Her name is Kezia and she was born in May 1999.
As she opened her eyes, gazing at the pure happiness radiated from her family's loving embrace, she giggled — making her first baby sound. The long-awaited child was born! It was all joy and there's no place for sorrow.
But, little did she know that a tragedy has happened a year ago.
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//interview
It was supposed to be a month of joy, beginning a life with my to-be-wife. But, how could we, when the radio and television were constantly buzzing with terrors. Some of our wedding guests couldn’t take a risk to come to our reception, as the city’s heating with escalating demonstration/demo. I could only held my wife’s hands and kept asking God to have miracle upon this city.
The dusk was spine-chilling. The leaves even stopped waving as if they’re hiding from the incoming nightmare. We held ourselves tightly in the house, our sole reminder of safety and comfort, even if we know that the raging people could barge in any seconds.
Lowering our guard wasn’t an option on those days. The district we’re living had this suspenseful aura, neighbours joined force as they did patrol from the time of rising sun until it left the skyline. Sharp objects — knives, cutters — became our weapons to combat any danger. Someone also had a pistol, but I hope we’ll never come down to use that.
I was wrong. The heating chaos reached its breaking point and finally exploded on May 12th. I heard that Trisakti University’s students were protesting against Soeharto’s reign, but later the mild commotion grew into a deadly war between military officials and students.
BANG!
As if signaling the dawn of 1998 tragedy, the gun thundered as its missiles found its way toward unfortunate students. Panic and hysteria filled up the space gaping between the fleeing students. Lights were off, helping the students to hide themselves among the darkness.
The first wave had passed, but the clock’s still ticking, waiting for the time-bomb to detonate. Anyone in their right mind were all packing up, fighting for plane tickets or seeking refuges in foreign embassies. It was so packed, even the Sheraton Hotel (near the airport) was cramped. I saw luxurious cars darting on the airport highway. I thought people’re selling their cars, raising money to escape the wretched city.
The riot began on May 13th. Big men with military-style haircut, strided in military uniform, barking at the mass to rob and burn shops. My wife’s friend was one of the victims, this is her story.
Nobody dares to talk too much about the outside, all eyes relying on single television, counting on every minutes until the news about our shop turned up. Maghrib prayers echoed from distance, breaking the deafening silence. We’re shaking as the news ended, never expecting our shop to be a victim.
Smoke and flames mercilessly engulfed our shop, leaving only cinder and ash. In the midst of all, scavengers scattered around the back of the burned building, counting gleefuly on the robbed goods. They even had trolleys to drag the gigantic goods, it’s as if they’re possessed by demonic power to carry their prizes. I suspected that they are provocated by the mob to cause the havoc.
Our heart's screaming in distress, lamenting at the loss of our still-young business. We just got married, started a new life, had a baby, and then.. 1998 happened. We dreaded to get any information on the shop, but going out means suicide, not to mention that our slanted eyes, white-milky skin, and all those Chinese features didn't make it any better.
Daylight washed over the sinisters in the past days.
No sign of life on the deserted roads, what was left was the remnants of last night’s catastrophe. Huge television and refrigerators were lying around, waiting for their master that will never come. The foul smell of dried blood filled the air, suffocating myself as I tried hard not to look down. My feet felt something slippery, I lifted them only to find them covered in what seems to be gory human’s remains.
Heart shuddered with fear as I dare myself to take a glance, it was a bloodbath. The women’s decaying bodies were sprawled contortedly over the hot asphalt. A group of flies was having a feast on their rotting genitalia.
My heart beat frantically, forcing my mind to work faster, but instead resulting in only nausea. I glimpsed at the poor women who might have families, suddenly remembered my brother. I dialed his number, hoping for his voice instead of the static noise. He finally picked up to my relief. His boss sent him home earlier, worried of the city’s safety. My brother said that hefty stacks of 2000 Rupiah were tossed over the car he’s riding to drive away the mob.
This tragedy too shall pass. Eventually, the chaos died out after President Soeharto stepped down.
Now that it's over, what can we do? Some people decided to back down, some chose to move on, putting faith on what was coming.
Moving on.
The sun has left its glorious throne, revealing red tinge of light that reminds myself to go back home. As the train picked up the pace, I pondered on my truly and forever home, Indonesia. Unconsciously, questions started to form inside my mind, piling enough curiosity until they let my fingers work their way to look for the 1998 Tragedy in Google. I caught words of tragedies, each becoming more horrifying as I unraveled the chronology of the incident. My mouth trembled, fighting the urge to give in to tears.
//
Reading through all the madness of 1998, the thoughts of why this had happened keep on turning up, bombarding me with the confusion of the tragedy's whole purpose. I suspect that this is no mere Chinese-targeting riot. The Chinese massacre is just a scapegoat to reach the main goal, the fall of President Soeharto.
What I don't understand is the ambiguity of Indonesian's identity. I assumed that before the Reformation, most of the native Indonesians didn't admit other ethnic groups as their fellow citizens. It was still a foreign concept to accept other ethnicities as the part of nation. Interaction between 'outsiders' and natives become more sensitive and even taboo, not to mention that statistically non-natives (specifically Chinese-Indonesian) dominated the private market. It is tragic for most people do not appreciate the economic benefits contributed by foreigners and then blaming them for the financial crisis in 1998.
1998 has been a big, bad irony.
Indonesians are all smiles, they like to wave at you and say Assamua'laikum. Peace and harmony have an actual role in my country's ideology, yet some people's morality was rotten to the core.
Yes, I agreed with their opposition to the reign of Soeharto. The fact that this is also a systematic and well-strategic plan rather surprised me. It makes me realized just how easily indigenous Indonesians banded together, which is actually a positive thing. They grasped the idea of unity, but in reality some people were not ready to put it into legal and righteous action.
While their way of agressions has the power to quickly topple the authority, the trauma it's giving may not be bearable for the rest of the citizens.
I don't think the slaughter was also in the main plan. Some people were obviously taking advantages of the chaos, provocating others to execute the Chinese.
For me, this is a clear depiction of moral declination. Once it happened, it firmly created a bad memory that plants prejudices within Indonesians. Just imagine if the young generation nowadays keep perceiving their predescessors as barbarians, if they give up to restore peace within all citizens, there’s no future for Reformation.
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The train screeched until it halt to a stop. I walked outside the station, each steps were heavier as the words of 1998’s tragedy sinked deeper. Hot summer wind breezed through my hair, asking me to rest from my contemplation. Annoyed by the strands sticking on my greasy face, I reached toward it. I looked up and witnessed a picturesque scene of the sun setting as the horizon darkened, which reminds me of how most things in the universe have dark and bright sides.
//
While the 1998 Riot was an unfortunate event, I realized that it acted as a a massive finale to the ?tyranny? of Soeharto’s cabinet. And actually, had none of the Chinese genocide happened, Indonesia may not have justified the minorities’ rights until the present days. The incident reminds Indonesians to embrace each other as one solid nation.