Jauhari cries over lost culture

Jauhari cries over lost culture

Emmy Fitri, The Jakarta Post, Jakarta

After being a virtual war zone for decades, Aceh has not only
seen the loss of its loved ones; its once vibrant and distinct
culture is also in danger of being totally forgotten.

But who cares when many rather listen to high-profile
political chatter? Perhaps, it might take the tsunami to enable
the voices of ordinary people to be heard gain.

Musician Jauhari Samalanga and his community of artists,
Nyawoung, (meaning "soul" in Acehnese), have spoken out about
what they feel and their hopes that the Acehnese people will
reclaim their long-lost identity.

When news of the Dec. 26 tsunami disaster first broke, Metro
TV had saturation coverage of the events in Aceh. Jauhari's
music, including the song Do Do Daidi (a lullaby) was used
extensively as a backing track, as it seemed ideally suited,
given the circumstances.

"The tsunami has taken a generation from our land. Children
and babies, who perished in the disaster, never had the chance to
know Acehnese culture and how rich is it," Jauhari said in an
interview with The Jakarta Post last week.

What's left now must be given an opportunity; if there is no
opportunity, we shall strive to make that happen so that some day
people will still remember that we exist, added the father of two
toddlers.

"Systematically" is perhaps the most politically correct word
to describe how culture in Aceh has been removed from everyday
life. Culture, with its integral customs and art, is waiting in
the background, for its people live in constant fear and
uncertainty.

"Our customs and art were almost killed off when the
government imposed martial law in Aceh. People were no longer
able to take part in any cultural events or gatherings, because
in Aceh we live out most of our traditions at night," said
Jauhari.

"For us, the night is the right time because it is time to
rest our tired being after a hard day at work, and let our mind
contemplate through dzikir (recitation), Dalail Khairat (an
activity similar to dzikir) and Koran-reading."

The night curfew -- imposed since martial law was declared in
1989 (known as DOM) is the reason why people tend to stay at home
after dusk and watch television rather than gathering at mosques
and public places, for fear of being singled out as
troublemakers.

"There is a ban on Seudati, which was once performed every
night until morning," said the graduate of the Jakarta-based
Indonesian Institute of Sociopolitical Studies (IISIP).

Seudati is a war dance, but when performed it usually
incorporates an element of story-telling, updating the audience
on what's new in their neighborhood and its vicinity.

Other forms of traditional art like Dalupa (satirical story
telling) from the West coast of Aceh, Didong (poetry reading)
from Takengon, Apa Raoh (musical, comic theater performance
played on the violin) from the east coastal area, have gradually
been replaced by popular, keyboard-based music or small dangdut
shows in small towns.

"Can you imagine how long DOM lasted -- for 10 years -- and it
was followed by martial law shortly after; for that long our
culture has been virtually banished from every Acehnese's soul."

With some hope still alive, Jauhari migrated to Jakarta as
soon as he married in 2000. Living as an artist was simply too
hazardous in a location where people always felt unsafe to gather
together to express themselves.

"Our art runs with our lives. Traditionally, we are very
religious. Therefore, our art, too, is close to religious
teachings. It's not static, either, but dynamic, with modern
touches, too."

Before DOM, the late musician A. Bakar led the way for the
recording of traditional music after he launched an album with
the hit, Jin Jin Njuk (A Genie's Gift), full of inspirational
lyrics reminding people of their relationship with God.

"It's very popular there and people love it," he said.

Since the imposition of DOM until today, lyrics created by
local musicians have moved from simple reminders to satire, laden
with political overtones.

"Composing lyrics is like writing a diary of what we know and
feel. It's our history that we are writing. Some might consider
our work rebellious but that depends on the listener," he said.

His song Yang Na (Those who Exist) tells of a brave officer
who, armed only with a rifle, "dares" to hit an unarmed civilian.
Because of this song, Jauhari was asked by his distributors -- at
the behest of the Indonesian Military (TNI) in Aceh -- to pull
the album from the shelves and remix it minus the song, if he
wanted it distributed legally.

Another song, Haro Hara (Chaos) was also cited as the cause of
the ban.

"We are articulating what the public is already aware of --
even for those who live outside Aceh -- like the Simpang KKA
massacre, Reumah Geudong, and the killing of Tengku Bantaqiah in
Haro Hara," he said.

He was lucky enough not to be questioned or imprisoned.

"An army general there said my songs were considered
provocative and subversive," he added.

Jauhari doesn't intend to go into politics -- that's not his
cup of tea -- but said, "if we talk about culture in Aceh then we
have to face the fact that we're talking about a major shift in
culture because of long-term political oppression."

The change, for the worse, has also occurred in his hometown,
Simpang Mamplam, Samalanga, near Bireuen.

On his last visit he could only pass by and look out from a
speeding car; the small town had become part of history. In 2002,
houses there were set ablaze and the people told to leave the
town after two Brimob (Police Mobile Brigade) personnel, were
killed near the local market.

"I almost cried when I passed (my hometown). Everything's
gone. I long to sit in the coffee shop with my friends. At night
we would look for crabs or hunt deer to be cooked and eaten near
the paddy fields," Jauhari said, recalling such simple pleasures.

"My children are still too young but I want them to learn the
Acehnese way of life -- even our simple way of enjoying life like
being with friends and sharing what we have," said Jauhari, who
is an avid fan of the music of Genesis, Toto and Michael Frank.

Jauhari and his community are undeterred by what they perceive
as the iron-fisted policy imposed on their homeland. In the wake
of the tsunami, he pledges to resume his soul-searching, cultural
mission. He wants to help his fellow Acehnese and remind them of
their long-forgotten identity.

"I'm not afraid of anything except Allah. If I'm banned in
Aceh, then I'll sing in Jakarta. And if banned here, I can still
compose songs and send them abroad," he said.

"We just want our people to stand tall again and see that they
have a culture that was once so vibrant and bermarwah
(dignified)," he said, wistfully.