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.