Press, readers, deal with shock of free information

By Ati Nurbaiti

LHOKSEUMAWE, Aceh (JP): National Police chief Gen. Roesmanhadi was in Lhokseumawe, the capital of North Aceh regency, last month. He was told there had just been contact between security personnel and armed groups, and that two police officers had been shot.

He was escorted to a hospital to visit the wounded, and private TV station RCTI cameraman M. Ali Raban was among journalists who pounced on the moment. But he was struck without warning. He found that a soldier had dealt the blow, but managed to protect the camera, which was about to be damaged.

Insults were exchanged and Ali learned that the soldier, a sergeant, was trying to protect his injured colleague's wife, who the soldier said was three months pregnant.

"The soldier was afraid his friend's wife would be traumatized if she saw her husband's condition on television," Ali was told later by an apologetic officer.

"He could have just told me," Ali, based in Lhokseumawe, told The Jakarta Post, reciting the incident.

Lilawangsa Military Commander Col. Syafnil Armen, whose jurisdiction covers the most volatile regions here, said the soldier had acted in panic out of solidarity with his friend, and pointed out that reasoning with the press was not the first thing to enter his mind.

The above was one incident among Ali's many experiences. Many other journalists based in Aceh have similar tales to tell. RCTI's green Kijang van here still bears the dents inflicted by the rifle butts of emotional soldiers while the TV crew covered the shooting of a civilian.

A Reuters journalist here said last week he was forced by gun point to give up his film to a soldier, who destroyed it. Such threats, local journalists say, are daily fare for them, while visiting reporters can depart for safe ground once an assignment is over.

The Aug. 10 explosion of a Molotov cocktail at the Banda Aceh home of Sjamsul Kahar, chief editor of the leading Serambi Indonesia daily, is suspected to be linked to the daily's increasingly bold reports on violence in the province.

Sjamsul, who was at his office when the explosion took place at 2 a.m., also heads the Kompas bureau in Aceh, and the terror is also believed to be linked to the Jakarta-based daily's reports on suspected intelligence operations in the province.

Years of silence shrouded the experiences of people here under the military operations of 1989 to 1998. The winds of reformasi that swept across the country meant the rush of long-suppressed

information on what was going on in Aceh, egged on by visits by fact-finding teams investigating rights abuses.

Family

People in towns and villages suddenly spoke up, and the media needed only to report this, which was backed up by much information that for a long time had been off the record. At last people turned their attention to Aceh.

Acehnese themselves were shocked -- stories of horror were not even much discussed at family gatherings. A district employee in Pidie regency told the Post that in the years of the military operations, "you didn't know who you could trust," even among relatives.

One reporter in Lhokseumawe said of the years, "You just chose not to report (abuse and killings), rather than being picked up."

In the absence of an overseas network, as in the case of East Timor, and the terror felt by both residents and the media, what did leak out was not easy to check.

Media organizations pressed by resource shortages would not send journalists to cover a dangerous area that had little chance of being aired or printed.

Aceh, therefore, remained in the dark while human rights groups, armed with leaked reports of abuse, yelled alone for the military operations to stop.

A young driver growing up in Banda Aceh said, "Even if I'm not an Aceh native, I felt very sad. We heard of things but there was nothing in the newspapers."

Journalists did try. A reporter from state-run TVRI said, "We reported things like: 'The local administration channeled aid to Bukit Janda, the Hill of Widows.' And this would lead the audience to question, why is the place named after widows?"

The hill in Pidie regency is one of many places where all menfolk were abducted and killed for being suspected of links to the Free Aceh Movement.

Continual violence even after the military operations status of the province was lifted became the material of major daily reports.

Front page stories of the leading Serambi Indonesia daily on one day in August included at least three separate mysterious murders and abductions of civilians and police officers, with updates of other cases inside.

Some cases are the same as before, journalists here said, the only difference being that it is now reported. They say this is an unpleasant new experience for perpetrators of violence who have grown so used to the silence.

To guarantee they can continue to operate, the media still avoids extremely blunt reporting when it can. One newspaper did not report details of the wounds on a dead man suspected of being a Free Aceh member while the reporter had seen the three gunshots on the body.

"It's all right for you reporters from Jakarta," one reporter in Pidie said. "We live here."

Another journalist working for a Medan-based newspaper in Pidie said he prefers his family to live in the North Sumatra capital, given continuous threats.

Resentment

The recent murder of a Medan Post journalist in North Aceh remains a mystery, with his editor only hinting that his death might have been linked to his frequent reports on local corruption.

Following the finding of his body on Aug. 5, the Association of Indonesian Journalists (PWI) demanded security personnel to protect the media.

Lack of professionalism is cited by reporters here as one factor that may incite anger among the public. Just like in other areas in the country, there are also many extortionists among the press here, journalists say.

Now when reporters hope they can do their job much better, they face a public resentful of their silence so far.

It is a tense situation, in which the public now demands reporting of their grievances, while not trusting their journalists.

"The local press is pro-government," a resident in Lhokseumawe said. Some journalists go about their work here as unobtrusively as possible, with their notebooks deep in their pockets, while the foreign press are greeted with an enthusiastic "Hey Mister!"

In East Timor, to join a crowd of foreign journalists was to seek trouble before the United Nations arrived, but in Aceh they are useful shields.

"We'll only go with foreign press," drivers say in really risky times.

The tension for everyone living in these parts is due to the fact that over the past year it has been unclear who the perpetrators of the violence are.

One watches out for unknown armed groups, several categories of "Free Aceh" rebels, and security personnel members who might be in a temper or are feeling like a display of power.

Journalists are cautious, nervous, and "leaving everything to fate", one said. Some use a number of names but know quite well that they are easy to find in the small town.

Fairly large organizations can afford to replace stressed-out employees with new ones from Banda Aceh, while others are stuck.

A senior reporter from the state-run Antara news agency shared one tip when Jakarta colleagues were assigned to cover Independence Day here on Aug. 17.

"Hurry, clear out," he said in a low tone after a police patrol in civilian clothes left a street where residents had been ordered to raise the country's red and white flag.

"When security personnel leave an (unfamiliar) area, you leave too," he said. "You cannot tell who the residents are."