Justice is but an old man's hoe

Justice is but an old man's hoe

By Prapti Widinugraheni

JAKARTA (JP): They say justice is blind. It discriminates
against nobody, be they rich or poor. It always sides with the
good guys and punishes the bad guys.

But try tell that to 60-year old Tasiran, a simple peasant
from East Java who had always kept up with his land tax
obligations, and he will tell you immediately that justice takes
things away from him. First his land, then at one time his
freedom, and now his precious old hoe.

For more than eight years, Tasiran has traveled hundreds of
kilometers, shuttling back and forth from his home village in
Tulung Rejo, to Bojonegoro, and to Jakarta, in search of justice.

What does justice really mean for him?

"The court stole my hoe. That's what I said to them and, boy,
did I stun them," said the small, dark man who didn't stop one
minute from puffing on his hand-rolled tobacco cigarette.

He was speaking in Javanese, the only language he knew.

Tasiran was obviously unaware that the world was loaded with
people who could do more than just "stun" a courtroom.

He was spotted by several journalists, or rather he made
himself be spotted by them, at the headquarters of the National
Commission on Human Rights earlier this month.

Approaching a group of them with an old, worn out briefcase in
his hand, Tasiran began to tell his story as he took out pieces
of old, battered, yellowish-brown papers from his briefcase.

"I received these when I visited Bina Graha (the presidential
office) and the State Secretariat. They ordered the court to
review my case and appointed a lawyer for me," he said.

Among the assorted old papers was a court sentence from the
Bojonegoro, East Java, district court that sentenced him to jail.
In several other letters, where his signature was required were
his thumb prints, indicating that he was illiterate.

There were also clippings of a 1992 edition of the Forum
Keadilan magazine which ran a three-page profile on Tasiran.

Tasiran's problems stemmed from a dispute over two pieces of
land -- measuring 185 and 190 square meters each -- in Kedung
Arum village originally belonging to his parents before they died
in the mid-1940's.

The plots were later cultivated by Tasiran's older brother
before he died in 1962.

Afterwards, he moved in to till the land and Tasiran, who at
that time was living in neighboring Tulung Rejo village with his
wife, kept paying the annual land tax, believing that the farmers
were merely land tillers who would eventually move out.

He was right on one thing. The tillers moved out. But he was
wrong on another. The tillers were selling his plots and they had
changed hands several times without his knowledge.

The news only came to him in 1984 when he received notice from
the inland revenue service notifying him that he no longer needed
to pay land taxes for the two plots. It informed him that one
plot was owned by someone named Sukiman and the other by Muryadi,
at least according to the certificates.

"Everyone in the village knows the land has been in my family
for years ... How could a piece of paper prove otherwise?" he
asked.

That was when he started to seek "justice".

In early 1985, Tasiran put his faith in the Bojonegoro
district court.

The results? His lawsuit was rejected on the grounds that he
had no concrete evidence to support his claim. The land taxes
that he had been paying for the two plots did not count. The
local authorities could not find anything in their files to show
that the land had been registered by his parents.

Besides losing faith in the local court, he also lost faith in
local officials who offered their services -- in return for a sum
of money -- to help him with his court case. But obviously they
were not helpful.

Upset, disappointed and confused, Tasiran defied the court
order and decided to occupy the land which he believed was
rightfully his.

He was tilling the land with his old hoe a few days later when
he was arrested by police on charges of trespassing.

In 1986 he was tried and sentenced to three months
imprisonment and six months probation.

After he was released in November that year, Tasiran decided
to continue his search for "justice". This time, his destination
was Jakarta.

He tried to take his case directly to the top. He tried Bina
Graha, the State Secretariat and the Supreme Court.

They were all sympathetic, but insisted that he ought to
settle the issue locally. He was provided mostly with reference
documents to support his case if he wanted to appeal, which would
the proper legal course for him to pursue. One of them appointed
a lawyer for him -- free of charge.

But Tasiran said he did not want to go through another court
nor trust a lawyer. "I am afraid (the lawyer) will give in to
money," he said flatly.

Now coming to the realization that there is no hope of getting
his land back, he simply wants someone to show him that there is
still a little justice left in this country.

He is not asking for a lot, just a token to restore his faith
in the legal system. He wants his hoe back.

"The court took away my hoe as evidence even though they
didn't catch me red-handed. They claimed that it had been
returned after I was released, but I never received it and I
still don't have it back," he said.

"I will tell people that the court has stolen my hoe... that
will really get them and the other officials as well," he said,
so confident that he could "punish" the institutions which he
once trusted so much.

He has since been shuttling back and forth between Tulung Rejo
and Jakarta in search of justice.

His visit to the National Commission on Human Rights this
month was part of his now almost nine-year crusade for "justice".
Amazingly, he still believes it's there.

How much money has he spent all these years? "I've sold six
cows to pay the officials, court administrative fees and for the
trips," said the father of four children and grandfather of
eight.

A cow currently sells for about Rp 2 million, not a small
amount for rural people.

He was carrying with him a crumpled letter, dated some time
last year, and carefully took it out of its once-white envelope.

Due to his illiteracy, he had memorized all of the letters.
"This is a letter from local officials which says I can get a
free ride on buses, trains and free meals," he said showing the
letter around.

Illiterate though he may be, his mistrust of the court and the
legal system represents the feelings of many people in the
country.

"Going to court would be cheaper, but you can't bring money to
your grave. Justice, you can," he said philosophically, despite
his naive appearance.

What if someone decided to just buy him a hoe to replace the
one the court had taken from him?

"I wouldn't want it. That's not what I am looking for. I want
to get them: I want people to know that the court stole my hoe,"
Tasiran insisted, collecting his papers and getting ready to head
for the Supreme Court.