Freedom of expression

Whether Papuans support autonomy or independence, they should be allowed to speak freely

Jennifer Robinson

Fashion statements:

such bags are now banned in Papua

Yohana Pekei and Nelly Pigome sell  handicrafts by the road in Jayapura. In January 2008 they were interrogated by Indonesian police and intelligence agents because of the bags they make and sell. What could possibly be so dangerous about a bag sold by the roadside by two West Papuan women? Woven into the design of their bags was the Morning Star flag; a regional and cultural symbol of huge significance for indigenous Papuans, and the symbol of Papuan nationalism.

Yohana and Nelly were reportedly targeted in police crackdowns throughout Papua on the use of the Morning Star flag, under Article 6 of Government Regulation No.77 of 2007, which prohibited the use of ‘any flag or logo used by separatist movements’. This law seemed to backtrack on the provisions of Special Autonomy under Law No.21 of 2001, which allows the use of Papuan regional symbols as an expression of Papuan cultural identity. While the Morning Star flag was not specifically listed as a protected regional symbol in the Special Autonomy Law itself, during Wahid’s presidency, display of the flag was permitted as a matter of government policy. In July 2007 the Papuan Tribal Council and Papuan People’s Council (MRP) recommended that the flag be made an official regional symbol in draft by-laws designed to implement special autonomy. Yet the policy of subsequent Indonesian governments has been to respond to flag raisings with violence and arrests. The prohibition of the flag, and the harassment of people like Yohana Pekei and Nelly Pigome, takes existing restrictions even further.

Legally speaking, Yohana and Nelly can no longer make their bags. Nevertheless, women like them continue to sell their handicrafts in Jayapura today. Governor Suebu has pledged that he will not authorise police to arrest or imprison women and children for these activities. But informal assurances provide little comfort as long as the law stands.

Continuing restrictions

In the past, the Indonesian state restricted free speech and communication of information, including peaceful criticism of the government, through criminal prosecution of ‘hate sowing’ offences. Articles 154 and 155 of the Indonesian Criminal Code criminalised ‘public expression of feelings of hostility, hatred or contempt toward the government’ and prohibited ‘the expression of such feelings or views through the public media’. The crime attracted prison terms of up to seven years. Political dissidents, critics, students and human rights defenders in Papua – as elsewhere in Indonesia – were targeted under these laws during the Suharto regime.

Indonesia is – and should be – praised for the steps it has taken towards democracy since the fall of Suharto

In July 2007 Indonesia’s Constitutional Court declared the ‘hate sowing’ offences in Articles 154 and 155 to be unconstitutional because they violated the right to free speech protected in the 1945 Constitution. Described by Amnesty International as a ‘landmark ruling for freedom of expression’, the decision has been welcomed as a sign of Indonesia’s transition to democracy and to greater protection of the right to freedom of expression in Indonesia.

West Papuan refugee Herman Wanggai leads a demonstration at Parliament House, Canberra, 15 August 2007.    In Papua, use of the flag in peaceful protest can attract prison sentences    Kipley Nink

Despite this Constitutional reform, most of the criminal offences used to suppress political opposition in Indonesia remain in effect. For example, Article 106 of the Criminal Code makes criminal any acts which are conducted with intent ‘to separate part’ of the territory of the state. The maximum penalty is life in prison. This catch-all offence uses extremely broad language, allowing prosecution for a broad range of acts associated with ‘separatism’. For example, in 2005 Filep Karma and Yusak Pakage were sentenced to 15 and 10 years in prison respectively for organising peaceful pro-independence celebrations and for flying the Morning Star flag. This provision – which has historically been used to target non-violent political activists across Indonesia – continues to be used in this way in Papua against those advocating self-determination. In March 2008, nine people were arrested for raising the flag in a peaceful demonstration against the new regulation prohibiting the Morning Star flag. In July 2008 forty-six more people were arrested after another flag-raising in Fak Fak, Papua, in protest against the 1969 Act of Free Choice. Most have now been released, but six remain in prison and face prosecution.

Papuans continue to be intimidated and arrested for expressing their political views and for taking part in peaceful protests

In Papua at least, then, the decision of the Constitutional Court has not had any real practical impact. According to Human Rights Watch’s February 2007 report, laws continue to be used in Papua to suppress free speech. Then in November 2007, Iwanggin Sabar Olif, a Papuan human rights lawyer, was arrested for forwarding a text message that stated that the Indonesian government had ordered the ‘elimination’ of the Papuan people. He was charged with ‘agitation’ under Article 160 of the Criminal Code, a crime attracting a six year prison term, and faces trial in Jayapura. Many see his arrest and prosecution as evidence of authorities’ surveillance and intimidation of human rights defenders. Public intellectuals and academics are also targeted through the censorship of books and intimidation by authorities. In December 2007 the Indonesian government outlawed a book by Sensius Wonda about Indonesia’s role in West Papua. According to Sri Agung Putra, Chief Prosecutor in Jayapura, Wonda’s book contains elements that ‘discredit the government’, ‘disturb public order’ and ‘endanger national unity’. This is the second Papuan book to be banned in recent times. Another book about the assassination of Papuan leader Theys Eluay was banned in 2002. The author, Benny Giay, a prominent Papuan academic, has been routinely threatened by Indonesian authorities ever since.

A long way to go

Indonesia is – and should be – praised for the steps it has taken towards democracy since the fall of Suharto. But progress is not equal across the archipelago. Restrictions in Papua remain, as Papuans continue to be intimidated and arrested for expressing their views. In fact, in many ways, state action and policy in Papua continue to resemble the repression experienced under Suharto. Many assert the need for peaceful dialogue in Papua. But there cannot be genuine and meaningful dialogue without freedom of expression. Whether Papuans support autonomy or independence, assert contested versions of the Act of Free Choice, or simply criticise the current implementation of Special Autonomy, their right to express such views must be protected. The fate of Indonesia’s democracy depends on it.     ii

Jennifer Robinson (jennifer.robinson@balliol.ox.ac.uk) is an Australian lawyer and Rhodes Scholar at Balliol College, University of Oxford.

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A Man On Mission

From the highlands of Papua to exile in England, Benny Wenda is a leader of his people

Jennifer Robinson

Benny was detained in Abepura prison during his trial in 2002    Jennifer Robinson

As a young child in the 1970s, Benny Wenda’s world was his village in the remote highlands of West Papua. Life consisted of tending gardens with his mother among the Lani people who, he says, ‘lived at peace with nature in the mountains’. In 1977 that life changed dramatically.

That year, the military appeared in his village. Now, every morning on the way to their gardens, Benny and his mother and aunties would be stopped and checked by Indonesian soldiers. Often the soldiers would force the women to wash themselves in the river before brutally raping them in front of their children. Many young women, including three of Benny’s aunties, died in the jungle from the trauma and injuries inflicted during these attacks, which often involved genital mutilation. Every day Papuan women had to report to the military post to provide food from their gardens, and to clean and cook for the soldiers. Violence, racism and enforced subservience became part of daily routine.

‘I asked myself ‘why?’ Who are these people? And why do they do this to us? Why do they kill my people? Why do they rape my aunties?’

Later that year, and in response to military violence towards Papuans, 15,000 Lani people rebelled. In retaliation, Indonesian military aircraft bombed many Lani villages in the highlands, including Benny’s village. Benny remembers an attack where their huts and crops were burned and many of his family were killed or injured. Benny too suffered in the attack: his leg was badly injured and left untreated because his family was forced to flee into hiding in the jungle, leaving him with one leg significantly shorter than the other and an awkward limp. More than twenty years later the scars, the pain and the difficulty in walking remain.

Childhood in the jungle

Benny and Maria Wenda with their young children regularly organise    and take part in protests at the Indonesian Embassy in London. Here    at a protest in 2008    Dominic Brown

Between 1977 and 1983 Benny and his family, along with thousands of other highlanders, lived in hiding in the jungle. Life was hard. Food and shelter were scarce, and the weak struggled to survive the harsh conditions. Violence from the military remained a constant threat. In one particularly harrowing incident, soldiers happened across Benny’s family in the jungle. The soldiers ripped Benny’s two year old cousin from his aunty’s arms and threw her to the ground with so much force that the child’s back was broken. They then raped his aunty, forcing Benny to watch. His small cousin died two weeks after the attack; his aunty sometime later from her own injuries. Benny could not understand why the Indonesian military was doing this and, still, he had no knowledge of the context in which this violence took place.

Benny says he could not understand. ‘I asked myself ‘why?’ Who are these people? And why do they do this to us? Why do they kill my people? Why do they rape my aunties?’

After five years in the jungle, everyone else from his village had succumbed to the conditions and surrendered to the Indonesians. Only his family remained in the jungle. To surrender, Papuans had to present themselves to the local military post carrying an Indonesian flag, which signalled their loyalty to Indonesia and their willingness to live in the community under Indonesian rule. When Benny’s grandmother died, largely due to conditions in their jungle hideout, their family decided it was time to surrender for the sake of the children. Having already lost so many, Benny’s grandfather insisted that the children be taken back, telling his mother that Benny’s well-being was important ‘so that one day he will know what happened to us and why…and one day he will act’.

Becoming ‘Indonesian’?

After his family surrendered, Benny went to school. His education was entirely about Indonesia. He learned about Indonesia’s independence from the Dutch and celebrated it on the anniversary of 17 August 1945. He learned about buffalos instead of pigs and of rice paddies instead of the Papuan-style gardens that he had grown up working in with his family. He was told to eat rice instead of sweet potato, the staple for Papuans. Indonesian teachers and students alike called Benny and the other Papuan students ‘stupid’, ‘primitive’, and ‘dirty’ because they ate pork and their parents were ‘indecent’, with the men wearing nothing but the traditional koteka (penis gourd).

Benny still could not understand why Indonesians treated him this way. He constantly went to his mother with questions. ‘Why did I grow up in the jungle? Why am I different to the others? Why do they call me stupid?’ he would ask. His mother refused to answer his questions. ‘One day I will tell you the whole story’, was all she would say.

In senior high school Benny was one of only two Papuan students in the class. The others were children of Javanese and Sulawesi transmigrants. One day, the teacher directed him to sit next to a Javanese girl. He smiled and respectfully greeted her as he sat down. She turned, scowled, and spat on him. He wiped her spit from his face, feeling terrible. ‘Maybe I really do smell’, he thought. ‘I disgust her. I must not be clean enough. That must be why she doesn’t like me.’ Assuming the problem was his, and desperate to please this girl, Benny went to the shop after school to buy an extra bar of soap. He washed himself three times over. The following day, he walked confidently into the class and sat down, smiling and greeting the girl with respect. But this time she stood up, attracted the attention of the entire class, and spat on him again. The class laughed.

Finally, it dawned on Benny: this had nothing to do with his cleanliness. This was racism. Benny stood up, enraged: ‘You think that because I am black, because I am Papuan, that I am dirty!?! I have eyes, I have hands…I am human – just like you! We are both human and we both deserve to be treated the same. With respect.’

Finally, it dawned on Benny: this had nothing to do with his cleanliness. This was racism

Events such as these drove Benny to take on a leadership role in the Papuan community. His motivation sprang not from politics, but from the desire to assert and celebrate Papuan identity, and to encourage other Papuans to do the same. Benny went on to complete a degree in sociology and politics in Jayapura. While at university, he initiated discussion groups for Papuan students in Jayapura – of all ages and from all tribes from both the highlands and coastal regions – so they could come together and talk about what it was to be Papuan. Above all, Benny wanted to change the mindset of Papuan children, children who had been brought up being told they were primitive, dumb and dirty, to teach them that they should be proud of being Papuan.

Searching for the truth

But for Benny, questions remained. While he could speak of his own terrible experiences, he still understood very little of the broader conflict and context in which his personal suffering – and that of his village – had taken place. Frustrated with the lack of information he was provided in school, and his mother’s refusal to answer his questions, he sought out information about Papuan history. He searched the school library, the public library, the university library. But he found nothing. ‘Why do we only study Indonesian history? The history of Java, Sumatra and Bali? Where is the history of Papua?’ he asked himself, and others.

During the 1980s, and even into the early 1990s, there was very little written history or discussion about the circumstances of Papua’s incorporation into Indonesia or the events that followed. Eventually, through story-telling, Benny came to learn how the Dutch had retained control of the province after 1945 and promised independence. He found out about the declaration of Papuan sovereignty on 1 December 1961, about the West Papuan flag (the Bintang Kejora), the national anthem (Hai Tanahku Papua), the Indonesian invasion and the 1969 ‘Act of Free Choice’ when a small group of hand-picked Papuans were intimidated into voting for integration with Indonesia.

Finally he understood the root causes of why the Indonesians treated West Papuans as they did. Yet at that time, Benny recalls that no one was allowed even to use the word ‘Papua’ or ‘West Papua’, only ‘Irian Jaya’, let alone discuss publicly Papuan history, culture or identity. Books were censored. But knowing the historical origins of the oppression was enough. Of the decades of violence, discrimination and oppression, Benny needed no written record: he had first hand experience.

Demmak and the ‘Papuan Spring’

After the fall of Suharto, the relaxation of military control and the independence of East Timor in 1999, demonstrations and flag raisings occurred across Papua, with Papuans demanding their own referendum on independence. In the period between 1999 and 2000, known as the ‘Papuan Spring’, Jakarta held dialogue with Papuan leaders and the Presidium of the Papuan Council (PDP) was formed to represent the Papuan nationalist movement and to negotiate Papua’s future.

The Lani Singers perform with Mambesak, a dancing troupe of West Papuans in exile in the    Netherlands, at Glastonbury Festival, England    Dancing Turtle Records

It was during this period that Benny became leader of Demmak (Dewan Musyawarah Masyarakat Koteka), the Koteka Tribal Assembly. Demmak was established by tribal elders with the goal of working towards recognition and protection of the customs, values and beliefs of the tribal people of West Papua. It advocates independence from Indonesia, and rejects special autonomy or any other political compromise offered by the Indonesian government. As Secretary-General of Demmak, Benny represented the council of elders. The organisation supported PDP negotiations with Jakarta to the extent that they represented the aspiration of the Papuan people, which was independence from Indonesia.

But when Megawati became President in July 2001 policy on Papua changed. A compromised version of special autonomy was the only politically viable option. The Papuan Spring was over and the military crackdown on known ‘separatists’ began. In November 2001, Theys Eluay, leader of the PDP, was assassinated by soldiers. But Benny stood firm to Demmak’s aim: full independence from Indonesia.

Political persecution….and escape

The political freedom to express aspirations for independence quickly evaporated. Once again, it became dangerous to support independence. Secret documents later discovered by human rights organisations named specific organisations and individuals that had to be ‘dealt with’, including the PDP and Demmak. On 6 June 2002 Benny was arrested and detained in Jayapura. His home was ransacked without a warrant and the police refused to inform him of the charges brought against him. He was tortured by police and held in solitary confinement for several months. Sometime later he was charged with inciting an attack on a police station and burning two shops in the small township of Abepura on 7 December 2000, which left a policeman and a security guard dead.

For his political views, Benny was being charged with a crime he did not commit

These charges related to the infamous, ‘Abepura incident’, in which violent acts of retaliation by Indonesian police were committed against the Papuan community, resulting in the arrest of over 100 people, police violence and torture in detention and the death of at least three students in the days following. Two police officers were prosecuted for crimes against humanity before the Human Rights Court in 2005 for these events, but were acquitted. Benny faced criminal prosecution for the initial attack on the police station, for inciting acts of violence and arson and was likely to receive up to 25 years in prison. Yet he was not even in the country at the time the alleged planning and execution of the attacks took place. For his political views, Benny was being charged with a crime he did not commit.

His trial commenced on 24 September 2002 and lasted for several weeks. Armed policemen surrounded the courtroom each day, as Benny’s many supporters turned out in a show of support for their leader. Facing the judges he was stoic and resolute in proclaiming his innocence. To his supporters he was warm and encouraging, smiling and shaking hands with those who lined his path between the courtroom and police vehicle.

The trial was flawed from the outset. The prosecutor and judge requested bribes from Benny’s defence team, but were refused. The persons named as key prosecution witnesses could not be identified and failed to attend court to be cross examined on their statements. Defence counsel for Benny insisted that the witness statements be thrown out on the basis they were fabricated by police to implicate Benny in the attack. But the judge, who appeared biased and hostile to Benny throughout the proceedings, accepted the evidence. It was obvious that Benny would not receive a fair trial.

Rumours were rife that military intelligence would kill him in detention before the judge rendered a decision

Meanwhile, inside the prison, Benny was physically attacked several times by prison guards. On the advice of his lawyers, he did not eat the food provided in prison because of the risk of poisoning. Because the evidence against him in court was so weak, rumours were rife that military intelligence would kill him in detention before the judge rendered a decision.

The court was adjourned pending a decision. Conviction – or death – seemed certain. Then, in miraculous circumstances that he does not want to explain for fear of endangering the persons who helped him, Benny escaped from Abepura prison on 27 October 2002. The Indonesian police allegedly issued a shoot to kill order. But aided by West Papua independence activists, Benny was smuggled across the border to PNG and later assisted by a European NGO group to travel to the UK where he was granted political asylum. In 2003, Benny and his wife Maria were reunited in England, where they now live with their five children.

The campaign goes international

Benny Wenda attends UK parliament for the launch of International Parliamentarians for West Papua, which was    also attended by Papuan families living in exile in the Netherlands and Sweden    Benny Wenda

Soon after being granted refugee status in the United Kingdom, Benny began campaigning for the self-determination of his people on a wide range of fronts, utilising politics and music. He set up the Free West Papua Campaign, which works to spread awareness of human rights abuse in West Papua and seeks self-determination for the people of Papua. He has met with prominent politicians and presented petitions to 10 Downing Street. He travels constantly throughout the UK and Europe raising awareness about the plight of his people.

Benny and Maria have also used traditional music to raise awareness about their struggle. As The Lani Singers (http://www.thelanisingers.com/), they have performed live on BBC Radio, as well as at Musicport Festival, Glastonbury Festival and the Thames Festival in London. In 2008 they released their debut album, Ninalik Ndawi (Freedom Song), which has been reviewed in national newspapers and music magazines.

More recently, on 15 October 2008, with British MP Andrew Smith and peer Lord Harries, he launched International Parliamentarians for West Papua (IPWP) at the House of Commons in London. IPWP is actively developing support from parliamentarians around the world, with the aim of creating support at the United Nations to provide Papuans the opportunity for a referendum for self-determination.

Benny Wenda and Andrew Smith MP, member for Oxford, at the launch of the International    Parliamentarians for West Papua at the Houses of Parliament, London, 15 October 2008    Benny Wenda

Then, in April 2009, Benny launched International Lawyers for West Papua (ILWP) in Guyana, South America. ILWP seeks to develop a network within the international legal community which recognises the legal basis for West Papuan self-determination and raises awareness about human rights abuse in West Papua. In Papua, and throughout Indonesia, thousands of Papuans took to the streets to support the IPWP launch.  In Jayapura, demonstrations were met with violence and arrests.  Two activists were killed, and many others were arrested and tortured.  Several activists are facing criminal prosecution for subversion for engaging in peaceful demonstrations in support of Benny’s campaign. Indonesian media sources reported that, following the IPWP launch, the Chief of Police in Papua and Interpol requested that the UK arrest Benny on the grounds that he is a criminal fugitive since escaping from prison in 2002, requesting further that Benny be extradited to Indonesia to face the outstanding charges against him. One report even stated that an Interpol red notice – usually reserved for international terrorists and drug cartel leaders – had been issued for Benny.

‘While my people continue to suffer and continue to die, nothing will stop my campaign.’

While the UK and other parties to the European Convention on Human Rights are prevented from extraditing Benny to Indonesia (because of the real risk he would suffer torture or inhumane or degrading treatment once returned), Interpol arrest warrants are difficult to have removed and those subject to red notices are ill-advised to travel abroad.

Yet Benny remains undeterred. He holds a deep and enduring belief that justice will eventually prevail, and he sees his remarkable escape from persecution in Indonesia as testament to that fact. He recognises that other freedom fighters, like Arnold Ap, Theys Eluay and Bill Tabuni, have not been so lucky. But this only strengthens his resolve. ‘While my people continue to suffer and continue to die, nothing will stop my campaign’, he says. For him, there is only one way to stop the killing, and ensure that Papuans enjoy the same freedoms that people elsewhere in the world already enjoy: Papua must be independent. And to that end he continues his campaign.  

Jennifer Robinson (jkr.robinson@gmail.com) is an Australian lawyer and Rhodes Scholar at Balliol College, University of Oxford. She worked on Benny Wenda’s trial in Abepura in 2002 and his subsequent political asylum application in the UK.

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Punks for peace

Underground music gives young people back their voice

Jo Pickles

Halfway down the road to Parangtritis, in the isolated Gabusan Art Building, wedged between sugar cane and rice paddies, a crowd of Yogyakarta youths endure the intense mid-day sun to watch an underground music concert.

Outside, near the parked motorbikes, the atmosphere is vibrant. Small groups cluster in narrow strips of shade to dodge the harsh noon glare. Some chat and joke as they wait for their favoured bands to come on. Others rest in silence, conserving energy before they perform, or recovering from a stint of brutal pogo dancing inside the airless hall. Not all the spectators are from Yogya. Many travelled from neighbouring cities in Central Java or from further afield in Bali or West Java to see the poster-billed bands and check out new local talent.

Vibrations from the hall hum through the air. Each time watchful police open the venue's doors to let sweaty bodies slip through, broken lyrics and fast drum phrases spill out into daylight.

Like most underground concerts these days, this event showcases several music genres: the loud angry disorder of Punk, the low growls and grunts of Grindcore, the melancholic and nihilistic screeching of Doom Metal, not to mention Black Metal, Brutal Death and Skacore.

Distinctive musical styles are coupled with dramatic fashion. Metal fans decked out in monochrome black contrast with the vivid ripped punk style, as do the checked shirts, braces and black boots of the skinheads. This is an 'anything goes' space, both stimulating and disseminating self-expression.

Underground concerts are not unique to Yogyakarta. The scene has flourished throughout Indonesia since the early nineties. Similar events are mirrored in Bandung, Malang, Denpasar, Blora and numerous other cities.

United by the desire to reclaim artistic creativity, the underground movement offers musicians an escape from the clutches of commercial culture. Hollers, screams and growls are let loose. Unlike the mainstream music world which is engineered by profit-oriented major label corporations, expression is not restricted. 'When I'm fed up, this music lets me get out my emotions and become positive' says Dempak, vocalist for the Bandung hardcore punk band Jeruji.

For many of the kids at this concert, music is more than just a hobby. Close-knit communities of young people sharing an interest in underground music have emerged throughout Indonesia. Underground youth cultures provide a network of like-minded people to experiment, hang out and jam with. A place of refuge from families who don't understand the aspirations of their youth, and from a society preoccupied with other issues. These groups provide a sense of belonging and family-like support for members who choose nomadic life on the streets in preference to living at home. Distinct from other more segregated social structures, the underground scene is open for all to join and participate in. Money and education are not barriers.

History

With its roots in the underground movement, punk is the most theatrical youth culture in Indonesia. Intentionally in your face and necessarily cheap, punk dress code, music and lifestyle have been adopted by young people from a cross section of classes, religions and ethnic backgrounds. Uni students, street kids, salespeople and the unemployed unite in a show of studded jackets, gravity-defying hairstyles and pants patched with angry slogans. They have redefined these symbols of a western tradition in a new setting.

The seventies British punk scene grew out of a climate of high youth unemployment, poverty and illiteracy. Found objects were given new 'absurd' contexts: over-sized safety pins pushed through earlobes and spiked dog collars buckled around human necks. These visual statements set out to ridicule the conventions of respectable social life. The tough non-conformist attitudes of punkers were a reaction to a conservative government which offered limited prospects to its youth.

Indonesian punk has a similar history. According to those who have been involved in the scene for almost a decade, some of Indonesia's youth began parading punk fashion as a rebellious visual stab at unappetising social 'norms'. At that stage, fear of repercussions ensured that they rarely voiced discontent with the establishment openly.

Ironically, the increased freedoms after the fall of the New Order produced an intellectual rift that divided the punk scene. One section chooses to remain uninterested and disenchanted by politics. Others look to punk activism in other parts of the world as a blueprint for how to voice concerns. 'It's time for us, the next generation, to open our thoughts, hearts and ears to fight for what we are sure of and what is right' cries a cut-and-paste photocopied leaflet, handed out during a concert in East Java.

The Do-It-Yourself ethic long associated with this branch of the underground music movement encourages young people to be active in a sub-culture they can call their own. The realisation that anyone can record their own music or publish a homemade fanzine is self-empowering. Alternative distribution systems replace dependence on the unattainable and limiting commercial media. The movement values independent thinking and self-education. Most opinion pieces in underground newsletters cockily invite critical feedback.

Samples from political speeches are mixed into three-chord thrash and then coated in layers of rebellion and dissatisfaction. Weapons of consumer culture such as packaging are appropriated and disarmed. Album covers, for example, are used as a space for critical commentary. Stamped with images selected to stimulate a reaction, this medium opens another doorway for bands to communicate directly with their audience. The compilation Punx 'n Skins: Street Sounds of Revolution is wrapped in the printed aspirations of the thirty bands involved in making the album. A short text inside the simple cover dedicates the album to the ideals of freedom, togetherness and the environment. It states its opposition to injustice and oppression. The words 'ELIMINATE THEM!' ('Basmi mereka!') in bold capitals are aimed at the corruptors who have eaten through Indonesia's bureaucracy.

Music is not their only medium of criticism. Concern for the future of Indonesia often leads these youths to the forefront of heated demonstrations. They assert their personal beliefs and try to raise awareness in others through street posters, stickers, badges, fanzines and handouts.

Prejudice

But sharp spikes, superfluous zippers, and tattoos still twig a sensitive nerve in today's Indonesia. In the rare event the media looks at this group of young people it usually paints an ugly ('jelek') portrait. When last November the weekly tabloid Adil published a feature article on 'Bandung's sea of gangs', it described the punk community as 'disturbing' and placed it on a par with the thugs who rule Bandung's underworld. Music mag Mumu in its April edition said punk members were paid to take part in demonstrations. ('They are happy to do it as they are getting paid' - 'Mereka sih senang-senang aja disuruh seperti itu karena diberi uang'). Prejudice stemming from conservative values also comes in more sinister forms. Random beatings, threats and tales of harassment are not uncommon.

Punk and other underground music may have originated in the west. But Indonesia's youth have indigenised these cultures and given them new meanings. Amidst Indonesia's current upheaval, they offer young people an identity to participate in, and a support base. Even more important, the underground has broken down barriers to expression and given youths back their voice after a long period of silence.

Jo Pickles (joanna_pickles@hotmail.com) is a student at the Australian National University, Canberra. She was in Yogyakarta with Acicis (the Australian Consortium for In-Country Indonesian Studies).

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Remembering Permesta

Fifty years on, memories of civil war are kept alive in North Sulawesi

Amelia Liwe

Permesta veterans arrive for the celebrations    Amelia Liwe

On 4 March 2007, a ceremony was held in the remote village of Kota Menara in North Sulawesi to mark the 50th anniversary the birth of Permesta, a protest movement that became part of an armed conflict between the Indonesian state and some of its outlying regions in the late 1950s. As visitors approached the village along a narrow bumpy road that led off the main highway from Manado, the provincial capital, they passed three large posters of former Permesta leaders – Ventje Sumual, Joop Warouw and Alex Kawilarang – prominently displayed for all to see. Nearby an equally large banner read ‘Welcome to the Permesta Tourism Destination of Kota Menara in the Jubilee Year of the Universal Struggle Charter, 2 March 2007’.

Kota Menara itself was neat and clean, as though it was ready to receive guests. A crowd was gathering around a big blue tent in the middle of the village, where a stage had been erected and a display of red and white flags and representations of the Indonesian coat of arms created the impression that an important national event was about to be celebrated. Another large poster containing the words of the Permesta charter – under its unabbreviated title of Perjuangan Semesta (Universal Struggle) – added an air of dignity and solemnity to the occasion. A banner over the stage called on adherents to the charter to unite in the interests of the Indonesian people and their republic, while in front of the stage the names of the charter’s signatories were listed on another large poster. The overall effect was to make Permesta a part of the Indonesian nation and its history.

Universal struggle

The Permesta charter was signed by representatives of military and civilian groups in Makassar, South Sulawesi, on 2 March 1957. It expressed a demand for greater regional autonomy and a determination to resist the over-centralised direction being taken by the Indonesian state, thus registering a political protest against the government of the day. However it did not see itself as a secessionist movement. Colonel Ventje Sumual, the commander of the Eastern Indonesia Military District, declared at the time that Permesta ‘is in no way meant to be a breaking away from the Republic of Indonesia’.

Within months, the movement had extended to the Manado and Minahasa regions of North Sulawesi, where the Minahasan local army commanders soon declared their solidarity with a new regional protest movement that was proclaimed in West Sumatra on 15 February 1958. This movement called itself Pemerintah Revolusioner Republik Indonesia (PRRI, The Revolutionary Government of the Republic of Indonesia), and when the two movements found common cause as PRRI/Permesta, the stage was set for armed conflict. Within days, the central army leadership in Jakarta despatched troops to storm the two regions, thus sparking a civil war.

Banners depicting former Permesta leaders greet the guests       Amelia Liwe

There was also an international dimension to the conflict. Amid the Cold War tensions of the time, the United States interpreted the dissatisfaction that had been brewing in the regions as a desire for secession. From the US perspective, a secessionist movement in Sukarno’s Indonesia was to be encouraged, because its success would contribute to the US aim of confining the influence of the Indonesian communists to the island of Java. Through the CIA and its allies, Washington flooded Sulawesi and West Sumatra with arms and supplies, pushing the Permesta and PRRI groups towards an ill-advised military campaign against the central government. In the end, PRRI/Permesta was a humiliating failure, both for the US and its local allies. The fallout left deep scars, not only on the US-Indonesia relationship, but also on social and political life in the regions concerned. Throughout the rest of the Sukarno period, local communities in Sulawesi and West Sumatra were viewed with suspicion by the central government, and local elites had little access to the political intrigues and networks that influenced the course of events in the capital.

Memory and history

The outcome of the regional rebellion had a decisive impact on the written history of PRRI/Permesta. As early as August 1958, while conflict was still ongoing, the Army high command published a history of the movement that demonised its founders and their intentions and declared the ‘Universal Struggle’ to be already lost. Subsequently, Indonesian historiography gradually marginalised and simplified the history of PRRI/Permesta, reducing the complexity and multidimensional character of the movement. After more than 50 years only very few academic historians have given it serious attention. For the survivors, however, the history of those events of 50 years ago is clearly embedded in memory.

The commemoration that took place in Kota Menara in 2007 was the climax of a number of events marking the jubilee of Permesta in North Sulawesi. The formal ceremony that day included a Sunday church service and intercessory prayers led by representatives of all the Christian denominations in the area, as well as a long address by the head of the newly-established district of South Minahasa, to which Kota Menara belonged. This was followed by a festive meal, as a number of Permesta reunion groups chatted and mingled in a celebratory and nostalgic mood. Some proud former fighters, both men and women, came wearing military fatigues, complete with their red berets. Some spontaneously expressed their nostalgia by singing songs from the time of the civil war. Others told humorous stories of their experiences at the time.

‘We were neither half-hearted soldiers nor separatists! We gave everything for Indonesia!’

Amid the festive mood, a small circle of former Permesta leaders were engaged in serious conversation. ‘Those old soldiers have no idea of the political dimensions of Permesta,’ complained one old battalion commander. Nun Pantouw, another former commander and intelligence officer now confined to a wheelchair, said little, but he still radiated his former charisma. As the talk passed back and forth among the group, Lengkong Worang, who led the Permesta deputation to the signing of the peace accord that marked the end of the fighting in 1961, kept returning to the same theme: ‘It is not right to call Permesta a rebellion, let alone a separatist movement,’ he declared. Referring to the first comprehensive study of the Permesta movement in English, Barbara Harvey’s Permesta:  Half a Rebellion (translated into Indonesian as Permesta: Pemberontakan Setengah Hati or Permesta: A Half-Hearted Rebellion), Worang exclaimed, ‘We were neither half-hearted soldiers nor separatists! We gave everything for Indonesia!’.

A new generation

Former leaders chatting after the ceremony    Amelia Liwe

The golden anniversary of Permesta has now passed. However the labour of memory continues. Reunions, discussion groups and online discussion forums are some of the venues where the remaining Permesta actors, their families and friends, keep the memories alive, as they try to understand the movement and the civil war which they or their relatives experienced. The largest of these groups is the Facebook page ‘Permesta bukan Pemberontakan!’ (‘Permesta was not a Rebellion!’). The page states that the group is not setting out to create a new movement, but merely to provide a space where people can exchange information and stories about their grandparents’ experiences at the time of Permesta. With more than 3000 members, the group is open to anyone who wants to participate. Stories, recollections and opinions all circulate on the site. Some are nostalgic, others provide historical information, while still others make purely rhetorical claims. The initiators hope that the site will provide good feedback for ‘our beloved North Sulawesi’.

Most of the major actors have gone. Herman Nicolaas ‘Ventje’ Sumual – the last surviving commander of PRRI/Permesta, passed away on 28 March 2010. His gravestone inscription cites in English the words of St Paul, ‘I have fought a good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.’ Now, a new generation is collecting stories, facts and interpretations that help them understand the events that have shaped their communities and their nation. Somewhere between memory and history, the past continues to be kept alive.

Amelia Liwe (amelia.liwe@gmail.com) recently completed a PhD in Southeast Asian History at the University of Wisconsin-Madison.

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