As a journalist, I was lucky to witness historical events which occurred in Aceh after the Tsunami in 26 December 2004. This was the biggest disaster in the history of modern civilization. It is a tremendous honor to be a part of the testimonials on this ultimate event. Read more
History grows in our kampong tells us about the coastal region of post-tsunami Aceh from the viewpoint and experience of Mardiyah Chamim, a female journalist of Tempo weekly newsmagazine.
Those involved in the aftermath of the killer tsunami, which devastated parts of Aceh province, undoubtedly have deep impressions of the tragedy. Mardiyah, a professional journalist, is no exception.
Journalists are people who know a lot of things. They are trained to record events in their minds and later write about them for the general public, but how much they can write is often constrained by the publication’s space limitations and policy as well as the editor’s selection. Many journalists are limited by these constraints and hence write only abridged reports that media circles classify as “newsworthy”. Trapped by such limitations, journalists then adopt their own attitude and tend to become exclusive, as if denying that the things not included in their reports simply never happened. They know all too well about newsworthiness but acknowledge nothing beyond it. Even if they acknowledge such things, they consider them unimportant because the news is seemingly not worth covering.
Bereavement. No words could sufficiently describe this feeling :
of grouping through a dark and fathomless abyss while suffering
and excruciating pain deep within one’s heart. As time goes by,
the searing paing becomes all the more unbearable because those
who have been wrenched away from passed away, instantly.
Throught he eyes of the tsunami survivors we conceive how fathomless indeed is the dark abyss.
It’s the same pitch-dark abyss that has swallowed Fahrumi, 32, making him decide to continue living in a taxi. He rents an old yellow car and has converted it into his abode, where he now lives and by which he is now earning a living. All day long, from dawn, to noon, to evening he drives through the streets and lanes of the city, looking for passengers (who are not always there), or just whiling away his life. It is not that Fahrumi has no tent in the refugee camp where he can always return but, he says, “Living in a tent reminds me constantly of my son and wife. I could lose my mind. To this day I haven’t been able to find their bodies”.
There are times when the longing for his departed loved ones torments him so fiercely, forcing Fahrumi to stop at the site where his house once stood: Gampong Blang Oi, Ulee, Banda Aceh. He can find nothing among the ruins, “Just a pile of tiles”. His house, furniture, tools have all disappeared there is nothing left, but yet the memories of his wife and only son keep haunting him.
The raging rolling waves swept away not only houses and buildings but also destroyed the virtual walls that had long isolated Aceh. In the blink of an eye, without any preparation or warning, the entire province of Aceh was suddenly laid bare before the eyes of the world. It was a pity that the crumbling of the isolating walls had to be accompanied by the loss of tens of thousands of lives claimed by the killer tsunami.
Along with thousands of journalists and world citizens, I was one of those who gained from the disintegration of Aceh’s isolation. Compared to the period 1988-1999, when Aceh was declared a military operation zone, followed by the imposition of a state of civil emergency between 2002 and 2005, journalistic coverage in this “forbidden region” was relatively much easier now. The opening up of the province was also enjoyed by the local people. One night I invited several friends to have coffeeat a kiosk at Simpang Surabaya, a centre for street vendors in Banda Aceh, the provincial capital. Under a full moon, Sari, 26, a sweet-looking chemistry engineer student from Syiah Kuala University who wore a Muslim headscarf, admitted she felt lucky. “In the past, how could we dare to hang around late into the night? We would have been interrogated by the military,” she remarked as a light, fresh breeze blew.
Coffee kiosks here are more than just places at which to drink coffee. Rek, a popular coffee kiosk site not far from the downtown market, has witnessed countless “encounters” between the Indonesian military (TNI) personnel and members of the separatist Free Aceh Movement (GAM) and local figures. They might have traded greetings, exchanged glances, or just inspected each other’s condition and mood. “It can be said that coffee kiosks function as peace zones. In the jungle we could fight each other or exchange fire, but in Rek, we make peace,” said Hakim, a young man who lives in Banda Aceh. Sometimes, though, a few arrests of GAM members by soldiers took place at the coffee kiosks.
The tsunami brought not only destruction to the western coast of Aceh, the fierce waves also brought blessings to the region. The Agreement between the Republic of Indonesia and the Free Aceh Movement (GAM) was signed in Helsinki on 15 August 2005, bringing down the isolation gate of Aceh; that was one of the tsunami’s blessings. It was as if the pounding ocean waves acted like the throbbing of a giant generator which, it must be acknowledged, ushered in several important changes to the Land of Seulawah, the Land Blessed by Allah.
As expected, the political elite in Jakarta held several opposing debates on the Helsinki Agreement.Some expressed gratitude, others considered the peace a reckless act, similar to the reckless driving ofa bus driver aiming only to obtain his minimal daily target. Megawati Soekarnoputri, who once vowed not to allow a single drop of blood to stain the soil of Aceh, even organised a movement to reject the peace agreement.
It is certainly not in my capacity to pass judgement on the Helsinki Agreement. The subject coverage is beyond my competence, considering that at present my knowledge about the ramifications of the Aceh conflict is very limited. I only wish to pose the questions: Have those who were fighting against each
other listened to the voices of the people of Aceh who have suffered so long and so immensely? Have they taken note of the frightened faces of Aceh children? Do they comprehend that the drawn-out conflict has impeded the recovery of Aceh?
During the remaining evenings approaching the end of 2004,heavy rain poured down incessantly in Jakarta, the Indonesian capital which many indigenous citizens still lovingly called Betawi. In the few intervals when the rain abated, some end-of-the-year trumpet sellers caressed their wares, which they hoped would in a few days bring them their long-awaited small fortune. No one suspected that it was the advent of a savage disaster; a disaster that destroyed not only the fortune of the trumpet sellers but also changed the face of a large portion of the earth.
Tsunami. Like the meatball soup that burst on the table when the fragile bowl broke, the Indian Ocean was raked up by a super-fast power and poured over, washed away, gulped down and crushed everything from inanimate things to living beings. It was so fierce and so swift. “That day, no single person could have withstood it,” said Cut Nyak Daud, Panglaot of Lampuuk, recalling the fatal Sunday morning of December 26.
In Jakarta our faculty of perception was too limited and mediocre to digest and comprehend the calamity that befell Aceh. The flow of information was too limited. Almost all telecommunication and transportation facilities were cut off. Aceh was left alone by itself; isolated.
SMS through mobile phones frantically crisscrossed the air waves, while the truth of the messages was unclear, undefined. The number of victims was also conflicting, further confusing our emotions. First it was 3,000, then around 20,000, a few hours later it was tens of thousands. The figures kept on rising. Other messages told of dead bodies lying in the streets. I shivered. The horror and tension were building up in me because the information was so limited and obscured.
During those days it was definitely not easy to go to Aceh. I knew that the area had become the hottest destination on earth. It was as if the area exerted a magnetic force that was even stronger than the attraction of Bali, Hawaii, the Caribbean, or any famous tourist destination you could name . At first, however, I thought the rushed and hectic situation was just like that at the end of the fasting period when everybody was also frantically trying to travel back home to their villages.
At that time only the official flag carrier Garuda Indonesia provided flights to Aceh. Predictably, there were no empty seats; all were fully booked and the increased price usually applied by the airline during peak seasons failed to act as a barrier. People went in hordes to Aceh; they were people who wanted to look up their relatives, volunteers or just those who were curious to get firsthand information: they all wanted to go to Aceh.
Some airlines then offered free flights. Adam Air, for example, invited volunteers to fly to Aceh free of charge. But finding a free flight was also not at all easy. Thousands fought to get the free seats and all claimed to be eligible for priority treatment.
By riding tandem on one of the many hired motorcycles, I went to Adam Air’s headquarters at Cengkareng, West Jakarta. I tried to meet those who had the authority to decide who got the free seats that the airline was offering. Some airline officials gave me the look of “can you really do something over there?” “Are you aware that every seat is extremely valuable?” said Gunawan Suherman, President Director of Adam Air.
Tulisan Lain Aceh Feature
Wartawan Tempo sejak 1998. Menjelajah berbagai desk, antara lain ekonomi, nasional, kesehatan, sains, gaya hidup, dan investigasi. Sejak Januari 2009 ditugasi menjadi Direktur Eksekutif Institut Tempo, sebuah lembaga yang dicita-citakan menjadi pusat pengembangan jurnalistik di Indonesia. Lulusan Fakultas Biologi, Universitas Gadjah Mada, Yogyakarta, tahun 1996. Setelah lulus kuliah, bergabung dengan Majalah Warta Ekonomi (1996) sebagai staf riset dan kemudian menjadi reporter di majalah Panji Masyarakat (1997).