The Jakarta Post, January 12, 2003
Ambonese come to terms with limits of 'normalcy'
Ati Nurbaiti, The Jakarta Post, Ambon
It seems an inevitable, accepted fact of life here that while things must return to
"normal", it would be wishful thinking to imagine that it means resuming normalcy in
full, at least in the foreseeable future.
Young and old now say that the conflict since 1999 had a significant impact and that
it brought widespread suffering to nearly all residents, with the loss of life, amounting
to an unofficial estimate of over 9,000, equally painful for all.
A drive to move on has replaced earlier, bitter feelings of vengeance. "Do you want to
think of life or death?" says Ali, a motorcycle taxi driver who escaped near death in
one of the communal battles.
A mother who lost two teenage sons allowed herself a moment of grief, and buried her
face in her hands briefly before saying, "I would become too stressed out if I kept
thinking about them, it was impossible for them to stay inside while there was a war
anyway."
The change that must be acknowledged is of course that although many families
never thought it a problem to live among neighbors of a different religion, it is now
common sense to live apart.
It is heartening in the meantime that people can move through either "Christian" or
"Muslim" areas for daily activities, that they can pay much less in fees when traveling
by road instead of by sea for short distances, that they can associate with relatives
and friends of other religions again and that they are all fed up with violence and are
determined to move on.
Families with Christian and Muslim members no longer need to meet in secret.
But having seen how violence strikes, even under the supposedly safe era of the civil
emergency status, there is no way that refugees who were of religious minorities can
return to their villages.
In the event of an attack on either Muslim or Christian minorities, however remote the
possibility, "our neighbors would not be able to help," says Abu Kubangun, a
coordinator of one the Muslim refugee camps in Ambon.
"The Christians (minorities in Muslim dominated villages) can't go anywhere either,"
he said, while hearkening back to a different time in Kudamati, which during the
conflicts became a feared base of Christian "hardliners."
While the deadline of Jan. 15 looms for refugees to leave the shelters, Abu, who
works with almost 2,000 people from 385 families, said he did not yet know where
they would go. Authorities say they have yet to find plots of land for the thousands of
people who cannot return home.
The central government has said it can only financially support refugees until Jan. 15.
Nonetheless, much greater freedom of movement has been felt in the last four
months, residents say.
A taxi driver, Jefri, says drivers like himself have only been able to operate the route
from the airport to downtown in the last two months, as road barriers had been taken
away near the razed ruins of the 23-hectare campus of the Pattimura University and
the remains of a few state-run high schools.
The fiery scenes of youngsters in war gear and carrying weapons have been replaced
by soccer games and billiard tables.
But in the relatively normal looking scene downtown, several areas are still
segregated, including the motorcycle taxi pools. In the new bustling market place
near Hotel Amans, motorcycle taxis stand ready to cater to the shoppers who are
mostly Christians, because prices are double from their own areas, which is further
from Muslim-dominated downtown.
Any visitor to Muslim refugee camps would have to take a Muslim motorcycle taxi as
a precaution. Many public transport vehicles need to display their routes -- their colors
indicate where they are going -- which is largely to either Christian or Muslim areas.
Residents have made the best of the situation. In a new twist of the religious and
ethnic divide, Christian Ambonese, faced with the need to survive after escaping
violence and the destruction of their homes, are now found among pedicab drivers
catering to Christian areas once operated by migrant, Muslim pedicab drivers because
locals did not take menial jobs like pedicab driving or small scale trading.
Now people must face the facts of such a religious divide, which some historians
blame on governmental programs over many decades, for instance in the formation of
segregated settlements. Analysts say New Order politics (under Soeharto from 1966
to 1998, including the transmigration program which sent thousands of Javanese
Muslims mostly to non-Muslim islands) contributed to the transformation of the social
dynamics and the structure of Christian dominance in prestigious jobs, including in
the government. But none of this was ever addressed until after the violence broke out.
With some discomfort, such issues were taken up in a gathering of traditional village
heads (raja, or king) here, from Jan. 9 to Jan. 11. In the group discussion on
education, the leaders and educators debated the need to balance recruitment of
students and lecturers or teachers based on religion.
Charges at Pattimura University, which was dominated by Christians, in regard to the
students and lecturers only surfaced after the conflict broke out in early 1999.
Similarly, accusations that Muslims were appointed to the local government positions
because of nepotism were only brought up after the seemingly endless violence.
In the above talks, the need to strike a balance with all teachers and lecturers should
depend on the subject matter, said one raja.
While other subjects should only screen educators on the basis of their academic and
teaching competence, he said, "If children are to be taught tolerance, then teachers at
the elementary level must be balanced" between Muslims and Christians.
And while Maluku residents must now deal with such issues, the elders also face the
task of understanding problems of the young, such as unemployment and drug use.
Ecstasy is freely sold at nightclubs and bars, witnesses say, and even children are
involved in the now open business of lottery (unyil) on the streets. One of the older
lottery organizers, Aladin said he would gladly do something else if there was another
good job for him, but the numbers game was currently the only thing he could do to
feed his three children.
One of the speakers at the gathering of the 110 raja, noted psychologist Sarlito
Wirawan, said, "The approach to the young needs an entirely different approach, their
icons and jargon are totally different."
All contents copyright © of The Jakarta Post.
|
