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.