Even in worst of times they turn nation ideals into effect

By Jeffrey A. Winters

CHICAGO, Illinois (JP): "Everywhere today one finds a feeling of dissatisfaction," observed Mohammad Hatta in 1956, a week before he resigned as Sukarno's vice president. "The just Indonesia we are all waiting for is still far away."

Although Hatta's assessment came as Indonesia's brief experiment with democracy was ending, it echoes with surprising relevance even as democracy is emerging again.

"When one looks at recent developments in our country and society," he said, "one gets the impression that after the independence of Indonesia had been achieved, with no small sacrifice, our idealistic leaders and freedom fighters were pushed back."

And in their place, "political-economic profiteers came to the foreground."

"They have used the national movement and its slogans for their ends," Hatta wrote bitterly, "and have ridden on the backs of the political parties for these same private ends."

"This has inevitably resulted in political and economic anarchy, followed in its wake by a reign of corruption and demoralization," the vice president observed.

In despair, Hatta reflected on those who had sacrificed so much for such a disappointing outcome: "It is clear that it was not this kind of a Free Indonesia that was visualized by our freedom fighters of early days."

How much greater Hatta's anguish would have been had he known that almost a million innocent Indonesians would die horrible deaths because of one of the 20th century's most ruthless dictators.

What would he have said if he knew that democracy would be subverted for four decades while a power-elite stole the country's riches and piled up its debts?

Despite passionate words like these, Hatta is remembered by most Indonesians as a dry intellectual and not as a man of the people.

It takes an activist voice much closer to the Indonesian soul to capture fully the exhilaration and anguish of the nation's struggle for justice and freedom.

A hundred years ago, on the northern coast of Java, a young woman named Kartini wrote these words:

"This is a story of three brown girls from a tropical country in the East. They were born with eyes that were blind but had their eyes opened; pressed to observe, to relish, and to admire things of beauty and value in life."

"And now, after having grown accustomed to the light and the beauty, after having grown to love the sun, to love the surrounding world that had been illuminated around them, a blindfold has been pulled over their eyes again. They have been cast back into the world of darkness from which they had come, from which all people and every ancestor had always lived."

Read one way, Kartini's three girls remind us that struggles in life are never a simple straight line. After victories there are sometimes defeats, and after light there can be periods of darkness.

But Kartini has a much more subtle message as well. In the end, the three girls returned to darkness. But unlike their ancestors, who lived their whole lives without sight or light, the girls had had a chance to see.

And even when blindfolded and in darkness again, what they had seen and felt could not be erased or taken from them.

It is much harder to repress a slave who has struggled successfully for her freedom, and then is enslaved again, than it is to repress one who has lived her whole life in the darkness of bondage.

The words of Hatta and Kartini are important at this juncture in Indonesia's history. Through great pain and sacrifice, Indonesians recently overthrew yet another long period of oppression. They broke through Kartini's veil of darkness into light.

The excitement many feel is genuine and justified. And so too is the disgust and despair. Kartini and Hatta call our attention to different aspects of the same basic struggle of the human spirit. We are reminded that breaking through to the light does not just happen automatically. Real people struggle and make real sacrifices.

And the black clouds that block the light, or the forces trying to cast the country back into darkness, also represent real people and social forces as well -- those Hatta criticized as "political-economic profiteers."

Every country and every era has its share of opportunists. Like the Dutch before, the Soeharto-military regime bought and intimidated many people into betraying the nation's founding ideals expressed so eloquently in the 1945 Constitution: equality, justice, prosperity, and the rule of law.

No matter how many thousands or millions join in the betrayal, no dictator or regime ever succeeds in getting everyone to join the opportunists. There are those who never surrender, no matter how sweet the temptation or dangerous the threat. These are Indonesia's greatest sons and daughters.

Thanks to movies, we imagine these people as being tall, strong, fearless, beautiful, or handsome. We imagine that a special light shines on their heads and that they are geniuses. Indonesians often fantasize that these figures have special powers, that they are stronger than bullets and bombs, or have mystical visions in their dreams.

But the truth is even more surprising and amazing than this. The truth is that these people are ordinary human beings like you and me, except in one important respect: they believe deeply in the basic principles of humanity, and they apply them with remarkable determination in their daily lives.

Other than that, they are made of ordinary flesh and blood. The telephone threats against them and their families always cause them genuine terror. The beatings and electric shocks of torturers still cause them terrible pain. Rapes still degrade them and cause them life-long trauma. And bullets fired by snipers still cause their hearts to stop beating forever.

These individuals are never perfect, nor are they always completely consistent. They make errors in judgment both for themselves and for others. They are not angels. They are simply remarkable human beings.

Whatever their strengths or weaknesses, they have certain things in common. They do not sell out, nor do they give up easily in the face of adversity. They constantly seek new knowledge and new allies in their struggle for justice and basic human dignity.

In 1956 Hatta was right that justice in Indonesia was still far away. But today as in the past, there are people working against great odds to bring it closer. Although most of them are not even aware of it, they are part of an historic process in Indonesia that reaches back hundreds of years before Kartini's struggles on behalf of women and the nation.

There are two reasons to write about these people now. One is to remind those living through this difficult moment in Indonesia's history that despite the daily barrage of depressing news, there are many committed Indonesians from the very young to the very old who are doing honorable and important work.

As they stubbornly refuse to become cynics, they give everyone else a reason to keep hoping and expecting that conditions will improve.

The second reason is that history shows that the real grunt- work of progress for any country is always done by these special people, not by the big political names on the front pages of newspapers. The big players follow behind and take all the glory after the risks and dangers have already been faced by the relatively humble and unknown activists working at the grassroots level. In short, what these special Indonesians do matters far more than most people realize.

Thus far I have been talking in the abstract about these great Indonesians. This is dangerous because there is a tendency for powerful people who do not deserve recognition to imagine that we are talking about them.

To avoid this problem, let me be specific about where we will not find these extraordinary Indonesians.

We will not find them in the highest positions in the government. Indonesia has a small number of very good leaders in office now -- though they are greatly outnumbered by thousands of mediocrities, fakers, crooks, thugs, opportunists, and even cold- blooded killers. Unfortunately, thus far not one of Indonesia's good leaders has shown evidence of greatness or excellence.

We will not find Indonesia's greatest sons and daughters among the leaders of the military. There may be some truly visionary and principled officers below the rank of brigadier general. But all of the top officers made their careers as aggressive climbers in Soeharto's New Order.

A small minority in the military went along reluctantly, trying to avoid the regime's bloodshed and brutality. However, the great majority, without conscience and humanity, participated with varying degrees of enthusiasm in the atrocities of the regime.

What all the officers had in common was their willingness to betray the most important principles of the nation in pursuit of their own ambitions of power and wealth, while they helped Soeharto and his cronies to pursue theirs.

No matter how many ribbons and medals they have on their chests, and no matter where they are buried, these officers will never be heroes in the eyes of the people.

Nor, finally, will we find a single great Indonesian among the country's top judges and bureaucrats. They sold their principles decades ago. They have been involved in injustice and corruption for so long that they no longer have any idea what these concepts even mean.

These people will remain as obstacles to progress as long as Indonesians allow them to maintain their grip on their rotten offices.

So who are the country's greatest citizens and where can we find them? I cannot mention all of them. And for each one mentioned here, there are a hundred more like them whom I have never met and whose contributions I have not seen or heard about.

Although they are invisible, these great people exist at every level of society -- in the villages and urban neighborhoods, in the schools and universities, in the hospitals and orphanages, and in the mosques, temples, and churches.

I begin by mentioning some of the ones who did not just take risks and make sacrifices, but who made the ultimate sacrifice by giving their lives in the pursuit of freedom and justice.

The first is Marsinah, the young woman from East Java who lost her life in 1993 for daring to demand that laborers should be treated like human beings. She acted peacefully and nonviolently. The same cannot be said for those who raped her, beat her, and left her bleeding in a ditch to die.

Marsinah's killers wanted to send a message to millions of Indonesians in factories across the country that they could be safe only if they would be silent.

Marsinah will live on for Indonesians as a symbol of bravery at a time when standing up for fairness and justice was very dangerous. Her death marked the beginning of the growing outrage that finally reached its peak in May of 1998.

Fuad Muhammad Syafruddin, known to his friends simply as Udin, is another important figure who gave his life fighting for principles Indonesians hold dear. A journalist who courageously investigated and wrote about corruption at the highest levels in the Bantul regency, Udin was beaten in the head with a pipe and left to die at his home near Yogyakarta in 1996.

Through Udin's sacrifice, reporters and the press have become stronger. People in the media understand that until Udin's attackers are brought to justice, the struggle for genuine freedom of the press will be unfinished.

Yap Yun Hap died in September of 1999, together with six others (one was a nine-year old boy), from military bullets as he sat quietly along the curb in front of Atmajaya University in Jakarta.

An engineering student from the University of Indonesia, Yap Yun Hap symbolizes the importance of simply being there and being a part of a movement. While other students remained at home or sat in foodstalls chatting with their friends, this young man stood shoulder-to-shoulder with the students who rejected the military's push for a tough new Security Law that would block the progress of democratization.

President Habibie and the generals thought they could pass the security law quietly while no one was looking. Thanks to the determination and sacrifice of people like Yap and the others who died that September day, the government has been blocked from implementing the Security Law (PKB Act).

Jafar Siddiq Hamzah must be counted as an extraordinary Indonesian, even though he was a permanent resident of the United States. Like all the others mentioned here, he believed deeply in struggles for justice based on democracy and nonviolence.

Jafar's commitment to peace proved too great a threat to those committed to violence in Aceh. Sidney Jones, the widely respected head of Human Rights Watch Asia, said Jafar was "one of the most dedicated human rights defenders I've ever known."

Through his International Forum for Aceh, Jafar sought to inform the international community and Indonesians about the truth in Aceh -- particularly how the people there had been brutalized for years by the Indonesian military.

In August of 2000, the soft-spoken Jafar was abducted, tortured over a period of a month while President Wahid's government did nothing to locate him, and finally dumped in a ravine with three others. His face had been smashed and his naked body was wrapped in barbed wire.

There are also those I call "The Eighteen." They are the Indonesian sons and daughters who died at Trisakti University and the Semanggi overpass in May and November of 1998. Four students at the university, plus six students and eight more demonstrators at the overpass.

These young men and women were shot by high-powered military rifles. Several were struck by snipers in the head.

Who were these people and what did they do for their country? Why were they there, even though their families sometimes urged them to stay home for safety?

Surely they did not go to the demonstrations intending to die. They all knew there was a risk, but none believed the military would shoot unarmed civilians demonstrating nonviolently.

They joined the demonstration because they knew change could not come if no one stepped forward and acted. They understood that rights and freedoms are never gained through passivity.

And for every Indonesian reporter today who writes critical news without fear, for every editor who publishes without wondering if the presses will be shut down, for every citizen who talks openly instead of whispers, for every teacher who teaches the truth instead of the lies of the regime, and for every legislator who now stands up to the executive branch and the military -- a debt of gratitude is owed to these people who suffered unspeakable agony and gave their final heartbeat.

When people like Marsinah, Udin, or Jafar die, or when hundreds of thousands perish in East Timor, or when a million souls are exterminated in a matter of weeks in 1965, justice gets established through the process of demanding accountability.

Who did it, how, why? Discovering the answers to these questions is just as important as punishing those responsible.

Indonesia's greatest citizens are not just those who die in the name of justice and democracy, but also those who carry on in the same spirit. They span several generations from the very young to the very old. And yet they share a common bond in the objectives they struggle for.

Let me begin by mentioning two who are old in body but strong in spirit. The first is Pramoedya Ananta Toer. Indonesians will never understand their history or themselves until they read and understand the writings of Pram.

He can be thanked for his consistency of vision and his unwillingness to accept the empty apologies offered by today's elites for the wrongs of the past.

Pram understands something leaders like President Wahid and his colleagues never will: If rule of law cannot be applied to those with so much blood on their hands starting now, there is no reason to have confidence that it will be applied to those who break the laws tomorrow and the day after.

Justice comes into existence the moment it is applied. The clock starts with the first real investigations, prosecutions, and sentences. Until then, it is only empty talk, usually by those who fear justice the most.

It sounds deeply pessimistic when Pram says he does not believe the current and older generation will bring meaningful change for Indonesia. But in fact it is Pram's way of saying to the younger generation that they are the only true hope for the country. He is as brilliantly subversive as he is inspiring.

Instead of bringing in advisors like the autocrat Lee Kuan Yew or the hideous Henry Kissinger, President Wahid, Megawati, and the commander of the armed forces would do much better if they held weekly advisory sessions with Pram.

Sulami is another great Indonesian from Pram's generation, and she shares with him the honor of being a prisoner of conscience for two decades under Soeharto.

No matter how long she was forced to sit in a cell, her commitment to truth and justice could not be broken. She recently founded an organization dedicated to one basic task -- documenting, village by village, what happened during the massacre of 1965.

To her fellow citizens she poses two simple but powerful questions. First, why do you continue to believe the lies of a regime overflowing with liars, corruptors, and killers? And second, do you dare confront the truth about Indonesia's past?

Indonesia has many remarkable freedom fighters in the younger generations as well. There is Hendardi, a lawyer and defender of justice who, like T. Mulya Lubis, is vastly more qualified to head Indonesia's Supreme Court than the corrupt left-overs of the Soeharto regime favored by the House of Representatives.

There is Wardah Hafidz, the head of the Urban Poor Consortium, who works tirelessly at the grassroots level to give basic dignity to the poorest of the poor.

Equally courageous is Father Sandyawan, who is best known for his advocacy of the ethnic Chinese women raped in 1998.

And there are also figures like Budiman Sudjatmiko. How quickly Indonesia's legal system moved when it falsely convicted Budiman and members of the PRD (People's Democratic Party) for the riots in July 1996 after the regime's attack on the PDI headquarters. And how slowly it moves now as the real masterminds in the military are being investigated for the same crimes.

History will remember Budiman and his colleagues for the fact that long before Megawati and the PDI (Indonesian Democratic Party) raised their voices, and long before people like Amien Rais, Habibie, and even Harmoko became advocates of reform, the young activists in the PRD criticized the Soeharto regime for its corruption, called for the dictator to step down, demanded an end to the dual function of the military, and called for justice in East Timor and the other oppressed regions in the archipelago.

A final person to be mentioned is Munir. He is surely the greatest individual ever to emerge from HMI (Muslim Students Association) and one of the most exemplary Indonesians living today.

The justice and democracy for Indonesia that Hatta said was still far away could be reached in just a few short years if Munir could be cloned a thousands times and distributed around the archipelago to start organizing the people for change.

Officially, Munir is known as one of the founders of the Commission on Missing Persons and Victims of Violence (Kontras). Through this organization he does important work. But his significance for Indonesia is much greater than this.

For every cruel or ignorant statement made by Indonesia's leaders, Munir offers a brilliant and inspiring counter- statement. For every state or police or military action subverting justice and democracy, Munir stands bravely against it.

Consider some of the things he has done. At a time when President Wahid has welcomed Prabowo back to Jakarta and Megawati has praised Kopassus, Munir has kept up the pressure on Kopassus for kidnapping and torturing nine democracy activists, and "disappearing" fifteen others.

His message is easy to comprehend. First comes responsibility and justice, and then comes forgiveness, praise, new boots and weapons.

Munir and his organization released data in 2000 proving that the fight to end abuses by the military is a struggle of the present not the past. Abuses like killings and torture actually increased since President Wahid became president.

When Wiranto released his album, Munir rightly called it sick and grotesque. When Minister Yusril tried recently to use Munir's name to gain support for the dreaded Security Law, Munir immediately responded he would not take part and that the law was anathema to justice and democracy.

Such clarity of thought and consistency of principles is rare in any country around the world, but it is particularly lacking among Indonesia's elite classes.

The most important aspect of Munir's philosophy and contribution is his awareness that in order to build a solid foundation for peace, justice, and democracy in Indonesia, one must work from the grassroots level upward.

In receiving this year's Right Livelihood Award, Munir said that the most important task of Kontras is "to build a network between ordinary individuals to change people's minds after years of totalitarianism."

"Human Rights is not only about law suits," he said, "it's a mass movement."

And for all of this, a bomb has exploded at his office and a police truck rode past strafing the building with automatic weapons fire.

In an interview, Munir remarked that he feels embarrassed when people consider him a hero. "I'm not," he said. He just hopes he has "done something good, useful." To this we can only respond, he is and he has.

People like Pram, Munir, and Sulami appreciate what Kartini meant when she wrote of eyes being opened. The first prison is one of perception, in the mind. The second is in daring to act upon that which you can finally see clearly.

Every day tens of millions of Indonesians sing the national anthem, "Indonesia the Great." The refrain, "Rise in Spirit, Rise in Body," echoes a similar call for an awakening of consciousness followed by meaningful action.

It is the remarkable Indonesians mentioned here, and the many more that could not be mentioned, who keep these words and their meaning alive today.

(Jeffrey Winters is professor of political economy at Northwestern University in Chicago, the United States).