Mid-afternoon darkness

Mid-afternoon darkness

As might have been expected, Pius Lustrilanang's disclosure of
the ordeal he suffered at the hands of his abductors during the
two months of his disappearance, and subsequent hurried departure
for the Netherlands only hours later, has created waves and drawn
a multitude of reactions, both in this country and abroad. Many
Indonesians deeply sympathize with the dissident activist and
approve of his actions; others fear that he will use his stay
abroad to start a crusade against the present Indonesian regime,
thereby further worsening this country's human rights record in
international fora.

Certainly, there is grounds for expecting the latter. As has
been reported by the press, aside from seeking refuge in Europe,
Pius also intends to talk about his experiences on human rights
platforms in Holland, Germany, Britain and the United States,
where he is certain to find accommodating ears. None of this will
help improve Indonesia's already blemished human rights record
abroad and might possibly even lead to the censuring of this
country by the international community.

On the other hand, it is difficult under the circumstances to
blame the dissident for deciding to seek refuge in a country
outside that of his own. For many of us, the revelations he made
before the National Commission on Human Rights do indeed paint a
rather grizzly Kafkaesque picture of what life can be like for
people whose views differ from those of the people in power.

By his admission, Pius was abducted at gunpoint in the middle
of the afternoon on Feb. 4 in front of Cipto Mangunkusumo General
Hospital. He was forced into a gray Toyota Corolla sedan in which
three men were waiting. He was handcuffed and blindfolded and
driven to a place "somewhere between Jakarta and Bogor", where he
was kept in a windowless cell for two months, handcuffed and
blindfolded. During this time he was interrogated and repeatedly
kicked and beaten and given electric shocks. On the first day of
his interrogation he was immersed in a water tank and asked
questions and kicked in the head when he failed to answer
satisfactorily. He did not see the faces of his abductors because
they always wore masks.

The apparent ease with which Pius was abducted from a public
place as crowded as Cipto Mangunkusumo General Hospital in the
middle of the afternoon -- plus the fact that his abductors could
keep him locked up for two months without the security forces
being able to, or even appearing seriously trying, to find him,
and the fact that there are many more activists who disappeared
apparently under similar circumstances -- makes it appear as if
secret kidnaping squads are moving among us, impervious to the
law and unknown to the authorities. Under the circumstances one
could forgive dissidents for not having too much confidence in
the assurances given by the authorities that their personal
safety is guaranteed.

Intentionally or not, the description which Pius gave us of
his ordeal was one of life in a country ruled by force instead of
the law. We do believe that the Armed Forces are sincere when
they say that they did not order the disappearances and that
abductions are not part of their policies. Still, it is in the
field of their professional responsibility to prevent, or at
least trace, such disappearances, to find the abductors and to
hold them accountable for their deeds.

Under present circumstances only a full, thorough and open
investigation can help restore the feeling of security and
confidence among Indonesians, including those who feel duty-bound
to express views that differ from those expressed by the
government. No less important, such measures would also
effectively counterbalance any unfounded negative accusations
that are made abroad made against the Indonesian government.