Dark side of the moon on the Island of Gods

Dark side of the moon on the Island of Gods

I Wayan Juniartha, The Jakarta Post, Kuta, Bali

On that Saturday night, everything was hauntingly familiar and
eerily strange at the same time.

The smoldering buildings, mangled bodies and howling sirens
evoked the chilling memory of another dark night three years ago.
It was the night of murderous cowardice when a single blast
claimed 202 lives: friends and guests, brothers and sisters of
the Balinese.

For a while, the island staggered in anger and denial. But,
the proud Balinese soon fought back with their own brand of
religious pacifism. Embracing the Muslims, the Christians and the
Buddhists, the Balinese Hindus refused the temptation of
xenophobia vengeance. With the help of loyal friends, those we
had once called visitors, the island marched bravely,
optimistically toward the road to recovery.

This time, however, an atmosphere of ultimate defeat and
desperation hovered like a strange, dark cloud over the island.

When the ambulances rushed to the scene, the residents of
Legian, Seminyak and Kerobokan descended onto the sidewalks of
deserted streets. They spoke in whispers and wandered around like
the forgotten ghosts of a fallen town. There was no optimism.

"We are doomed," a youth said.

He was not speaking about the fall of tourism nor of a
financial downturn. The sadness in his eyes was of familiar
betrayal, crumbling dignity and vanishing trust.

In the brutalized area one kilometer to the south, a weeping
community leader put that sadness into words of disbelief.

"Why do they keep attacking us, singling us out. Have we
wronged them in the past?" he asked.

The following morning, a Denpasar housewife woke up with the
pain of anger burning in her heart.

"They attacked us because we are Hindus. It's about time we
avenged this cruelty," she said gritting her teeth.

The attacks took place just four days before the Hindus
celebrate the victory of good over evil in the important
religious festival of Galungan.

For many Balinese, the bombings are seen as a direct affront
to the holy spirit of that festival.

Their anger is further aggravated by the fact that none of the
main perpetrators of the 2002 bombings have been brought before
the firing squad and that in recent months leaflets from an
anonymous source have been circulating among the Balinese on the
"Muslims' plan" to take over the island.

Rather than relieving the public's pain, the media's incessant
coverage of blood and destruction has done nothing but intensify
the Balinese's humiliating feeling of defeat, portraying the
terrorists as the victorious conquerors.

The mix of desperation, hurt, hatred and, most significantly,
isolation that the Balinese feel is all-consuming. Some religious
and community leaders fear the situation will spiral into an
open, horizontal conflict.

"If the perpetrators are arrested the government should
execute them instantly, no more trials, no more lawyers," a
Denpasar resident shouted.

Terrorism is a faceless entity. The absence of a clearly
defined enemy will tempt the Balinese to take their anger out on
the community that has many times been mistakenly associated with
the terrorist organization.

The magnitude of the blasts and the number of the victims were
smaller than those of the 2002 bombings but the social
ramifications of the 2005 attacks could be more devastating and
longer lasting.

Whether the attacks succeed in tearing apart the island's fine
fabric of religious and social harmony is dependent on two
things: First, the ability of the central government and the non-
Balinese community to embrace and to share the anguish of the
Balinese. Second, the ability of the Balinese to take a silent
journey into their own peace-loving and noble hearts.

There was no moon on Sunday as the Balinese observed Tilem,
the ritual of the dark side of the moon. The sky was darker than
usual. In a small shrine in eastern Denpasar, a temple priest
spoke softly to his congregation.

"The real trouble lies ahead," he said.