Meulaboh dismembered but not dishonored

Meulaboh dismembered but not dishonored

Aboeprijadi Santoso, Meulaboh, Aceh

The genocide by geology that we call the tsunami has turned
the locals' world upside down. One month into the tragedy, its
most profound consequence for the Acehnese of Meulaboh may not be
the fact that it has taken so many lives, but the particular way
it did so. For the tsunami not only dismembered the society; it
has challenged the society's mode of life, hurt its pride and
symbols, and has compelled its remaining members to redefine
their relationship with God.

All of sudden, city dwellers were missing or displaced and
landlords turned into poor tenants, as boats arrived in the city
center and cars went into the sea. With the physical and social
landscape vastly changed, Meulaboh's way of life will likewise
be affected. For some, the disaster reminds them of what they
call iebeuna.

"I recall my grandpa using that word to predict a tidal wave
that would swept over the coast," Meulaboh anthropologist
Jakaruddin Yacob, 34, told Radio Netherlands recently. Some ulema
(religious scholars) support the claim that this was predicted as
far back as 40 years ago.

Yet, few Acehnese today recall their ancestors' warning, this
writer found out last week.

Jakaruddin survives, but most of his 10 related families,
around 38 men, women and children, are missing -- they all lived
in the same neighborhood of Ujung Karang. Zulyaden (34), Jemmi
Tanjung (41), Syahril (27) and Merwan (33), to mention but a few,
lost respectively nine, 34, six and 11 members of their kin
groups. In each case, they all lived in the same areas of Ujung
Kalak and Ujung Karang. Married relatives often came in later,
but the pattern is said to have been motivated by "the wish to
strengthen brotherhood among kin members", although economic
reasons may underlie the decisions.

This spatial pattern of kin grouping and regrouping have thus
made the tragedy even more dramatic. Some kin groups in the
disaster zone lost considerably more members than other because
they lived close to each other. Those who suffered most but
without any relatives outside the zone were expected to stay in
the internally displaced persons (IDP) camps.

The stunning reality, however, is that only a third -- about
10,000 of 35,000 -- of the surviving victims in Meulaboh are
living in the camps. The figures for Aceh are proportionally
similar: only 260,000 of 460,000 to 600,000 IDPs are staying in
the camps. While most victims may have been accommodated by their
own kin group, a great deal chose to stay with kin groups other
than theirs, or with friends, rather than in the government-
organized camps. Help from outside the disaster zone obviously
cannot help much. Solidarity within and among kin groups may be
strong, but it's not a remedy.

Unfortunately, local authorities grossly ignored this, leaving
the IDPs outside the camps -- the IDP majority -- without any
help for more than a month. Only those in the camps were treated
as victims. In Meulaboh, this has created serious tensions
between Army units and Bakorlak (the agency for crisis
management), including the keuchik (village chiefs), who
relocated the victims to the camps and are responsible for food
distribution, and thousands of angry IDPs.

The authorities clearly misjudged the kin-and-friendship
solidarity. Instead of asking the local communities to
participate or let social organizations help the victims with
some coordination and limited bureaucracy, the relief operation
has been military-styled: too centralized.

By ignoring the kin-oriented pattern of housing and social
relations, they were unable to help them satisfactorily, losing
the best momentum to seize the heart of the IDPs and the local
communities. This has worsened the already traumatic relationship
between the people and the Army even in areas like Meulaboh,
where separatist rebels never had a stronghold.

Meulaboh is also challenged in a different way as the tsunami
swept away the symbol of the city's respect for its hero, Teuku
Umar (1854-1899). A Meulaboh man famous for his heroic struggle
against the Dutch, Teuku Umar left an eternal legacy. The locals
call their city -- and affectionately spell the name in the
original version -- Boemi Teuku Oemar Djohan Pahlawan (the land
of Teuku Oemar Djohan the Hero). To praise his greatness, a white
statue called Kopiah Maketoep (Crown Kopiah) was built in the
1980s along the Batu Putih coast, where he died in 1899. That
symbol is now vanished. The first version of the Kopiah, built in
the 1960s, was also drowned years ago.

Has the tsunami dishonored the city by robbing it of this
symbol? The Acehnese of Meulaboh are quick to deny it -- albeit
for good reasons. "One symbol of Teuku Umar's greatness may be
drowned and built a hundred times, but we still have his spirit
and symbol," said Jakaruddin.

A sense of dishonor, however, may be felt as people of
Meulaboh reflect on the meaning of the disaster itself. In the
local discourse, the quake and tsunami tragedy is invariably seen
as God's message. It evokes queries on the faithfulness of the
Meulabohs to Islam. "Aceh is the veranda of Mecca," a middle-aged
driver, Abu Bakar, reminded us. "This is a holy place where one
has to pass and learn Islam before going to the holiest one,
Mecca. But do you know what often happened at the coast at night?
They were all too joyful."

To people like Abu Bakar, the disaster is "a curse", an
expression of God's anger, but among the more educated people it
is seen as "a lesson" or "warning", not a punishment.

Retika (20) of Suara Aceh (Voice of Aceh) radio echoed this
conclusion. "Don't get stuck in the sadness!" How did a young
woman, who lost everything, including her parents and siblings,
do that? "By being closer to God," said Retika.

Children, too, learn to perceive a moral message in the shaped
disaster. Said Shirley (15), a madrasah student: "The legend has
it that tsunami consists of three colors. Most devastating is the
black tsunami, which is aimed at those who do not pray. You also
have the white and yellow ones, which are intended for the
faithful and the children."

The tsunami has thus become a defining moment for the Meulaboh
society.

The writer is a journalist with Radio Netherlands.