only several of them promised to meet with
him. One of these was Bagaskoro, the former secretary of the
group who was now the youngest official in the Ministry of Trade,
holding a key position.
* * * *
When Hendaru entered the room, Bagaskoro stood up and threw
his arms around him, yelling: "Viva our hero of the revolution,
Hendaru Jatisulistyo!"
After the two exchanged news and reminisced, Hendaru broached
the subject of his future and his need to find some work.
Bagaskoro fell silent for some minutes before speaking, choosing
his words carefully.
"Hendaru, I would like to help you by giving you work, but
it's impossible. As you know, the new government just enacted the
Law on Nepotism and Cronyism in response to our criticism of the
collusion, nepotism and cronyism of the Amangkurat regime. If I
helped you, I would be violating the law and violating the ideals
of our struggle."
"Yes, yes, I understand. But I wasn't asking you for work, I
just wanted your ideas."
Hendaru went to other old comrades, including those who had
taken executive positions at leading companies, but he received
similar responses.
"As a friend, I would like to hire you, but it is impossible
because I don't want to damage the spirit of anti-nepotism and
anti-cronyism that is now coloring the whole culture in our
country. Out there, there are dozens of new university graduates
with impeccable credentials, all waiting for me to look over
their job applications. If I hired you, who never finished
college, it would be just because you are my friend. Those were
the kinds of things that we hated about the Amangkurat regime,
right? Those were the kinds of things we fought to put an end to,
right?
* * * *
The days turned into months, and Hendaru and Maruli continued
to survive by doing odd jobs, sending articles to various mass
media (unfortunately many of these were rejected because they
were not considered to be "in line with the post-revolutionary
era"), printing flyers and advertisements with the equipment they
had used to make posters for their demonstrations.
They survived, but the longing to lead, to move thousands of
people, remained a spiritual need they couldn't fulfill. Maruli,
who had been an avid watcher of the television news and who
devoured the newspapers, just stopped paying any attention to the
news. He said the news was too good and neat, in the same way it
had been during the Amangkurat regime. There was nothing dynamic
in the reports; the news was completely frigid, almost
unemotional.
So they continued living and surviving, until one night, at
about midnight, Maruli began screaming like a man possessed.
"Bang! Bang! Wake up, Bang!"
Hendaru awoke like a shot, instantly alert for danger. "What's
happened?"
"A female worker was killed at a factory, Bang! I just saw it
on the television. It's a big story, Bang. The whole world will
take notice of this, precisely because it happened under the
watch of our new government, which is recognized as democratic.
It's obviously a threat. A drop of indigo which could damage an
ocean of milk as broad as our country. Our struggle will have
been in vain because of this incident. Because, in fact, there
are still violent elements who have survived from the Amangkurat
regime.
"We must move, Bang! We will organize demonstrations again! I
will contact our comrades at the labor unions. I'll write a
proposal to raise funds. I still remember the name of the file in
the computer. All I have to do is change the names of the
victims. The budget will be just like in the past, but with the
exchange rate now the money will be worth even more. We will be
able to extend the house's lease for at least another year. We
can pay the bills for our telephone, the electricity, the
water ... "
Hendaru got up, lifted the telephone and called some of his
contacts. After several minutes he put the phone down, lay back
down on his bed, yawned and closed his eyes.
"You're wrong. You were too eager and you got it wrong. She
died because she fell into a ditch when the factory compound was
inundated. She was not killed because she was demanding a raise."
Glossary:
Mas: Javanese term used to address contemporary/older males.
Abang: Older brother, usually used to address older males.
Pak de: Javanese term used to address the older brother of a
mother/father.
Bank Perkreditan Desa: Secondary bank.
Translated by Darul Aqsha
The writer was born in the Central Java town of Salatiga on
June 30, 1960. He graduated from the School of Cinematography at
the Jakarta Arts Institute in 1984, after which he began writing
for Zaman magazine. His first short story appeared in Kompas
daily in 1985 and his second, titled Parmin, was later developed
into a script for TV. It was chosen as the best TV teleplay of
the year.
Another of his short stories was selected as best short story
in 1992 by Kompas, the country's largest newspaper. Following
this, he concentrated on writing scripts for TV. His short story
Setelah Revolution (After the Revolution) appears in Dua
Tengkorak Kepala: Cerpen Pilihan Kompas 2000 (Two Skulls: Kompas'
Best Short Stories 2000). It is printed here courtesy of Kompas.
Jakarta, April 15, 1999