From the Men They Took Their Labor, from the Women They Took Everything (Sarbinatun, trans. Nancy Florida, 2025)

=== [PDF page 1] === From the Men They Took Their Labor, from the Women They Took Everything Sarbinatun, Introduced and translated from the Indonesian by Nancy Florida Indonesia, Volume 120, October 2025, pp. 39-71 (Article) Published by Cornell University Press DOI: https://doi.org/10.1353/ind.2025.a972213 For additional information about this article https://muse.jhu.edu/article/972213 [136.159.235.223] Project MUSE (2026-10-14 00:52 GMT) University of Calgary === [PDF page 2] === From the Men They Took Their Labor, from the Women They Took Everything Sarbinatun Introduced and translated from the Indonesian by Nancy Florida Translator’s Introduction “From the Men They Took Their Labor, from the Women They Took Everything” is the [136.159.235.223] Project MUSE (2026-10-14 00:52 GMT) University of Calgary testimony of Sarbinatun, a young female political prisoner who was captured in Central Java, probably at the beginning of November 1965, about a month after the military action known as the Thirtieth of September Movement (G30S) took place in Jakarta.1 In addition to chronicling the brutal torture she suffered and her fourteen years of incarceration without trial, Sarbinatun’s testimony also includes recollections of her life as a teenaged activist and of the decades of deprivation she endured following her release from prison. It was sixty years ago in the early morning hours of October 1, 1965, that a group of mid-level officers of the Indonesian army launched the military action against their superiors that resulted in the deaths of the commander of the army and five other senior generals. The six generals—along with a lieutenant who was taken by mistake—were kidnapped, killed, and dumped in a well in an area known as Lubang Buaya (Crocodile Sarbinatun, “Laki-laki Dimanfaatkan Tenaganya, Perempuan Seluruh-luruhnya,” in Kidung para Korban, ed. Hersri Setiawan (Pustaka Pelajar, 2006), 45–76. Indonesia 120 (October 2025) L5465_Indonesia120.indd 39 9/19/2025 4:27:13 PM === [PDF page 3] === 40 Sarbinatun Hole) that was located near Halim airbase on the southern outskirts of Jakarta. That action, subsequently named the Thirtieth of September Movement (G30S), was quickly put down by forces led by Major General Suharto, then commander of the Army Strategic Command (Kostrad). Under Suharto’s leadership, the action was promptly blamed on the Indonesian Communist Party (PKI), a legal party that was then the third largest communist party in the world. While recent research suggests that a very small number of supposed PKI operatives were active participants in the Movement, there is next to no evidence that, aside from Party Chairman D.N. Aidit, the party’s top leadership was involved2—and not a shred of evidence that its rank and file or its sympathizers had anything to do with this ill-fated military action. The action, still widely dubbed G30S/PKI, was launched from Lubang Buaya, an area that had been a training ground for volunteers for the Confrontation with Malaysia; among the volunteers who trained there were some members of the Pemuda Rakyat (PR), the youth wing of the PKI. While some PR members were present at the kidnappings, it must be emphasized that the action was directed and carried out by members of the military with minimal civilian participation. After having been killed—some as they were being captured, others at the training ground—the generals’ bodies were dumped in a dry well. The bodies were discovered on October 3 and exhumed on the fourth. The macabre exhumation, which was directed by Suharto, was filmed and widely publicized. In the days following this spectacle, high-level army information officers fabricated the absurd story that a group of young progressive women, members or associates of the left-wing Indonesian Women’s Movement (Gerwani), had tortured the generals before killing them, slicing their genitals with razor blades and gouging out their eyes, and then dancing naked with PR youth as the bodies were cast into the well.3 This story, along with other equally fantastic tales, were then disseminated widely by media sources that were controlled by the army.4 On the evening of October 1, in his first address to the nation after the so-called “coup,” Suharto had put forth a call for the eradication of the movement “down to the very roots.” By October 4 he had pinned the blame for G30S directly on PKI and its affiliates.5 Over six months, from early October 1965 to March 11, 1966, at least 500,000 members of the Indonesian Left were massacred. Over a million more were detained as political prisoners, many of these came to be imprisoned for as long as fourteen years. One of those prisoners was Sarbinatun, the young woman from the Central Javanese royal city of Surakarta whose testimony is translated here. Sarbinatun was only seventeen years John Roosa provides a detailed accounting of the action that suggests the involvement of PKI Chairman D. N. Aidit—but not that of PKI Politburo or Central Committee—along with members of the “Special Bureau” (a clandestine body that was established by the party to cultivate supporters within the Indonesian military) in what had been the plan to kidnap the generals (Pretext for Mass Murder: The September 30th Movement and Suharto’s Coup d’État in Indonesia [University of Wisconsin Press, 2006], 117–38 and passim). Geoffrey Robinson, however, casts doubt on even Aidit’s involvement, and therefore of any PKI culpability in the action (The Killing Season: A History of the Indonesian Massacres, 1965–66 [Princeton University Press, 2018], 80). Benedict Anderson’s translation of the autopsies performed on the corpses conclusively refutes this false account: all the victims’ eyes and penises were intact. Anderson notes that the autopsies were performed on Suharto’s order (“How Did the Generals Die? Indonesia 43 [October 1987]: 109–34). For accounts of this propaganda campaign, see John Roosa, Buried Histories: The Anticommunist Massacres of 1965–1966 in Indonesia (University of Wisconsin Press, 2020), 64–77; Robinson, The Killing Season, 164–76. Robinson, The Killing Season, 164–65. L5465_Indonesia120.indd 40 9/19/2025 4:27:13 PM === [PDF page 4] === From the Men They Took Their Labor, from the Women They Took Everything 41 old when she was arrested in the fall of 1965; she had only recently graduated from high school. She was a young progressive activist in Surakarta (or Solo) and a member of two left-wing organizations that were affiliated with the PKI: the Institute of People’s Culture (Lekra) and the League of Indonesian High School Students (IPPI) (she had been president of her high school’s IPPI branch). Sarbinatun was best known as a dancer, but she was also the new bride of a prominent PKI cadre attached to the Provincial Committee of Central Java. When she was captured Sarbinatun was, like many other progressive women and girls, accused of being a member of Gerwani, and she was therefore deemed liable for the lurid sexualized crimes that army intelligence had fabricated about Gerwani women. She was, like many other political prisoners, subjected to months of brutal torture and years of severe deprivation. And, like many other female prisoners, Sarbinatun was subjected to incessant sexual violence over an extended period of time.6 Moved from camp to camp, she was imprisoned without trial for almost fourteen years. Following her release in 1979, Sarbinatun’s tribulations continued for most of the rest of her life. She died in 2010, just short of her sixty-third birthday. Sarbinatun’s testimony, translated here, throws important light on the experiences of the many women political prisoners who were victims of Suharto’s “New Order.” Her testimony is remarkable both for its tone and for its openness. She relates her history of social activism with pride, unashamed to claim her place in what had been a widespread progressive social movement. She also details, with contempt, the relentless torture, including sexual torture, that she endured at the hands of her brutal captors. Sarbinatun deftly draws our attention to the construction of “facts” by the authorities who questioned her—where a photograph of her dancing can be construed as evidence of her purported participation in the murder of the generals. She also makes clear that the purpose of the interrogations was not to gather information, but rather that her interrogators were performing torture for torture’s sake. The motive of their violence was not to collect evidence but, in addition to satisfying the torturers’ lust, to display “their power while destroying [her] as a person, destroying all [her] friends in the movement, and destroying [their] movement itself.” Sarbinatun’s testimony begins with proud recollections of her teenaged activism and continues through her years of incarceration, ending with rueful memories of the decades of hardship she experienced after her release. The reader gains a strong sense of the highly politicized atmosphere of the early 1960s, a time when political orientation determined many, if not most, aspects of a person’s life. Mass organizations affiliated with the various political parties were in intense competition with each other. These competing mass organizations structured the lives of and exacerbated the differences between the farmers, laborers, writers and artists, scholars, teachers, high school and college students, women’s groups, youth groups, and even drum bands that were associated with them. It was a time of extreme politicization and a time without elections. This period is in sharp contrast to the depoliticized Suharto years, and the reader can sense this difference in Sarbinatun’s narrative of her life before her capture and after her release. For an incisive study of the sexual violence perpetrated on the women political prisoners, see Annie Pohlman’s Women, Sexual Violence and the Indonesian Killings of 1965–66 (Routledge, 2015). L5465_Indonesia120.indd 41 9/19/2025 4:27:13 PM === [PDF page 5] === 42 Sarbinatun There are many things of note in her testimony, but I would like to draw the reader’s attention to several points. Sarbinatun underlines the pluck, initiative, and solidarity of the political prisoners that made their survival possible under very difficult circumstances. She also takes note of the important role that the Catholic and Christian churches played in the lives of the political prisoners both during their incarceration and after their release. She offers unusually frank and open testimony about the various forms of sexual abuse that she and other women political prisoners suffered over the years of their incarceration. Finally, Sarbinatun offers an insightful evaluation of the different levels of brutality shown by the different groups that held these women captive. For example, she notes that the Military Police and the Army were much more brutal than were members of the Air Force. She deems most cruel, however, the so-called “Ready Squads” that were comprised of members of the Army, the Civil Defense Forces, and of KAMI-KAPPI student activists. Sarbinatun’s testimony was collected in 2005 as part of a project carried out by Solo’s Pakorba (Paguyuban Korban Orde Baru = Community of Victims of the New Order), of which she was an active member. Her testimony, along with that of nine other victimsurvivors, was transcribed and published in a book edited by another former political prisoner, Hersri Setiawan. The book is titled Kidung para Korban (Song of the Victims).7 It is one of a number of collections of survivor’s testimony that were published in the early “Reformation” years following the fall of Suharto’s New Order government.8 I have provided annotations to the translation in order to facilitate the reader’s understanding of Sarbinatun’s testimony. A glossary is provided at the end of the translation. The chronology of her experience is sometimes not easy to follow. This is, in part, a function the episodic, nonlinear nature of the testimony. But at times it may also be a reflection of her fading memory—or, perhaps, of faulty transcriptions of her testimony. In order to further assist the reader’s comprehension, I have prepared a provisional timeline of events: 1947, December 7 Sarbinatun’s birth. 1960 Graduates from elementary school at the age of twelve. 1962 Participates in project to eradicate a plague of rats. 1963 Graduates from middle school. At the young age of fifteen Sarbinatun acts as spokesperson for BTI farmers at the provincial office of the Indonesian Department of Agriculture. She is betrothed to Sukirman around this time. 1963–65 Active in Lekra, she dances for Lekra, BTI, and PKI events, as well as at public performance venues. Hersri Setiawan, ed., Kidung para Korban (Yogyakarta: Pustaka Pelajar, 2006). Among the other collections that include survivor’s testimonies are Ita F. Nadia, Suara Perempuan Korban Tragedi ’65 (Galang Press, 2007); Francisca Ria Susanti, Kembang-kembang Genjer (Lembaga Sastra Pembebasan, 2006); John Roosa, Ayu Ratih, and Hilmar Farid, Tahun yang tak Pernah Berakhir: Memahami Pengalaman Korban ’65 (Elsam, 2004); H. D. Haryo Sasongko and Melani Budianta, Menembus Tirai Asap: Kesaksian Tahanan Politik 1965 (Amanah-Lontar, 2003); Putu Oka Sukanta, Memecah Pembisuan (Lembaga Kreatifitas Kemanusiaan, 2011); Baskara T. Wardaya, Truth Will Out: Indonesian Accounts of the 1965 Mass Violence, trans. Jennifer Lindsay (Monash University Publishing, 2013); Soe Tjen Marching, The End of Silence: Accounts of the 1965 Genocide in Indonesia (Amsterdam University Press, 2017). L5465_Indonesia120.indd 42 9/19/2025 4:27:13 PM === [PDF page 6] === From the Men They Took Their Labor, from the Women They Took Everything 43 1964 Sarbinatun organizes an IPPI branch at her high school and is elected its president at the age of sixteen. 1965, ca. January She participates in Mayor’s seminar for junior and senior high schools of Solo. 1965, May Sarbinatun participates in the provincial celebration of the forty-fifth anniversary of PKI’s founding in Semarang. 1965, summer Graduates from high school at the age of seventeen. 1965, August Marries Sukirman. 1965, October 1 September 30th Movement, Jakarta. 1965, October 22 Sarwo Edhie’s troops enter Solo. 1965, late October Sukirman’s house searched, Sarbinatun flees to Semarang, where she joins Sukirman. 1965, [November 2] The couple is captured in Semarang; Sukirman is tortured at the regional military headquarters (Kodam). 1965, [November 3] Brought back to Solo, Sarbinatun is tortured along with Sukirman at Police Division for National Defense (DPKN). 1965, [November 4] She is moved to Military Police headquarters (CPM); torture continues. Sukirman is moved to the Adisumarmo airbase. [1965, December] Sarbinatun is moved to a detention center adjacent to the City Hall that was set up in the parochial buildings of the St. Antonius Catholic Church. Torture continues. 1965, late December Sukirman is executed. 1966, January [18] Her father collects Sukirman’s bloody clothing. 1966, March 16–18 Great Solo flood. 1966, April Sarbinatun is moved to the detention center at City Hall; torture continues. She is now eighteen years old. 1966, late Registration of religions for all Solo’s political prisoners. 1966–67 Initiative of the women prisoners to collect foodstuffs. 1967, January Mass baptism of prisoners who have converted to Catholicism. Sarbinatun is nineteen years old. 1967 Women prisoners initiate survival strategies—they smuggle foodstuffs into the camp. They are also taught handicrafts by church members and sell the products of their labor. 1967–68 City Hall prisoners allowed to leave the camp during the day. 1969 Sarbinatun is moved to Bulu Prison in Semarang. Both her parents die; she is twenty-one years old. 1971 She is moved to Plantungan at the age of twenty-three; sexual abuse continues. L5465_Indonesia120.indd 43 9/19/2025 4:27:13 PM === [PDF page 7] === 44 Sarbinatun 1975 Sarbinatun learns that both her parents have died. She has a mental breakdown and attempts suicide; she is twenty-seven years old. 1976 First releases from Plantungan. 1979, March Sarbinatun is released from Plantungan and returns to Solo at the age of thirty-one. 1980 Sarbinatun marries Air Force Sergeant Marsimun in a secret ceremony; she is his second wife. She is now thirty-two years old. 1981 Sarbinatun’s daughter Siti is born. 1981 Marsimun deserts Sarbinatun and their child; she is thirty-three years old. 1982 She moves to Semarang with the assistance of the Catholic Church. 1982 or 83 Sarbinatun marries former political prisoner Sumantri; he deserts her two months later. She is thirty-four or thirty-five years old. 1982–85 She teaches womanly skills in Semarang through a foundation of the Catholic Church. 1985 Sarbinatun returns to Solo; she is thirty-seven years old. 1986 Sarbinatun marries Sarino (as his second wife); she is thirty-eight years old. Her daughter Niken is born. 1989 Her son Ari is born. 1996 Sarino dies, leaving Sarbinatun with considerable debt. She is now fortyeight years old. 1996 Sarbinatun moves to Jakarta to work as a housemaid. 1998, May Sarbinatun returns to Solo; she is now fifty years old. 1998 She meets Mr. Priyono, a charitable professor at a local technical academy, who arranges scholarships for her three children through a Catholic charity. [136.159.235.223] Project MUSE (2026-10-14 00:52 GMT) University of Calgary 1999 Sarbinatun begins her salted egg business at the age of fifty-one. 2005 Having retired from her salted egg business, Sarbinatun works as a traditional masseuse. She records the testimony translated below; she is fiftyseven years old. 2005, October 2 A nyadrun ceremony (or ceremony to bring offerings to a grave) is held at the Bacem Bridge in Solo to commemorate the hundreds of political prisoners executed there in the months following the events that transpired in Jakarta in the early hours of October 1, 1965. Sarbinatun is the chair of the committee that organized the ceremony.9 2010, October 28 Sarbinatun dies of cancer one month short of her sixty-third birthday. For a description of that ceremony, see Ayu Raith et al., “Nyadran di Bengawan Solo,” in Kidung para Korban, 1-13. L5465_Indonesia120.indd 44 9/19/2025 4:27:13 PM === [PDF page 8] === From the Men They Took Their Labor, from the Women They Took Everything 45 Figure 1. Sarbinatun (left) on October 2, 2005, at a ceremony to commemorate the hundreds of political prisoners killed at Bacem Bridge on the Solo River, Surakarta, in the months following the events that transpired in Jakarta in the early morning hours of October 1, 1965. Sarbinatun chaired the committee that organized the commemoration. Photo by Agung Ayu Ratih. L5465_Indonesia120.indd 45 9/19/2025 4:27:13 PM === [PDF page 9] === 46 Sarbinatun From the Men They Took Their Labor, From the Women They Took Everything10 Sarbinatum I was the youngest of six children. My parents had two patok11 of rice paddy and a garden around the house. My father was a member of the BTI (Indonesian Peasants’ Front).12 I don’t know if he was just a rank-and-file member or if he had some kind of leadership position. I just don’t know—maybe it’s because I was still a child that I didn’t feel like I needed to know my parents’ business. We lived in the Sumber neighborhood of Surakarta, and it was there that I was born on December 7, 1947. After finishing elementary school in 1960, I went on to Suryonagaran Middle School, graduating in 1963. I was always active in artistic/cultural activities and in sports and was a regular participant in the sports and cultural competitions held in our neighborhood on holidays, especially on the Seventeenth of August (Independence Day). My dance teacher was Sri Marwani; she was a teacher at a Melati Kindergarten that had been set up by Gerwani (Indonesian Women’s Movement).13 As I mentioned above, my father was a member of the Sumber BTI. Back when I was still in my final year of middle school, right before final exams for graduation, there was an issue with the distribution of fertilizer—BTI farmers didn’t get their fair share. I heard my father and his BTI friends talking about the injustice of it almost every day. The amount of fertilizer that farmers got wasn’t supposed to be based on ideology or politics. But the fertilizer that went through Pertani (Indonesian Department of Agriculture) didn’t get to all those who had the right to it. At that time in Sumber, as elsewhere, there were a number of mass organizations of farmers, among these were BTI (affiliated with the Communist Party), Pertani (affiliated with the Nationalist Party), and Pertanu (affiliated with the traditionalist Muslim organization Nahdlatul Ulama). Because of this, the Sumber BTI took a stand and organized a delegation to speak up for the farmers who didn’t get their fair share of fertilizer. Like I said, at that time I was preparing for my final exams for middle school before graduation. “Sweetie,” that’s what Father called me,14 “will you go along with the delegation to Semarang (capitol of the province of Central Java)?” 10 Sarbinatun, “Laki-laki Dimanfaatkan Tenaganya, Perempuan Seluruh-luruhya,” in Kidung para Korban, 45–76. 11 One patok measures about 2300 sq. meters. 12 The BTI (Barisan Tani Indonesia) was a farmer’s union affiliated with the Indonesian Communist Party (PKI). 13 The Gerwani (Gerakan Wanita Indonesia) was a Leftist women’s movement affiliated with the PKI. Gerwani women were active in the fields of women’s rights and literacy promotion; they were also active in early childhood education, notably the establishment of the Melati (“jasmine”) kindergartens. After the events of September 30, 1965, Gerwani members were singled out for especially cruel treatment during the mass arrests and massacres owing to false reports published in the army newspapers that they had sexually tortured the generals at Lubang Buaya prior to killing them and that afterwards they had celebrated their deaths with a sexual orgy. For a history of Gerwani and a careful analysis of the demonizing propaganda against Gerwani (and other progressive women), see Saskia Wieringa, Sexual Politics in Indonesia (Palgrave Macmillan, 2002). 14 He addressed her as dhuk, short for gĕndhuk, a term of endearment for a young girl. L5465_Indonesia120.indd 46 9/19/2025 4:27:13 PM === [PDF page 10] === From the Men They Took Their Labor, from the Women They Took Everything 47 Figure 2. Sukarno addressing the BTI (Indonesian Peasants’ Front), 1962. “What delegation, Father?” “To demand justice for our fellow farmers. We should have gotten the same share of fertilizer that the other mass organizations did. But Pertani didn’t give us the necessary “You’ll come too, won’t you, Father?” “Sure. But when we get there, you’ll be the one who does the talking.” “Why me?” “Because you’re the one who can do it. You know the needs of the farmers, and you know the difference between justice and injustice. And the Pertani men will pay more attention to your voice than they would to us farmers.” I agreed to my father’s request. Actually I knew nothing about BTI or Pertani. But my father was right—I did know about justice and about what fertilizer meant to farmers. So without being conscious of it, in the ninth grade I had already joined in the people’s struggle. When we got to the Pertani office in Semarang, everything happened as Father said it would. I stood before the head of the office together with one of the farmers—I’m L5465_Indonesia120.indd 47 9/19/2025 4:27:14 PM === [PDF page 11] === 48 Sarbinatun not sure what his name was. But if I’m not mistaken, it was Uncle Naryo.15 He was one of the 1965 victims who disappeared without a trace. Uncle Naryo and I stood before the Pertani official, while Father waited in the yard in front of the office with the other farmers. “I am here to represent the farmers of Sumber village in Solo, Sir,” I said to the official sitting behind the desk before me. His name, according to the placard on his desk, was Karjono Suharjo. “I’m here with their demands....” “Demands? How can a kid like you dare to make demands? What are you demanding?” “I dare to do so because I’m representing farmers of Sumber who are truly needy. Sumber’s BTI didn’t get its share of the fertilizer—even though we know that there’s still two tons of it left.” “I’m asking you to give me the proper papers so that we can collect BTI’s share of the fertilizer.” After some arguing, I won in the end—I got the papers to collect the fertilizer from Pertani in Solo. The farmers of the Banjarsari district got one ton of fertilizer—not the two tons that Father and his friends had hoped for. “Flower of the Village” From that time forward I appeared before the public more and more often, especially when the village had an evening of performing arts to celebrate Independence Day or other national holidays. I also performed for PKI events or for other leftist organizations, especially BTI and Lekra (League of People’s Culture).16 They say that all the people of Banjarsari called me the “flower of the village.” I got very good at all sorts of dance: new creations that some called “national dances,” traditional dances, and dances of the different cultural groups of Indonesia (Minang dance, Sundanese dance, and, of course, especially Javanese dance). Ibu Marwani17 was my dance teacher. In December 1964, my friends and I performed a variety of traditional dances that were choreographed together as a national dance. I don’t know who the choreographer was, but it was Ibu Marwani who taught them to us. Later I danced the genjer-genjer dance.18 I performed it from neighborhood to neighborhood and also at general gatherings of the party or of leftist mass organizations. 15 The term for “uncle” here is the Javanese pakdhe, indicating the elder sibling (or sibling equivalent) of a parent. 16 Lekra (Lembaga Kebudayaan Rakyat) was a leftist organization of performing and plastic artists and writers that was unofficially affiliated with the PKI. It sponsored the works of progressive writers, painters, and many forms of the traditional performing arts. 17 Ibu or Bu (Mother) are terms of address for mothers or mature women. 18 Genjer is the title of a song and a dance that was performed to it. The song was composed by the angklung musician Muhammad Arif around 1942 during the Japanese Occupation; his composition was adapted from a folksong. Genjer-genjer (Limnocharis flava) is the name of an aquatic weed that is normally used for duck feed. The lyrics of Arif’s composition tell of a peasant mother gathering the aquatic weed, carting it off to the market and selling it to another peasant mother who then cooks it to serve to her family. The allusion, of L5465_Indonesia120.indd 48 9/19/2025 4:27:14 PM === [PDF page 12] === From the Men They Took Their Labor, from the Women They Took Everything 49 Figure 3. S. Pudjanadi Kaum Tani Menuntut (The Peasants Make their Demands). Harian Rakyat, June 21, 1964. Pudjanadi was a member of the Yogyakartan Bumi Tarung art collective that was associated with Lekra. I also frequently danced at performance venues, including Sriwedari, the foremost theater in Solo. At that time, what the audience liked the most, aside from the genjer-genjer dance, were the farmers’ dance and the corn-planting dance. Sometimes I performed as [136.159.235.223] Project MUSE (2026-10-14 00:52 GMT) University of Calgary a comedian. What I emphasized in my comedy sketches were family harmony and social cooperation. Of course many reporters attended these events and then wrote about them in articles illustrated with photographs; for example, there were reporters from the Javanese language weekly Darmakandha (Words of Wisdom) and from Harian Rakyat (The People’s Daily [organ of the PKI]). I was happy that I could entertain the people of the neighborhood with my performances. But my popularity also brought greater responsibilities to me. Mr. Hatmando, the principal of Purwanegaran high school where I studied, gave me the course, is to poverty and famine—when human beings are reduced to eating duck feed. The song was very popular in the early 1960s, sung by the artists Lilis Suryani and Bing Slamet (c.f. Bing Crosby); it came to be used as a sort of “theme song” by the PKI. According to the military propaganda, this song was sung by the Gerwani women at Lubang Buaya as they danced naked while the general’s bodies were being dumped into the well. After the events of September 30, 1965, having sung or performed the popular song was grounds for incarceration or worse. Muhammad Arif, the song’s composer, was among those murdered in the 1965– 66 massacres. The song was banned for the entire period of Suharto’s New Order. It is still controversial. L5465_Indonesia120.indd 49 9/19/2025 4:27:14 PM === [PDF page 13] === 50 Sarbinatun task of organizing IPPI (League of Indonesian High School Students) at our school.19 Just as normally happens, when you stand out from the others, you’re the one who’s going get chosen to lead the others. And that’s what happened to me. I was chosen to be the president of our school’s IPPI. Bandi was the vice president and Sarsiyem was the secretary; there were several other officers as well. Every single one of them disappeared in the 1965 crisis—this is because, in addition to being active in IPPI, they were all active in Pemuda Rakyat (The People’s Youth) as well.20 Pemuda Rakyat had openly declared its affiliation with the PKI, just like the Banser (All Purpose Ansor Troops) 21 had with NU (Nahdlatul Ulama, Organization of Traditionalist Muslim Scholars), and the Pemuda Demokrat (Democratic Youth) had with the Nationalist party (PNI). These three youth organizations, especially in Solo but perhaps elsewhere as well, often acted as “security” for each of their respective parties. The drum bands of these three political youth groups were also in competition, and everybody thought that the Pemuda Rakyat bands were the best. Who knows why—but every one of them was killed without process. At any rate, I never became a member of the Pemuda Rakyat. I was known for my membership in Lekra since my activities were in the field of the performing arts. In my last year of high school, maybe around the beginning of 1965, the mayor of Solo, Utomo Ramelan,22 held a seminar for all the junior and senior high schools of Solo. This three-day-long seminar was held at the open pavilion at City Hall, and all the military and civil officials of Solo were also there. I don’t remember the theme of the seminar or what it was meant to achieve. What I do remember are discussions concerning the junior and senior high school curricula that they hoped to present to the Department of Education in Jakarta. Later, after I had been arrested, I found out the curriculum proposed by that seminar was accepted as the national curriculum in 1966. In 1962 Technical High School No. 1 in Solo also established Sukarno Technical High School. I’m not sure if this had any connection to that seminar, but I just mention this to point out that at that time Solo could be called a progressive revolutionary city.23 I was active in Solo’s Lekra branch up to 1965. At that time I wasn’t active in any political matters. Aside from my cultural activities with Lekra, my only social activism involved neighborhood projects, and I didn’t pay attention to who organized them: the Communist Party, the Marhaens (associated with the Nationalist Party), the Masyumi (Modernist Muslim Party),24 the Nahdlatul Ulama, or other social organizations. Nor was my father fanatic in his day-to-day life. 19 Ikatan Pemuda Pelajar Indonesia was the national organization of high school and junior high school students that was affiliated with the PKI. 20 Pemuda Rakyat was the youth wing of the PKI. Pemuda Rakyat had a membership of about three million in 1965; like the PKI, it was effectively eliminated in the 1965–66 massacres. Pemuda Rakyat was officially linked to the PKI. 21 The Banser (Barisan Ansor Serbaguna) was comprised of teenagers and young men from Nahdlatul Ulama youth group (Ansor). Banser groups were particularly active in the capture and execution of leftists in East Java. 22 Utomo Ramelan was the PKI mayor of the city of Surakarta (1958–65); he was arrested on October 23, the day after Sarwo Edhie’s forces arrived in Solo; not long thereafter he was extrajudicially executed. 23 Surakarta or Solo was a PKI stronghold in 1965, with a long history of leftist activism. For a good description of Solo as a solidly PKI city, see Roosa, Buried Histories, 119–37. 24 The Masyumi Party was banned in 1960 for its role in the separatist rebellions in Sumatra and Sulawesi along with its alleged involvement in attempts to assassinate President Sukarno; a number of the social and youth organizations that had been associated with Masyumi continued, however. L5465_Indonesia120.indd 50 9/19/2025 4:27:14 PM === [PDF page 14] === From the Men They Took Their Labor, from the Women They Took Everything 51 At that time I had a boyfriend who was in the Air Force, but my father didn’t approve, though he wouldn’t say why. So Father and his friends in the party set me up to marry an important provincial cadre. This was before I had ever met or even been introduced to my chosen husband. So when Mr. Rabidi and Mr. Jayamartana came to the house and met with my father one day, I had no idea that the rest of my life was being planned and determined. The two of them had come with the marriage proposal. At that time I was still in my final year of middle school. I don’t know where Mr. Rabidi worked, but Mr. Jayamartana was said to be from the Sixth Infantry Brigade located in Solo’s Vastenburg Fort—I don’t know in what capacity.25 What’s important is that they were Father’s friends in the party. When Father told me about the proposal, I don’t know why, but I didn’t even think about refusing it. I didn’t even think that I needed to be introduced to my future husband. I just asked to wait for three more years until I had graduated from high school. Father, and also the party, didn’t refuse—they knew that they could count on my obedience. “Just remember this, Sweetie, you’re taken now.” That’s what my father said to me. For those three years, we didn’t meet very often. For one thing my future husband lived way off in Semarang, and Father wouldn’t allow the two of us to go out together alone like couples usually do. “You can visit once a week. But you aren’t allowed to leave the house!” That’s what Father said to my intended. So, when he came to visit, we just hung around at home—and Mother and Father always chaperoned. He sat over there—I sat over here. My future husband’s name was Sukirman. He was quite a bit older than I. It was only later that I came to know he was a member of the Special Bureau (Biro Chusus) of PKI’s Provincial Committee (CDB) of Central Java—a cadre with a really notable position in the party!26 Graduation And then those three years had passed. I graduated from high school. And so in August 1965, two months before the G30S (Thirtieth September Movement) exploded, I was married to Kirman—an important figure in the PKI of Central Java. Not all my six siblings agreed to my marriage with Kirman—especially my eldest brother who was a sergeant major in the cavalry in Semarang. He called out one of my other siblings, “How could you allow our little sister to be married off to a communist?” But Father had already agreed to it—or, rather, he was the one who arranged the whole thing. As for Mother, she was just a housewife who felt 25 Josef Rabidi was the head of the PKI’s Special Bureau (Biro Chusus) in Surakarta (Roosa, Buried Histories, 132). The Special Bureau, a clandestine body established by the party to cultivate supporters within the Indonesian military, played an important role in the September 30th Movement (Roosa, Pretext for Mass Murder, 117–32 and passim). Rabidi was tried, convicted, and sentenced to death by a military tribune (Mahmilub) in 1967. The sentence was not carried out; he remained imprisoned until the end of the Suharto regime (Roosa, Buried Histories, 298n42). For more on the Sixth Brigade in the context of the Thirtieth September Movement in Solo, see the testimony of Mr. Bronto, a former political prisoner who had been a sergeant major in intelligence in this brigade (J. Bronto, “Ketika Nakhoda Tidak Satu,” in Kidung para Korban, 15–41; Roosa, Buried Histories, 128–40). 26 On the Special Bureau, see note 25 above. L5465_Indonesia120.indd 51 9/19/2025 4:27:14 PM === [PDF page 15] === 52 Sarbinatun that she was doing her duty as a wife, mother, and grandmother for her husband, children, and grandchildren. All this time I was continuing my Lekra activities. Mr. Karto was teaching me to perform a number of dances, both traditional and modern. I did some classical dances, like “Gathutkaca in Love,” but I also danced the genjer-genjer and the corn-planting dance. Mother never forbade my activities in the organization just so long as I finished my work at home first. In addition to the housework, I helped mother sell nasi pecel (rice and spicy vegetable dish) at home. If there was anything left in the evening that hadn’t sold—like mĕniran (a kind of greens) or pepes katul (steamed rice bran)27—Mother gave it to the neighbor kids, because during those years there was a lot of hunger and kids were starving. About three years before the bloody event, especially around 1962–63, there was a famine that was caused by a plague of rats. Most of the people who lived around us were farm laborers, so the effects of the famine were sorely felt in our neighborhood. Pemuda Rakyat and Gerwani played important roles in hunting down the rats. I was eighteen [sic] when I graduated from high school.28 I got married on August 18, 1965, and then on October [must be November] 2, 1965, I was arrested.29 The authorities had come for me earlier at Kirman’s house in Pajang,30 but because I followed Javanese custom, I wasn’t allowed to live at my husband’s house until thirty-five days after the wedding.31 But the interrogator wasn’t interested in tradition—I was accused of fleeing. In my neighborhood I was known as a member of Lekra. I was also charged with being a member of IPPI—there was a photograph of that three-day seminar on the curriculum, and I was the one who read the Pancasila.32 This was the evidence of the authorities. Aside from this, and I think this was more important, I was the wife of Sukirman, an important figure in the Central Javanese PKI. 27 Both dishes are noted for their high nutritional value. 28 If the birthdate of December 7, 1947, noted at the opening of her testimony, is correct, then Sarbinatun would have been seventeen when she graduated from high school (and married). 29 The chronology appears to be mistaken here—in is incongruent both with the historical facts and with other parts of Sarbinatun’s testimony. The arrests in Central Java began several weeks after the Jakarta “coup” that took place in the early hours of October 1, 1965. Although the Army regained control in Semarang on October 2, widespread arrests there only began on the night of October 19, two days after Col. Sarwo Edhie arrived there with his Special Forces (RPKAD). Solo was still in the control of the leftist city government under the Communist mayor, Utomo Ramelan until October 22 when Sarwo Edhie and his troops marched in from Semarang. The beginning of widespread arrests in Solo commenced shortly thereafter (David Jenkins and Douglas Kammen, “The Army Para-commando Regiment and the Reign of Terror in Central Java and Bali,” in the Countours of Mass Violence in Indonesia 1965–68, edited by Douglas Kammen and Katharine McGregor [NUS Press, 2012], 83–88). Below Sarbinatun narrates her movements over the course of several days after the “coup” (or was this after Sarwo Edhie’s takeover of the city?)—and after the raid on Sukirman’s house in Pajang. Among other things, she recalls her (belated) flight to Semarang where she followed her husband in hiding for a period of two to three days. It seems more likely that her capture was on or about November 2 than on October 2, 1965. 30 Pajang is a village (suburb) on the western outskirts of the city of Surakarta. 31 This tradition, selapanan manten, is rarely followed nowadays. It would mark the first repetition of the wedding-day (that would be the conjunction of the day of the seven-day week with that of the five-day pasar week) that would follow thirty-five days after the original ceremony (panggih). See Sarbinatun’s testimony below where she says that she was arrested before ever having had the chance to enjoy normal marital life (relations?) (hubungan sebagai layaknya suami-isteri) or to “be together” (campur) with her husband. 32 The Pancasila (The Five Principles) form Indonesian state ideology. L5465_Indonesia120.indd 52 9/19/2025 4:27:14 PM === [PDF page 16] === From the Men They Took Their Labor, from the Women They Took Everything 53 Torture Camp When the authorities searched Kirman’s house in Pajang, no one was home. They tore the house apart. Papers, books, brochures, People’s Daily newspapers, school diplomas— all were burned. Among the books that were there, they found some that spelled doom for me. Toward the end of the year Mr. Rabidi had given me a lot of brochures concerning party matters, agitprop that was published by the PKI Central Committee, with the suggestion that I study them. There were brochures containing translations of the works of major Communist figures, like Marx, Engels, Lenin, Stalin, Mao Zedong, and also works of DN Aidit, Chairman of the Central Committee of the PKI, and other PKI leaders. When Kirman’s house was searched, I was at my parents’ house in Sumber since we were still newlyweds. According to Javanese custom it’s forbidden for the bride to be carried off to her husband’s home until thirty-five days after the marriage. Kirman wasn’t at home either because he was off on some assignment for the party. I don’t know what or where—he didn’t tell me. I also never asked. Since he was an important figure in the PKI of Central Java, I considered it normal if he didn’t return home every day. He only came home once a week, but sometimes he stayed for several days. Actually Kirman had asked me to flee since he thought that we were sure to be killed if we fell into the hands of the Hanra (Civil Defense Force) youth. At that time the Hanra was made up of youths from the Nationalist group (PNI) and the Masyumi (rightist Muslim party that had been banned in 1960). But since I felt that I had done nothing wrong, and because I didn’t want to make things difficult for my father, I refused Kirman’s invitation. One day I got a message from Kirman—he sent it through a courier. Because he knew that they were looking for him, he told me that he had gone to my older brother’s place in Kalibanteng, Semarang—that was my brother who was a sergeant in the cavalry. He said that he was going to stay there temporarily while looking for a place for the two of us to live. I then followed him to my brother’s house. We planned to return to Solo, Pajang or Sumber, in a couple of days. But our plan failed. On the night before we were to depart, a squad of soldiers from Kodam (Regional Military Headquarters) VII Diponegoro33 swooped down on my brother’s house. We were captured, handcuffed, and brought to Military Headquarters. Kirman was dragged into the interrogation room, and I was left to wait outside the room. I don’t know what went on in that interrogation, but they clearly weren’t satisfied with his answers. I heard Kirman’s screams as they were torturing him. And when I was brought into the interrogation room, I saw that his whole body was covered with blood. They then tried to force information about Kirman out of me. But since I didn’t know what Kirman had done wrong or what I had done wrong, I couldn’t answer their flood of questions—I couldn’t utter a single word. Finally, the two of us were sent back to Solo in handcuffs. On the journey back to Solo, Kirman lost consciousness a number of times. His entire body was black and blue. We were brought to Solo’s DPKN (Police Division for National Defense) for further questioning—which, of course, meant further torture. 33 The Diponegoro Division is the Military Division of the Province of Central Java. L5465_Indonesia120.indd 53 9/19/2025 4:27:14 PM === [PDF page 17] === 54 Sarbinatun When I came to, Mas Kirman34 was gone—who knows where they had taken him. And I felt excruciating pain in my private parts. Then, after a reprieve of less than ten minutes, I was called back to verhoor (Dutch, interrogation) again. The interrogator, AIP (Junior Police Inspector) Mulyapranata, screamed at me, “Answer me or I’ll beat it out of you!” He vilified me and accused me of being Gerwani. The facts were there: they had the photograph of me singing and dancing the genjer-genjer. Aside from that, they had another photo—I’m not sure what month it was, but it was in 1965 when I was part of a party delegation from Solo to Semarang. Reflecting on it now, I remember that it was probably for the celebration of the forty-fifth anniversary of PKI’s founding. You could see clearly in that picture that I was carrying a large banner with the hammer and sickle symbol. The interrogation wasn’t going anywhere, so all they did was torture me, and then torture me again. This was done to me and to every political prisoner—they didn’t care if the prisoner was male or female, adult or child. My entire body was savaged by those executioners at the DPKN in Solo; they never stopped. But I stand amazed by the power of God—in the space of a single day all my wounds were dry. I was accused of being Gerwani, of having been there at Lubang Buaya (Crocodile Hole), of having danced the genjer-genjer, and of having tortured the generals before killing them and throwing them into the crocodile hole. I easily denied all this, for I had done none of what they accused me. They then called for Mas Kirman and interrogated us together: that we were husband and wife, that my husband had received weapons from China to arm the people and to overthrow the nation. We were both silent—it was useless for us to answer. Then three tables were stacked on top of each other. Our interrogator, Murtopo, was tall and heavyset, likely weighing well over two hundred pounds. He got on top of that stack of tables and ordered me to lay face down on the floor. Then he jumped down and his feet landed on my back. Krek! Aduh! All I could do was scream. I lost consciousness. Blood flowed from my nose, ears, and mouth. Then I was [136.159.235.223] Project MUSE (2026-10-14 00:52 GMT) University of Calgary dragged to the holding cell. Also my husband. There were about fifteen prisoners there, men and women all mixed together. All of us were gravely injured. All of us were silent. No one wanted to talk about what they had experienced. The inner life of those police was obscene—this included both the interrogators and the guards. The words that they used for the women prisoners were so filthy that I’m not even able to repeat them. At that time all I felt was disgust, and fear, and fear. When I came to, Mas Kirman supported me to the toilet and bathed me. It was that water in the toilet that we—finally there were about thirty of us—used to bathe, drink, and whatever else. I was nursed by all the others in that cell. I don’t know which one it was that bandaged my body with a setagen.35 And then we all sat there. I, too, sat in the corner of the cell. There wasn’t enough room to lie down, not even to extend your legs. 34 Mas is a term of address for a male friend, brother, or husband. 35 Corded cotton strip, about thirteen yards long and five inches wide, wrapped from below the breasts to below the waist to secure the batik skirt. L5465_Indonesia120.indd 54 9/19/2025 4:27:14 PM === [PDF page 18] === From the Men They Took Their Labor, from the Women They Took Everything 55 I don’t remember exactly when it happened, but maybe it was the next day, I was separated from Mas Kirman. He was taken to the Air Force base, and I was taken to CPM (Military Police Corps). There I was interrogated again. In short, I had to admit that I was a member of Gerwani, that I had participated in the torture and killing of the generals. I was rendered helpless—absolutely exhausted, both physically and psychologically. Every interrogation meant torture and every manner of sexual violence. I was stripped naked, then a pistol muzzle was jammed into my vagina, electrodes were attached to my clitoris and my nipples, and the current was turned on—these were the tortures that were performed constantly by those soldiers of the Sapta Marga.36 And I was also, I can’t say how many times, called up for interrogation or to be “signed out to”37 another detention site to be used as an instrument to satisfy their lust. They always repeated the same accusations over and over again: Gerwani, Lubang Buaya, the genjer-genjer dance. They pretended that they weren’t satisfied with my confession. As the wife of a figure in the provincial PKI leadership, it was impossible that I was just a member of Lekra and IPPI. In the long run, I realized that this was just their excuse. What they really wanted was to enjoy my body, to satisfy their bestial desires to the limit—and with that they displayed their power while destroying me as a person, destroying all my friends in the movement, and destroying our movement itself. “Enough, Sir! Just go ahead and write whatever you want!” I truly felt that there was absolutely nothing that I could do. I couldn’t explain, even less could I argue. “Write whatever it is that you men want, and I’ll sign it.” So it was. I signed the statement (proses verbal). 38 And with that, I hoped the interrogations would be considered done—at least for a little while. I was at the CPM detention center for about five months [must be weeks]. During that time new prisoners, both male and female, just kept coming. There were a lot from Klaten, and one of them was Katri.39 By the time my husband was brought back to the CPM detention center, I had been moved to a complex of parochial buildings at the St. Antonius Catholic Church, just north of City Hall—it was being used as a detention center for some two hundred women. The space was actually much too small for so many people. At night when we slept, we were so packed together that if one of us turned over, then everyone else had to turn over—same again when anyone turned back the other way. Just above the place we slept was an interrogation room. Constantly, day and night, we heard the harsh reprimands, 36 The Sapta Marga are the seven virtues professed in the oath taken by Indonesian soldier upon entering the army. 37 Translated as “signed out to” is the term dibon. A bon is a “ticket” or “receipt.” Prisoners were dibon when they were taken out temporarily from one place of detention to another for forced labor or for interrogation, torture, and oftentimes rape—or when they were taken out permanently for extrajudicial execution. 38 On March 23, 1979, Sarbinatun received her release papers from Kopkamtib (Command for the Restoration of Security and Public Order), state-military command established October 3, 1965, whose first commander was General Suharto. They were signed by Yogasugama (head of Indonesian Intelligence). It turns out that she was imprisoned for all those years on the accusation of being a member of Gerwani (note from the original publication). 39 Katri was a political prisoner from Klaten; when she was captured, she was pregnant and was also accused of being a member of Gerwani. She endured unspeakable tortures, among these being shot through the cheeks with a pistol (note from the original publication). L5465_Indonesia120.indd 55 9/19/2025 4:27:14 PM === [PDF page 19] === 56 Sarbinatun Figure 4. Women political prisoners (and their guards) at the parochial complex of St. Antonius Catholic Church, Solo. Collection of the Indonesian Institute of Social History. the curses, the sexual violence, and the sounds of torture in chorus with the screams of the tortured begging for mercy. Blood dripped down from above through the gaps in the asbestos ceiling. The floor on which we slept was bare, so we found what we could to sleep on—pieces of cardboard, newspapers, or whatever else we could get from the garbage or could ask for from home. It was after the 1966 flood of the Solo River40 that I was moved to the detention camp at City Hall. It’s said that the prisoners at City Hall were all category C.41 I had signed my statement back when I was held at CPM. But nevertheless, I was held at City Hall for about two years. And all that time, as I waited and waited, excuses were given for further interrogation, at least once a week and sometimes more than once—and then 40 In the great Solo River flood of March 16–18,1966, over 90 percent of the city of Surakarta was inundated. 41 There were three categories of political prisoners: Category A (deemed directly “involved” [in the September 30th Movement]—these included PKI leaders and sometimes their family members); Category B (indirectly “involved” —these were men and women with significant roles in leftist mass organizations like Lekra and BTI); Category C (“followers” or “sympathizers”). A few Category A prisoners were tried; the majority were not. No Category B or C prisoners were ever tried. Prisoners from all three categories were subject to indefinite detention and extrajudicial murder. Almost all prisoners were released by December 1979, though some Category A prisoners remained in prison until 1999. L5465_Indonesia120.indd 56 9/19/2025 4:27:14 PM === [PDF page 20] === From the Men They Took Their Labor, from the Women They Took Everything 57 night would fall and I would be taken off to DPKN, CPM, Loji Gandrung,42 or some other detention center. When I’d get there, it wouldn’t just be the uniformed state authorities who awaited me, members of the Hanra were also waiting to interrogate me—and I am sure it was the same for all the other young-looking female political prisoners—also to torture and play with our bodies. This was especially the case for a political prisoner like Mbak Marti43 whose husband had been a member of the Local Legislature (DPRD) and a leader of Pemuda Rakyat. But for political prisoners at my level, it was torture for torture’s sake— not to try to get any information. The questioning in the interrogations was only a ploy. The important thing was to vilify, to humiliate, to sexually violate, and to arbitrarily display their power both as man over woman and as an instrument of power over the people who had been made powerless. The guards at City Hall, and it’s said it was the same elsewhere, were replaced with what were called “Ready Squads,” because on their sleeves there was a ribbon with an identification mark that read “ready.” They were made up of members of the Army, the KAMI-KAPPI students’ groups,44 and Hanra, and actually their cruelty surpassed that of the military guards from the Air Force and Kodim (District Military Command). Once because I held out and denied their accusation that I was at Lubang Buaya where I slashed the generals with razors before killing them, one of the interrogators stuck the muzzle of his pistol in my vagina and twisted it around and then jammed it into my mouth. “Go ahead, kill me if you want to. Please go ahead, I’m not afraid to die...” That is what I said. I had become very angry, because I was at my wit’s end. I didn’t know what I needed to say or what I could do. Surviving Our food rations were wrapped in teak leaves. They consisted of a small cup of rice with some boiled soybeans. The rations were distributed to us around midnight. The children, of whom there were nineteen, didn’t get any rations. So of course their mothers shared their own their rations with them. Some of the other prisoners, me included, also shared our rations with these nineteen children. But you can be assured that we didn’t get nearly enough to eat, not even enough to maintain life. And if it continued on like this we couldn’t hope to survive for long. Nor could we hope that additional food and drink would be sent to us from home, because only one of us got regular visits from her family. Among the women who brought their children with them into prison were Bu Sriningdadi, Bu Slamet, Bu Ratmi, and Bu Marti. Mbak Indri brought all three of her children. 42 Loji Gandrung (Hall of Love) is the name of the mayor’s office in Surakarta; during this period it was among the many buildings used to house political prisoners. 43 Mbak is a term of address for a female friend or sister. 44 KAMI (Kesatuan Aksi Mahasiswa Indonesia or Indonesian University Students Action Union) and KAPPI (Kesatuan Aksi Pemuda Pelajar Indonesia or Indonesian High School Students Action Union) were action groups of “reformist” Indonesian university and high school students that were established in late October 1965. Backed by the Army, these anti-communist student groups were instrumental in the campaigns of early 1966 to oust President Sukarno. L5465_Indonesia120.indd 57 9/19/2025 4:27:14 PM === [PDF page 21] === 58 Sarbinatun One of the Air Force guards appeared to feel pity when he saw these children and when he saw us sharing our rations with them. So sometimes he gave us his rations. That Air Force sergeant was in fact my ex-boyfriend, the one I had before Father married me off to Mas Kirman. The other women and I discussed how we could make it through this without all starving to death. As it so happens, Mbak Wati had a close acquaintance who was a member of Hanra and he was also a guard at our facility. She tried to talk this guard into letting us out—just to have a little look at the outside. And she succeeded. In the back wall of the City Hall there is a little gap, and one could go out that gap without being seen by the guards out front. And it was through that gap that Mbak Wati went after her Hanra friend showed her how. Back behind City Hall, there were many temporary structures to house category C prisoners, most of them were old men and children that were about to be released.45 Several of the women and I had an idea. On days that good-hearted guards were on duty, two or three of us could sneak out—and if a guard came to check before we got back the other women could use their wiles to distract him. Bu Sukra agreed to our plan. She agreed to be one of those who would go out to find food, as did Wati and I. Whatever the risk! Because if we were caught, we knew the tortures that we would endure—we had already endured all of them before. Since the end of 1965, our rations had just been a bit of bulgur flour. And if we ate it, we would always get diarrhea. The foodstuff that we brought from outside was usually raw taro, two to three plastic bags per person, each weighing about 15–25 kg. Then we stored that taro in the shelters of those old men who were about to be released. Sometimes I carried 10–15 kg. of rice cakes. Not a day passed that we didn’t get something. Because of this, the bravery of the other women was aroused. Then they were ready to take their turns—even if the main incentive was to get out and see their families.46 With more of them getting brave enough to sneak out, the less careful they were. One of the women was caught. After it was investigated, I was the one forced to take responsibility. So I was separated from my friends and not allowed to leave isolation—except when summoned by the guards. Not too long after the waters of the great Solo River flood of 1966 had receded—after three days and three nights—there was a registration of all the prisoners’ religions. We felt that those who’d registered as Muslims got more attention than the ones who registered as Catholics or Protestants. Every week an Islamic cleric would come to give spiritual uplift (santiaji),47 while the rest of us just had to wait. But finally it was the Christians’ turn, and then after them it was the Catholics’. 45 These rude shelters were set up around 1967 or 1968 (Balaikota Surakarta dan Gedung DPRD TK. II Surakarta, accessed July 18, 2023, http://sejarahsosial.org/kamp_solo/htm/08.htm#_ftnref). 46 For the testimony of another former prisoner on this initiative by the women held in Solo’s City Hall, see Christina Sriharyati, “Aku Tidak Malu Menjadi Eks-Tapol,” in Kidung para Korban, 241–43. 47 The santiaji (roughly, “spiritual exercises”) were the periodic moral and political indoctrination briefings that political prisoners (and, after their release, ex-political prisoners) were required to attend. They were often led by members of the clergy. L5465_Indonesia120.indd 58 9/19/2025 4:27:14 PM === [PDF page 22] === From the Men They Took Their Labor, from the Women They Took Everything 59 In January 1966 [1967?],48 all of us in the detention centers in Solo who were registered as Catholics were gathered together by Father Mulder and baptized. The sacrament of Confirmation was given by Cardinal Darmayuwono at St. Antonius Church in the Purbayan area of Solo. Summons to interrogation, which also meant torture, started to be less frequent after that. Perhaps it was because of the guarantee of the Church that they no longer thought us murderers or cruel savages. I myself had never caused any trouble either in the neighborhood or in school. Ever since I was sixteen, I had struggled for the BTI farmers to get their share of fertilizer to increase the yields of their rice fields, and I had worked together with them to hunt down the rats so that there would be a harvest. As a student who was able to read and write, I contributed to the effort to eliminate illiteracy alongside the teachers from the Melati Kindergartens. It’s true that these kindergartens were established by Gerwani, but the literacy campaign wasn’t a campaign to stir-up the people, much less to overthrow the government and threaten the existence of the nation. On the contrary, it was to help in the efforts of the government to educate the nation and in nation building [English in the original]. I saw Kirman for the last time not long after I was moved from DPKN to CPM—this was after I had been repeatedly tortured and subjected to electric shocks in the most sensitive parts of my body. Actually I didn’t worry too much (ambil pusing) about my husband. I didn’t have the chance! Aside from that, I had met a prisoner named Siti—she was a fellow prisoner at City Hall who claimed to be Kirman’s wife and also to have had several children with him. I don’t know if this was true, or if this was just her claim. But whatever the case, all of us—including Bu Siti—were in the same circumstances, oppressed and mercilessly tortured. I couldn’t think too much about it. All of my strength, inner and outer, I put toward surviving. I chose to be a Catholic. To tell the truth, at that time I was afraid of Muslims, because [136.159.235.223] Project MUSE (2026-10-14 00:52 GMT) University of Calgary their behavior toward us was unspeakably cruel—very different from the Catholics. When I was baptized, Father Mulder asked my parent’s permission. This was also the case for the other women and the other prisoners in the detention centers. There were about two hundred political prisoners, male and female, from all the detention camps in Solo who were gathered together to be baptized as Catholics. About one hundred prisoners chose to become Protestants; and there were very many who registered as Muslim. From santiaji to santiaji, Father Mulder gave us instruction in civics and also in humanitarian values. From that moment on, my bitterness and feelings of revenge gradually began to fade. Around this time the government stores of bulgur were getting slim. The government could now only provide one kilogram per prisoner per month; that means 1000 grams for thirty days, or about 33 grams a day per person! Because of this we were given permission to bring in food from our homes. But we had to be there to be counted every 48 Since the registration took place in the second half of 1966, then the mass baptism must have been in January 1967, rather than 1966. L5465_Indonesia120.indd 59 9/19/2025 4:27:14 PM === [PDF page 23] === 60 Sarbinatun Figure 5. Gerwani literacy campaign. FOTO/Istimewa. morning and evening. We were allowed to go home after morning roll call, and then we were required to be back at the camp for evening roll call. So beginning in January 1966 [1967?] all of us category C detainees at City Hall were allowed to leave the camp, whether to go home or to go elsewhere—just so long as we were back in camp by evening. And so the City Hall camp was empty every day from six in the morning until six at night. Usually we went home to get foodstuffs, but beside that some of us sold handicrafts that we made. I myself made decorative cloths for wedding proposals—I learned this from Bu Tikna (now deceased). It was pastors from the Protestant churches who started our craft activities. A member of the congregation of Solo’s Pasar Legi Church gave us embroidery lessons. We learned to do embossed work along with other kinds of fine embroidery. We’d give our finished work to the pastor, and in return we got money—if I’m not mistaken, 500 rupiah per piece. Around the middle of 1966 [1967?], things eased up a bit on the prisoners. Perhaps this was the authorities’ response to the good hearts of us PKI political prisoners—how we’d taken the initiative to keep ourselves alive during our time in detention. We were not only allowed out every day to gather foodstuffs and to sell our handicrafts, but also, for those of us who were Catholic and Christian, to celebrate Christmas outside. To tell the truth, the reception we received from the Catholic congregation was warm and sincere. When we received the sacrament of Confirmation all those who were present L5465_Indonesia120.indd 60 9/19/2025 4:27:14 PM === [PDF page 24] === From the Men They Took Their Labor, from the Women They Took Everything 61 wept—even Cardinal Darmayuwono was unable hold back his emotions. From that moment I truly felt like a new human being. I greeted my new life with an empty slate. The Church put its trust in me, and I was even allowed to help in the preparation of the Eucharist—for example, bringing forth the cross, the alter cloth, and the other ritual objects. Women’s Prison About three months after the flood, about one hundred of our fellow City Hall prisoners were moved. We didn’t know where they had been taken. But according to the rumors, they were moved to the Bulu Women’s Prison in Semarang for further transport to Pekalongan—this a temporary stop on the way to the concentration camp of Plantungan.49 There were only seventy-one of us left in the City Hall camp. In the beginning we were allowed to leave the camp once a week, then for two years we were allowed to leave the camp every day. Out in the morning, back in the evening. It was as if the City Hall detention center was our first home, our real home—and our family homes were our second homes, the homes where we sought food! Sometime before I was moved to the Bulu Women’s Prison in Semarang, there was this young girl prisoner whose name was Jirah—something had happened to her in CPM detention. She had been one of the last of the sixty-nine political prisoners brought in from Klaten. Jirah was fat and profoundly stupid; the daughter of a poor farmer, she was only about fifteen or sixteen years old. Jirah was captured because she had the same name as a different Jirah who was accused of being a Pemuda Rakyat leader. Her fate was a lot like that of another girl—the girl named Jamilah in Jakarta who was accused of being the main player in the story of torture of the generals at Lubang Buaya. Unable to bear the torture, Jirah had tried to get away by jumping over the wall behind CPM headquarters. There were sharp iron spikes on top of that wall. Unable to clear the wall, Jirah’s body was caught up and pierced by those spikes. The wounds from the spikes finally healed, but she experienced profound psychological stress from her trauma. Father Mulder entrusted her to me—it was up to me to heal her from that trauma. I didn’t know what to do with that child. But I just thought of Father Mulder’s trust in me and knew that it was my duty to honor it. For the first few days with me, Jirah’s inner distress just got worse and worse. If she wasn’t hanging on my body, she sat by herself in the prison yard in the shelter of a shady mango tree. Her mental disturbance was getting worse and worse. People said that she was possessed by the spirit of that mango tree in the corner of the yard. Consumed by the shadow of fear, Jirah refused to be separated from me, didn’t want to wear clothing, and demanded that I carry her like a baby when she went to bathe. Not knowing how to nurse her, I just prayed the rosary for her every night after midnight—I did this continuously for six months. If I put my rosary underneath my pillow, Jirah would go completely berserk. Because of Jirah, I had to learn to control myself. Father 49 Prison/concentration camp for women political prisoners. The camp, located in highland western Central Java, had been a leper colony in Dutch colonial times. For more on Plantungan and the experiences of the women imprisoned there, see Amurwani Dwi Lestariningsih, Gerwani: Kisah Tapol Wanita di Kamp Plantungan (PT Kompas Media Nusantara, 2011); Mia Bustam, Dari Kamp ke Kamp: Cerita Seorang Perempuan (Spasi & VHR Book, 2008), 171–231. L5465_Indonesia120.indd 61 9/19/2025 4:27:15 PM === [PDF page 25] === 62 Sarbinatun Mulder could only suggest, “You must be patient, Bu Tun!” Then, when there was still no progress after six months of this, I changed the medicine! I replaced the medicine of the rosary with that of the Hail Mary. What happened after that was truly a miracle! One morning about three months later, Jirah wept while holding onto my feet. “Forgive me, Bu! Forgive me, I am healed.” That’s what she said. Not long after that we parted. I was taken off to Bulu, and Jirah was released from detention. When I was still at Bulu, Jirah came to visit me with her parents to give thanks in the form of a huge bowl of corn pudding. And we too gave thanks for this token of gratitude that had come at just the right time. When we were in Bulu, none of us received any food packages from our families. Our ration was only seventy-two grains of corn a day. The language used by the guards and the wardens at Bulu was filthy and sexually insulting, and their behavior toward us was rough and arbitrary. But at least our inner torment was less intense since there were no interrogations there. We were just waiting for our time to be transported to Plantungan. Not long after we were moved to Semarang, a rumor spread among the people— perhaps it was spread on purpose. It was said that many of the political prisoners in Solo had died, either from illness or because they had been murdered. My mother tried to find out what had really happened by going around to the detention centers in Solo, but she never received a clear answer. They just said they didn’t know where the political prisoners had been taken. As a result of this, my mother fell ill and died shortly thereafter. Then something happened that was perhaps just a natural phenomenon—but perhaps too it was a sign of the greatness of God. One day there was a mighty wind and an extraordinarily heavy rain. The swallows in the casuarina (cemara) trees around the walls of the prison were thrown to the ground. After the wind died down, we were all forced to clean the yard of all those fallen swallows. Some of them were already dead, but there were many others that still lingered at the edge of death. We gathered up those birds and gave them to the criminal prisoners to cook, and we ate them together. That time was the first time since we had been at Bulu that we ate meat. The meat of the fallen swallows. At that time we were for the most part still young, indeed many were still below age (under the age of eighteen). They had to experience torture and mistreatment that they should never have had to endure. I myself was just barely eighteen. After having been submitted to electric shocks repeatedly at the CPM, I was moved to City Hall. Meanwhile, one day—it was on Selasa Kliwon and, if I’m not mistaken, on the day of Lebaran or Riyadi Bakda50—my father was summoned to CPM. He was ordered to receive a shirt, a pair of pants, and a sarong, all of them soaked in blood. 50 Selasa Kliwon is the most spiritually powerful day in the thirty-five-day Javanese cyclical calendar that combines the seven-day week with the five-day market week. Lebaran is the major Muslim holiday that “celebrates the end” (riyadi bakda) of Ramadan, the fasting month. Sarbinatun’s father was probably summoned L5465_Indonesia120.indd 62 9/19/2025 4:27:15 PM === [PDF page 26] === From the Men They Took Their Labor, from the Women They Took Everything 63 Figure 6. Plantungan Concentration Camp. Collection of Endang Lestari. “Don’t hope for Kirman’s return!” So said the CPM officer. “He’s dead. Go tell his wife. Give these clothes to her!” So Father gave me the bloody shirt, pants, and sarong. I fainted. “Don’t hope for Kirman’s return.” What!? No matter what, Kirman was my husband. I was still a newlywed. We never even had the chance to enjoy normal married life. Even though Kirman had become my husband through an arranged marriage, not by my own choice, I still had fond memories of him. From Father I heard that Kirman had been taken out from the CPM along with four others. Aside from Kirman, the others were women prisoners: Bu Maria, Bu Kayati, Bu Harun, and Bu Kusnaryo.51 Then my husband was separated from the others and taken to the CPM on the Selasa Kliwon that fell on January 18, 1966, shortly before the end of Ramadan (on January 22nd). In a separate interview, recorded under a pseudonym, Sarbinatun gives similar testimony about receiving Kirman’s blood-soaked clothing from her father after she had been moved to the detention center at City Hall. A note to that testimony suggests that Sukirman was executed in late December 1965 (Markas Polisi Militer Daerah Militer IV Diponegoro Detasemen IV/4—Surakarta, accessed July 9, 2023, http:// sejarahsosial.org/kamp_solo/htm/10.htm#_ftn15). 51 Institut Sejarah Sosial Indonesia (ISSI) has identified three of these women: (1) Ibu Kustinah Sunaryo (Kusnaryo) was the leader of the leader of Gerwani in Solo. She also served as a Representative in the local legislature and as the principal of a school. (2) Ibu Kayati was a clerk for Solo’s Pemuda Rakyat and a teacher at a Melati kindergarten. (3) Ibu Harun al-Rasjid was the leader of the Pasar Kliwon branch of Gerwani and the head of Solo’s Gerwani provincial council. ISSI names Partinah, not Maria, as the fourth woman and notes that she held a leadership position in the PKI L5465_Indonesia120.indd 63 9/19/2025 4:27:15 PM === [PDF page 27] === 64 Sarbinatun off somewhere—we don’t know where. And then suddenly on the day of Lebaran, I was given the bloody clothing. Mas Kirman was taken out (di-bon) from CPM; no one knows where he was taken or where he is. Until now. Until the last group of prisoners arrived from Buru, I still waited for him—my hope hadn’t died. This was in 1979, when I myself was released from the Plantungan concentration camp. At the end of 1970 or the beginning of 1971, the women prisoners from camps all over Indonesia were gathered together at Bulu prison; they came from Sumatra, Madura, and Bali. In forty vans, four hundred women prisoners were carried off from Bulu to Plantungan. In Dutch colonial times, the Plantungan camp had been a leper colony. The area around the former colony was full of wlingi sedge grass. This area was thick with underbrush, so it goes without saying that there were many insects and snakes. Five barracks (barracks A to E) had been prepared for us. My group was the last to enter the camp, which was located in the village of Sangubanyu and encircled by the Lampir River. We had to work in camp every day. So work units were formed: for example, for agricultural work, handicrafts, animal husbandry, fishing, sewing, and health work (among us were Dr. Sumiarsih 52 and her assistant Mbak Cik). A cooperative was established so that we could manage the fruits of our labor. Santiajis and mental uplift sessions were held all the time, both by the directors of the “rehabilitation center” (concentration camp) and by officials of the religions recognized by the state: Islam, Christianity (Protestantism), and Catholicism. Even though it would have been more appropriate (and more pressing) had the recipients of those santiajis and mental uplift sessions been the men who were in charge of the Plantungan camp—they’re the ones who really needed it. Behavior that knew no law, no humanitarian values, no morals—behavior that was expressed through torture, physical and mental abuse, and sexual violence—didn’t come from the political prisoners, but from the authorities, and it never let up. Take, [136.159.235.223] Project MUSE (2026-10-14 00:52 GMT) University of Calgary for example, the teenage prisoner Siti Aminah who worked as a housemaid at staff headquarters.53 She was impregnated twice and had two babies—one boy and one girl. all-Indonesia affiliated labor union SOBSI (Markas Polisi Militer Daerah Militer IV Diponegoro Detasemen IV/4— Surakarta). The original note to the published interview confuses this Ibu Kayati with Sri Kayati, the wife of Rewang, a member of the Central Committee of the PKI; the note also mistakenly identifies this Ibu Harun’s husband as the bupati of Boyalali. The husband of the Ibu Harun whose disappearance is recorded here was Harun al-Rasjid, an aide to Solo’s mayor Utomo Ramelan and a disciple of Haji Misbach, the famous Islamic communist leader in 1920s Solo. 52 Dr. Sumiarsih (Sumiyarsi) Siwirini (1925–2003) was trained as a pediatrician at the Medical School of the University of Indonesia and was a doctor at City Hospital (Rumah Sakit Kotapraja) in Jakarta in October 1965. She was a member of the executive board of the left-wing intellectual’s organization HSI (Himpunan Sarjana Indonesia). Her husband, Syarif Caropobeka, was a leader in the Pemuda Rakyat. Anti-communist propaganda portrayed her as “the doctor of Lubang Buaya.” During her incarceration at Plantungan, Dr. Sumiarsih served as physician both for her fellow political prisoners and for members of the community surrounding the camp (Lestariningsih, Gerwani, 99–108, 200–20). 53 Aminah was the youngest of the Plantungan prisoners; she was only twelve years old when she was arrested in 1968 for unknown reasons. Apparently, she had been excited when a functionary ordered her to come along for a ride in the truck (Lestariningsih, Gerwani, 179n67). L5465_Indonesia120.indd 64 9/19/2025 4:27:15 PM === [PDF page 28] === From the Men They Took Their Labor, from the Women They Took Everything 65 Clearly it wasn’t from intercourse with another prisoner, since we were all women, but with the staff members named Prayoga and Mujiyono. These were two instances of abuse and torture that couldn’t be covered up—those two babies born from the womb of a girl prisoner made that impossible. Before Aminah, I worked up top. “Up top” was our term for the dormitory and the residence of the camp directors, for they were in fact above that flat expanse of earth where our barracks were located. My job was just like that of the maids of countless powerful men: washing their clothes, doing their ironing, cooking for them, boiling their water—and doing whatever else they ordered me to do. I was just too exhausted by then. Ever since I was first captured and detained, in every detention camp, these horrible experiences just kept on happening to me over and over again. I’d had enough of it, and so I asked to be sent back down, to return to the barracks together with the rest of the political prisoners. I was ready to take whatever punishment they would mete out to me for this. And so I was replaced by Siti Aminah. Ever since I was young, I’d been strong-willed, not afraid of men. But I was horribly afraid of the results of the torture I endured. Even though I was a widow, I still harbored hope that I’d get married again and have children. Mas Kirman and I hadn’t even had the chance to “be together” (campur) before we were detained and tortured beyond human limits. I don’t know how many times I was raped. What I suffered was truly extraordinary. They violently penetrated my vagina with a broom handle. I don’t know who it was that did that to me. But I do know the name of the man who raped me at DPKN, and I also remember his face. Down below I worked with my friends. Because I was still young and my body was strong, my job was to wield the long hoe (cangkul). Several of my friends did the same work, but the one I remember best is Mbak Lasinem. At that time we came up with the idea to construct a fishpond, but we also dug irrigation ditches to help our friends in the agricultural detail, cut down the wlingi brush, and broke rocks. It wasn’t light work, that’s for sure. But at least we felt safe—unlike when working up top in the middle of all those ravenous male beasts of prey. One time when I was digging with my hoe, my blade hit the skull of a corpse that hadn’t been in the ground for too long—probably one of the lepers. I was startled and fainted. Release The releases began in 1976. A few years before that I had given up hope. Since entering Plantungan in 1971 there’d been no news of my parents in Solo. In 1975 there was a team formed to visit the families of the political prisoners incarcerated in Plantungan because there were going to be some releases. It was then that I heard that my mother had died not long after the women prisoners of Solo had been carried off and that my father died forty days later. Because I was PKI no one in my family—not my brothers, not my sisters—had given me the news. They were all too afraid! My eldest brother, the cavalry sergeant in Semarang, was held for seven years. This was because he allowed Mas Kirman and me to stay with him for two or three days. Because of this, for five years not a single member of my family came to visit me at Plantungan. Though one time I did get a package from my elder sister; it was dried rice crusts and Javanese sugar. L5465_Indonesia120.indd 65 9/19/2025 4:27:15 PM === [PDF page 29] === 66 Sarbinatun This package was truly memorable because at that time all we got to eat was gathot (dried taro root that is soaked and then steamed); we each got one slice about the size of a saucer. And this went on for a year! I then really started wondering when I would return home. A deep longing tormented my heart. The feeling of love is one thing that cannot be avoided in this life. At first, I was really missing Father and my siblings because I had already heard about Mother. Then in 1975 the news came that Father was gone too—and that my siblings were busy fighting over the inheritance. And then I thought: what home did I have to go to? My husband was gone. My parents were gone. My siblings were all afraid and busy fighting over material possessions. I descended into a state of intense emotional stress. Maybe this is what is called madness. And then I went completely out of my mind and jumped into the Lampir River. My head hit a stone.54 I couldn’t talk. And why should I talk? So I just kept my mouth shut. Because I was considered completely insane, they put me into isolation in Block C.55 My friends with tuberculosis were also in isolation there, but I was separated from them. So I was alone in the isolation block for forty days. They cut my hair really short because they kept holding my head under water— my friends thought this was the way to heal me. Back in prison in Solo I had healed Jirah with the rosary and the Hail Marys. But now, now when I was the one who was suffering, I was completely oblivious and couldn’t do anything to help myself. After I recovered, all my friends were happy, especially because there was ever more news of impending release. This was the beginning of 1976. I myself didn’t pay any attention to it. I just didn’t care! Whether or not I was sent home, it made no difference. Go ahead! Just give me my rations—no matter what they are or whatever the portion is. Go ahead. Here I can eat, I don’t know if that will be the case out there. Would anyone be willing to receive me? Return to My Family Provided with the bitterness born from fourteen years in prison, whatever hindrances and obstacles life may bring, however big and high, I can overcome them. There are no trials that I have not experienced. And three times death almost took me. I finally did come home on March 23, 1979. Though it was with an anxious heart. With my longing for love, I was like an owl longing for the moon. But the anxiety that had grown from my empty hopes and waiting gradually began to be extinguished when my Air Force sergeant Marsimun returned to me. He was my lost love, the one before I had been promised to Mas Kirman. He was stationed at Adisumarmo airfield in Solo, but he had also been one of my guards when I was detained at City Hall. When he heard that I had been freed from Plantungan and had 54 It was another prisoner who saved Sarbinatun from drowning; see this prisoner’s recollection of the event: Paulina Sriningdadi, “Diselamatkan Janin di Perut,” in Kidung para Korban, 150. 55 Prisoners called Block C, “the pig pen” (kandang babi); prisoner who were considered “difficult” or “incorrigible” were placed there for punishment (Lestariningsih, Gerwani, 200–1; Bustam, Dari Kamp ke Kamp, 214–15). L5465_Indonesia120.indd 66 9/19/2025 4:27:15 PM === [PDF page 30] === From the Men They Took Their Labor, from the Women They Took Everything 67 returned to Sumber, Marsimun came to see me and asked me to be his wife. To tell the truth, I was still traumatized by men and also by the green uniform. Whenever I saw a man in a green uniform, I would be so seized by terror that I would pee on myself. This is why I refused the invitation of my number four elder sibling to stay with them— saying that I was used to being on my own. Same for my elder sister who was married to an employee of the customs service—I refused her with the excuse, “I want to try to live on my own.” But Marsimun came to Sumber every evening. And he told me he had already given his wife two talaks56 and that he had been waiting for me all those years that I had been in prison. Finally my defenses were broken down by the peaceful whispers and beautiful promises of Mr. Marsimun. In 1980 I married Marsimun in a siri wedding ceremony,57 with the agreement of my siblings, and one year later I gave birth to a daughter whom we named Sinta. But once again my happiness was to be short-lived. A middle-aged woman came to my house—she laid into me, saying that she was Marsimun’s legal wife and, what’s more, that she already had five children with him. I didn’t respond by getting angry with her in turn. Instead I asked that mother of five children to take up the problem with my husband, the one she claimed was her husband too. As it turns out Mr. Marsimun was just another man with a pistol who felt he had that kind of power over women’s lives. Or perhaps he only wanted to satisfy the lust he had had for me ever since he was young—which he’d never been able to do in a peaceful and beautiful milieu. After Sinta was born, once she was four months old, he never showed his nose in Sumber again. When I reminded him of his promises, he paid no attention to me—or to Sinta, his child. I returned to a life in the shadow of fear. What would happen if he, or his wife with the five children, spread slander about me—and I was arrested again? What would happen to my child if I had to return to prison? For in 1979 and 1980 arrests were still taking place on the grounds of “extreme left” and “extreme right.”58 Feeling that I had returned to life under the shadow of fear, I went to the Church for protection. Aside from searching for spiritual support, I also wanted to confess my sins. Father Widagdo gave me a letter of introduction—after my baby reached the age of one I decided to flee Solo in order to get away from Marsimun. Father Widagdo also suggested that I not repeat this experience. “You shouldn’t play around with married men!” That’s how Father Widagdo put it, even though I felt that it was not I, but that man who had played around with us women—both me and the wife he said he had given two talaks. 56 Note on Islamic divorce: to give a talak to one’s wife is to say, “I divorce thee.” With the third talak the divorce is final. 57 A siri (or “secret”) marriage is one that is performed in the mosque without being legally registered by the state. In such a marriage, the wife has little legal protection. 58 By the “extreme right” are meant radical Islamists. L5465_Indonesia120.indd 67 9/19/2025 4:27:15 PM === [PDF page 31] === 68 Sarbinatun When I was living alone before my baby was born, I stayed with my older sister for a while. But no one would speak to me. It was as if the cloud of the Cold War hung from the ceiling of the house. When I returned home from Plantungan I had nothing. When I came into the house it was absolutely empty. There was only a single table and chair set. There was no bed. I tried to ask my sister for a straw mat, but she didn’t want to give me one. Her excuse was that she only had one and it was being used for the floor of her duck pen! I slept on top of the table at night. As it turns out, the woman in the house in front of mine had a small business making envelopes and agreed to take me on as her worker. When I received my pay of 500 rupiah—I don’t know for how many days work—I used all the money to buy some ears of corn. I got four ears. I ate one of them and dried the other three. Then I closed their husks again, and when I was hungry, I’d boil up an ear to eat. After that I was able to buy a straw mat for 750 rupiah from my work on the envelopes. After I had saved up enough money, I had the capital to start work in embroidery. After my baby was a year old, I left Solo and went to Semarang on the recommendation of the Church. There I was received by Mr. Semaun Utomo, who had been a political prisoner on Buru. Then I was asked to help Sister Regina in her work for the Cathedral’s Social Foundation. Together with Sister Regina I taught womanly skills (kewanitaan) to the wives of ex-political prisoners, the poor, the unemployed, and the homeless. While I was in Semarang, Mr. Utomo introduced me to Mr. Sumantri, who had been a political prisoner on Buru—with the intent that we create a family together. Finally we married in the Church, but our marriage didn’t last long at all. After two months Sumantri returned to Surabaya and never came back. I don’t know whether he had returned to his family or had found another woman. In 1985, after I had been in Semarang for three years, my siblings asked me to come home since the house in Sumber was falling apart and needed someone to live in it. There was a man in Solo named Mr. Sarino who was interested in me. He already had a family with two children but felt like he could no longer get along with his wife. To tell the truth, I didn’t have any romantic feelings for him. I thought of Sarino as just a friend. But he said that because he was a friend, he had to protect me. He pressured me, and I couldn’t refuse. When I asked the advice of my elder siblings, they agreed. We got married in 1996 [must be 1986]. I was aware that I’d have a co-wife—that I was to be Sarino’s second wife. But I accepted it. So when his wife attacked me verbally, I didn’t argue—I just put it back on Sarino. I’m not bitter nor do I have regrets and such. This is just part of my life’s journey. Sarino died in 1996. Our children were still small. Sinta was in the first year of middle school; Ari and Niken, my children with Sarino, were seven and ten. He left with me with a great deal of debt. As long as my husband was taking care of me, I wasn’t allowed to work. So when I was left to live on my own again, my feet and hands were really out of practice. So that very year I made up my mind to go to Jakarta to find work. This was not just to forget Solo, a place that had given me so much pain, but also in order to save enough money to pay off the debts that my husband had left me. I left my children in L5465_Indonesia120.indd 68 9/19/2025 4:27:15 PM === [PDF page 32] === From the Men They Took Their Labor, from the Women They Took Everything 69 the care of the family that was renting the house in Sumber. I had partitioned the house into sections and was letting out most the house to support myself and the children. The children and I lived in one room. In Jakarta I lived with my friend Mbak Yati. I asked her to help me find any kind of work that was available, including as a housemaid. I myself went door to door. And one time a family in a large stucco house opened the door to me. “If I take you on, you won’t kidnap my kids, will you?” This was what the lady of the house said when she heard why I had come there. I was aware that there were a lot of stories about child kidnapping in Jakarta at that time. “If you can ask such a question even before I’ve begun work, it’s better that I find work elsewhere, ma’am.” I went back to Cipinang Muara, to Mbak Yati’s house. Finally with her help I did find work as a maid in the home of a civil servant in the Department of Foreign Affairs. He was a widower with three small children: they were five, three, and one years old. I only worked for that family for three months because he got married to a woman from Palembang. So I returned home to Solo—this was right at the time of the riots and the burning of the Chinese stores in 1998.59 I brought the money from Jakarta with me, primarily to pay my children’s school fees. My smallest child was in the third grade. Every day after school he worked as a ball boy at the Manahan tennis courts. He wasn’t allowed to wear shoes—they said this was so he could run faster. When I returned home I saw that his feet were all blistered. One day a professor at ATNI (Indonesian Technical Academy)—Mr. Priyono was his name—who was also a member of the Catholic congregation of St. Paulus and active in the Foundation of Loving Care, saw my son working as a ball boy and started up a conversation. “Do you have a father or not?” “My father died.” [136.159.235.223] Project MUSE (2026-10-14 00:52 GMT) University of Calgary “Where do you live?” Ari, my son, then showed him. The next day Mr. Pri came to visit our home. Because of this, all three of my children were given scholarships for elementary through middle school. After graduating from middle school, Sinta refused further help because she felt that she was big enough to look for work. To pay for our day-to-day needs, supplementing what we made from the rooms that we rented out, I decided to start a salted egg business. With 500 rupiah as capital, I started out with ten eggs a day. Little by little my production increased to one hundred eggs a day. With ten times the beginning capital I was able to produce 500 eggs a day. By 2003, my egg production reached a thousand eggs a day. With this I was able to buy a 59 This would have been in the disturbances of May 1998, around the time of President Suharto’s resignation. L5465_Indonesia120.indd 69 9/19/2025 4:27:15 PM === [PDF page 33] === 70 Sarbinatun bicycle and simple household goods, like pots and pans for the kitchen and other basic everyday supplies. Now I work as a traditional masseuse. My patients range from children to the elderly. Maybe I inherited this talent from my mother. After I became known as a skilled masseuse, I stopped my egg business. I no longer make them — but I gave my customers the recipe so that they can make them for themselves. Source: Sarbinatun Member of Lekra, Solo Branch Glossary BTI Barisan Tani Indonesia (Indonesian Peasants’ Front). Mass peasant organization affiliated with the PKI. CPM Corps Polisi Militer (Military Police Corps). DPKN Djawatan Polisi Keamanan Negara (Police Division for National Defense). G30S/PKI Gerakan 30 September/PKI. Acronym for the Thirtieth of September Movement, linking it with the Indonesian Communist Party. Genjer-genjer Popular song that became a sort of theme song for the PKI in the early 1960s. Gerwani Gerakan Wanita Indonesia (Indonesian Women’s Movement), mass women’s organization affiliated with the PKI. Hanra Pertahanan Rakyat (Civil Defense Force). IPPI Ikatan Pemuda Pelajar Indonesia (League of Indonesian High School Students), mass organization of high school and junior high school students. IPPI was affiliated, but not officially linked, with the PKI. KAMI Kesatuan Aksi Mahasiswa Indonesia (Indonesian University Students Action Union). Army-backed action group for “reformist” university students, established late October 1965. KAPPI Kesatuan Aksi Pemuda Pelajar Indonesia (Indonesian High School Student Action Union). Army-backed action group for “reformist” high school students, established late October, 1965. Lekra Lembaga Kebudayaan Rakyat (League of People’s Culture), leftist organization of artists and cultural workers that was affiliated with the Indonesian Communist Party. L5465_Indonesia120.indd 70 9/29/2025 11:03:43 AM === [PDF page 34] === From the Men They Took Their Labor, from the Women They Took Everything 71 Lubang Buaya “Crocodile Hole,” area south of the city of Jakarta, near Halim airbase where the generals were taken and their bodies disposed of in the early hours of October 1, 1965. Masyumi Muslim political party, banned in 1960 (comprised mostly of “reformist” Muslims). Nahdlatul Ulama “Awakening Religious Scholars,” traditionalist Muslim organization and sometimes political party. The Nahdlatul Ulama (NU) is and was particularly strong in East Java. Pajang Village/suburb on the western outskirts of Surakarta. Pemuda Rakyat “People’s Youth,” youth wing of the PKI. Pertani Pertanian Negara Indonesia (Indonesian Department of Agriculture). PKI Partai Komunis Indonesia (Indonesian Communist Party). Plantungan Concentration camp for women political prisoners, located in the highlands of western Central Java. Santiaji “Spiritual exercise,” periodic moral and political indoctrination briefings that political prisoners (and, after their release, ex-political prisoners) were required attend. Semarang Provincial capital of Central Java, located on the north coast. Solo Old royal city in Central Java, also known as Surakarta. Sumber Neighborhood/area in northwest Surakarta. Surakarta Old royal city in Central Java, also known as Solo. L5465_Indonesia120.indd 71 9/29/2025 11:03:43 AM