History's demise

The passing of Andi M. Jusuf earlier this week marked not only the death of a loyal soldier, but also the demise of our history.

Soft-spoken and popular among his men, Jusuf rose through the ranks to serve as military commander between 1978 and 1983, ending his public service as chairman of the Supreme Audit Agency. He also served in a number of other senior positions, including minister of basic industries under president Sukarno.

At a time when Johnny-come-latelys dominate our political landscape, massaging their own egos with self-honoring, yet shallow biographies, we are hard pressed to find one of Jusuf, who was witness to one of the nation's most pivotal moments.

Jusuf shunned the limelight, choosing instead to "fade away" despite the clamor for his testimony. Sadly, despite his accomplishments and service to the nation, it is what Jusuf did not say or do that the Indonesian people will judge him by.

Jusuf's death in Makassar, South Sulawesi, on Wednesday ended any realistic hopes of learning what really transpired in Bogor Palace on the fateful evening of March 11, 1966.

The events that unfolded on that night were a precursor to the effective transfer of power from Sukarno to Soeharto.

According to the official version of events, Soeharto sent a delegation comprising Jusuf, minister of veteran affairs Maj. Gen. Basuki Rachmat and Jakarta Military commander Brig. Gen. Amir Machmud to meet with Sukarno.

O.G. Roeder, in his biography of Soeharto, wrote that they were sent to convey the "necessity to create an atmosphere of calm and stability", which could only be achieved "by the transfer ... of presidential powers to Gen. Soeharto".

To this day there is still speculation about the prodding needed to get Sukarno to sign the March 11 Order, or Supersemar, transferring power to Soeharto.

In the more open climate of reformasi, other witnesses have given a somewhat different account of events. This includes testimony from palace guards who claim one of the three generals may have threatened Sukarno, who was already in the twilight of his leadership, into signing the document.

Throughout the years, however, Jusuf has maintained his silence. No remarks, no books, no interviews, just silence.

One can read many meanings into his refusal to speak. What is clear is that to this day, even the whereabouts of the momentous Supersemar document remain unknown.

Maybe the events were as officially portrayed, so Jusuf did not feel the need to comment further. Or perhaps his silence was motivated by the need to cloak this point in our history.

Supersemar is one of those rare occurrences where we see a confluence of history and politics. Where the political foundation of the present day is defined by a singular historical moment.

It is not a case of opening old wounds, but rather a question of calibrating the foundations of our belief system. Accomplishments springing from a well of deceit only perpetuate lies and future disillusionment.

This nation will never be great if it cannot come to terms with its own history. It is this recognition that has prompted plans to form a Truth and Reconciliation Commission to heal the nation's untended wounds.

Unfortunately, the primary actors of Supersemar have now passed away. We are left with Soeharto who, despite sending the three generals to Bogor, may not know the details of what transpired there.

Now all we can do is hope that what happened in the past stays in the past, never to be repeated.

"Judge of nations, spare us yet. Lest we forget -- lest we forget!"