I am opting to remain anonymous while sharing my story here. This is partly because my family has asked me not to pursue a project to learn about my maternal grandfather. A few years ago, I found out he was imprisoned following the events of 1965.
My parents rarely spoke about my maternal grandfather. All that was ever said about him was that he simply passed away before my birth. For most of my life, that was all I ever knew about him. I didn’t know his name, I had never seen a picture of him and it seemed like he had never existed. Several years ago, my father and I were discussing the film The Act Of Killing with each other. After a while, I asked him whether we knew anyone who was a victim. It was then that he told me that my maternal grandfather was in fact imprisoned following the events, and that he was released in 1980. I realised then that was the reason why my parents never spoke about him. I remember going through a lot of emotions at that moment. I was horrified to learn about what had happened to my family. At the same time I felt dismayed as well. How could my parents have not told me this for over twenty years. He was my grandfather, did I not have the right to know about this? I quickly learned about the intense burden that was thrust upon my grandmother and her children during that time. How their lives were suddenly turned upside down and everything became a struggle. It’s a period in their life that is very painful to remember. And it is not a period that has been approached with dignity. Up to this day, these events are still stigmatized. Since discovering my grandfather’s fate, I have dedicated myself to learning more about his life, and the ordeals he went through. I am putting this together in the form of an art project which hopefully will dignify these events. However, my family has been content to let the past be the past, rather than opening up old scars. Hopefully in time I can not only open up about these events to people, but to my family as well. Anonymous #1965setiaphari #living1965
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My father runs a home-based tailor business. Many of the tailors who work for with my father were from Klaten and Solo. In the 80s, when I was in primary school, one day I found the back room – where the noise normally only came from the crowds of sewing machines – was suddenly swarming with a conversation about bodies that were butchered and thrown away to the river, making it red with blood.
“It was the soldiers who butchered those people.” “Ora mung tentara. Wong-wong sipil sing dikongkon tentara yo akeh sing mateni.”* “Yes, they were believed as PKI, then were butchered like chicken. Beheaded, then thrown away to the river.” Such horror, their stories. I did not know what made them start talking about the horrors. I suspect that this was triggered by the recent premiere of the film Pengkhianatan G30S/PKI in the cinemas, which not long after was also broadcast on TVRI, the one and only television channel in Indonesia back then, broadcast by the government. I remember I and my fellow students were brought by our teachers to watch that film in the cinema theatre. I also remembered how quite a few times I had to close my eyes with my hands because of the bloodbath scenes full of violence. I remember the little me then viewed PKI as something that was very scary. I often quietly watched one of my neighbours, Mr X, whom I heard was somewhat involved with PKI, as though any second he could suddenly pull a sharp item out and kill everyone cold-bloodedly. What puzzled me was, both my parents were always friendly with Mr X. They even chatted like very close friends. When I asked my parents why they were friends with Mr X who was a PKI, their answer was not long, “So what if he's a PKI? Mr X is a good man.” I was confused. When I heard the horror stories about the river becoming red of blood in that back room, which quite a few people admitted seeing with their own eyes, I could not help asking, “So which of these people are actually the evil ones?” They who heard my question could only stare at one another. There was no clear answer. A while later, the room was again silent. The noise of the sewing machines continued to fill the room. And that question that I asked in the 80s was one of my initial questions that gradually piled up in the coming years, on the truth and lies of history devised by the New Order about PKI and 1965. Sari Safitri Mohan #1965setiaphari #living1965 * In Javanese: “Not only the soldiers. Many civilians were also killing, as instructed by the soldiers.” |
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