Ambonese come to terms with limits of `normalcy'

Ambonese come to terms with limits of `normalcy'

Ati Nurbaiti, The Jakarta Post, Ambon

It seems an inevitable, accepted fact of life here that while
things must return to "normal", it would be wishful thinking to
imagine that it means resuming normalcy in full, at least in the
foreseeable future.

Young and old now say that the conflict since 1999 had a
significant impact and that it brought widespread suffering to
nearly all residents, with the loss of life, amounting to an
unofficial estimate of over 9,000, equally painful for all.

A drive to move on has replaced earlier, bitter feelings of
vengeance. "Do you want to think of life or death?" says Ali, a
motorcycle taxi driver who escaped near death in one of the
communal battles.

A mother who lost two teenage sons allowed herself a moment of
grief, and buried her face in her hands briefly before saying, "I
would become too stressed out if I kept thinking about them, it
was impossible for them to stay inside while there was a war
anyway."

The change that must be acknowledged is of course that
although many families never thought it a problem to live among
neighbors of a different religion, it is now common sense to live
apart.

It is heartening in the meantime that people can move through
either "Christian" or "Muslim" areas for daily activities, that
they can pay much less in fees when traveling by road instead of
by sea for short distances, that they can associate with
relatives and friends of other religions again and that they are
all fed up with violence and are determined to move on.

Families with Christian and Muslim members no longer need to
meet in secret.

But having seen how violence strikes, even under the
supposedly safe era of the civil emergency status, there is no
way that refugees who were of religious minorities can return to
their villages.

In the event of an attack on either Muslim or Christian
minorities, however remote the possibility, "our neighbors would
not be able to help," says Abu Kubangun, a coordinator of one the
Muslim refugee camps in Ambon.

"The Christians (minorities in Muslim dominated villages)
can't go anywhere either," he said, while hearkening back to a
different time in Kudamati, which during the conflicts became a
feared base of Christian "hardliners."

While the deadline of Jan. 15 looms for refugees to leave the
shelters, Abu, who works with almost 2,000 people from 385
families, said he did not yet know where they would go.
Authorities say they have yet to find plots of land for the
thousands of people who cannot return home.

The central government has said it can only financially
support refugees until Jan. 15.

Nonetheless, much greater freedom of movement has been felt in
the last four months, residents say.

A taxi driver, Jefri, says drivers like himself have only been
able to operate the route from the airport to downtown in the
last two months, as road barriers had been taken away near the
razed ruins of the 23-hectare campus of the Pattimura University
and the remains of a few state-run high schools.

The fiery scenes of youngsters in war gear and carrying
weapons have been replaced by soccer games and billiard tables.

But in the relatively normal looking scene downtown, several
areas are still segregated, including the motorcycle taxi pools.
In the new bustling market place near Hotel Amans, motorcycle
taxis stand ready to cater to the shoppers who are mostly
Christians, because prices are double from their own areas, which
is further from Muslim-dominated downtown.

Any visitor to Muslim refugee camps would have to take a
Muslim motorcycle taxi as a precaution. Many public transport
vehicles need to display their routes -- their colors indicate
where they are going -- which is largely to either Christian or
Muslim areas.

Residents have made the best of the situation. In a new twist
of the religious and ethnic divide, Christian Ambonese, faced
with the need to survive after escaping violence and the
destruction of their homes, are now found among pedicab drivers
catering to Christian areas once operated by migrant, Muslim
pedicab drivers because locals did not take menial jobs like
pedicab driving or small scale trading.

Now people must face the facts of such a religious divide,
which some historians blame on governmental programs over many
decades, for instance in the formation of segregated settlements.
Analysts say New Order politics (under Soeharto from 1966 to
1998, including the transmigration program which sent thousands
of Javanese Muslims mostly to non-Muslim islands) contributed to
the transformation of the social dynamics and the structure of
Christian dominance in prestigious jobs, including in the
government. But none of this was ever addressed until after the
violence broke out.

With some discomfort, such issues were taken up in a gathering
of traditional village heads (raja, or king) here, from Jan. 9
to Jan. 11. In the group discussion on education, the leaders and
educators debated the need to balance recruitment of students and
lecturers or teachers based on religion.

Charges at Pattimura University, which was dominated by
Christians, in regard to the students and lecturers only surfaced
after the conflict broke out in early 1999.

Similarly, accusations that Muslims were appointed to the
local government positions because of nepotism were only brought
up after the seemingly endless violence.

In the above talks, the need to strike a balance with all
teachers and lecturers should depend on the subject matter, said
one raja.

While other subjects should only screen educators on the basis
of their academic and teaching competence, he said, "If children
are to be taught tolerance, then teachers at the elementary level
must be balanced" between Muslims and Christians.

And while Maluku residents must now deal with such issues,
the elders also face the task of understanding problems of the
young, such as unemployment and drug use.

Ecstasy is freely sold at nightclubs and bars, witnesses say,
and even children are involved in the now open business of
lottery (unyil) on the streets. One of the older lottery
organizers, Aladin said he would gladly do something else if
there was another good job for him, but the numbers game was
currently the only thing he could do to feed his three children.

One of the speakers at the gathering of the 110 raja, noted
psychologist Sarlito Wirawan, said, "The approach to the young
needs an entirely different approach, their icons and jargon are
totally different."