International Herald Tribune, Friday, November 11, 2005
Meanwhile: On a slow boat from Ambon to Banda
Michael Vatikiotis The New York Times
BANDA, Indonesia The eggshell-blue afternoon sky meets the ocean along a plane so
perfectly horizontal it's hard to believe we are on the open sea. In bygone days, the
deep blue waters of the Banda Sea were as well known to the navigators of Plymouth
and Amsterdam as the English Channel and the North Sea.
In the 17th century, tiny volcanic islands poking precariously above the surface with
names like Ay and Run were the epicenter of a lucrative European spice trade. Men
fought and died over nutmeg and mace, which were once worth their weight in gold.
The vessels plying these waters today are less adventurous, their cargo not nearly as
precious. Yet the islands, for all their vivid natural beauty, still draw more than a fair
share of trouble and violence that still arrives by ship.
I boarded the KM Bukit Sikuntang on a hot afternoon toward the end of the Muslim
fasting month of Ramadan. Her beige flank, flecked with rust and the stains of
garbage, rose nearly three storeys off the crumbling quayside in Ambon, the
tumbledown capital of the Maluku (or Moluccan) island chain.
Boarding a state-owned Pelni liner is not a pleasant experience for the un-initiated. I
was advised to take a first-class cabin, but not informed that to reach the comparative
air-conditioned comfort of my windowless and cockroach infested nook, I would first
have to run a gauntlet of hot and restless travelers in squalid third-class
accommodation.
You have to travel at sea level to grasp the vastness of Indonesia, and the sheer
human variety moving along this ragged necklace of islands. It takes a good day's
flying and changing planes to make the journey to Ambon by air. But this pales in
comparison to the seven-hour sea journey just from Ambon to Banda.
It's another four days sailing back to the capital Jakarta. Or you might opt for the
biweekly run a Pelni liner makes from the port of Tanjung Pinang an hour outside of
Singapore all the way to the West Papuan port of Fak-Fak. Along the way you meet
pearl divers from Aru, policemen from Seram and miners from Timika.
Eastern Indonesia's remarkable natural resources are matched only by the
bewildering variety of people, cajoling one another in a regional dialect of the
Indonesian language that blends hard Malay consonants with the sing-song lilt of a
Latin language - a feature acquired, like faintly aquiline noses and jutting chins, from
the Portuguese who first claimed these islands for God and Europe back in the 16th
century.
The European legacy left the region, until recently, strongly Christian, overlaying a
tenacious Muslim community established earlier on by wandering Indian and Arab
merchants. The Chinese also frequented these waters, but were content to just trade.
But the call to Muslim prayer that bursts from the ship's speakers as the sun sinks
below the horizon is a reminder that Indonesia's Muslim majority is on the move,
fanning out from over-populated areas of Java and Sulawesi.
Migration sowed the seeds of new friction and violence after centuries of decline and
langour. Between 1999 and 2001 more than 10,000 people died after ships like the
KM Bukit Sikuntang carried Islamic militants across the Banda Sea to islands like
Banda, Kei and Seram. They came to wage holy war after a minor incident on a
minibus resulted in a Christian killing a Muslim.
That was then, and the islanders are reluctant to recall the violence that has greatly
altered the religious topography of the islands.
On Banda the old Dutch church with its stately columns was burned down along with
most of the Christian dwellings when a violent mob hitched a ride on the weekly ferry
from Ambon.
Inside the ruins of the 17th century church a group of children play on the foot-worn
tombstones of early nutmeg plantation owners, or "perkeneers." A passerby says that
the Protestant Synod in Ambon has promised to rebuild the church, which has to be
one of the oldest in the archipelago. But the work is slow - memories are still fresh
and the Christians are not in a hurry to reassert themselves.
The stunning beauty of these islands is hard to reconcile with the violence that
percolates through their history, like the old Dutch cannon that still litter the streets of
Banda.
The passenger ferries that come and go, landing people the authorities never seem to
bother checking on so long as they pay their passage, are a solid reminder that
trouble still travels by boat.
(Michael Vatikiotis is a visiting research fellow at the Institute of Southeast Asian
Studies, Singapore.)
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