In talking to some of the students, I found out the names of the known dead: Elang Mulia Lesmana, Hendriawan Sie, Heri Hartanto, and Hafidin Royan. They said that two other students had also been killed, but they still didn’t know their names.
At around 9 p.m. we finally met up with Alam and Gilang, just at the same time that a military officer — Alam said he was a high-level military police officer — appeared at the morgue. When he showed his face, an argument broke out between him and the students who were there. They weren’t going to let him in. I recorded this fracas from a safe distance. I know the footage won’t end up being part of my final assignment, but I think that one day I might be able to use the footage in a different documentary.
I’ve seen my fair share of protests and demonstrations on the Sorbonne campus, but now I think that Alam is right in saying that protests in Europe are mostly polite affairs. I never thought I’d witness anything as wild and chaotic as what I’ve seen here. This is certainly one side of Indonesia I didn’t know before.
We stayed with the students at the hospital until almost dawn. Some journalist friends invited us to go with them to a press conference that had been called by the head of the Regional Military Command for Greater Jakarta, Major General Sjafrie Sjamsoeddin. But we decided not to go along
and stayed with the mourning students instead. We waited with them and their families until the four corpses of the students were taken to lie in state at one of the buildings on the Trisakti campus.
We didn’t get back to Om Aji’s home until about five in the morning. Then I tried to close my eyes for a while.
I have to stop for now, Ayah. We’re going back to Trisakti campus this afternoon.
Take care of yourself, Ayah. In the midst of this heat, I always pray that you are well and taking your medicine. Kisses for you and Maman.
As ever,
Lintang Utara
I didn’t think that morning about my sore back or my puffy eyes, which had managed to stay shut for just three hours. I was sure that all of Jakarta, all of Indonesia for that matter, would be all the more on edge because of the killing of those students at Trisakti University the day before. At Om Aji’s urging, we used his van this time to go to the campus. He predicted that what with all the universities in the city holding events to show their solidarity, it would be difficult to find a taxi when we needed one.
We arrived at Trisakti a few minutes after 10 a.m. The campus was being guarded by student regiments—resimen mahasiswa, shortened to menwa—which was another new term for me. Alam grumbled when I took the time to write down the term’s acronym in my notebook. The Sorbonne has no such a thing as “student regiments,” which is something important to note. These guards were being very selective about whom they allowed to come onto campus. I don’t know how they knew Alam, but they let us enter. Meanwhile, many of the other people who had come to mourn entered through the campus of Tarumanegara University, directly adjacent to Trisakti.
A sea of people dressed in black clothing was evidence of the grief that was in the air. Even though by this time the corpses of the students who had been killed had already been moved to the homes of their families for private rites prior to their burial, the grounds in front of the imposing Syarief Thayeb Academic Building became the center for people to pay their condolences. I recorded people mourning and showing their respects, but I also recorded objects that spoke poignantly to me as welclass="underline" flower arrangements, the dried pool of blood from Elang Mulia still on the tiles, and thick panes of glass pockmarked with bullet holes. Why were these lifeless things considered to be lifeless? Sometimes such things are more alive and more honest than any living witness.
In addition to the Trisakti students and alumni who had thronged to the campus, I saw numerous public figures participating in this act of public mourning: Amien Rais, leader of Muhammadiyah, one of the two biggest Muslim organizations; Megawati Sukarnoputri, opposition icon and daughter of the former president; Emil Salim, a leading economist and former cabinet minister; Ali Sadikin, former governor of Jakarta; and Adnan Buyung Nasution, a leading human rights lawyer and activist. I tried to make my way close to the center of the crowd, in front of the speakers’ podium, to record them as they gave speeches. The feeling in the air was different today. Yesterday, the students had been in grief and shock, but today what I felt was anger and oppression. Aside from that, I felt that the entire country had its eyes on this campus and was sending its sympathy.
“Love live Bang Ali! Long live Bang Ali,” the students shouted in greeting at the popular former governor when he was given a microphone to address the crowd. I wedged my way forward in order to be able to better record his image and what he said.
“I helped to establish the New Order government,” he said in a loud and clear voice, “but I am disappointed!”
“Long live Bang Ali!” the students shouted again.
The former governor’s oration was rousing for me, and I forced myself forward again even though I was being pushed here and there by the crowd.
Suddenly, I found Alam with his hands on my shoulders. “Be careful, baby,” he said, “the situation off campus is heating up too. We should probably think about leaving.”
Baby?
“That’s Amien Rais, isn’t it?” I asked to cover the silly thrill I suddenly felt hearing him call me “baby.” Damn! Even in a situation as this, I still found time to indulge in pubescent, self-centered fantasies.
“Yes, but I have to find Mas Willy. Gilang said he’s here meeting with some of the other big names. I’m going up to the twelfth floor where they’re supposed to be meeting.” Alam scanned the crowd looking for Gilang.
“‘Mas’ who, did you say?”
“The poet, Rendra. People call him Mas Willy because his first name used to be Willibrodrus.”
“Oh, Rendra! You’re going to meet with Rendra? Do you know him? I’m coming with you. I’ve got to get him on video!” Obviously, I was getting overexcited.
“Better not, babe, this isn’t a poetry reading,” Alam shouted in my ear to make himself heard over the crowd’s continual cry of “Reform!” “I need to talk to him about something.”
Giving in, I nodded to Alam; but before he went off to find Rendra he promised that if anything happened, he would come back to look for me around the same spot. After Alam left, I turned my attention back to Amien Rais and his oration. After he had spoken, it was now Adnan Buyung Nasution’s turn at the mike. With his thick snow-white mane of hair and because of his frequent interviews with the foreign press, the lawyer was easy to recognize. As soon as he began to speak, he was given a loud and boisterous round of applause and cheers. Suddenly, I saw in the distance a face I recognized. I felt my heart skip a beat.
“Rama!”
Rama turned toward me. I rushed towards him, as best I could, through the pulsing throng. When I finally reached his side, he smiled at me.
“I didn’t know you were coming here.”
“Yeah, well, I’m here,” he said, bowing his head towards mine. “I came straight from my house. Dini called to say that she’s coming, too, along with some of her friends.”
“Yeah, I know, but I haven’t seen them yet.”