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Siapa Untung di Rawasari
Warga hanya diberi waktu dua bulan sebelum digusur. Ada kepentingan komersial, sudah kadung teken kontrak.
SAHAT Saragih menyemprot semaunya. ”Biarin! Tulis saja semua! Gua kagak takut!” katanya. Tak jauh dari situ, istrinya meraung marah. Rabu pekan lalu, keluarga pedagang keramik di Rawasari, Jakarta Pusat, itu memang sedang naik pitam.
Tiga ratusan petugas ketertiban Pemerintah Daerah Khusus Ibukota Jakarta baru saja menutup paksa kios darurat yang dibangunnya di atas trotoar Jalan Ahmad Yani, tepat di bawah jalan layang. Saat situasi memanas, bentrokan pecah. Istri dan anak Saragih lecet-lecet didorong petugas. Belasan keramik jualannya pecah berhamburan.
Penggusuran itu adalah yang kedua untuk Saragih dan 84 penjual keramik lainnya di Rawasari. Sepekan sebelumnya, pada Ahad 10 Februari, lima ratusan polisi pamong praja Pemda DKI Jakarta membongkar habis kios-kios permanen mereka di sepanjang Jalan Ahmad Yani.
Para pedagang hanya termangu ketika mesin backhoe merobohkan pasar keramik yang sudah membiak sepanjang tiga dekade itu. ”Saya berjualan di situ sejak 1978,” Saragih mengenang ketika sudah sedikit tenang.
Selain puluhan pedagang keramik, ada 59 kepala keluarga yang rumahnya juga ikut digusur. Nasib mereka kini tak menentu. Sutoto, Ketua RT 16/RW 9, mengaku warganya kini hidup menyebar di kos-kosan dan rumah kontrakan. Bahkan ada keluarga yang sempat mengungsi ke Pasar Rawasari.
Empat hari setelah penggusuran, salah satu korban penggusuran, Yustini, 45 tahun, meninggal di Rumah Sakit Cipto Mangunkusumo, Jakarta. ”Darah tingginya kumat karena stres,” kata Sutoto, yang juga ikut tergusur.
Sutoto membangun rumahnya di Rawasari pada 1976 dan rutin membayar tagihan listrik dan air bersih. ”Semua warga di sini punya kartu tanda penduduk yang disahkan lurah dan camat,” katanya dengan nada getir. ”Kami bukan penduduk gelap.”
Bagi warga Rawasari, penggusuran dua pekan lalu itu tak ubahnya petir di siang bolong. Mereka pertama kali menerima surat peringatan pembongkaran dari Camat Cempaka Putih pada pertengahan Januari lalu. Surat peringatan kedua melayang sepekan kemudian.
Tak sampai selang sebulan, rumah-rumah warga sudah dirobohkan. Rekomendasi DPRD DKI Jakarta dan Komisi Nasional Hak Asasi Manusia untuk menunda penggusuran sama sekali tidak digubris.
Camat Cempaka Putih, Syamsuddin Lologau, menegaskan, penggusuran itu penting untuk menyediakan ruang terbuka hijau. Sebagai kompensasi, setiap kepala keluarga mendapat ”uang kerohiman” Rp 10 juta.
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WAKIL Ketua Fraksi Partai Keadilan Sejahtera (PKS) DPRD Jakarta, Tubagus Arif, sejak awal sudah mempertanyakan dasar penggusuran. Tubagus menunjuk rencana kegiatan Pemda DKI Jakarta 2007 maupun tahun ini. Di sana sama sekali tidak ada agenda penggusuran kawasan Rawasari.
Karena tidak direncanakan, dana untuk membayar ganti rugi korban penggusuran pun tidak ada dalam Rancangan Anggaran Pendapatan dan Belanja Daerah Jakarta 2008. Jadi, dari mana uang kerohiman yang dibagikan kepada korban? ”Itu juga pertanyaan saya,” katanya.
Yang membuat Tubagus makin heran, Rencana Umum Tata Ruang Wilayah Jakarta, yang disahkan Peraturan Daerah Nomor 6/1999, bahkan tak menyebut kawasan Rawasari sebagai ruang terbuka hijau. Kawasan itu hanya akan dijadikan sempadan, badan jalan, serta karya taman umum.
”Kalau taman umum, masih ada toleransi 20 persen untuk bangunan,” kata Tubagus. Artinya, kios-kios keramik Rawasari sebenarnya tak perlu diratakan dengan tanah. Jadi, apa yang membuat Pemda DKI Jakarta terkesan ngotot menggusur Rawasari?
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PERTANYAAN itu seolah terjawab pada awal Februari lalu. Secara kebetulan, warga memperoleh salinan rencana pembangunan sebuah kawasan niaga otomotif di lahan kosong, tepat di belakang pasar keramik Rawasari. Lahan seluas 14 hektare itu adalah tanah negara milik PT Angkasa Pura I.
”Kami memperoleh dokumen itu dari seorang pemilik showroom mobil,” kata Horas Sinaga, kuasa hukum korban penggusuran. Rencana pembangunan itu terdiri dari tujuh halaman. Halaman pertama berjudul ”Master Plan Pusat Showroom dan Onderdil Mobil”, memuat denah rencana pembangunan showroom mobil, kios onderdil, supermarket, dan rumah toko. Total akan ada 16 blok bangunan di sana.
Halaman kedua memuat gambar serupa dengan sejumlah perubahan. Misalnya, jalan yang semula direncanakan membelah kawasan niaga itu dihilangkan. Di sisi utara muncul rencana pembangunan area bengkel dan parkir mobil. Kawasan pertokoan itu direncanakan memiliki dua pintu masuk. Di sisi barat melalui Jalan Pramuka Sari, di sisi timur via Jalan Ahmad Yani, melintasi pasar keramik dan permukiman Rawasari.
Nah, halaman tiga sampai tujuh berisi penawaran skema kredit bagi mereka yang tertarik membeli kios di kawasan niaga mobil ini. Setiap kios berukuran 2,75 x 3 meter dijual Rp 275 juta. Menurut denah, ada 360 kios yang ditawarkan dengan harga setiap kios rata-rata Rp 275 juta.
Di halaman terakhir tertera nama agen properti yang menangani penjualan kios-kios itu: Paddy’s Property, yang beralamat di kompleks Mega Grosir, Cempaka Mas, Jakarta Timur.
Ketika dihubungi Tempo pekan lalu, bos Paddy’s Property, Kertahadian Salim, mengakui memang pernah menangani penjualan pusat showroom mobil dan kios-kios onderdil yang akan dibangun di Rawasari. ”Tapi sekarang tidak lagi,” katanya. ”Nuansa politisnya terlalu besar.”
Kertahadian menjelaskan, lahan di Rawasari sebenarnya sudah dikontrak dari PT Angkasa Pura I dengan sistem Hak Guna Bangunan berjangka waktu 20 tahun. Siapa yang mengontrak? Kertahadian enggan menjawab.
PT Angkasa Pura I membenarkan pernyataan Kertahadian. Ketika dihubungi, akhir pekan lalu, Mariyanto, pelaksana tugas Kepala Biro Hukum pada badan usaha milik negara itu menjelaskan, lahan tidur di Rawasari memang sudah disewakan kepada PT Duta Paramindo Setia sejak Mei 2007.
Kuntadi Budianto, Sekretaris Perusahaan PT Angkasa Pura I, juga mengakui perusahaannya pernah meminta Pemda DKI Jakarta membantu mengamankan tanah itu. ”Tapi kami tak ada urusan dengan penggusuran. Kami hanya minta tanah kami dijaga,” katanya.
Penelusuran Tempo menemukan, PT Duta Paramindo Setia adalah perusahaan kontraktor yang terdaftar di Kamar Dagang dan Industri (Kadin) Jakarta. Di situs resmi Kadin tercantum nama penanggung jawabnya, Surjatin Njotohardjo. Ketika menandatangani kontrak sewa tanah dengan PT Angkasa Pura I, dia didampingi oleh Rudy Heriyanto.
Kantor Duta Paramindo adalah sebuah rumah jembar di Jalan Cempaka 20, Tomang, Jakarta Barat. Ketika Tempo ke sana pekan lalu, Surjatin dan Rudy tak bisa ditemui. Seorang staf perempuan yang menemui Tempo mengatakan, para bos ”jarang di kantor, karena selalu ada di lapangan”.
Kabar soal rencana pembangunan pusat showroom dekat lahan penggusuran Rawasari membuat korban makin nelangsa. ”Tindakan Pemda sudah melanggar hak asasi manusia,” kata Tubagus Arif. ”Penggusuran itu proyek titipan.”
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WAKIL Gubernur Jakarta Prijanto berusaha menetralisasi keadaan. Di depan wartawan, Selasa dua pekan lalu, dia menjamin tak akan ada pembangunan kawasan komersial di atas lahan Angkasa Pura. ”Di sana hanya akan dibangun rumah susun sederhana,” katanya. Menurut dia, itu permintaan Wakil Presiden Jusuf Kalla dan Menteri Negara Perumahan Rakyat Yusuf Asy’ari.
Namun, akhir pekan lalu, kepada Tempo, Kuntadi Budianto meluruskan pernyataan Prijanto. ”Kami memang akan menyediakan area seluas 8.000 meter persegi untuk rumah susun sederhana,” katanya. Tapi, lahan sisanya, seluas lebih dari 12 hektare, tetap untuk pembangunan pusat showroom mobil. Alasannya, ”Kami sudah kadung teken kontrak.”
Warga korban penggusuran kini tinggal berharap pada pengadilan. Sebuah gugatan diajukan ke Pengadilan Tata Usaha Negara Jakarta, mempertanyakan keabsahan penggusuran Rawasari.
Kamis pekan lalu adalah jadwal sidang perdananya. Sayangnya, satu-satunya tergugat, Camat Syamsuddin Lologau, tak muncul. Ketika dihubungi Tempo, Jumat pekan lalu, dia tak bersedia diwawancarai. ”Saya sedang rapat,” katanya terburu-buru.
Wahyu Dhyatmika, Mustafa Silalahi, Anton Aprianto
Ada banyak orang yang punya hati yang tulus, dan niat baik untuk menolong sesama. Mereka berusaha membantu semampunya, dengan memberi uang santunan seadanya, sesuai batas yang diijinkan dompetnya. Mereka merasa lega setelah mengulurkan bantuan ala kadarnya itu, merasa telah berbuat sesuatu.
Tapi itu tidak cukup. Niat dan hati yang tulus membantu sesama, harus dibarengi dengan kemampuan untuk melihat akar persoalan dan melakukan sesuatu untuk menyelesaikan akar persoalan itu. Tidak cukup hanya memberikan bantuan yang menyembuhkan gejala penyakit, bukan sumber penyakit. Memberikan seribu perak kepada pengemis kecil di jalan tidak cukup mengentaskan kemiskinan. Memberikan Rp 150 ribu kepada ibu miskin yang putranya menderita kanker, tidak akan menyelamatkan nyawa si anak dan ribuan anak miskin penderita kanker lainnya.
Bantuan-bantuan kecil semacam itu tidak menyelesaikan persoalan, dan justru melestarikan persoalan. Bantuan semacam itu justru membantu kita sendiri sebagai pemberi karena kita lalu merasa sudah berbuat sesuatu dan feel good about ourselves. Merasa kita sudah setidaknya melakukan sesuatu, seberapapun kecilnya. Sayangnya, seringkali perasaan semacam itu membuat kita puas, dan berhenti sampai di situ. Kita jadi lupa berpikir dan berbuat sesuatu untuk menyelesaikan akar masalahnya. Dan itu berbahaya.
Ambil masalah kesehatan sebagai contohnya. Banyak orang yang trenyuh melihat penderitaan si miskin yang tidak punya uang untuk membiayai pengobatan diri sendiri dan sanak keluarganya. Kisah-kisah semacam itu bertebaran di sekitar kita. Mulai gelandangan yang anaknya mati di gerobak tepi jalan. Anak penghuni gubuk pinggir rel kereta yang ususnya terburai terbungkus plastik karena tidak mampu operasi. Dan banyak lagi dan banyak lagi.
Tapi trenyuh, tentu tidak cukup. Semua orang tahu itu. Yang semua orang kemungkinan tidak banyak tahu adalah bahwa memberi uang barang Rp 100 ribu atau lebih, juga tidak banyak membantu memperbaiki situasi. Mengapa? Sebab kondisi ketiadaan biaya pengobatan itu adalah persoalan sistemik yang harus dibenahi dulu akar persoalannya.
Apa akar persoalan tidak mampunya orang miskin membiayai perawatan kesehatannya? Tidak adanya sistem jaminan sosial yang memadai, yang bisa mengambilalih kewajiban mereka merogoh kocek sendiri ketika memerlukan biaya kesehatan. Inilah yang menjadi kunci penyelesaian berbagai kasus terlantarnya orang miskin yang sakit di berbagai rumah sakit kita belakangan ini. Tidak adanya sistem jaminan sosial itu, juga disebabkan rendahnya minat warga untuk memiliki asuransi. Tanpa asuransi, orang miskin yang penghasilannya pas-pasan akan selalu kesulitan menutup ongkos pengobatan keluarga. Sampai kapanpun.
Nah, cara menyelesaikan persoalan ini adalah melaksanakan Undang Undang Sistem Jaminan Sosial dan merevisinya menjadi berpihak pada kaum miskin. Seluruh warga negara harus tercover layanan asuransi, baik melalui perusahaan –jika mereka bekerja di sektor formal-- maupun oleh pemerintah –jika mereka bekerja di sektor informal atau pengangguran. Bagaimana dengan mereka yang tidak mampu membayar premi asuransi? Pemerintah harus memberlakukan tarif premi yang lebih tinggi kepada golongan masyarakat yang kaya, untuk kemudian melakukan subsidi silang untuk menutup biaya premi kaum miskin.
Seluruh sistem kesehatan nasional harus ditata ulang dengan menghubungkan semua dokter umum, dokter spesialis, rumah sakit pemerintah dan rumah sakit swasta dengan skema pembiayaan jaminan sosial nasional. Dengan begitu, penyedia layanan kesehatan tidak menarik biaya langsung kepada pasien, melainkan kepada badan pelaksana asuransi kesehatan.
Kompleks? Siapa bilang? Model ini sudah berjalan dengan sangat baik di kabupaten Jembrana dan Tabanan di Bali. Juga sejumlah kabupaten lain di Jawa dan Sumatera. Yang diperlukan saat ini adalah tekanan publik supaya model-model pembiayaan kesehatan yang berpihak pada kaum miskin ini ditarik ke tingkat nasional dan dijadikan kebijakan yang harus diterapkan semua daerah.
Hanya dengan begitu, kaum miskin bisa terbebaskan dari beban pembiayaan perawatan kesehatan yang sampai kapanpun tidak akan bisa ditanggungnya sendirian. Hanya dengan begitu, negara ini bisa murni menjalankan sila kelima Pancasila, Keadilan Sosial untuk Seluruh Rakyat Indonesia.
Bunga Hitam dalam Kubangan
/Seandainya kita bisa menghapus waktu, mestinya Senin, 29 Mei 2006 itu tak perlu ada. Itulah saat lumpur panas pertama kali menyembur dari sepetak tanah di Porong, Sidoarjo, Jawa Timur. Selanjutnya kita semua tahu: delapan desa terkubur luluk, juga ratusan hektare sawah dan puluhan pabrik./
/Pelbagai upaya menyumbat semburan dilakukan, termasuk mendirikan tanggul-tanggul yang tegak menjulang bagai gergasi. Tapi hasilnya masih sangat minim. Yang muncul adalah pemandangan yang pilu: warga bertumpukan di barak pengungsi, sebagian stress atau menjadi gila. Orang-orang kehilangan kehidupan, langit muram di atas samudra coklat pekat./
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“ITU rumah saya,” kata Nasiruddin Rabu siang dua pekan lalu. Telunjuk pria 45 tahun, warga Desa Jatirejo, Kecamatan Porong, Sidoarjo, Jawa Timur itu mengarah ke sebuah titik di tengah lautan lumpur yang cokelat mengering. Tidak ada tanda apa pun yang bisa menunjukkan kalau di bawah sana, pernah ada rumah bertingkat dua miliknya. Yang tampak hanya satu dua pucuk pohon yang kering meranggas.
“Tunggu! Rasanya bukan di sana, tapi di sana,” katanya sambil menggeser telunjuk beberapa sentimeter ke kiri. Peluh bercucuran di keningnya. Dia terdiam, berusaha keras mengingat-ingat. Sebentar kemudian, wajahnya gelap. “Saya lupa di mana rumah saya.” Suaranya tercekat. Ditutupinya duka itu dengan tawa hambar.
Satu tahun sudah lumpur panas menyembur dan mengubur 350 hektare lahan di Kabupaten Sidoarjo, Jawa Timur. Semuanya berawal pada 29 Mei tahun lalu. Ketika itu, tak jauh dari sumur Banjar Panji 1, titik pengeboran Lapindo Brantas Inc. di Desa Renokenongo, Porong, lumpur tiba-tiba mendesak keluar. Mula-mula dengan volume 5 ribu meter kubik perhari lalu melonjak menjadi 150 ribu.
Tudingan diarahkan ke Lapindo Branta Inc., perusahan di bawah bendera kelompok usaha Bakrie. Firma itu lalai memasang katup pengamanan saat mengebor tanah ketika mencari gas di sana. Ketika luluk mucrat, mereka malah mengangkat anjungan pengeboran dengan alasan efisiensi. Akibatnya: lumpur makin deras mencuat.
Untuk menahan meluasnya dampak bencana, tanggul-tanggul raksasa didirikan tergesa-gesa. Sekarang, di sejumlah lokasi, tingginya lebih dari 20 meter. Tanggul-tanggul tanah itu berdiri bagai benteng di sepanjang sisi timur Jalan Raya Porong, yang menghubungkan Kota Sidoarjo dan Porong.
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SIANG makin terik dan Nasiruddin masih belum ingat lokasi rumahnya. Wajahnya putus asa. Udara sesak oleh uap panas dan bau belerang. Nasiruddin berdiri di tanggul besar yang membelah Desa Jatirejo, membelakangi kolam penampungan utama lumpur Lapindo. Sejauh mata memandang, yang ada hanya hamparan lumpur kelabu.
Tak lebih dari satu kilometer dari tempatnya berdiri, asap putih membumbung dari pusat semburan. Dari jauh, titik itu tampak seperti kawah gunung berapi. Di sekelilingnya dibangun tanggul berbentuk cincin, untuk memudahkan pekerja menyumbat lumpur dengan bola-bola beton. Di puncak-puncak tanggul, mesin-mesin ekskavator menderu, mengeduk lumpur, mengalirkannya ke Kali Porong yang berujung di Selat Madura.
Nasiruddin mengalihkan pandangannya ke sisi lain. Ditunjuknya sebuah bekas pesantren tua. “Itu milik mertua saya, pesantren Nurul Hikmah,” katanya. Dia pernah menjadi santri di sana 20 tahun silam. Lima tahun berguru pada Syekh Anas Al-Ayub, sang ulama pendiri pesantren, Nasiruddin menikahi putri sang kiai. Pernikahan itu mengikat hidup Nasiruddin pada Jatirejo. “Tak pernah terbayang saya akan meninggalkan desa ini,” katanya.
September lalu, saat lumpur makin deras memasuki desa, sekelompok santri di pesantren itu sempat menolak mengungsi. Mereka bersikeras menjaga makam Syekh Anas. “Waktu itu lumpur sudah sepinggang,” kata Nasiruddin. Dalam beberapa pekan lumpur terus meninggi, sampai mencapai atap rumah. Bukannya pindah, saudara ipar Nasiruddin, Miftahul Huda, malah naik ke menara masjid. Santri-santri membawakan makanan saban hari, dengan bersampan mengarungi laut lumpur. Tindakan nekat itu tidak bertahan lama. “Akhirnya ya turun sendiri,” kata Nasiruddin lagi.
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NASIRUDDIN adalah Ketua Pengurus Cabang Nahdlatul Ulama di Porong, Sidoarjo. Dulu, dia sering mengisi pengajian di desa-desa sekitar Porong. Sekarang, dia lebih banyak membantu warga kampungnya mengurus pembayaran gantirugi dari Lapindo. Sejak lumpur menggenangi sawah-sawah di perbatasan Jatirejo, awal Juni 2006 lalu, warga desa membentuk paguyuban untuk mewakili kepentingan mereka. Nasiruddin aktif di sana.
Markas mereka sebuah rumah sederhana di Desa Simo, Kecamatan Porong, sekitar satu kilometer dari desa Jatirejo yang tenggelam. Rumah itu dikontrak Mohamad Aschuur, 50 tahun, Ketua Lembaga Pemberdayaan Masyarakat Desa Jatirejo yang sekarang menjadi koordinator paguyuban warga. Dari pagi sampai malam, rumah itu ramai oleh warga yang meriung. Di beranda rumah, ada dua papan besar berisi daftar nama warga yang sudah melengkapi persyaratan mendapat gantirugi. “Rumah saya jadi seperti balai desa,” kata Aschuur tertawa.
Sekretaris paguyuban itu, Choirul Huda, seorang guru muda di madrasah setempat, dengan tangkas menjelaskan apa saja yang sudah mereka lakukan untuk mengusahakan pembayaran ganti rugi. “Agustus lalu, kami mulai dengan sebuah jajak pendapat sederhana,” katanya. Dari 767 kepala keluarga yang rumahnya terkubur lumpur, sebagian besar meminta ganti rugi uang tunai. “Hanya 42 kepala keluarga yang minta disediakan rumah pengganti di lokasi lain,” katanya.
Setelah mendapat kepastian itu, sejak Desember 2006 lalu, Aschuur dan Huda, dibantu para ketua rukun tetangga, mendata luas tanah dan bangunan warga. Semua bukti kepemilikan dikumpulkan lembar demi lembar. Kerja besar itu rampung dalam tiga bulan. Hasilnya impresif. Mereka sekarang punya berbundel-bundel dokumen hasil pengukuran lahan ratusan warga, lengkap dengan sertifikat atau dokumen lainnya. Berkas itu menumpuk di rumah Aschuur, memenuhi satu almari besar.
Sayangnya kegigihan mereka masih dihadang tembok. Sampai sekarang, belum ada warga yang menerima uang muka gantirugi rumah. “Yang cair baru uang muka pengganti sawah dan pekarangan,” kata Huda. Walhasil, berbekal uang kontrak Rp 5 juta yang dibagikan Lapindo Agustus lalu, ratusan warga Jatirejo kini berpencar menyewa rumah di seputaran Porong dan Tanggulangin. Tapi mereka selalu kembali ke “markas besar” mereka di Desa Simo.
Kegelisahan warga kini memuncak karena jatah uang jaminan hidup Rp 300 ribu per bulan akan habis Juni ini. Belum ada kepastian apakah pembagian jatah itu akan diteruskan atau tidak. “Padahal banyak warga masih menganggur,” kata Aschuur. Separuh penduduk Jatirejo dulu bekerja sebagai petani. Bagi mereka, kehilangan sawah berarti kehilangan penghidupan. Mengganti pekerjaan tentu tak mudah. “Warga enggan bekerja lagi sebelum jelas akan tinggal di mana,” ujarnya.
Nasib warga yang punya usaha sendiri --seperti bengkel atau toko kelontong-- tak lebih beruntung. Usaha yang mereka dirikan di desa baru, sulit maju karena tergencet toko atau bengkel yang lebih dulu ada.
Terjepit kanan kiri membuat banyak korban lumpur depresi. Ada yang kerap termenung atau marah-marah tanpa sebab. Warga di sana menjuluki orang-orang ini “BCA” atau “bocor alus” – istilah yang biasanya dipakai untuk ban sepeda yang gembos kecil. Tak terdeteksi, “Tau-tau kempes,” katanya Aschuur. “Sehari-hari tampak biasa, tapi mendadak masuk rumah sakit jiwa,” kata Nasiruddin.
Masalah rumah tangga juga kerap muncul. Sebagai sesepuh desa, Aschuur kerap jadi penengah. “Pemicunya selalu soal pendapatan yang turun.” Sebagai solusi sementara, tidak sedikit pria di desa-desa korban lumpur meminta istri mereka pulang dulu ke rumah asal orangtuanya di kabupaten lain, sementara sang suami bertahan di lokasi.
Yuniwati Teryana, Wakil Presiden PT Lapindo Brantas Inc. mengaku bisa memahami keinginan warga untuk tetap berkumpul dengan komunitasnya. Pekan lalu, Lapindo mengumumkan akan ada kompleks perumahan baru bernama “Kawasan Sidoarjo Baru” seluas 200 hektare untuk menampung warga empat desa yang tenggelam. Maket dan lokasi persisnya akan diumumkan bulan depan. “Warga yang tidak punya sertifikat tanah dan tidak mau repot mengurus penggantian, bisa langsung relokasi ke tempat baru ini,” kata Yuniwati. Tapi Nasiruddin menyambut dingin tawaran itu. “Kami tidak akan goyah. Kami tetap meminta pembayaran gantirugi tunai,” katanya.
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KEHILANGAN tempat tinggal hanya satu derita korban lumpur Lapindo. Setelah rumah, hidup mereka pun perlahan tenggelam. Kehilangan yang beruntun itu meninggalkan bekas, baik fisik maupun jiwa.
Elis Susanti salahsatunya. Perempuan muda cantik ini empat kali keluar masuk rumah sakit setelah rumahnya di Perumahan Tanggulangin Anggun Sejahtera I terendam lumpur, November lalu. Keluhannya macam-macam, dari sesak nafas sampai sakit lambung. “Pemicunya depresi. Saya stres,” katanya. Atas saran suaminya, Mahmud Yunus, seorang seniman, dia pun belajar melukis. Lambat laun kesehatannya pulih.
Terapi kejiwaan ala Elis kini diikuti tetangganya, Diah Hastuti. Rumah Diah di Desa Siring, Porong, juga habis dilalap lumpur. Keduanya sekarang tinggal di Sanggar Seni Pondok Mutiara, Kota Sidoarjo, mengisi hari dengan mencoret cat di kanvas.
Kalau lukisan Elis bertema macam-macam, Diah hanya melukis bunga dengan latar belakang hitam, gelap. “Hitam itu lumpurnya,” ujar Diah sambil tersenyum. “Bunga itu simbol harapan.”
******
DESA Renokenongo adalah kampung mati. Teletak di sebelah timur Desa Jatirejo, menyeberangi lautan lumpur dan jalan tol Surabaya-Gempol yang kini terputus, di wilayah inilah lumpur pertamakali menyembur. Selasa malam dua pekan lalu, saat /Tempo/ bermalam di sana, jalan utama Renokenongo lengang, meski jam baru menunjukkan pukul delapan.
Sebagian besar penduduk desa itu sudah pergi mengungsi sejak pipa gas Pertamina meledak di pinggir jalan tol, akhir November lalu. Akibat ledakan itu, tanggul penahan lumpur jebol dan sebagian desa tenggelam. “Saya pikir waktu itu kiamat,” kata Hadi Supriyo, 36 tahun, warga Renokenongo. “Semburan api dari pipa gas tepat di atas rumah saya.”
Hadi memboyong keluarganya pindah beberapa ratus meter ke arah barat kampung, ke rumah seorang kerabat. Bersama puluhan laki-laki lain, dia nekat bertahan. Hanya istri dan anak mereka yang mengungsi ke tempat penampungan darurat di Pasar Baru Kota Porong, sekitar lima kilometer dari desa itu. Di sana, bermukim 857 keluarga.
Sejak dihuni pengungsi, setiap pagi ada pemandangan rutin di Pasar Baru Porong: puluhan anak-anak usia sekolah berbaris antri di depan bilik mandi darurat. Setelah itu, menumpang dua bus yang disediakan pemerintah Sidoarjo, mereka berangkat ke SDN Renokenongo di tengah desa yang nyaris terkubur lumpur. Halaman belakang sekolah itu rata tertutup luluk kering. Di sanalah anak-anak berseragam putih merah bermain menjelang kelas dimulai.
Hadi, yang sehari-hari mengelola bengkel sepeda motor, mengaku baru akan pindah dari desa, jika separuh dari total uang gantirugi rumahnya dibayar. “Kalau hanya 20 persen, kami tidak mau,” katanya. Dengan uang itu, dia dan warga lain berencana membeli sebidang tanah di Pandaan, Kabupaten Pasuruan, tepat di kaki Gunung Penanggungan. “Di sana kami akan tinggal bersama lagi,” ujarnya. Seorang warga lainnya menimpali, “Airnya bagus disana.”
Tidak semua warga Renokenongo sepaham dengan Hadi. Ratusan keluarga lain memilih setuju dengan mekanisme gantirugi yang ditawarkan Lapindo. Perbedaan ini membuat warga Renokenongo terpecah dua. Yang satu curiga kepada yang lain, bahkan tak lagi saling bertegur sapa. Ketika salah satu guru mengajinya waktu kecil masuk kubu seberang, Hadi marah. “Saya tidak hormat lagi pada orang-orang yang mau menerima uang kontrak,” katanya ketus.
Dua pekan lalu, Hadi mengajak /Tempo/ melihat rumahnya yang terbenam lumpur. Dengan bersepatu bot plastik, dia menerobos kepungan rumah-rumah yang sudah doyong, tumpukan genteng dan kayu kusen yang dilepas paksa dari atap rumah, dan genangan lumpur setinggi pinggang, untuk mencapai tempat tinggalnya. “Saya lahir di sini,” katanya, menunjuk sebuah kamar di pojok rumahnya. Ada rekahan horizontal di dinding rumah itu, akibat fondasi yang ambles. Hadi termenung sebelum beranjak pergi.
Malamnya, sekitar pukul satu dini hari, seorang pria tua tergopoh-gopoh menghampiri pos tempat warga meronda malam. “Tanggul jebol,” teriaknya. Bersicepat, belasan pria kampung bergegas menuju tanggul itu tak sampai duaratus meter dari tempat mereka berkumpul.
Benar saja, lumpur panas kelabu yang masih mengepulkan asap putih, meluber ke luar tanggul. Udara malam yang semula menusuk tulang jadi hangat tiba-tiba. Puluhan warga dengan wajah panik segera berkumpul.
Hadi dan sejumlah kawannya berdiri di atas tanggul, tak jauh dari mesin ekskavator yang terengah-engah menambal kebocoran. Retakan di sana sini tampak jelas. Tak lama, seorang petugas berhelm proyek mengusir mereka. “Jangan di sini, bahaya,” katanya. Sekitar seratus meter dari tempat Hadi berdiri, beberapa pria berpakaian hitam-hitam tak terusik, khusuk bersemedi. Ritual mistik seperti itu digelar hampir setiap malam. Bau kemenyan merebak, bercampur bau belerang dari lumpur yang tumpah....
*Wahyu Dhyatmika (Sidoardjo)*
Hari ini, hari Jumat dini hari, pukul tiga pagi tepatnya. Sebentar lagi matahari akan menyelesaikan putarannya di belahan bumi lain dan kembali ke tempat ini. Sinarnya membuat semua terang dan orang-orang lalu bergegas menuju tempat kerja masing-masing. Kalau mau klise, bisa saja ditulis begini, "Dan orang-orang lalu bergegas menuju tempat kerja masing-masing --dengan senyum mengembang-- atau bisa juga --dengan harapan baru--." padahal, tidak semua orang berangkat kerja dengan semangat 45, kecuali memang yang ada yang pantas untuk dirayakan hari itu.
Inside Indonesia, No. 81,January-March 2005.
Not a romantic movement.
Those who support the Acehnese should not support GAM.
By: Kirsten E. Schulze
Since the 1999 referendum in East Timor and subsequent independence of that territory, many in the international community have shifted their focus toAceh. However, well founded sympathy with the plight of the Acehnese has often gone hand in hand with less well founded support for the Free Aceh Movement (GAM). This support for the insurgent movement has often been based on a simplistic equation of Aceh with East Timor.
GAM is idealised, romanticised and hailed as the underdog. Rejection of Jakarta's policies and loathing of the behaviour of its security forces has sometimes translated into an identification with GAM. It's as if it there is no choice but to supporting either Jakarta or GAM.
Aceh is not East Timor. GAM is not some romantic group of freedom fighters guided by noble principles and gallant actions. And supporting GAM is certainly not the only option if one disagrees with Jakarta, dislikes the Indonesian military, or even if one believes Aceh should be independent.
Let's be clear: supporting GAM means supporting or at least condoning GAM's actions. These actions include the kidnapping and killing of civilians and the burning of schools, local government offices and health centres, as well as a campaign of ethnic cleansing waged against Javanese migrants .
Aceh is not East Timor
Since the East Timor referendum, some former supporters of East Timorese independence now support Acehnese independence. But the two territories are very different. East Timor was taken by force in 1975, some 30 years after the establishment of the Republic of Indonesia.
It was first invaded, then incorporated and kept under control by more force. Few states recognised East Timor as a legitimate part ofIndonesia. Aceh, in comparison, was at the forefront ofIndonesia's struggle for independence from the Dutch in 1945-49. Aceh was an integral part of the new Indonesian Republic from the start, willingly and enthusiastically.
It was only later that Aceh became disillusioned, giving rise first to the Darul Islam (Abode of Islam) rebellion in 1953 and then the GAM insurgency in 1976. The histories and legal statuses of Aceh and East Timor are fundamentally different as arethe causes of conflict. To equate them is not just ahistorical, it is simply wrong.
Un-romanticising GAM
National liberation movements are often seen in highly idealistic and romantic terms, particularly in societies where politics has become mundane and uninspiring. In the case of Aceh, such views fly in the face of reality.
GAM's ideology is parochial, intolerant and ethnically exclusive. Its actions are undemocratic, discriminatory, and inviolation of international humanitarian law. Most notably, GAM has not respected the rights of non-combatants.
During the period of martial law in 2003-2004 GAM was responsible for some 300 kidnappings. The hostages were not members of the Indonesian security forces but civilians - civil servants, teachers, businessmen, journalists, and wives of security forces members. During this period GAM also confiscated Acehnese identity cards to provide its own members with freedom of movement while placing the Acehnese who' lost' those cards at risk.
GAM hid among the population turning them willingly or unwillingly into human shields. GAM uses children to run errands or as spies. And GAM has resorted to indiscriminate bombings within Aceh such as the 17 August 2002 Indonesian Independence Day bombings in which several school children were seriously wounded.
All these actions constitute human right violations. One of the saddest aspects of GAM's insurgency has been the movement's attacks on the education system. In an effort to loosen Indonesia's grip overAceh GAM has attacked the state's infrastructure - local government offices, health centres, and schools.
In May 2003 alone some 600 schools were torched. Not only is targeting civilian buildings against international law, GAM's actions are effectively targeting children.The burning of schools and the intimidation andshooting of teachers, often in front of the eyes of their pupils, has set back education in Aceh by at least a generation. It has traumatised children and teachers alike.
Javanese Victims.
One reprehensible aspect of GAM is its treatment of Javanese migrants in Aceh. Javanese have been migrating to Aceh since the colonial period when they worked on Dutch coffee plantations in the Gayo mountains. More Javanese came with the discovery of the Arun natural gas field and industrialisation in the 1970s. Yet others were part of Suharto'sofficial transmigration program. They were families searching for a piece of land on which to create abetter life for their children.
Since 1999, GAM has terrorised some 120,000 Javanese -men, women and children - into leaving Aceh. They have been threatened, robbed, and in many cases literally burnt out of their homes. GAM justifies its actions by stating that these Javanese are neo-colonial settlers who have taken land from the Acehnese, that they are potential army collaborators, and that they receive preferential treatment from the Indonesian authorities.Yet, GAM makes no effort to differentiate betweenSuharto-era transmigrants who received land and fifth generation migrants who have long intermarried with the local population. Neither has GAM differentiated between Javanese who have joinedself-defence militias and thus qualify as combatants and those who haven't.
Under the surface of GAM's anti-colonial ideology lies ethnic hatred. GAM's actions against the Javanese are no less than ethnic cleansing to 'purify'Aceh.
Democratic credentials
Ethnic exclusivity, however, is not the only form of intolerance practised by GAM. The organisation has intimidated civil society organisations that disagree either with its ideology or its methods, as well as journalists who it accuses of being biased in their reporting.
GAM has threatened and killed politicians who supported Jakarta or promoted autonomy and teachers for teaching the wrong kind of history, namely that Aceh is an integral part of Indonesia.
Internal dissent has been dealt with equally brutally. After GAM leader Hassan di Tiro fell ill, factionalism within the exiled GAM leadership came into the open. In 2000, the secretary-general of a GAM splinter group was killed. In 2001 GAM brutally put down a combined popular uprising and internal challenge in South Aceh. According to witnesses whom I have interviewed, GAM imprisoned its opponents in cages and tortured them. One man is said to have been dismembered by a chain saw while others were forced to watch. Several mass graves stillhold the remains of GAM's victims in the area of Manggamat.
GAM claims it wants to establish a democracy in afuture independent Aceh. Their behaviour on the ground, however, place these claims in a dubious light. So does GAM's history and its leadership. Until recently GAM was openly feudalistic, aiming to reinstate the sultanate of Aceh. Only in 2001 was this aim changed. Yet GAM remains fundamentally undemocratic. Its core leadership in exile is self-appointed and has not changed since 1976. Its military commanders in Aceh are selected by the same leaders inexile. Major decisions, too, are made from abroad with no popular input from, or accountability to, the average Acehnese. Women, who in Aceh outnumber men and are often held up as heroines, are completely absent from leadership positions. There are no internal elections like those conducted by the Palestinian Liberation Organisation when it was in exile.
GAM claims it represents the people of Aceh but has yet to prove this claim. It would be wrong to translate popular disappointment with Jakarta in Aceh into support for GAM. Even Acehnese who support independence don't necessarily support GAM. What the people of Aceh want above everything is an end to violence, including that perpetrated by GAM.
Simplistic equations
Disliking Jakarta's policies in Aceh or the behaviour of the Indonesian security forces does not mean one has to support GAM. Similarly, believing thatAceh should be independent does not mean one has to support GAM. For members of the international community, who are not themselves trapped in the violence in Aceh, there are other options. Not exercising those options only reinforces the conflict's zero-sum dynamic.
It also closes off the possibility of helping to open a moderate middle ground, based in civil society.Opening up a middle ground, however, means also criticising GAM and putting pressure on it to change its treatment of non-combatants. It is often argued that it is the Indonesian security forces who commit most human rights abuses in Aceh and that it is here that international pressure should therefore focus. Surely this is not a question of numbers but of principle?
It shouldn'tmatter who the perpetrator is. A Javanese family burnt out of their home is no less traumatised than an Acehnese one. A wife whose husband was killed by GAM suffers no less than a wife whose husband waskilled by the Indonesian security forces. National liberation movements and militaries alike should be subject to the same rules of engagement and the same humanitarian laws. It cannot be the case that the killing of civilians by the military is condemned as a human rights abuse while the killingof civilians by a national liberation movement is condoned as a necessary evil.
Turning a blind eye to GAM abuses does not help the people of Aceh. The idea of 'deferring' criticism of GAM until after Acehnese independence isequally misguided. Undemocratic liberation movements seldom produce democratic states.
Kirsten E. Schulze (K.E.Schulze@lse.ac.uk)
Inside Indonesia No.81, Jan-Mar 2005
Why not independence?
Challenging the myths about Aceh's national liberation movement
by : William Nessen
It was late 2002 and I was in Banda Aceh's best hoteltalking to a US embassy official. He was preparing foran impending cease-fire between the Free Aceh Movement(Gerakan Aceh Merdeka, GAM), and the Indonesiangovernment. He was part of the international chorus telling the world that what the Acehnese really wantedwas peace. When I countered that they wanted independence too, he responded impatiently: that maybe, but they certainly don't have good enough reason.
Provoked, I proceeded to list their reasons: several hundred years running to the 20th century as asovereign state; the greatest resistance in thearchipelago to Dutch colonial conquest; broken orempty Indonesian promises of autonomy; pillage ofnatural resources; de facto military occupation; thecrushing of non-violent dissent; the killing, tortureand rape of thousands and the absence of any justicefor these crimes. All leading, I said, to a complete absence of trust in Indonesia. The embassy man shrugged. 'What they need is somejustice, economic fairness, and peace,' he said. 'Theyjust don't have a big enough gripe.'
Foreign partisanship
The words of this embassy official sum up the dismissive attitude that the Acehnese face internationally. One of the great tragedies of theconflict in Aceh is that so few outsiders seem to know what the Acehnese want or why.When the East Timorese struggled for independence, they eventually attracted advocates and admirersaround the world. That support helped the East Timorese sustain hope during decades of Indonesian occupation. In Aceh, despite an overwhelming desire for independence and an unending roll-call of Indonesian brutality, foreign governments, NGOs, policy analysts and others have all sought to convince the Acehnese to accept Indonesian rule.
No one - except the Acehnese themselves - proposes independence as a solution. Fearing the unraveling ofthe world's fourth most populous country and hamperedby a shallow view of international law and a lack offirst-hand reporting and comparative analysis withother national liberation struggles, even well-meaning foreigners can't think sensibly about the conflict. And so partisanship in favour of continued Indonesian control simply appears neutral.
During a total of a year in Aceh between 2001 and2003, which included time spent with GAM guerillas and the Indonesian military and in jail, I discovered that much of what passes as balanced scholarship and fair commentary about the conflict perpetuates myths instead.
Caught in the middle?
It is a late afternoon in mid-June 2003, a month into the government's biggest-ever offensive and I am travelling with a company of GAM guerrillas. We have stopped to rendezvous with other fighters in a village a dozen kilometres from a main spur road. Fighters are washing laundry, drinking coffee andrelaxing with villagers, many of whom are relatives orlife-long friends.
Suddenly, there are loud bursts of automatic-riflefire. Without knowing the guerrillas are there,Indonesian soldiers have strolled out of the woods. Overconfident, guerrilla company commanders failed topost lookouts far enough afield. Male villagers, dozens of guerrillas and I retreat inpanic. Soon, however, we are moving in two long columns of a hundred men each, and the commanders have begun to organise the fighters to protect the rest of us. But for the first time since I've been with them, the fighters are scared; a vice-commander draws theedge of his hand across his neck - we are finished, surrounded.
As the sun sets, we walk swiftly along adirt road past small wooden houses where women areweeping and crying out for God to save us and bringharvest to Aceh's struggle.Before daybreak, a group of old men appears. They are the men the young fighters here turn to when they'vereached their limits. These elders have organised adangerous zigzag through the tightening Indonesian ring.
We set out in groups of 20, ten minutes apart, each group with a guide silently steering us this wayand that, pausing to listen and to send small boysahead to make sure the route remains clear.One of the common bits of nonsense one hears about Aceh is that most Acehnese, even those who supportindependence, don't support GAM. Hapless victims,opposing violence by both sides, they are 'caught inthe middle'.Spending time with the guerrillas and in the villagesallows a clearer view.The episode above was not the first time I saw'ordinary' Acehnese risk their lives to save GAM fighters.
Wherever I travelled with the guerrillas, the 'people caught in the middle' repeatedly tooksides, providing food, information and heartfelt encouragement. I had experienced the same in EastTimor in 1998.
During the first weeks of the new offensive, we were often ushered into a home late at night where an olderwoman would grind chili paste, fry cupfuls of driedfish and boil a large pot of rice for 'her boys.' Even when criticising GAM, Acehnese villagers referred to the guerrillas as their army, often concluding: 'They are our people, they are us.'In the towns, that close identification lies beneath the surface. During the day, Indonesian military commanders pointed to their growing control. At night,I'd wander about, usually ending at a simple restaurant, where, invariably, an animated gatheringof regular customers would soon be saying, 'Of course, everyone supports the guerrillas. We just have to becareful now.'
What are you fighting for?
Another common argument against the Free Aceh guerrillas is that they are not really fighting for independence. Other factors motivate them, like power, boredom, money, local prestige, and ethnic hatred. This view also forms part of the Indonesian military's own armoury. I recall a meeting with General DjaliYusuf, the army's top man in Aceh, and an Acehnese himself, in January 2003. Lifting in turn a lighter, then a pack of cigarettes and finally a trademark cigarette holder to make his point, General Djali outlined the composition of GAM: one part genuine nationalist, one part revenge-seeker and one part criminal.
I'd heard it before and it was half-true. Many GAM fighters I knew had lost a father or brother to Indonesian guns. I'd heard their desire to strikeback. I'd met GAM commanders who'd been small-time gangsters. Their search for excitement and quick money took them to Malaysia, then on to guerilla training in Libya in the late 1980s. But political involvement transformed the well-travelled ex-gangsters and the village-boundrevenge-seekers into men of broader horizons with a fierce commitment to their land. None of this should surprise us.
Aceh, despite what experts say, is a lot like anywhere else. Sociologists, political scientists and historians havelong recognised that movements attract people for avariety of reasons in addition to their stated goals.Indonesia's independence struggle in 1945-49 was nodifferent. Robert Cribb, in his book Gangsters andRevolutionaries, shows that criminal gangs played akey role in the struggle against the Dutch.
The historian Geoffrey Robinson observed in his book about Bali, The Dark Side of Paradise, that the nationaliststruggle there was initially 'a guise for otherstruggles', with nobles and peasants lining up (andchanging sides) depending on pre-existing political rivalries.No one contends that Indonesia's independence strugglewas illegitimate because participants often hadmultiple motivations, or because some people sidedwith the enemy, or because opium became the most important trading commodity of the Republic-to-be. Yet some commentators try to delegitimise the entireAcehnese independence cause because some of itssupporters don't have 'pure' motives and because, yes,some of them commit crimes.
How bad is GAM?
For some years, human rights organisations havecriticised abuses committed by insurgent non-stateactors, as well as those by states. With good reason. During the past two decades, numerous guerrillainsurgencies committed two sins together: they usedbrutal means for selfish ends.In Aceh, human rights groups and journalists refer toabuses on both sides.Yet what's striking is how few serious abuses GAM hasactually committed, resulting in what somedisappointed critics say is a tendency to'romanticise' them. Unlike a dozen guerrilla groups that come to mind, GAMhas conducted no massacres, nor killed manynon-combatants. They have not raped or mutilatedprisoners or unleashed suicide bombers. Nor have theyforced people into military service, unlike manyinsurgencies. Terror ain't GAM's weapon. It has anarguably reasonable goal and goes about it as cleanlyas almost anyone has.The catalogue of Indonesian abuses is vast and rich indetail. Numerous reports by human rights organisations specify time and place, and sometimes the preceding sequences of events. The charges against GAM are fewand often vague. Even the Indonesian military has preferred not to inventory GAM's crimes, perhaps fearing the comparison.
GAM urges no restriction on access forjournalists to the territory and comprehensive investigation of violations by all parties. Indonesia has long opposed any such scrutiny. Indonesia shut the province to journalists during the 1990s and closed it again in June 2003.
Some things GAM doesn't deny. Asserting that they area more legitimate government than Jakarta, GAM claimsthe right to impose a tax on anyone running a businessin Aceh. Contractors are supposed to be taxed 10 percent of their profits; small shops, 2.5 per cent.Critics call this extortion. As with any tax, people would prefer not to pay. Yet GAM must depend entirely on fellow Acehnese, and so far the best evidence suggests most people have willingly given what they could.Other charges leveled at GAM - such as the killing of teachers for teaching the Indonesian curriculum - are not, or not yet, substantiated.
Investigating two alleged instances, I discovered that the mobile police had shot the teachers because they were strong GAM supporters regularly donating money. In another case, according to a GAM commander, GAM killed a teacher because, despite many warnings, he kept giving information about GAM personnel to the TNI (Indonesian National Military).
During its battle for the countryside, GAM has killed scores of informers and military intelligence agents. However, some informers are held just a few months. In western Aceh, I met several itinerant pedlars arrestedby GAM. They admitted to helping the Indonesians. One told the authorities about the location of several unarmed GAM fighters. The mobile police killed two of them. Angry GAM fighters beat this man badly when they captured him. After that, he told me, the fighters had not harmed him.
Though never saying so, GAM also probably assassinated one well-known academic. Their rumoured excuse: GAM central command didn't know and wouldn' t have approved what the district unit chief decided to do.
Again, we can compare Aceh with Indonesia's independence movement, despite changing times and rising moral standards. In 1945-49, all around thecountry, there were indiscriminate attacks against people working for the Dutch, not just informers.Whole villages were laid waste. Revolutionary groups killed people for wearing Dutch-style clothing or for carrying items in the colours of the Dutch flag. Extortion, robbery, kidnapping, ethnic attacks and terror were the stock-in-trade of Indonesia's nationalist struggle.
Ethnic cleansing?
The most inflammatory charge against GAM is that ithas engaged in ethnic cleansing. With its image of bloodied families heaped and scattered across the ground, this charge is intended to set off alarm bells. Here it rings hollow.
Of the many ethnic groups in Aceh, GAM has hadconflict with one only, the Javanese. The several hundred thousand Javanese differ from the other minority groups in three ways.
First, they are not indigenous to the region, having all come in the last hundred years, most as part of Suharto's transmigration program, many during Dutch colonisation. Second, they are from the country's dominant ethnic group. Third, and most critically, for years thousands of Javanese men have acted alongside government soldiers as village militia forces and anti-GAM combatants.
As proof of the deep-seated enmity toward the Javanese, critics point to GAM 's view (widely shared in much of Indonesia) that Java merely replaced Holland as the ruler of the archipelago, to the anti-Javanese invectives of GAM founder Hasan di Tiroand to GAM's conception of a sovereign Aceh, which critics say is backward-looking and even racist. GAM's nationalism does look back - but only to a past sovereignty. And it looks forward not to a purified ethnic nation-state, but to a multi-ethnic country.
GAM includes many members of minority groups, including at the highest levels. The top commander inCentral Aceh is a Gayo, and in Tamiang, two of the four district GAM chiefs are Javanese, with numerous Javanese fighters under them. Still, it helps to hear the critics.
A 2002 report of the International Crisis Group states that in Central Aceh, where the bulk of long-term Javanese settlers live, 'there were raids by GAM guerrillas and local sympathisers on Javanese communities in which people were killed, houses looted and burned.' In fact, the situation was far more complicated. Coordinated by the TNI, armed Javanese 'self-defence'groups gathered intelligence on GAM, manned checkpoints, patrolled roads, and participated inoffensive actions against Acehnese villages. Army units and Javanese militias reportedly killed at least several hundred Acehnese civilians during the firstmonths of 2001.
Tens of thousands of Acehnese fled northward, their valuables looted and homes razed. No one has accused GAM of violence against Javanese women, children and the elderly. Honestly or not, GAM has said that Javanese are welcome back after independence.
A right to secede?
Many people think Aceh doesn't have a right to separate from Indonesia because the Acehnese were part of the Indonesian independence struggle against theDutch in 1945-49. Once having agreed to join, they areforbidden to leave. Foreign governments and observers insist this is a basic principle of international law.
But there's another view of international law that has the backing of a solid body of scholarly literature. In this view, peoples do have a right to secede froman existing state, so long as they are persistent, the crimes against them are great, and they meet certain criteria. Those criteria boil down to two sets of points. First, secession can't make the original country more vulnerable to external aggression, leave it indisconnected pieces, block its access to the sea, or remove its economic base. None of these apply to Aceh.
Second, the future country must be a viable entity, inwhich the majority of people support separation. They must share a strong sense of identity (based on language, religion, traditions, or history) and have exhausted other courses of resolving their problems. International recognition of the secession of fourYugoslav republics was contingent on additional criteria: a democratic government and protection ofminorities. In addition to the ex-Yugoslav republics, there have been several notable instances of secession, including Bangladesh and Eritrea. Most suggestively, the PapuaNew Guinea government and the people of Bougainville agreed in 2001 to allow the province progressively greater autonomy during a ten-year period, culminating in an independence referendum.
Independence was the ultimate solution for people suffering under European colonial domination. Why shouldn't it be available for people, like the Acehnese, experiencing a similar lack of political control, economic exploitation and intolerable humanrights abuses?
My guess is that after a few years, it won't matter much to anyone but the Acehnese that Aceh is independent.
Beyond partisanship
Concerned outsiders shouldn't simply accept Indonesia's right to rule in Aceh. Instead, we ought to look more deeply at the facts and more widely at all possible solutions. History, including Indonesia's, tells us that independence struggles are often painful and scarring. Yet in writing about Aceh, many outsiders impose a mythic model that the Acehnese can never hope to match. But raising the bar on Aceh's already uphill challenge seems exactly these writers' intention.The effect - and the greatest tragedy here - is to leave the fate of Aceh in the hands of Indonesia's military.
William Nessen (wanessen@yahoo.com)
ON THE RUN IN ACEH
With the guerrillas in Indonesia's westernmost province
By William Nessen
In recent years, Indonesia has witnessed a series of regional uprisings that have called into question the country's legitimacy and viability as a multiethnic state.
The longest-running and most intractable dispute lies in the northwestern, resource-rich province of Aceh, at the tip of the island of Sumatra.
Aceh, an internationally recognized state until the Dutch began a decades- long war to colonize it in 1873, has always fought outside rule. More Dutch soldiers died there than in the rest of Indonesia combined during the colonial period. When Indonesia won independence from the Netherlands in 1949, Aceh's leaders agreed to join the new republic. The Acehnese have been regretting that decision ever since, enduring often harsh military rule and widespread human rights abuses under former dictator Suharto, and what they regard as the plundering of their mineral wealth.
William Nessen, a freelance journalist and photographer based in Jakarta, began his sixth weeks reporting trip to Aceh in mid-May at a time when a months-long cease-fire was unraveling. His determination to report from the rebel zones led to a worldwide cause celebre when he was nearly killed by Indonesian troops, and government authorities demanded he give himself up to face possible espionage charges.
This is his story.
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It's night and I walk steadily along a ribbon of visible path under a canopy of trees. Fog rolls fitfully through the limbs and leaves. The few houses are unlit and far away a dog barks.
A guerrilla of the Free Aceh Movement, or GAM, walks ahead of me, carrying a pistol whose outline becomes visible when we exit the trees and start across the wet paddy field. Moving in a half crouch under a sickle of moon and stars, I scan the horizons for movement. Gun in hand, another GAM man follows 10 meters behind.
They're taking me toward my morning rendezvous with their enemy, the Indonesian military.
I'm giving myself up after weeks of defying the military's demand to stop reporting from rebel-held zones. I've lost my camera gear and everything else I brought, and narrowly escaped death.
Indonesian soldiers are camped all over this area, but I'm strangely calm. I'm used to the fear now. I know it can suck breath from your body until there is nothing to do but let go.
I had come to Aceh six weeks earlier, in mid-May, to report on Indonesia's impending "final offensive" against Free Aceh Movement, which has waged an independence struggle in this gas-rich province for 27 years.
Separatist movements have plagued Indonesia, a sprawling 13,000-island former Dutch colony of 230 million people, since its birth five decades ago. With longstanding independence aspirations growing in easternmost Papua province, the traumatic exit of East Timor in 1999 and a history of religious and ethnic tension in other regions, the central government and many Indonesians reasonably fear that the loss of Aceh would trigger the eventual breakup of their troubled nation.
Having reported from Aceh numerous times, for The Chronicle and newspapers on four continents, I had no problem arranging with GAM to accompany a 50- strong company of fighters in their villages near Lhokseumawe, Aceh's industrial center. Despite GAM's eagerness to host foreign journalists, in the past I'd been the only one to make more than a perfunctory visit to the guerrillas or to the 80 percent of Aceh that the central government conceded lay outside its control.
Some in Jakarta's press community thought my keen interest in the story made me a sort of pro-GAM activist. I couldn't understand how journalists could hope to get to the truth in a place like Aceh without getting their shoes dirty and their hair mussed up.
On the second morning of the new offensive, which shattered a fivemonth- long ceasefire, I stood with
some 20 GAM fighters at the entrance to Rise Baru village, awaiting the approach of 1,000 Indonesian
soldiers.
While I nervously scouted routes of retreat for myself through thick brush and barbed-wire fence, village elders, civilian GAM activists and relatives of the fighters strolled down the road to chat with "their boys." Young girls and old women brought tea, coffee and sweets made of sticky rice and shredded coconut.
Unlike me, the locals in this village of several hundred souls seemed confident they could cope with the latest chapter in Aceh's long-running conflict with the central government in Jakarta, more than 1,100 miles away on the island of Java.
To dispel my fear, English, the 28-year-old company commander, tutored me on GAM guerrilla tactics: "When they advance, we retreat; when they leave, we return. When they grow tired or weak or careless, we attack."
Nasir, a 24-year-old who once headed a GAM squad assassinating Indonesian soldiers and police in Lhokseumawe, added, "We don't have to win the war, we only have to stop them from winning."
So far they'd done at least that. Growing in number, support and arms since long-ruling Indonesian dictator Suharto fell from power in mid-1998, GAM's increasingly well-coordinated fighters had consistently outmaneuvered tens of thousands of Indonesian soldiers while suffering inconsequential losses.
During many months of travel through Aceh, I had heard numerous believable accounts from GAM men about the one-by-one killing of hundreds of the Indonesian military's intelligence operatives in 1999 and 2000. The military (known as the TNI) has never discussed GAM's ruthless but efficient operation, which strongly bolstered the rebels' ability to move in the countryside.
By 2002, the army could hardly venture off Aceh's main road without deploying hundreds, if not thousands, of soldiers at a time. But the TNI's operational commander in Aceh, Brig. Gen. Bambang Darmono, a veteran of the long occupation of East Timor, had assured me back in January that he had not yet gone all out. "We know how GAM operates, and we can finish them if we want, " he said.
The military didn't enter Rise Baru that morning or the next, and English's men shot two soldiers having a smoke outside a new TNI encampment. A day later, the fighters ambushed two patrols, killing one soldier.
GAM guerrillas are neither well-trained nor exceedingly fit. But my time in Aceh showed me again and again that as long as villagers - long angry about Indonesian rule and craving independence - continue to give information to the guerrillas, GAM can attack with little risk to themselves.
The dilemma for guerrillas and civilians alike is that frustrated soldiers often take it out on the first farmer they encounter. Nearly 13,000 Acehnese, most of them civilians, have died in the past decade of military repression and local resistance in this province of 4.2 million residents.
Finally, on the fourth day of the offensive, we heard that the TNI was coming en masse and English knew it was time to move.
GAM fighters, their civilian activists, hundreds of male refugees and I simply retreated a few miles to Cot Calang, the next village up the road. The TNI left an occupying force in Rise Baru and two days later moved toward Cot Calang. We pulled back again. Soldiers razed the houses of two GAM men in the village and after a fruitless interrogation shot dead several GAM activists, according to refugees I met later.
After more than a week of cautious retreat up the road into Aceh's mountainous interior, English steered our unwieldy assemblage into the forest.
Gen. Bambang's strategy, right out of the counter-insurgency handbook, was to separate the guerrillas from the people who supported them - and, in this one place at least, it seemed to be working. In the forest, the TNI could use its superior firepower, communications and logistics to overwhelm the guerrillas. If they could find them.
The next morning, we heard planes pass high overhead. Later that day, two agitated men caught up with us while we were cooking rice and salted fish on the shaded banks of a wide river. They recounted how they'd been sleeping in the mountains along with 200 other refugees when planes began circling over them. Everybody came out from under the trees and stood in the field looking up.
Suddenly, one plane appeared to fall, and one of the men joked to his friend that the Indonesians didn't even know how to fly a plane. A second later the first bomb exploded in their midst.
The pair fled for their lives and couldn't say how many had been killed at the spot known as Kilometer
26, marking its distance up from the main road.
English sent out scouts to gather news, but there was little to be found. We were traveling almost blind and the enemy was all around.
When members of our party started finding TNI food wrappers on forest paths, English decided to blend deeper into the landscape.
Bushwhacking a route any way we could, we lowered ourselves on long vines to boulder-strewn streams and then up again. We saw tiger tracks, giant pythons and forest eagles skimming the treetops.
The rice ran out. The fighters fished with nets, and we dug tubers and sucked sugar cane in fields that the TNI had prevented farmers from reaching. The land seemed emptied of people and we stopped for several days at a time in garden huts, bathing in deep rivers and washing our clothes.
Early one morning sitting on a boulder, my feet dangling in the water, I traced the decisions in my life that had led from an easy boyhood on Manhattan's west side to the harrowing war in Aceh 40 years later.
Looking back, it seemed that I'd not really had a choice at all but that my life's arrow had been ever
aimed to this time and place. What else was written? Was this to be my journey's end? So be it, I thought and dove in.
The refugees we found in the forest and fields made clear the TNI was going full-out in its attempt to crush the rebels.
The refugees said soldiers had relocated entire villages and made the men walk in front of them as protection against ambush by GAM fighters. The government had long ago cut electricity, limited transport of goods and denied access for even Indonesian journalists willing to parrot the official
line.
Fear sat restively in my gut, haunting every step I took. Any sudden or rough sound - a dead palm leaf dropping to the ground, an unnoticed chicken scratching in the dirt, the rustle of clothing as the man next to me turned in his sleep - sent my heart racing.
The mounting tension took its toll. I berated the GAM fighters for leaving a trail of half-eaten fruit and obvious campsites, and argued with Nasir and 19-year-old Panji, the men closest to me, over trivial matters.
Three weeks into the offensive, catastrophe struck. Indonesian soldiers spotted our strung-out column
crossing a river and opened fire.
With 40 pounds of gear on my back, I pounded up a steep path in the open, cursing to myself because I
knew some of us were going to die. In front of us, the forest exploded with automatic fire. Cocky little Nasir fell dead on the path. Somewhere below, Indonesian bullets hit Panji, who was a natural with my video camera. I believe he died filming, not fighting, the TNI.
English grabbed me and we angled to our right, the other men following at full speed. We ran into the
forest, the pinging of bullets and the roar of gunfire all around us. As English spurred us ahead, five men in camouflage approached him. In the deep shadows, the men mistook him for a fellow Indonesian soldier, and he momentarily thought they were his own.
The split second he saw the red and white bandannas around their necks, English pointed his gun and pulled the trigger. What he recalled most was the shock on the faces of the TNI men as they realized their lives were at an end. Despite getting the drop on our company, the Indonesian army lost nine men that day, all shot at close range.
A deep sense of loss shrouded all of us as we waited in a village and slowly regrouped. As each day passed and other colleagues didn't return, the guerrillas barely talked. Guilt for the death of Panji weighed heavily on me.
One fighter told of turning over Nasir and seeing his lifeless eyes and the blood trickling from his mouth. Another said, "We are Acehnese men and we are crying inside."
The guerrillas' toughness was symbolized by a fighter who was wounded in the foot and had to hide for a day only meters away from Indonesian troops. He then crawled and hopped two days to reach us.
When a nurse secretly helping GAM unwrapped the bloody bandage the wounded man had fashioned, I heard a collective gasp from those watching. The back of his foot was missing, the rest a dead purplish gray. Twigs and leaves littered the hollowed-out front, and thousands of bright white maggots were consuming the rank, rotting flesh.
The wounded man uttered not a sound.
English went around to the back of a nearby house. When he returned, I saw his eyes were red from crying. None of the men ever said English had erred in taking us far from the protection of the villagers, but it was clear that he had.
A few days later, fresh disaster. The TNI stumbled onto us and another company of fighters in the village of Alue Sikeh when GAM lookouts failed to give warning. The Indonesians were as surprised as the guerrillas, and there was a moment of dumb shock on both sides before the shooting started. With hundreds of others, I got away but without my belongings, including my cameras and videotapes. (By chance, I had deposited most of my photos with a local village leader.)
In the dusky bluish light, our two long columns of fighters and refugees - shoeless, shirtless, a bag of rice on a head, a plastic bag of food in hand - retreated without hope along a dirt road.
Fighters drew their index fingers across their necks, an admission that our time was running out. Our
discovery in the village had prompted a several- thousand-strong circle of TNI troops to tighten the
noose around us.
As we passed houses along the road that night, women stood with their children, holding candles, weeping, and wailing a stream of Koranic prayer so loud, mournful and full of pain that I felt Aceh bare its soul to me. "Our men, our men," they cried, "may God, the all-merciful, the all- powerful, save them. May He
give harvest to our struggle."
I walked with my arm around English, trying to draw the courage to die from this straight-backed farmer's son 20 years my junior. He said to me, "Those who die teach lessons to the living, and when we die, others will learn and the struggle still live."
I called my wife, Shadia, with a commander's satellite phone. It was time to say goodbye. She had warned me to leave the guerrillas earlier and she sobbed over the phone as I told her the Indonesians had us in a vise.
"No, no, NO!" she screamed with horror. "Can't you?¦ can't you just separate yourself, just get out, just get away?" she stammered, sobbing and struggling for breath.
The Indonesians were close, though still out of sight, and now shooting in the air to drive us toward a wall of their men waiting somewhere.
"I have to go, sayang, my dear. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, it's time," I said, tears filling my eyes but trying to stay strong for her. "No, no," she begged, "Don't go, don't go." I hung up and that, we both thought, was it. (Headlines around the world a day later read, "U.S. Journalist Feared Dead.")
Quickly, the hundreds of men and I cut off the road and followed paths through islands of forest between the fields. As my will fought to stave off paralysis caused by mounting fear, my mind kept calculating which spot in the column gave me the best odds of survival and whether to run or hide when the inevitable happened.
Whether from strength or weakness I cannot say, but I felt myself give way to fate and my consciousness lift away. And for a long moment in the darkness I was literally looking down through the tall trees at myself and the men as we hurried along.
Our guides decided on a resting place for us that night in a clump of palm trees set in a maze of razor-sharp elephant grass and marsh. No one slept. The men waited for morning's losing battle. Not a religious man, I nonetheless begged God to spare these men, adding a moment later, "and me too."
Much later, sweat-soaked and chilled, I lay back between English and another fighter, an M16 against my back. I closed my eyes and began to drift.
Suddenly something smashed through my glasses. A golf ball-size palm kernel had fallen from a high tree and gashed me just above my left eyeball, splattering blood over half my face. A message from above? What was it saying?
Morning brought a miracle. With new information flowing to the commanders from ever-helpful villagers,
we slipped out of the TNI encirclement - 50 at a time, stopping or changing course every 100 meters.
A net has holes; a wall has cracks. And prayer is sometimes answered. By that evening, we were 12 miles away and safe.
A week later, I parted from English, but I saw him and his men once more as they swung back toward Cot
Calang. He called me over and asked softly, "Why not come with us again?"
But by then, I had decided to turn myself in to Gen.Bambang and face the consequences for daring to seek the truth from the other side of the hills.
The fighters and I had only just learned that my refusal to leave GAM had become the top news story
throughout Indonesia, and was attracting attention around the world. I had already gotten an inside view of the war, and without my gear I didn't see much sense in staying.
I had also seen what a high-velocity bullet could do.
Commentators around Indonesia were vilifying me for defying the government and interfering with the war effort. While I was with the guerrillas, the police had arrested in my Jakarta home a former university
lecturer in veterinary science who had become my friend and keenest informant about the conflict in Aceh. He was one of dozens of Acehnese arrested in the capital and charged with membership in GAM. Ministers and generals accused me of spying for GAM and threatened me with the death penalty.
When I called Gen. Bambang by cell phone to arrange my surrender, he barked at me, "You dog!" - possibly the ultimate insult in a nation of dog haters.
Bambang's anger was partly personal. I had met him through Shadia, one of Jakarta's top "fixers" and
translators for foreign journalists. None of the TNI knew, however, that Shadia was also half Acehnese and a former organizer for an independence referendum, or that her father had once been among Aceh's most defiant religious and political leaders.
Nor did we ever tell Gen. Bambang that Shadia and I had gotten married. With foreign journalists in tow during the past six months, she had quickly charmed the entire Indonesian military brass. Shadia and I spent many days with Gen. Bambang on several visits, including a helicopter ride to visit troops in the forest preparing to attack GAM fighters. Unlike most journalists, I never pushed Bambang with a provocative question; I built up trust and let him come to me.
I wanted to get inside his head and look at the world through TNI eyes. At one point, I had seemed so
sympathetic to Indonesia's policy in Aceh that Bambang and others he introduced me to hinted - with a wink and a nod - that they "knew" I worked for U.S. intelligence.
When I emerged on a stretch of road to give myself up, Bambang greeted me with armored cars and a bear hug that began with a slug to the back that was missed by the cameras brought to witness his friendly greeting. By the time I arrived at my place of detention - the main police station in Banda Aceh, the provincial capital - I found that reality had been turned upside down.
On the TV news, no Indonesian soldiers were dying, and GAM, portrayed as terrorizing the local population, was nearly finished - just a few remaining rats to trap. The truth, which both Bambang and I knew, was that his men were hunting but rarely hitting the core of GAM's military strength, the thousands of company fighters.
As I had seen, the TNI was killing off some fraction of the tens of thousands of GAM activists, some of whom were locked up with me. Yet after two months of the offensive, not a single one of the hundreds of GAM company commanders had died.
Even the Indonesian policemen guarding me rolled their eyes at the TNI- orchestrated, flag-waving rallies on the news. One of the cops said of the Acehnese: "They are proud people who once had their own country. Jakarta takes their resources, and with the military there is no law. I don't blame them for fighting us." The fight was thrust upon them, in fact. Six months before my first visit there, in November 2000, Indonesian security forces quashed a massive unarmed movement for an independence referendum, killing nearly 100 people, and prompting many Acehnese to decide that taking up arms was the only solution.
During the ceasefire earlier this year, the TNI's top man in the province, Maj. Gen. Djali Yusuf, had told me that if demonstrators started taking to the streets again in large numbers, "We will shoot them in the head."
In my first days in detention, I received constant attention that felt like a conspiracy to break me. The second night, I was awakened by a strange smacking noise - "Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!" - coming from the office next door, accompanied by laughter and loud talk. I assumed the police were beating GAM prisoners, perhaps to scare me.
Two nights later, I caught a glimpse of police punching and kicking a man tied up and sitting cross-legged on the floor, but I could hear nothing. All the GAM suspects held with me displayed bruises, cigarette burns or lacerations from electrical cords, abuse mostly administered at the time of capture by the TNI or at the station by a handful of bored, immature young cops.
The investigators I encountered there were ordinary men, underpaid cogs in an inefficient machine. They played computer games, watched porn films on office computers and roamed the corridors in search of some distraction. While interrogating GAM suspects, the investigators often chatted on cell phones and listened at loud volume to light '90s rock. Asking 10 questions could take eight hours. For them, it was just a job.
As a foreigner who had supposedly cast his lot with the guerrillas, I was plied with endless questions about GAM.
I had resolved that I would hit back if the police ever struck me (something that I would never forget about South African black consciousness leader Stephen Biko, who was murdered in prison).
It turned out I was not a punching bag but an object of their curiosity. They played music to get me to dance and relax, made sure the prisoners and I had enough to eat, and greeted me with elaborate hand slapping.
Early on, one quiet GAM man advised me, "Just don't let them touch your heart." Like oppressed people
everywhere, the Acehnese were masters at putting chin to chest and playing dumb.
So I hunkered down, living a day at a time and not allowing myself to think about friends, family and good times outside. The police occasionally let me jog around the 50-yard-long employee parking lot.
One day a short man in his late 40s with a big belly tried to keep up with me. He was chief of police intelligence, but I pretended I didn't know. As we ran, he began asking questions about GAM in a friendly way. I sped up (chuckling to myself) as he talked, and he, panting, could barely get his words out.
I was in the custody of the criminal division, and I soon realized that I was being followed around on my jog because the two departments weren't sharing basic information about the guerrillas with each other.
One night toward the end of my detention, I awoke bathed in sweat, moaning like a wounded animal from an excruciating pain in my kidney area. In the darkness I peed into an empty water bottle and held it up to a shaft of light. The liquid was dark red. The next day, an X-ray showed a kidney stone. Two days later, police moved me to their hospital.
The night before I left the police station, I heard the odd thwacking noise again. By then, I had some freedom to move around and the scene I encountered was unexpected: Six police officers sitting around a large desk slamming double-size black dominoes - not GAM prisoners - to the desk's metal surface.
I was finally tried for two immigration offenses - not espionage. The potential maximum penalty was now six years, not death. In the end, the verdict had little to do with whether I had done anything wrong and largely to do with U.S.-Indonesian relations, my lawyers' political savvy, "gifts" to people who were potential obstacles and Indonesian pride.
Encouraged by a manyfold campaign - mounted by activist friends, the Committee to Protect Journalists
and other journalists' and writers' groups, Columbia University journalism professors and former classmates, Republicans on Capitol Hill, led by Indiana Sen. Richard Lugar, the State Department and a few powerful Democrats - the U.S. Embassy staff in Jakarta devoted itself to helping me.
On Aug. 2, the panel of three judges sentenced me to 40 days - the time I had already served plus one day - for failing to inform immigration officials of an address change in Jakarta and for not reporting to martial law authorities.
The TNI likely believed that my detention would serve as sufficient warning to anyone else contemplating a trip behind rebel lines in Aceh. The strong effort on my behalf by the U.S. Embassy probably convinced Bambang and his friends that I was working for the CIA. And the general had a useful prize - the thousands of dollars' of camera gear his men had gotten from me.
On my way out of the country, I spent a moving and humbling 24 hours in Jakarta. At the airport and in one of the city's luxurious air-conditioned malls, hundreds - if not thousands - of people stared at me,smiled and called my name, "Nessen."
They also inquired about my mother, Hermine. Ibu (Mama) Nessen, she had become an object of great
affection in Indonesia when with great dignity and the embassy's help, she weaved her way through the
country's bureaucratic martial law regulations to get to Aceh. People said they were happy I was free at last.
Was such sentiment natural compassion for an unfortunate, now-famous foreigner, or a sign that official propaganda about the war and the tug of Indonesian patriotism was not strong enough to overcome distrust of their own government?
Several weeks after being deported to Singapore (and banned for a year), I began calling English on his mobile phone. Each time we spoke, he surprised me with his laughter and calm.
None of the boys had fallen since we'd parted. And the Indonesian soldiers, less than a half-mile away, already seemed weary of the government's latest "final offensive."
*Freelance reporter and photographer William Nessen has covered Indonesia and the South Pacific for The Chronicle and other newspapers. He is working on a book and film about the Aceh conflict.
Saya dapat tulisan menarik di bawah ini dari seorang kawan, yang rajin masuk ke website harian Kompas. Mungkin, karena dia tidak kuat berlangganan harian bonafid yang kesohor itu. Apapun, dia memang rajin mem-forward artikel menarik yang dia dapat dari website Kompas, termasuk tulisan di bawah ini. Entah siapa yang menulisnya --tak ada nama si wartawan, di bagian bawah artikel ini. Tapi --kalau tak salah tertangkap, ada aura kuat kerinduan akan kejayaan dan keangkeran rezim Soeharto.
Saya memang tidak hadir di KTT ke-5 ASEAN di Bangkok, yang dikisahkan si penulis di bawah ini. Tapi saya ada di KTT ke-9 ASEAN di Bali, awal Oktober lalu.
Megawati memang tidak dihormati ala Soeharto. Kalau Mega lewat di lobby Bali International Convention Center --lokasi utama KTT kemarin-- Goh Chok Tong tak sampai harus membungkuk-bungkuk, dan tangan-tangan Hassanal Bolkiah tak sempat 'ngapurancang' --kalau memang benar dia dulu sempat begitu di hadapan Soeharto--. Penampilan Mega biasa saja, tetap kalem dan irit ngomong seperti sudah kita tahu sejak dua tahun lalu dia menjadi presiden kita.
Yang jadi primadona justru Mahathir. Pemimpin besar Malaysia ini memang jauh-jauh hari sudah mengumumkan pengunduran dirinya. Walhasil, forum pemimpin ASEAN di Bali itu menjadi ajang perpisahan special-nya dengan ASEAN. Ada forum khusus untuk perpisahan itu --dimana Mega sempat meneteskan air mata haru--, juga sessi khusus Mahathir berbicara pada pers.
Selain Mahathir, yang cukup menonjol dengan alasan berbeda, adalah Koizumi, Hu Jintao dan Vajpayee. Ketiganya berasal dari negara partner dialog ASEAN. Ketiganya dihormati karena mewakili negara-negara besar; Jepang, Cina dan India.
Tiap tiga orang ini bicara, orang mendengarkan. Tiap mereka lewat, orang otomatis memberi jalan, tanpa harus didorong-dorong petugas keamanan. Tapi, yang dilihat dari tiga orang ini bukan semata penampilan fisik mereka. Koizumi berperawakan pendek, ramping dengan rambut awut-awutan yang nampak terlalu besar untuk kepalanya. Jintao terlalu sering tersenyum, kadang menoleh ke kiri dan kanan lalu senyum lagi. Vajpayee sudah sangat tua, jalannya pun sudah tertatih-tatih.
Bukan, bukan penampakan luar itu yang membuat orang segan. Tapi negara yang mereka wakili, jutaan penduduk pekerja keras yang mereka wakili, yang membuat kami semua di KTT itu menunjukkan rasa hormat. Pada Koizumi, kami melihat Jepang, bangsa yang bangkit dari kekalahan perang dunia kedua dan menjadi raksasa ekonomi. Pada Jintao, kami melihat Cina, semiliar penduduk yang menapak jalan menuju entitas ekonomi paling berpengaruh di muka bumi, dan pada Vajpayee, kami melihat India, negara besar dengan kemajuan teknologi cepat dan pemahaman demokrasi yang dewasa.
Yang mau saya katakan disini; disegani tidaknya sebuah negara di kancah internasional bukan semata-mata tergantung figur dan visi pemimpinnya. Melainkan oleh integritas kedaulatan negara itu secara politik dan ekonomi.
Bagaimana Megawati mau disegani, kalau menyelesaikan konflik Aceh dan Papua saja tidak bisa? Mengirim berpuluh ribu tentara tak juga menyelesaikan masalah? Satupun pemimpin GAM tak tertangkap dan rakyat Aceh justru makin benci Indonesia.
Bagaimana pemimpin negara lain mau menundukkan kepala dan memberi jalan pada Megawati, kalau secara ekonomi Indonesia masih terkebelakang dan kemiskinan ada dimana-mana? Krisis masih belum juga lewat, bank sudah dibobol puluhan miliar. Dejavu ke jaman Edy Tansil di saat jaya-jayanya Soeharto.
Bagaimana Mega mau tegak kepalanya di hadapan pemimpin dunia, kalau korupsi masih merajalela? Sampai detik ini, ketua parlemen negeri ini --yang juga simbol representasi rakyat dalam sistem demokrasi-- tidak juga mundur juga dari jabatannya, meski sudah dipidana karena korupsi. Gila!
Kawan, kebesaran bangsa dan negara ini, tidak melulu ada di pundak Megawati. Tidak melulu ada di tangan satu 'orang besar' semata. Tapi ada di pundak 220 juta orang yang hidup di atas tanah nusantara ini.
Kita sangat sering terjebak pada pemikiran paternalistik, bahwa kalau kita memilih presiden yang cerdas dan berkharisma, persoalan bangsa ini akan selesai. Salah besar! Persoalan bangsa ini, bukan persoalan satu orang presiden, persoalan sekelompok orang 'dari kekuatan lama' yang masih tak mau lepas dari pusat kekuasaan atau persoalan satu partai eks penguasa orde baru yang tak kunjung tersingkir.
Ini persoalan kita semua. Persoalan saya, anda, bapak saya, tetangga kamu! Ini bukan persoalan elite, tapi persoalan orang-orang biasa seperti anda dan saya. Bagaimana mau bermimpi mengubah negara dan bangsa, kalau mengubah diri sendiri dan lingkungan saja tidak bisa!
Jebakan seperti itu --terbuai untuk menyerahkan persoalan pada satu presiden yang dikira mumpuni-- bisa sangat berbahaya menjelang pemilu seperti sekarang ini. Tahun 2004 di depan mata, dan orang mulai melirak lirik siapa calon presiden yang bisa 'membawa bangsa ini keluar dari krisis' atau 'menegakkan hukum tanpa pandang bulu'. Ah, sudahlah! Bangun dari mimpi kalian!
Jangan percayakan perbaikan peradaban bangsa ini di tangan satu orang presiden saja! Ini tugas puluhan, dan ratusan juta orang Indonesia bersama-sama! Jangan gantungkan nasib bangsa ini di tangan satu orang.
Sejarah sudah mengajarkan pelajaran teramat pahit untuk kita.
Ini tulisan dari Kompas itu. Edisi 25 Oktober kemarin.
Rasa Apek, Bau Asem
LOBI Hotel Sheraton di Bangkok, Thailand, yang luasnya lebih kurang sama dengan sekitar separuh lapangan sepak bola itu disesaki tamu yang mondar-mandir tiada henti bagaikan bajaj kosong. Ada turis bercelana pendek dan ber-tank top, ada diplomat sibuk berunding, ada wartawan mencari berita, yang semua itu menimbulkan suara bising seperti nyamuk mengerubung.
Petang di bulan Desember 1995 itu sidang Konferensi Tingkat Tinggi (KTT) Ke-5 ASEAN sedang direhatkan. Karena itu, di lobi ada Sultan Brunei Hassanal Bolkiah, Presiden Soeharto, Perdana Menteri (PM) Malaysia Mahathir Mohamad, Presiden Filipina Fidel Ramos, PM Singapura Goh Chok Tong, PM Thailand Banharn Silpa-Archa, dan PM Vietnam Vo Van Kiet.
Suasana riuh, yang mirip seperti di pasar, di lobi hotel itu tiba-tiba hilang lenyap. Mereka berhenti berjalan, mengunci mulut rapat-rapat, dengan pandangan mata yang menyorot seperti sedang dihipnotis. Semua tersenyum, menyingkir takut, sembari melepas senyum kepada Soeharto.
Soeharto berkemeja putih, warna yang sama dengan warna sebagian rambutnya. Dengan jas dan dasi warna abu-abu terang, ia melangkah tegap dengan wajah berwibawa dan sedikit senyum tersungging. Jangankan orang-orang biasa yang tampak sungkan, enam pemimpin ASEAN lainnya enggak maju sebelum Bapak Pembangunan melangkah maju.
Kami menuju lift untuk ke restoran. Waktu pintu lift terbuka, semua berebut mengatakan please sembari menyorongkan telapak tangan mempersilakan Soeharto masuk terlebih dulu. PM Goh yang menjulang tinggi bagaikan tiang bendera terpaksa merendahkan badan. Dua tangan Sultan Brunei digenggam rapat.
Wah, walaupun bukan siapa- siapa, saya bangga punya presiden yang berwibawa, disegani, dan ditakuti. Itu pun hanya dengan menebar senyum kecil ke mana-mana. Soeharto-juga Bung Karno di masa lalu-dihormati karena mereka membawa bobot, bibit, dan bebet sebuah negara besar bernama Indonesia.
Berkat Soeharto, KTT ASEAN di Bangkok itu melahirkan kerja sama ekonomi Asia dengan Eropa lewat Pertemuan Asia-Eropa (ASEM). Untuk kawasan Asia dengan Benua Amerika, sudah ada Kerja Sama Asia Pasifik (APEC). Waktu Soeharto masih ada, APEC dan ASEM benar-benar hanya ngurusin soal-soal ekonomi. Yang terpenting, bagaimana supaya rakyat makmur sejahtera.
Kala itu APEC dan ASEM seperti perawan seksi yang siap dipinang siapa saja-mulai dari Presiden Amerika Serikat (AS) Bill Clinton sampai PM Inggris John Major. Lewat kerja keras ala semut hitam, Asia Pasifik menjadi daratan yang disuburkan pertumbuhan ekonomi plus bersituasi politik dan keamanan yang stabil seperti samudra yang tenang.
Eropa mempersoalkan rekor hak asasi manusia (HAM) rezim militer di Myanmar, maka Soeharto memerintahkan stop dialog dengan ASEM. Daripada pusing mendengar keluh kesah berkepanjangan dari negara- negara Barat mengenai Timor Timur, Presiden BJ Habibie malas ke KTT APEC di Auckland, Selandia Baru, tahun 1999.
Dulu mana ada pemimpin Barat yang nekat melawan Asia Pasifik? "Budaya kita berbeda," Soeharto sering bilang kepada wartawan asing. "Kami bangga dengan nilai-nilai Asia!" kata Mahathir. PM Lee menekankan pentingnya keluarga yang ibarat batu bata bisa membangun tembok yang kokoh. Singapura pun mempunyai ideologi yang mirip dengan Pancasila.
Tiba-tiba Asia Pasifik tersapu badai krisis moneter. "Semua negara (Asia Pasifik) ini menghabiskan waktu selama 40 tahun untuk membangun ekonomi mereka dan datanglah seorang pandir seperti Soros," kata Mahathir bulan Agustus 1997. Ia menyalahkan pialang kawakan, George Soros, dan itulah alasan yang membuat Mahathir tidak suka kepada Yahudi.
Belum lama ini datang pula ke Asia Pasifik seorang pandir lainnya yang bernama George Bush, Presiden AS yang sedang mengalami masalah legitimasi kekuasaan domestik maupun internasional akibat begitu banyak skandal. Seperti burung gereja, Bush hanya dalam hitungan jam nemplok ke Jepang, Manila, Bangkok, Singapura, Bali, dan Australia.
Seperti biasanya, Bush salah ucap. Di Bangkok, tokoh demokrasi Aung San Suu Kyi disebutnya dengan Aung Suu San Kyi. Kepada SCTV, Bush salah ucap lagi dengan mengatakan AS siap memberikan bantuan militer kepada TNI. Padahal, menurut seorang pejabat Gedung Putih, tidak ada rencana apa pun soal itu.
Yang lebih seru ketika Bush, lewat juru bicara Gedung Putih Scott McClellan, mengaku memarahi (rebuke) PM Mahathir soal pernyataan PM Malaysia bahwa Yahudi menguasai dunia. "Bush justru menjelaskan mengapa dia harus mengeluarkan pernyataan keras mengenai saya. Saya bilang saya mengerti. Pendengaran saya masih bagus," kata Mahathir.
Setelah pertemuan dengan Bush di Bali, Ketua Umum Pengurus Besar Nahdlatul Ulama Hasyim Muzadi mengatakan, "PBB saja dilawan, apalagi kita." Di mana-mana di Asia dia didemonstrasi. Di Australia Bush diejek anggota parlemen Bob Brown. Soalnya, pernyataan Bush di mana-mana seperti suara kaset rusak: teror, teror, dan teror.
Di Jepang ribut soal Korea Utara, di mana-mana ngomong terus tentang HAM di penjara- penjara di Cina. Di Bangkok tidak henti-hentinya bicara tentang "Aung Suu San Kyi", di Bali malahan mau ngurusin kurikulum pondok pesantren. Di akhir kunjungan di Benua Kanguru malah meributkan apakah Australia lebih cocok jadi deputi sheriff atau sheriff aja sekalian.
Coba kalau Soeharto masih presiden, Singapura dan Thailand enggak akan berani bikin perjanjian perdagangan bebas sendiri-sendiri di luar struktur ASEAN.
Andaikan Soeharto masih jadi kepala negara, Filipina tidak akan berani bertingkah memajang-majang teroris yang katanya dari Indonesia, Mahathir pasti mendapatkan bala bantuan untuk membalas kritik- kritik Barat.
Media massa Jepang kesal kepada pemimpinnya karena penyelenggaraan APEC cuma buang-buang waktu, tenaga, dan biaya. Tujuan agar APEC mengembangkan kerja sama ekonomi sudah dimanipulasi menjadi ajang politik.
Ibarat makanan yang sudah basi, rasanya sudah apek dan baunya sudah asem.
(e-mail: bas2806@kompas.com)
Seorang analis media bisa murka melihat acara teve yang tidak bermutu. Nggak percaya? Baca tulisan Ade Armando dari Habibie Center Media Watch di bawah ini :
Miss Bantal
Oleh : Ade Armando
***
Nama Miss Bantal berulangkali saya dengar karena sering dibicarakan akhir-akhir ini. Ia muncul setiap Rabu tengah malam melalui RCTI. Miss Bantal memang mudah menarik perhatian. Namun, kehadirannya membenarkan pandangan bahwa di televisi Indonesia perempuan kerap tampil, terutama bak kambing: muncul karena “kelezatannya”, bukan karena kualitas lain.
Miss Bantal adalah salah satu segmen dari program berdurasi satu jam, Bantal alias Bercanda Tengah Malam. Acara yang dipandu Indra Savera dan Muthia Kasim itu sarat dengan seks. Joke yang berusaha dihadirkan kedua presenter itu cenderung lari ke wilayah mesum. Umumnya tidak lucu. Ada pula tiga penari yang berusaha tampil sensual. Kualitasnya buruk.
Dalam tayangan Rabu pekan lalu, ada pula lomba “bibir indah”. Untuk itu, lima remaja perempuan berlipstik merah diminta mencium tisu yang dilekatkan di badan seorang pria. Ketika para perempuan itu mendaratkan bibirnya di atas sang pria, si arjuna itu pun berseru kegirangan.
Namun, Miss Bantal adalah puncak kemesuman. Gayanya seperti seorang pekerja seks komersial yang sedang menggoda tamu. Ia muncul seolah telanjang dengan bagian-bagian vital tubuhnya ditutupi oleh bantal.
Dalam beberapa kesempatan, ia bergaya seolah akan menyingkirkan bantalnya sehingga penonton bisa menyaksikan apa yang semula “dilindunginya”. Dengan gaya bicara yang dimanja-manjakan, ia juga berkisah tentang ”fantasi-fantasi”-nya.
Menurut Miss Bantal, ia memimpikan pengusaha terkemuka, Bob Sadino. Saat bercerita begitu, muncullah gambar Bob yang mengenakan celana pendek. Kata Miss Bantal, ia ingin sekali “memelorotkan celana Oom Bob”. Kata si Miss pula, salah satu kegemaran Bob adalah menunggang kuda. “Miss Bantal pengen deh jadi kudanya,” tambahnya. Betul-betul cabul, buruk, dan dungu!
Di satu sisi, kita barangkali bisa berempati dengan kenyataan bahwa stasiun televisi di Indonesia saat ini memang beroperasi dalam sistem yang sangat kompetitif. Perebutan penonton adalah realita sehari-hari. Kreativitas untuk melahirkan sesuatu yang baru menjadi kata kunci. Namun, itu semua tentu saja tidak bisa dijadikan pembenaran bagi penyebaran racun kebusukan.
Rupanya, karena wawasan sempit, apa yang “baru” itu lazim dikaitkan dengan seks. Jadi kalau dahulu penyanyi hanya berani “goyang pinggul”;
kini harus berani “goyang pantat”, dengan membelakangi penonton. Begitu pula dengan Miss Bantal.
Produsernya mengira ia adalah jenius karena untuk pertama kalinya dalam sejarah pertelevisian Indonesia ada orang yang berani menyajikan perempuan yang seolah-olah telanjang dan sengaja bicara mesum di depan penonton. Padahal, program itu justru menunjukkan keidiotan pembuatnya.
Namun, yang lebih runyam, program ini justru ditayangkan di RCTI, stasiun dengan pemasukan iklan terbesar di Indonesia saat ini. Kalau stasiun-stasiun kecil tampak kalap menjual apa pun untuk survive, barangkali itu bisa lebih dimengerti, meski tidak untuk dibenarkan. Namun, kalau “sang raksasa” pun seperti menjual harga diri dengan menayangkan program mesum seperti ini, itu menunjukkan betapa rendahnya komitmen moral di kalangan pekerja televisi.
Apalagi Bantal bukan satu-satunya. RCTI juga punya serangkaian jualan lain yang menonjolkan seks dan merendahkan martabat perempuan. Pada Kamis malam ada Kelambu yang dalam tayangannya dua pekan lalu memberikan pembenaran bagi kaum remaja menikmati hubungan seks sejak dini. Pada Selasa malam, ada sinetron baru “Montir-montir Cantik” yang menggambarkan bahwa perempuan pada dasarnya adalah onggokan daging tanpa otak.
Pada Sabtu malam, ada “Senggal-Senggol”, yang menampilkan kelompok penari yang kualitas tariannya setingkat dengan arena tujubelasan di kampung-kampung, tetapi sangat suka tersenyum lebar dan memamerkan tubuhnya. Indonesia tentu kaya dengan seniman kreatif. Celakanya, negara ini juga kaya dengan mereka yang sebaliknya.
Banyak tulisan yang sudah dibuat soal Aceh. Tak sedikit yang menarik. Karya Kornelius Purba, jurnalis Jakarta Post ini salahsatunya. Pendataan ulang warga Aceh di Jakarta dan sekitarnya, serta korban sipil dalam operasi militer sudah banyak ditulis, namun Kornelius mengangkatnya dari sisi lain; dampaknya yang bisa berbahaya di masa datang. Analoginya pun cerdas; sanak keluarga aktivis PKI yang dihujat dekade 70-an dan kini mulai kembali angkat suara.
'We're proud to be the children of GAM rebels'
By : Kornelius Purba (Staff Writer, The Jakarta Post)
***
Ribka Tjiptaning Prolotariyati shocked many of the elite and angered Vice President Hamzah Haz in October last year when she launched her controversial book Aku Bangga Jadi Anak PKI (I'm proud to be the child of the Indonesian Communist Party).
In the book -- with a preface from former president Abdurrahman Wahid-- she wrote, "When the New Order was still very repressive, everyone felt disgusted and paranoid to be near me, and they even felt allergic, as if I were more contemptible than an HIV/AIDS carrier, but I was never afraid."
Hundreds of thousands of people were reportedly killed -- some even put the number at millions -- in the Sept. 30 aborted coup attempt. About the same number of people were jailed for their alleged membership of the Communist Party and their descendants became victims of the government's political brutality.
Most could not enter military service or work as civil servants simply because their parents, uncle, or a relative had been branded as PKI members. During Soeharto's regime, their movement was closely monitored, and they lived like pariahs.
They were placed under tightly monitored spotlights and firm screening was imposed on Indonesians for all government positions. However, until now the national tragedy remains a dark chapter. History textbooks, with alternative versions on the September 1965 incident and its aftermath to that taught under the New Order, have yet to be completed.
Abdurrahman's appeal to honestly restudy the national slaughter was responded to with rage from people who still believe communists are devils, although even in China such a belief has sharply eroded.
Ribka is very likely the only person in this country to have the courage to openly reveal not only her identity, but also openly express her pride for her father's political beliefs.
At present, the government is literally repeating the Soeharto era's pitiless screening practices and old habit of the intelligence service to spy on citizens. We have often seen on television how villagers in Aceh are required to pledge their loyalty in ceremonies to the Unitary State of Indonesia (NKRI).
Footage on one private TV channel showed how Indonesian Military (TNI) soldiers interrogated youths during a house-to-house raid in an attempt to capture GAM commander Muzakir Manaf.
Civil servants in Aceh are also subject to interrogation to check their allegiance to the state, although the government later insisted that all Indonesian civil servants will also undergo the same screening. But how can the government find out what people might really be thinking? The easiest way to find traces of GAM among government officials is by tracing their extended family -- if not parents -- then brothers or sisters, uncles, aunts or even grandfathers, or perhaps illicit lovers.
The list is without limit. The results are prone to abuse, and can be used to intimidate, blackmail or even to harass anyone just because of their perceived link to GAM. For their own safety, it is common in Aceh for many officials to keep good relations with GAM, and businessmen regularly provide funds for GAM -- as well as Military or police personnel, in the name of "brotherhood".
In East Jakarta, several churchgoers proudly revealed that they were told by their priest to abide by Jakarta Governor Sutiyoso's instruction to monitor the activities of their Acehnese neighbors. They vowed to carry out the noble duty to spy on their devout Acehnese Muslim neighbors. Would Sutiyoso do the same thing, if one of his beloved children married an Acehnese?
Why we are so paranoid at our Acehnese compatriots, although only thousands of the 4.2 million Aceh population belong to GAM? Realize it or not, we have stigmatized all Acehnese, saying, in effect, that they are all GAM members or supporters. The paranoia may be linked to the words of one senior advisor to President Megawati Soekarnoputri: "Most Acehnese people would likely vote for independence if a referendum were held in the province now."
No doubt the government is obliged to protect the country's territorial integrity. The government's resolute attitude toward any possible rebellion has sent a strong warning to anyone contemplating the destabilization of the country, and clearly it has forced rebels in Papua, Maluku or anywhere else to think twice before resorting to force. The harsh attitude has also built up the government's own self-confidence. Even students who want to burn Megawati's picture must imagine the consequences -- spending nights in jail.
Hopefully, we will remember that the practice of forcing citizens to pledge their obedience in public to the state -- actually meaning the ruling government -- can only be found in authoritarian states. Who can know exactly what people really think of their government?
By harassing the Acehnese we can only expect deeper revenge. They want justice enforced, as repeatedly promised by the government. TNI generals are right in saying that the human rights of their soldiers should also be respected. Also, GAM rebels often act more brutally than TNI soldiers.
We respect TNI soldiers who are ready to sacrifice their lives in action against the enemies of NKRI. We may feel upset at the statement by GAM official T. Kamaruzzaman, who described Indonesian soldiers as going to war in Aceh, not because they loved their country so much, but because they were paid for it.
But how can Acehnese be convinced that true justice will be upheld, given the views of officials, as reflected in one of their statements: "If you talk about human rights abuses, why not just start with investigations into alleged atrocities since the time of the Prophet Adam?"
The nation is responsible for the lives of innocent people, who are mistakenly identified as GAM members or supporters. If stigmatization of the Acehnese continues, it is likely to be only a matter of time before thousands of Acehnese youths follow in the steps of Ribka and declare, "We are proud to be the children of GAM rebels."
Our boss in TEMPO Newsroom wrote a very interesting piece after her visit to Aceh, several days ago. It reminds me, that war have multiple sides to cover. A good war coverage is not only about who wins a battle or how many soldier ends up dead, but also about common people who involved in that war, directly or not. About their fear, their smile. This piece below tell us about another side of the war in Aceh....
Bila Pemimpin Redaksi Menengok Anak Buah
"Tengoklah Aceh. Rasakan penderitaan anak buah saat membuat liputan." Begitu satu saran yang terlontar dalam pertemuan para pemimpin redaksi media massa di Jakarta dengan Panglima TNI Jenderal Endriartono Sutarto, tanggal 29 Mei lalu.
Saran itu segera bergulir, dan akhirnya pada Senin (9/6) lalu, Kepala Dinas Penerangan Umum Mabes TNI Kolonel D.J. Nachrowi mengawal 24 petinggi media massa--cetak, radio, dan televisi- ke Lhokseumawe, pusat kendali operasi militer di Provinsi Aceh. Pesan pengundang pendek saja, bawalah sepatu olahraga. Intinya jelas, ini bukan tur, tapi kunjungan ke lokasi perang yang medannya bukan mulus seperti lantai mal.
Jadi, mental pun sudah dipersiapkan untuk menghadapi kondisi yang tak biasa dijalani sehari-hari. Meski begitu, wajah para bos ini sedikit tertegun ketika bus yang membawa rombongan memasuki areal Kodim 0103 Lhok Seumawe dan berhenti di depan sebuah bangunan. "Di sini tempat bapak-bapak menginap," kata seorang staf dari satgas penerangan Komando Operasi TNI, sambil minta maaf karena tempat yang ada begitu sederhana.
Bangunan yang ternyata bernama Aula Sapta Marga itu telah disulap menjadi sebuah barak tentara. Dalam ruangan berukuran 30 kali 15 meter itu berjajar 30 velbed hijau, tempat beristirahat para tamu selama kunjungan 3 hari tersebut.
Bagaimanapun, rasa tertegun itu segera lenyap. Tidur di barak bukan pertama kali dihadapi oleh para petinggi media massa yang umumnya memulai karier sebagai wartawan. Apalagi, kegiatan ini jelas merupakan intermezzo yang menyegarkan dari kesibukan rutin kantor.
Sebenarnya, bukan tak ada usaha dari tuan rumah untuk menempatkan tamu-tamunya di tempat yang lebih layak. Namun, fasilitas yang tersedia di Lhok Seumawe tak bisa disulap dalam semalam.
Beberapa waktu sebelum kondisi darurat militer diterapkan pada 18 Mei lalu, ibu kota Kabupaten Aceh Utara yang berpenduduk sekitar 280 ribu orang itu ketumpahan puluhan ribu pendatang. Anggota TNI dan polisi saja sekitar 30 ribu orang--walau tak semua ditempatkan di Lhok Seumawe--ditambah puluhan wartawan. Padahal hanya ada tiga penginapan yang rata-rata berkapasitas 20 kamar. Tiga hotel berbintang yang ada, yaitu Lido Graha, Cut Meutia, dan Dewi Plaza kini tak lagi didatangi tamu karena lokasinya yang dekat dengan wilayah GAM.
Pendeknya, tidur di barak bukan persoalan. Mereka sudah siap tidur bergelap-gelap dan tidak mandi beberapa hari. Air memang menjadi barang langka di kota yang aliran listriknya putus sejak pekan lalu itu. Apalagi, nyatanya, aktivitas mandi bisa dilakukan setelah air menetes begitu genset dinyalakan.
Masalah yang lebih besar baru muncul menjelang tengah malam. Beberapa prajurit menggotong meja panjang ke dalam barak. Untuk apa? Enteng saja mereka menjawab, "Untuk meletakkan jenazah."
Rupanya, Senin sore itu terjadi kontak senjata antara pasukan TNI dan GAM di Desa Matang Kumbang, Bireuen, yang menyebabkan tujuh prajurit meninggal. Ada tiga jenazah prajurit yang bisa dibawa turun ke Lhok Seumawe dan baru esok harinya bisa diterbangkan ke kesatuan asalnya. Malam itu mayat harus menginap, dan Aula Sapta Marga memang tempat persemayaman jenazah.
Kelon dengan jenazah jelas tak masuk dalam agenda para bos media massa ini. Nyali mereka ciut. Salah satu mengusulkan agar mereka tidur di media center--ide yang disambut dengan sukacita.
Media center yang letaknya di seberang aula Sapta Marga ini cukup "mewah": berkarpet tipis, ber-AC dan yang pasti, tidak ada jenazah. Mereka pun berbondong-bondong pindah.
Cuma, ruangan berukuran 6 kali 3 meter tersebut hanya muat buat menampung delapan bos yang badannya tidak kurus-kurus itu. Yang lain, silakan cari tempat tidur sendiri. Suryo Pratomo dari Kompas dan Bambang S.K. dari TV7 memilih bergabung dengan anak buahnya di Penginapan Vina Vira. Kamar disesaki enam orang. Para bos tentu dipersilakan tidur di ranjang. Anak buah? Ya, tidur berjajar di dua kasur tambahan.
Ternyata, tak semua tamu ciut nyalinya. Ada tiga orang yang masih berani tidur di barak. Ketika ditanya bagaimana rasanya tidur bersama mayat, M.Sobary, pemimpin kantor berita Antara spontan menjawab, "Tidur nyenyak. Mayat kan nggak mungkin ngorok".
Pilihan yang sungguh tepat, karena hampir semua peserta yang tidur di media center itu ngorok. Suaranya sungguh nyaring di dalam ruangan kecil yang tertutup itu! diah purnomowati/TNR
Tulisan di bawah adalah karya penulis favorit saya, Mas Farid Gaban yang dimuat di Majalah TEMPO setahun lalu. (Mas Farid, saya mohon ijin memampangkan tulisan anda di blog saya). Entah kenapa, ketika situasi negeri ini makin tak menentu, saya teringat tulisan mas Farid ini. Mungkin optimisme seperti yang tercermin dalam tulisan itu, yang ingin saya ingat. Mungkin harapan, keceriaan, kemampuan untuk terus tersenyum, itu yang kita butuhkan sekarang-sekarang ini. Mungkin...
The Year of Living Nervously
WHEN Abdurrahman Wahid in his drawstring trousers waved his hand from the veranda of the Merdeka Palace, people knew time had come for him to leave. It was July and he had been holding out against the inevitable during a six-month impeachment process. Now he had lost.
May 1998, with its riots and the long awaited resignation of Suharto, indeed signalled a new political era with new freedoms. But it did not quite signal the end of an era. It was just the start of an intermezzo in a long and general continuity.
Political freedom, alias democratisation, was marked by a reduced role for the state. In the process it exposed the social ulcers which had been hidden underneath. Long-latent violence boiled out to such an extent that people started to miss the 'heaven' of the Suharto era. There were the brutal religious conflicts in Maluku and Poso, ethnic cleansing in Sampit, death after death in Aceh, and a constant and growing flow of blood through street crime.
People say corruption is changing its face. From 'centralized corruption', concentrated in the circles of the executive branch of government and in Jakarta, corruption has spread between parties, between the branches of state and to all corners as regional autonomy takes hold.
The case of Tommy Suharto shows that money is still hard currency when it comes to buying law and justice. Or if not, bullets and bombs are good tools to paralyse the long arm of the law.
The rupiah remains down in the dumps. A host of economic indicators have not shown any meaningful recovery. And the financial drama of the Indonesian Bank Restructuring Agency, the agency supposed to work out a way to revive a host of assets, was far from over at year-end. Collossal theft amounting to hundreds of trillions of rupiah was legalized under complex terms like merger, acquisition, liquidity credits, deposit guarantees, and lender of last resort. Their ultimate meanings are all one: the people are paying a high price for the adventures of the bankers and big business tycoons.
But are things really that bad? Is it true that democracy's ability to improve things was just an illusion? Or are we not wise enough to swallow all this chaos like a bitter pill which will help our country recover and find a better and safer future?
Judging by the last year, chaos will be with us for several years to come at least, maybe in higher doses and whether we like it or not.
And we do not live in an empty house. The effects of terror, war, tension and global economic recession after the tragedy of September 11 in the United States cannot be neglected. In a world without borders, this country will be a small fish in a restless pond.
Perhaps we need all this chaos. There can be no reconstruction without destruction and chaos. Perhaps the problem is that the euphoria of reform made us hope for too much and also impatient to wait for it. Waiting for Godot for too long made people think Godot was really about to arrive. However, Godot will never come. The reason is, as Beckett himself knew, the Godot that comes certainly will not be Godot.
The fruit of reform never comes without us, with our own hands, planting the tree. It needs time, said Vaclav Havel, Czech dramatist and politician who knew well that Godot had disappointed his country.
But if people are convinced that sowing the seed of the tree is something good and diligently cares for it, there is no reason to grumble while waiting. It is enough if we realize that, merely by waiting, the tree will bear its fruit. Even if we have to wait for a decade or a generation.
There is hope in this, rather than giving up. It is a matter of submitting to one's inevitable fate, and is still a pleasant contrast with the heavenly tranquillity of Suharto's New Order, whose supporters were all the same and equally boring. There are surprises, suspense at every turn.
Maybe the name for this is life. It does not matter who is in the Merdeka Palace.
While waiting for the tree to grow, life is too valuable to be reduced to mere politics or economics. All of last year we witnessed the fine arts, literature, music and film blossom and provide happiness. That is a source of our happiness on a day to day basis. No one and nothing should steal it from us. Not political chaos, economic mire or the tumult of George Bush hunting down Osama bin Laden.
The mysterious people who set off bombs in Jakarta want to take away our happiness and replace it with fear. But we cannot surrender that easily. Follow the suggestion of Robert Fulghum, a storyteller from America. He says we can oppose them by sending back rockets to their homes. 'Rockets of happiness'.
Those missiles will explode slowly in the air, like fireworks on New Year's Eve, spreading thousands of small parachutes bringing multicolored boxes of crayons. Silver, gold, copper, magenta, pink -- the main thing is make sure there are lots of colors. The mysterious people are going to smile, imagine their son or daughter drawing on the whole wall of their