Doctor goes to areas where others fear to tread

Santi W.E. Soekanto, Contributor, Jakarta

It's a painful memory that sticks with Joserizal Jurnalis.

"We came upon layers upon layers of burned bodies at a mosque ... bits and pieces of rotting limbs with larva swarming all over them. Hundreds of them, scattered in the streets, inside houses and in bushes. So many children and women bearing marks of torture."

The orthopedic surgeon and founding chairman of Medical Emergency Rescue Committee (MER-C), is describing the carnage he discovered in January 2000 upon entering Popilo village, where hundreds of its residents were wiped out overnight in one of the worst bursts of sectarian violence in North Maluku.

Jose and his colleagues, Indragiri and Yogi Prabowo, were speechless. One soldier who escorted them said then that even in East Timor there was nothing close to such an atrocity, Jose recollected, his eyes misting over.

Jose and his MER-C colleagues began working for victims of disasters and violence in late 1999. He grabbed even greater media attention when in late 2001 he and a MER-C team took part in the Indonesian government's humanitarian mission for Afghan refugees in Peshawar, Pakistan.

When Coordinating Minister for Social Welfare Jusuf Kalla and his entourage returned home, however, Jose and his friends moved onward into Afghanistan to serve the Afghans suffering under American bombings.

Fairly tall, well-built and with a cropped haircut, Jose is a commanding presence but he repeatedly speaks of fear. In the southern Maluku district of Tual in 1999, Jose had to bring a badly injured Christian man for an operation in the hospital.

"A (Christian) Red Army patrol intercepted us on the way. It was so frightening because they were fully armed with machetes, home-made weapons, bombs, spears, all ready to kill us, strangers. Our driver, a Catholic Irianese, shouted repeatedly, pleading that they spare us because we were doctors helping their own brother.

"That's one of the bad times," Jose said ruefully.

Born in Padang, West Sumatra, Jose went to Jakarta following his high school graduation because his parents wanted him to become a doctor. "On matters of education, I followed whatever my parents said," Jose said, "despite the fact that I actually dreamed of becoming either a nuclear physicist, an astronaut or a soldier."

Jose admitted to facing difficulties in the University of Indonesia's School of Medicine because he hated cramming. "I often cut classes and stayed home reading books on philosophy, literature or politics. I even read martial arts novels by Kho Ping Hoo," he said.

He finished medical school in 1988 and went on to work at a small community health clinic (Puskesmas) in Padang. Then his mother broke her leg in an accident; even two years afterwards, the broken bones had not healed and she had to undergo another operation.

"I decided then to specialize in orthopedic surgery," he said.

He completed the course in 1999 but unlike many specialists who embark on a "pay-back" period, earning as much money as possible to repay the investment in their education, Jose went on to set up MER-C. With his wife Dian Susilawati, a Bandung Institute of Technology graduate, and three children, Jose now lives in a modest rented house in East Jakarta.

"I began to feel like a 'real doctor' only after I went to Maluku," he said. "I guess this is the reward for obeying one's parents, namely that Allah in the ends gives one the best way of living. This way, I can earn a livelihood for my family but I can also go on the jihad as all Muslims should."

Medical Emergency Rescue-Committee, as its name suggests, is a medical lightning force. Established on Aug. 14, 1999, MER-C cites Islam as its ideology though it has received applications from non-Muslim volunteers. Over the course of two years, the organization has sent missions to various regions experiencing disasters, both natural and manmade.

Why Islam? Why not build a "neutral" medical organization? Jose says that when he entered Tual, his first conflict area mission in 1999, together with a group of University of Indonesia medical students, he met medics who refused to be impartial in helping the victims of the violence.

He also witnessed unfairness in the distribution of aid with Muslim refugees being the most disadvantaged. "I saw how indifferent NGOs were when it was the Muslims who were being victimized," he said. "When I was there, no ICRC or Indonesian Red Cross activists were present."

MER-C was established by Jose and several doctors and medical students. It now has branches in Manado, Malang, Yogyakarta, Surabaya, Medan and, fairly soon, in Aceh. Jose insisted that they declare Islam as their foundation, despite some members' objections.

"Why should we be ashamed of saying that this is an Islamic organization? Islam is rahmatan lil'alamin, a blessing for the universe."

"Precisely because this is an Islamic organization, MER-C has to help anyone regardless of their group, ethnic or religious background. Islam tells us to help ease anyone's suffering. Even a prostitute can go to heaven if they sincerely help a thirsty dog," he said.

In Tual, for instance, Jose and his team worked in a Catholic hospital.

"One of my patients was a relative of the regional military commander, Brig. Gen. Max Tamaela, a Christian," Jose said. "This nephew of Tamaela was losing his hand because of a bomb explosion. I told him and his family that I was a Muslim, a surgeon, and that I wanted to help him."

Jose says this stance speaks volumes about what Islam is despite some of its members' inability to quote Koranic verses.

"What we want to do is show the elegant face of Islam, and other people can judge for themselves what we do. This is the way Muslims are doctors," he says.

Last Oct. 29, Jose and four other MER-C volunteers' doctors Hendry Hidayatullah, Yogi Prabowo and Dany K. Ramadhan and guide Muhammad Azzam, flew with Jusuf Kalla's humanitarian mission to Peshawar, where millions of Afghan refugees were sheltering.

After serving several days in Peshawar, Jose's team bought a car and drove some 1,000 kilometers into Afghanistan through the southern border town of Quetta and onward to Kandahar, which was then under the Taliban's control.

"That is the mission of MER-C, actually, to go and serve in places where no other doctors are willing to work," Jose said.

Fear was again a sentiment that accompanied Jose and his friends. At one point, they realized that the jeep they were driving, looking very much like the type of vehicle that the Taliban usually used, was being shadowed by an American fighter. In Kandahar, too, they had to work under constant threats of bombing.

"The warplanes felt like they were overhead. The explosions deafened our ears, we had buzzing sounds in our ears," Jose said.

Jose, who once in North Maluku had to amputate a patient's leg using a carpenter's saw, found once again that resourcefulness was all important. He and his team had to handle a great number of patients all at the same time with almost nonexistent medical facilities.

"We used disposable syringes repeatedly, sterilizing them as best we could with boiling water," he said. "Just like in Maluku when we used honey in the place of antibiotics, which was hard to find."

Jose admitted that, although he had been to a number of conflict areas, Afghanistan left him with the deepest impression.

"So much changed in me as I worked there, especially in my belief in the word 'struggle'. The Afghans were facing what could only be described as the world's strongest power, the United States. But the Afghans I met, especially the Taliban, did not show fear," Jose said. "I could not but admire them for their gumption."

"Those people that I met put their trust entirely in Allah. They were poor, their land and climate harsh, they were being bombed every day, but still they did not show fear. Sincere devotion to Allah, that's what you found in their facial expressions," he said.

Critics have asked "why Afghanistan?" when thousands of Indonesians were still suffering in various conflict areas.

"It was just like what I saw in Tual, when Muslims were suffering and no one reached out to help (because people kept on waiting for other people to begin first)," Jose said.

"I did not need to open books on Islamic jurisdiction to find out whether I should or should not go to Afghanistan. I saw the mission as fardhu ain, incumbent on individual Muslims, to help our brethren who were being slaughtered."

"I was sure I would be of some use there. I did not need to ask permission from my parents, even my wife. All Muslims are brothers, no matter where they are. America was bombing Afghanistan, how could we sit still?"

Jose could not explain what drove him to take part in dangerous missions except that he felt he had to go on the jihad, as required of all Muslims. Several times he escaped death, though he says that being a martyr is the highest wish for a Muslim.

"Fear is what I feel every time he goes on those missions," Dian said of her husband's work, but "I believe Allah is the best protector".

Fear is what Jose still feels, yet it does not stop him from doing what he believes is right. He is now planning to go on a mission to Chechnya.