50 years ago, some members
of the Indonesian Communist Party (PKI) attempted an unsuccessful coup in
Jakarta. The vast majority of PKI members had no idea of the coup, but the PKI
as a whole was accused of preparing for the wholesale torture and massacre of
its enemies. Barely a dozen people, including six senior generals, died in the
Jakarta coup and related events, but the Indonesian rumour market turned these
casualties into portent for Red Terror. In a retaliatory atmosphere described
as ‘kill or be killed’, the Indonesian army led non-communist Indonesians in
massacres that peaked from November 1965 until March 1966.
The West largely ignored the
killings, instead focusing on the power struggle in Jakarta. In 1966,
Major-General Suharto had pushed aside President Sukarno and established a
military-dominated regime known as the New Order.
Suharto held power until
1997. His regime was marked by sustained economic development and improved
welfare, deepening corruption,
environmental destruction and a highly managed travesty of democracy — regular
elections gave no possibility of changing the government. The regime was
repressive, but it drew legitimacy from its economic performance and from its
claim to have saved the country from communism.
This claim required the
regime to continue demonising the PKI. The image of communists forged in 1965
was inculcated in young Indonesians in sustained propaganda through the
education system. The regime waged a shadow war on communism, banning the
teaching of Marxism and limiting the civil rights of people with old communist
links. There was no question of publicly challenging the official version of
the events of 1965–66, let alone of bringing the perpetrators to account.
But during the final decade
of Suharto’s rule, the regime’s anti-communist stance appeared increasingly
outdated. The Soviet Union had collapsed and China had embarked unequivocally
on a capitalist road. Many observers expected that Indonesia’s anti-communist
rhetoric would evaporate with Suharto’s eventual departure. It seemed likely
that the restrictions on Indonesians with communist links would be lifted and
that a serious effort would be made to establish the truth of the five months
of terror in 1965–66.
Yet, the retreat from
anti-communism has been partial and hesitant.
The few remaining prisoners were quickly released and the coordinated
anti-communist propaganda was scaled back. Some civil rights were restored to
alleged PKI associates. Activists began gathering testimony from survivors to
ensure that there would be a record of the killings. They published books
exploring unexplained aspects of the 1965 coup and detailing the experiences of
survivors.
But the ban on Marxism
remained in place and there was no question of an official acknowledgement of
the genocide. School textbooks continue to identify the PKI as a whole as
responsible for a plot to seize power, implicitly legitimising the killings as
retaliation and precaution. Some, but not all, of the new books were banned.
In 2012, Indonesia’s
official Human Rights Commission issued a detailed report on the killings based
on four years of research. The commission declared the killings to be a gross
human rights violation and urged the Attorney General to initiate a formal
investigation as prelude to the prosecution of the perpetrators. But the
Attorney General described the material presented as ‘inadequate’ and declined
to take action.
Anti-communist civil society
groups have also rallied to discourage and intimidate activists.
They occasionally ‘sweep’ through bookshops, removing pro-communist books and
burning them in the street. They would show up en masse at activists’
events trying to force them to disband. If the activists were stubborn, they
threatened venue owners saying they would smash the property. For the most
part, these anti-communist groups are Islamic and have been involved in other
unilateral actions to uphold what they see as public morality.
In October 2015, the Ubud
Writers and Readers Festival cancelled the launch of three books containing
testimonies. The organisers of the festival — known as a defiant symbol of
intellectual and artistic openness — were reportedly threatened by the powerful
military intelligence agency that the whole festival would be shut down if the
launch went ahead. To save the rest of the program, they agreed to cancel the
1965-related events.
Why is there such strong
resistance in Indonesia to acknowledging the events of 1965 as a major crime?
One important reason is the threat of prosecution. The killings were carried
out mainly by young men, inside and outside the military. The possibility of
being tried for their actions half a century ago is alarming and they are
determined to stifle any movement in that direction.
Economic interests are also
involved. Communists lost not only lives and freedom in the repression; they
also lost property on a huge scale. During the killings, houses, agricultural
land and businesses belonging to communists were expropriated. If the
legitimacy of the killings were to be overthrown, then the legality of these
expropriations would also be in doubt. Millions of dollars in assets is
potentially at stake.
But above all, the killings
have become iconic in the ongoing culture war over the identity of Indonesia.
The moral authority of the army and that of Islam remain significant constants
in the political process. Even without prosecutions or restitution, recognising
the killings as genocide would be a huge moral defeat for the army that
organised them and for the Muslim groups that took part. It would refute the
army’s notion of itself as defender of the nation and challenge the view of
many Muslims that their religion is defined by justice and mercy.
The war over historical
memory is a stalking horse for a thoroughly contemporary contest over the soul
of Indonesia.
Robert Cribb is a professor
of Asian History at the College of Asia and the Pacific, The Australian
National University.
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