Munir's case at the UNHCR

Munir's case at the UNHCR

Aboeprijadi Santoso, Amsterdam

President Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono's remark that the case of
Munir would hopefully "change history" may be a significant
development. But what did the President precisely mean? And what
history was he referring to?

It was an unusual event on an unusual sunny spring day in The
Hague last week, when a number of Indonesian human rights
activists, all in dark clothing, entered the Dutch parliament.
After a one-hour meeting, they left the building with happier
faces. Munir's widow, Suciwati, Poengky Indarti from Imparsial
(the human rights body founded by Munir), and the coordinator of
the Human Rights Working Group Raffendy Djamin, accompanied by
local activists, apparently had a good discussion with members of
the Dutch parliament.

Suciwati was a symbol of both victim and fighter as she,
dressed in black with a small photograph of her late husband on
her chest and armed with networks of support, appeared with
confidence. The name Munir is now well known by the Netherlands'
public, and the story of his murder has been covered widely, so
Suci's appearance there caught the public's attention.

Earlier, Suciwati and the group met with and gained the
support of the Indonesian envoy in The Hague, Mohammad Yusuf.
They concluded their lobbying at the United Nations Human Rights
Commission in Geneva, where she received warm support for her
efforts to press the international community to closely monitor
the investigation into Munir's murder. She was not only seeking
the truth concerning her late husband, but also pleaded for the
security of human rights defenders generally. "Munir should be
the last; no more political killings," said Suci.

That message was well received in Brussels. To her great
satisfaction, European Union officials and parliamentarians
promised to pay serious attention to the Munir case. They will
closely observe, as one official put it, "whether within three
months, more will be disclosed other than just the perpetrators."

Back in the late-1970s the international solidarity movement
on Indonesia in Europe started with the campaign by Amnesty
International and Tapol, a London-based human rights body led by
the ex-political prisoner Carmel Budiardjo and a small number of
Indonesian expatriates in Paris and Amsterdam. In Geneva,
Brussels and other capitals, they focused on East Timor, but also
raised the cases of left-wing and Islamist political prisoners.
Throughout those decades, however, few Indonesian activists were
involved.

Oddly -- possibly because of fear, past traumas, or misguided
nationalism -- none of the hundreds of left-wing expatriates
living in Europe since the 1970s ever raised their cases in
international forums. It was only after President Abdurrachman
Wahid called them patriot klayaban (wandering patriots) and asked
them to come home that they belatedly brought Indonesia's
massacres of 1965 and their own civil rights cases to Geneva. Too
little, too late, for such important matters.

By contrast, a new generation of Indonesian home-based
activists has now taken the lead in the international human
rights campaign since the mid-1990s.

However, Suci's mission is still about one single individual
-- however prominent the late Munir may be -- and about groups of
human rights defenders -- however important their contribution
may be. Unfortunately, the case of Munir is far from being
unique.

There are grave suspicions of similar poisonings; an honest
minister (Baharuddin Lopa), a brave general (Agus
Wirahadikusumah), and certain judges. And there are also the
almost forgotten brutal killings, such as of labor activist
Marsinah (1993) and Acehnese human rights lawyer Jaffar Sidiq
Hamzah (2001).

Mystery also surrounds the killings of Papuan activists Arnold
Ap (1984) and Theys H. Eluay (2001). An attempt to "softly" kill
ex-Falintil commander Paulino "Mauk Mouruk" Gama at a Jakarta
military hospital in 1994 failed, thanks to a brave nurse.

In addition to Wiji Thukul, a critical activist poet, there
remains the cases of activists who were "disappeared" in 1998;
cases that brought Munir into prominence.

The list is far from exhaustive, but such are the practices of
a police state in protecting their own interests. The
assassination of Munir by poisoning is just a continuation of
these past practices, where units of the state took action
against critical activists back in the Soeharto days. Unlike
organized rebels and their supporters in conflict regions,
individual activists seemed to have been carefully selected and
targeted for intimidation, disappearance and/or murder.

If it is this legacy of murderous mystery that President
Susilo wishes to change, them his statement should be welcomed.
It remains to be seen, however, whether he will be able to make a
breakthrough in the investigations into the Munir case.

The writer is a journalist with Radio Netherlands, Amsterdam.