Sri Sunardi was the architect of the scouting grounds in Cibubur and was the holder of the highest honour of the World Organisation of the Scout Movement (WOSM). He was married to a leftist lecturer of the Pedagogy Department at Gajah Mada University in Yogyakarta.
When in mid-1966 I came home from Nusakambangan, dishevelled and covered in scabies like a homeless person, Mrs Sunardi made me a pair of shorts from a shirt that belonged to our fellow female political prisoner in Bastion, Fort Willem Een in Ambarawa. Mrs Sunardi was released before I was from Bastion. When she was released, she gave me a handkerchief. She told me her husband had given it to her as he was taken away from Fort Vredeburg forever. She told me to keep the handkerchief, because she could not do so herself. “Take care of it, Dja!” she said as she embraced me, crying. I took the handkerchief with me wherever I went, to Buru and when I came home in 1979. I have looked after that historical square piece of cloth, until today. Tedjabayu Sudjojono #1965setiaphari #living1965
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I remember the first time I “came out”. It was in 2003, I think, five years after Soeharto’s messy step-down. I was still keeping all my family’s 1965 secrets to myself. It was a habit nailed down at birth, my only roots.
That day, I had lunch with ten of my friends from Uni. I remember our bonding activity was to rant about Soeharto, and even five years after the fall of his regime, that still felt relevant. Suddenly, without much thoughts, my big mouth defeated my brain and I blurted out. “My grandfather was disappeared in 1965.” Immediately, I felt I wanted to disappear. My heart beat so fast and so loudly as though it was venting all its opinions just before dying. The first rational thought that came to my mind was, “Who amongst these people will kill me now?” A few seconds later, someone from the opposite side of the table uttered, “My grandfather, as well, was in prison, but he was released.” I knew these people for more than 12 years by then. No one amongst us has talked publicly about 1965 before, and within a few seconds that day, two out of ten came out. How many more of us are there? Tintin Wulia #1965setiaphari #living1965 Good afternoon, and good wishes to all.
The esteemed Dr. Erwan Agus Purwanto, Dean of the Faculty of Social and Political Sciences of Gadjah Mada University in Yogyakarta. The esteemed Dr. Hilmar Farid, Director General of Culture at the Ministry of Education and Culture of the Republic of Indonesia. Esteemed teachers and academic community of the Faculty of Social and Political Sciences of Gadjah Mada University in Yogyakarta. Esteemed guests. Today is an important day for me, as I am coming “home” to my alma mater, the Faculty of Social and Political Sciences at Gadjah Mada University. Previously, it was known as the department of Law, Economy, Social and Political Science. It was situated at Pagelaran, at the northern town square (alun-alun utara). After fifty-one years “the lost son” has been found by his “mother”. Fifty-one years is truly a long time in history. And that can even be longer if we do not act, if we do not dare to take a step to break the chains of silence. I thank the Faculty of Social and Political Sciences of Gadjah Mada University, and in particular the Dean, who has taken the responsibility to resist the efforts of forgetting, which are ongoing. For fifty years, we have been made part of a political system that has enforced that which should be remembered and that which should be forgotten - to the extent that we have lost our awareness and our memories of the past. Both of which are very important to rebuild life today. This award is not for me, but for the hundreds of friends who disappeared and did not return. This award is also to remember and to give a voice and dignity to the victims of 1965, in an effort to express the truth, to rehabilitate and reconcile. I thank my wife and children who, with love and mutual affection fight together in a pilgrimage for humanity, to spread the seeds of civility and justice. I will end with a poem for my late friends Ibnu Santoro (lecturer at the Faculty of Economy) and Sunardi (lecturer at the Faculty of Pedagogy), as well as the students of Gadjah Mada University, who disappeared in 1965 and 1966. Hersri Setiawan #1965setiaphari #living1965 |
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