Affectionately called as Mugi by his friends, he began his involvement in politics as one of the student leaders that demanded reformasi and the attainment of genuine democracy in Indonesia. Despite his expression of patriotism, he was branded as a troublemaker and was abducted by alleged elements loyal to Suharto. He was subsequently released, which instead of dampening his spirit, further strengthened his resolve to do his share in creating a more humane Indonesia. He is the founding chair of the Indonesian Association of Families of the Disappeared (IKOHI).
In Indonesia, the military does not only have security functions but social and political functions as well. This concept is called as the Dual Function of the Armed Forces1. During the Suharto regime, only three (3) political parties were allowed. We rejected five political laws issued in 1985 in order to pave the way for the creation of a democratic Indonesia. The five political laws are: law on political party; law on general election; law on mass organizations; law on the composition of the parliament; and law on referendum. For activists, the Five Political Laws of 1985 and the Dual Function of the Indonesian military are the backbone of Suharto’s authoritarian regime that needed to be repealed in order to achieve a democratic society.
As a student activist, I was involved with protest actions that demanded the change of the regime. It was also the time when Indonesia was hit by an economic crisis which began in mid-1997 until 1998. The government banned my organization because it was accused of having relations with the Partai Komunis Indonesia (PKI / Indonesian Communist Party), and was alleged to be performing subversive acts. Activists who joined us were also hounded by the government. We were practically working underground.
One Friday night, on 13 March 1998, at around 7:00 p.m., I came back to my rented room in East Jakarta. An hour before I got home, I called and talked to my roommate and told him that I was on my way home and that I was bringing food for dinner given by a friend who is an activist from Australia.
When I arrived, my friend who was supposed to wait for me was not there. The door was also locked. So, I got my key and entered the room. Things, however, looked suspicious—the books were ransacked; the phone was not at its proper place; and there were two glasses of orange juice which were barely touched. It seemed that my friend just prepared the juice and left it there.
I then looked outside the window and saw that the house was surrounded by people. I realized that something was wrong and I wanted to run away. But suddenly, I heard a knock on the door. I could not do anything except to open it.
About 10 people went inside the room, all of them wearing civilian clothes. Another two, however, were in military uniform. I was taken into a car and was brought to military headquarters where I was interrogated. They then transferred me to two other locations. While in the car, they covered my eyes and took off my shirt.
When I was taken from my house, I was already psychologically shaken. I was very afraid because the arresting officers were not from the police. I thought I was going to be killed. I could not also identify the place where I was brought, although my eyes were still open.
In that “mysterious place” that I called as “X,” I underwent torture for two nights. I was interrogated and electrocuted. I was hit and scolded and screamed at. I was intimidated by the sound of sirens. The place was also very cold. I was told to give information and disclose the whereabouts of my friends. They questioned me why I supported the East Timorese people’s right to self-determination. They also asked me about my opinion on how to solve the Indonesian crisis. I was then taken to another place. When they removed my blindfold, I noticed that I was already in a police headquarters in Jakarta. I stayed there for three months. I was released on June 8, 1998 after President B.J. Habibie repealed the repressive Law against Subversion.
During my detention in the police station, I felt that I already had all the legal means to defend myself. The police themselves assured me of my safety while under their custody. They, however, told me to give any information they wanted to have. I still felt vulnerable nonetheless. I was alone and I could not interact with other detainees. I also thought that the kidnappers could take me again. In other words, I did not feel fully secure.
Eventually, my whereabouts were discovered by my friends, including Munir. They have already formed KontraS at that time and they began an advocacy for those who disappeared. Thus, I was assisted by Munir and was able to get in touch with a lawyer. After a month, I had a visit from my dad and my elder sister. Though they lived far from Central Java, they insisted on coming to Jakarta just to visit me. They said that they received a letter from the police saying that I was detained.
When I was told that I had visitors, I was allowed to come out for 15 minutes to meet my dad and my elder sister; but when I saw them, I could not say a word; I could only cry. I cried so hard that my police escort asked me to control myself for me to get my composure. I did just that and I managed to say a word to my family. My dad did not cry, but my sister did. They assured me that I was doing a good thing and I had to continue my work. Twelve days later, Munir and my friends from KontraS also visited me.
During my detention, I would feel shame for myself whenever I would remember my parents—not because I did something wrong, but because I have caused them pain and anxiety. What allayed my fear and guilt was my Dad’s assurance that they were with me in this fight.
Three months after my arrest, I was released because the anti-suppression legislation that I was accused of was overturned by Suharto’s successor B.J. Habibie. When I was released, I immediately joined KontraS. From then, I was able to meet FIND because KontraS at that time asked me to create a network and bring my case to Europe and the United Nations.
Two years afterwards, from 2000-2001, I worked as a Jakarta correspondent for a Dutch television network. The job was very demanding, so it prevented me from pursuing my involvement with KontraS. As result, I had a conflict within me. I felt that I had not done anything for my friends who are still missing. Because of that guilt and because I believe that I should assist the other victims, I resigned from the TV station and I became part of the formation of the Ikatan Keluarga Orang Hilang Indonesia (IKOHI / Indonesian Association of Families of the Disappeared).
I do not know whether my involvement with IKOHI was a good thing or not. I do know however that I have a moral responsibility as a victim and that I also have a historic responsibility to my friends who remain missing.
Being involved in activities of KontraS and IKOHI, and that of our regional network—the Asian Federation Against Involuntary Disappearances (AFAD), relieved a bit of the trauma that I still feel (at least to a certain degree) until the present time. By working with people who have similar experiences such as mine or are working for their rehabilitation, I feel that I am able to arm myself with a mechanism to cope with the burdens of the past. I am just thankful being in KontraS, IKOHI and AFAD. This has enabled me to meet thousands of people with the same fate, destiny, faith and goals that I have. These people help me strengthen myself morally and psychologically.
In the course of my work, I would sometimes see the parents of my missing comrades. Such an experience is like seeing my own parents when I was still a disappeared. It also makes me think that I am luckier compared to them. But this only reinforces my sense of responsibility—and that I have to be with them in their search for their disappeared son, daughter or husband.
I was also given the opportunity to attend the First Sharing of Experiences of Asian Families of Victims of Enforced or Involuntary Disappearances which was held in Jakarta on December 6-10, 2004. I believe that this gathering was very much useful and instructive, not only for me, but for other victims of human rights violation as well. For one thing, the Conference allowed me to meet other victims, not only from the different areas of Indonesia, but also from other countries. The Conference in Jakarta gave me a concrete idea that we are not alone and that our struggles are not mere isolated campaigns in our respective countries or communities. Rather, the anti-disappearance movement is truly global in nature and that we are continuously globalizing our struggle for justice and peace.
I was also able to learn from the experiences of others, most especially the success stories from other countries and continents. I find these all empowering and personally enriching, thus, inspiring me to further deepen my solidarity work.
At a personal level, the Conference gave a me forum to enable me to express my feelings of sorrow and joy as a victim and as a survivor. Accordingly, it gave me a feeling of relief.
It has been six years since my ordeal and I try to live a normal life as much as possible. Now, I am married with a four-year old daughter. In retrospect, it was my family’s acceptance of my political convictions which gave me so much strength. With that, I am ready to assure them that I am responsible for whatever actions I have or will make. I am also willing to stand up to people and address their misconceptions because until today, government still stigmatizes us as communists. These are part of the challenges that we face.
I must admit however that I am not completely healed. Although I appear perfectly healthy, I still have trauma. Whenever I would notice a sound that I heard when I was in the military vehicle, the memory of my abduction would come back to my mind and I would feel that probably, a car is tailing me. But I’m sure closure will come, sooner or later.
Footnote
1 In Indonesia, the concept was initially called as Dwi Fungsi ABRI. ABRI is the derivation of the Angkatan Bersenjata Republik Indonesia.
