Under military pressure Indonesia’s First President Sukarno, was
forced to delegate extensive powers to Suharto, and not the army’s chief of
staff, as a result Suharto banned the PKI, had Indonesia legislature changed to
install him a acting president and forcing Sukarno into house arrest, where he
died in 1970. The events of 30 September 1965 did not simply result in a
“purging exercise” of the communists, with remaining family members, exiled
supporters or sympathisers of the PKI being denied basic human rights, such as
equal opportunity to employment, the right to travel to/from Indonesia, and
discrimination. These events continued for the thirty years of power under President
Suharto.
As more contemporary literature from Indonesia is now making its way
into English, the stories and impacts of this era is now becoming more widely
known in the Western World. With censorship, suppression, and discrimination
there is a whole era of Indonesian writing that has been influenced by
Government intervention. This year alone we are now getting to see works in
English and the media coverage is rife given Indonesia being the featured
nation at the world’s preeminent Book Fair in Frankfurt. However it is not only
the period under Suharto which is called into question, as published in “The
Economist” in 2010 (‘The books of slaughter and forgetting’ by Banyan) the act
of banning books is still prevalent, with the attorney-general’s office banning
works as a threat to “national unity”. The events of 1965, according to Banyan,
as one of the “few horrors (to) have been so unexamined”...”and the torrent of
bloodshed in which they were bereaved has never officially been acknowledged,
let alone subjected to a truth-and-reconciliation commission.”
This is where books like Leila S. Chudori’s “Home” (translated by
John H. McGlynn) play a pivotal role in bringing these events to light, even if
in a fictional setting. Whilst highlighted in a previous blog post, Eka
Kurniawan’s “Beauty Is A Wound” deals with the events during Suharto’s reign
(and even prior with Dutch rule and the Japanese invasion in World War Two also
featured) the style was mythical, drawing on shadow puppet and pulp culture. “Home”
has no such edge, written in a journalistic style and focusing purely on the
devastating impacts of the 30 September event and subsequent banning of the
PKI, the history books have been fictionalised.
A decent sized book (my preview proof edition runs to 514 pages),
there is a plethora of characters and content throughout this family epic. Our
work opens with a prologue, a setting in a photographic studio,
is there clandestine activities taking place?
Every day, at least ten to
fifteen people came to have passport-size photographs taken to attach to
government-issued letters of certification that they were not a communist, had
never participated in any activity sponsored by the Indonesian Communist Party,
and had not been involved in the so-called attempt to overthrow the Indonesian
government now known as Gestapu, the September 30 Movement.
We then move to the story of Dimas Suyro, he’s in Paris in
May 1968 and is just about to meet the love of his life:
Since the beginning of the year
anyone who was thought to have been a member of the PKI – or had family and
friends, or colleagues and neighbours, in the Indonesian Communist Party – had been
hunted down, detained, and interrogated. My brother Aji had frightening stories
to tell about how many people had disappeared and how many more had died.
But Dimas’ story is an honest one, the horrors happening at
home in his beloved Indonesia has little acknowledgement or recognition in the
West. As we now know the suppression of newsworthy events, or simply the lack
of acknowledgement of their occurrence, is always bubbling along in the
background:
They wouldn’t have heard the
names of Indonesia’s political activists who long predated theirs – such as
Sukarno, Hatta, Sjahrir, and Tan Malaka. Given that, what could they possibly
know about the bloodbath that had taken place in Indonesia in the months and
years that followed the events of September 30, 1965? Most of the people I had
met, Vivienne included, would probably had had to open an atlas just to find
where Indonesia was.
Our story of political exiles manages to portray the horrors
of “home” through the eyes of helpless individuals, people who are intrinsically
linked to the violence occurring in their homeland, however they still long to
return to their home, the nostalgia of a homeland is forefront in their minds:
Life as a political exile would
not have been complete without a steady stream of trials: having our passports
revoked; being forced to move from one country and from one city to another;
having to change professions; even having to change families – all with no
obvious design of definite plan. All these things were happening while we were
in the midst of a search for our identity, shapeless souls searching for a body
to inhabit. The annoyances we faced – or the “challenges” as Mas Nug preferred
to call them – were never-ending. For that reason, and despite the successful opening
of the restaurant and the popularity of Tanah Air in the days and nights to
come, we knew that our celebration would propel an opposing force.
Our novel is told in may voices, first person, third person,
father, daughter, wife, lover. Shifting in time, starting in Paris in 1968 and
returning to Jakarta in 1964. The plot is not linear, although the slow filling
of events that lead us to a conclusive whole are not at all distracting,
neither are the multiple voices throughout, although the similar style for each
voice is somewhat less than convincing.
A flâneur will forever be looking, and building his home in the flow
and motion of movement. He might feel he has left his home, but in fact he
built a home in his journey.
An epic of family history, a history of Indonesia, told
through tales of propaganda shown to school children through a gory diorama or
forced viewing of film, each chapter has another layer to add to the complex
construction of the whole.
With the Frankfurt Book Fair (self proclaimed as the largest
in the world) featuring Indonesia as the Country of choice next month it is timely
to look at books such as “Home”. Although the selection of Indonesia and the
writers represented at the Fair has been plagued with controversy, a number of
writers have taken to social media to express their displeasure at the less
than transparent selection process for the books to be presented in Frankfurt,
Personally I feel novels like “Home” have a place on the world literature
stage, bringing the history of the Suharto period of reign to light.
A recent interview with Indonesian author Sigit Sisanto
highlighted the lack of literary freedom still prevalent in Indonesia society:
The fact that Suharto
was forced to step down, however, doesn′t mean that there is now total freedom
of artistic expression in Indonesia. There are still worrying developments,
namely the founding of social organisations based on Islam, and associations
run by children of the military. Both groups keep threatening and disrupting
literary readings, particularly when it comes to Marxist books or those that
address gender issues. I′ve experienced it myself. Three years ago our internet
forum held its annual meeting in Jakarta, and we looked at ten books in one
evening. During the event, secret police and police officers suddenly turned
up, and we were forced to hand over all the books and break up our meeting. The
previous week, the launch of a book that addressed lesbian love was broken up
by an Islamic organisation. (For the full interview go to https://en.qantara.de/content/an-interview-with-indonesian-author-sigit-susanto-beyond-dustbin-literature
)
My earlier references to “Shadow puppet” theatre and the
influences on Eka Kurniawan’s “Beauty Is A Wound” are also at play here, with
our exiled father Dimas displaying his favourite puppets in his home and
telling his daughter the mythical tales of anti-heroes and warriors. The
Indonesia culture and the nostalgia for a return to the homeland, however
stricken, is always playing throughout.
How very off it was, I thought,
that when I was such a young age, my father had introduced me to the concept of
death through stories from the Mahabharata: about Bhisma, who chose his time of
death; about Bima, who was forced to agree to Krisna’s plan to sacrifice
Gatotkaca as bait to Karna in the duel against Arjuna; and about Ekalaya, the
best bowman in the universe, who had even once defeated Arjuna.
But in those stories, Ayah also
inserted his own hopes, whose tone was that of a person’s final wishes. “Like
Bhisma, I too would like to choose the place where I take my final rest,” he
said half to himself.
One personal highlight was the food references, our exiles
in Paris set up an Indonesian restaurant and the detailed descriptions of sambal
dishes, the flavours, spices and blends always brought on hunger – maybe an
Amazon review there “This book made me hungry”!!!
Whilst exploring so many stands with exiles in Paris,
oppressed associates in Jakarta, returning peoples feeling a connection to the
land, or the harsh reality of race riots and civil unrest, the composition as a
whole unfolds as a family epic, with love stories, hope, desire to be buried on
home soil and a simple love for I-N-D-O-N-E-S-I-A always bubbling along.
A highly entertaining epic, with a plethora of historical
stories to tell, another welcome addition to my recent discovery of Indonesian
writing, maybe a little more in the South Asia patch is required.
Review copy courtesy of Deep Vellum Books.
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