Alam groaned, then mumbled a question, asking me the time.
“Seven-thirty,” I answered, as I wrapped the top sheet around myself and began to stand. “I have to straighten your room.”
Alam threw his right arm around my waist, preventing me from moving further away from him. “It’s still early. Where are you going?”
His hand slowly removed the sheet that was covering me. He then began to stroke my breasts. “I want to look at you.” He pulled me around and on top of him, our groins now linked. Was this un coup de foudre or perhaps a lightning storm? I did not know. But what I did know is that once again, on that previously quiet morning, a new storm ravaged Alam’s bedroom.
MAY 1998
DEAR AYAH AND MAMAN
,
I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to answer my own question: what can I pluck from I-N-D-O-N-E-S-I-A. How can I even understand this place? Have you seen the news about the killing of students at Trisakti University yesterday? That the military could open fire on unarmed students is indefensible. I was there, at Trisakti yesterday, and didn’t get back to the house until morning, so have slept only a few hours as a result.
At breakfast, Om Aji said that after the shootings yesterday, Jakarta is likely to blow. He and Tante Retno became very worried when I told them that I had gone to Trisakti campus and spent part of last night at Sumber Waras Hospital. It’s because I don’t want you worrying about me, too, that I’m writing this e-mail to you now.
For the past two days Alam and Bimo have been saying that the free-speech rallies for students — which have been going on since May 1—are gathering steam and likely to reach their peak by May 20. News about this has been circulating among students on and off campuses — off campus, mostly through Forkot (an acronym for “City Forum”) which was established to link up students from the various universities around the city — and among political activist groups and independent
journalists as well. I’m sure that the “flies” buzzing around campus (the term that Alam uses for military intelligence agents) have already conveyed this news to the campus security, because security at all of the campuses I’ve visited since May 9 has been very tight.
Even though this is only my second week in Jakarta, I find myself here when the country is entering an era where the Indonesian people have found the courage to demand that the president step down. This is exciting. When I read your e-mail a few days ago, I couldn’t stop laughing, imagining my uncles placing bets on whether or not Soeharto will step down. Are Om Nug and Om Risjaf really going to slaughter a goat if that happens? And are you and Om Tjai still so pessimistic?
Please give my thanks to Om Nug, Om Risjaf, and Om Tjai for all the nights they took turns explaining Indonesian politics and history to me — even if their own stories of the country did end in 1965—but also tell them that Indonesia has changed greatly from the images in the documentary films I’ve seen and from the stories I heard from the Four Pillars. Of course, not all things have changed, as Om Risjaf has already related. One thing I’ve noticed is that despite the extraordinary tragedy they endured, Indonesians are still able to survive and to forget. (Either that, or they have been forced to forget? I’m not sure.) They don’t seem to put too much importance on history (or maybe they’re trying to forget it). Something I find strange here is that so few of the young people I’ve met are interested in the subject of history. I get the distinct impression that people like Alam and Bimo are not representative of the younger Indonesian generation at all. They are activist-intellectuals who have been formed by history.
Alam is coming by later to pick me up and take me to Trisakti campus, where we’ll meet Bimo and Gilang. This afternoon, we’re going to pay our last respects to the students who were shot yesterday — one event I hope that the present-day generation never forgets!
Don’t worry about my equipment. My video camera has some dents in it but I was able to fix the lens. Lucky for me, the damage to my laptop was only on the outside. All my files are safe and the LCD screen works fine, which would have been awfully expensive to replace. Bottom line is that my laptop looks pretty bad on the outside but on the inside she’s brilliant. I’ve been going with Alam every day to the Satu Bangsa office, where I’m editing the results of my interviews from the copies of footage that Alam and Mita saved for me.
Rama has spent the past few nights here at Om Aji’s instead of at his own place. He was ordered by his office to take “home leave” while they run a background check on him. Alam has tried to be friendly to him and invited Rama to join the protest movement, but he’s shown little enthusiasm, almost no response. He stares into space with empty eyes. His girlfriend, Rininta, broke off their relationship. But that’s one thing none of the rest of us are mourning because, to quote Andini, “I can’t imagine having a sister-in-law who can only talk about the shoes and purses she’s bought instead of asking the more appropriate question of where the money for them came from.”
Om Aji and Tante Retno haven’t said anything, but I think they are secretly thankful for this development. Whatever my personal feelings, I try to show sympathy to Rama. No matter what, I still feel guilty about the entire incident. Heartbreak is not easy to get over.
Yesterday, like the days before the incident at Trisakti, I started the day re-compiling and re-editing my footage of interviews with former political prisoners. Even though it was a chore to have to repeat all the work, I was relieved to be able to do it; the most important thing is that my documentation is still complete. After graduation, when I begin to work, I intend to imitate Satu Bangsa’s standard practice of always keeping a neat and well-organized duplicate archive.
In the afternoon, Alam, Gilang, and Agam went off to meet some City Forum activists. That evening, I’m not sure what time it was, Mita dashed into the editing room and started shouting at me in a loud and dramatic voice. (Usually, Mita is flat and dry — a young female version of Om Tjai.) She said that Gilang had called to say that some students had been shot at Trisakti University and that he, Alam, and Agam were already on their way to the campus now. Without another word, Mita and I gathered up our stuff and set off as well. Mita took her motorbike. This was the first time I had ever ridden a motorcycle — and in Jakarta, no less. My God! Mita didn’t drive. She flew, dodging in and out of traffic to avoid traffic congestion.
We arrived in Grogol where Trisakti is located at around 8 p.m. The grounds of the campus were dark and the air was tense, filled with the sound of crying and angry screams. At that point no one knew for sure how many students had been shot. There were still lots of students there crying and mourning, but then one student we spoke to said that most of the student body had gathered at Sumber Waras Hospital, a couple kilometers down the road. Mita and I decided to go there.
At the hospital, Mita ran into some people she knew. I tried, as politely as possible, to record the hundreds of students who were milling around the hospital corridors, sobbing and screaming hysterically. Everyone was angry. Everyone was mourning. All were in shock. I didn’t know the people there, but I couldn’t help feeling crushed by the sight. It was heartbreaking.