Remembering and Forgetting at Lubang Buaya: The Coup of 1965 in Contemporary Indonesian Historical Perception (Schreiner, 2003)

=== [PDF page 1] === REMEMBERING AND FORGETTING AT ‘LUBANG BUAYA’ The ‘coup’ of 1965 in contemporary Indonesian historical perception and public commemoration Klaus H. Schreiner Introduction On the 33rd anniversary of the bloody events of 30 September 1965, famously known by the stigmatising acronym ‘GESTAPU’,1 the Indonesian daily Suara Pembaruan reported that the usual broadcasting of the semi-documentary film Pengkhianatan G30S (The Treason of the 30 September Movement) had been cancelled. The motion picture, produced in 1981 by the National Film Company (PFN), was replaced with the film Bukan Sekadar Kenangan (Not Just a Remembrance) rendering the story of a young woman whose marriage is cancelled because her father is suspected of supporting a Communist group. Searching for the reasons for the sudden refusal, she finally finds out that her bridegroom’s aunt went insane because she saw her husband being tortured to death by communists.2 This report sheds some light both on the recent changes in Indonesian political culture and its apparently (still) unalterable elements. The cancellation of the film about the events some thirty years ago marks a departure from a culture of memory that focused on Suharto and the saviours of the state ideology Pancasila. The plot of the substitute, however, indicates how strong anti-Communism in post- Suharto Indonesia still is and how much support it can muster in the political struggle.3 As Indonesia is distancing itself from the period of Suharto’s authoritarian rule, the young generation begins to ask questions about its past. Those Indonesians who witnessed the rise to power of the little-known general Suharto begin to remember and to recall past events. New testimonies appear nearly every day and speculations about the past are mushrooming. It is evident that Indonesian society did not completely change after the demise of Suharto. The political culture and the ensuing system of governance of the 57 === [PDF page 2] === KLAUS H. SCHREINER New Order still strongly influence Indonesian society. The first signals of a new willingness to confront the events and developments of the past thirty years are, however, already visible. Particularly noteworthy is the public debate about the historic role of the deposed President Suharto, which gained wide media coverage in autumn 1998.4 Equally remarkable, however, is the fact that the current discussion nearly exclusively deals with the circumstances of Suharto’s rise to power, namely the three major events: his involvement in the so-called Untung coup of October 1965, the Supersemar affair of March 1966 in which Suharto seized power from President Sukarno and the circumstances accompanying Sukarno’s death in 1970 while still under house arrest.5 The most incisive and fateful events leading to the establishment of the ‘New Order’ – the mass killings of late 1965 – have only very hesitantly been raised in the recent public debate. Few events like the opening of the victims’ mass graves in Central Java received media coverage.6 Collective memory The debate about the idea of a collective memory starts with works of the French sociologist Maurice Halbwachs.7 Halbwachs, student of another famous French sociologist Emile Durkheim, initially occupied himself with the development of Western European industrial societies at the beginning of the twentieth century. He very soon began to analyse also the problem of a ‘collective memory’ of these societies. In 1925 he published his first study on this topic under the title ‘Les Cadres Sociaux de la Mémoire’ (The Social Conditions of Memory). Starting from the Freudian theory of the memory of the individual, Halbwachs claims that the individual’s social environment influences and shapes his or her capability to remember and to recall. One can summarise the main thesis of Halbwachs as follows: Human beings can remember their history, but they cannot freely choose the circumstances and conditions of their remembering. ‘Collective memory’ is, therefore, according to Halbwachs, ‘the complete stock of memories, a society of each epoch can reconstruct within its present frame of reference.’8 Halbwachs’ theoretical considerations were neglected for many decades. His thoughts gained new attention, only when his second major work on the topic was posthumously published under the title ‘La mémoire collective’ (Collective Memory). The French historian Pierre Nora was one of the first scholars to rediscover Halbwachs’ theories and to apply them to French historical culture. Influenced by the French School of the ‘Annales’, Nora was the rector spiritus and editor of the huge enterprise to inventory and describe ‘sites of memory’ of the French nation. This collective work, involving several dozen French historians, itself presents a monumental evidence of what Nora analyses in the introductory chapter of the inventory.9 Nora’s extensive general introduction to the first volume of ‘Les Lieux de Mémoire’, titled ‘Between Memory and History’ 58 === [PDF page 3] === REMEMBERING AND FORGETTING AT ‘LUBANG BUAYA’ represents the most important source for an understanding of his idea of ‘sites of memory’.10 ‘Sites of memory’ At the beginning Nora states that the terms ‘history’ and ‘memory’ cannot be used synonymously, for they denote two separate and even opposite domains of man’s perception of the past. He draws up a long list of characteristics that one can summarise in two sentences: ‘Memory is life’, whereas ‘History is the […] reconstruction of what is no longer.’11 Whereas ‘memory’ is closely linked to the present of man and his or her society, history is exclusively concerned with the past. Nora discovers a tendency of modern societies to establish ‘sites of memory’. These are localities – ‘in all meanings of the word’, as Nora emphasises12 – which incite our remembering. Borrowing the term loci memoriae from classical mnemotechnique13 he labels those places – artefacts, monuments, rituals and festivities – ‘lieux de mémoire’ (‘sites of memory’) that are capable of stimulating acts of recollection. This recollection is, however, no living memory any longer, for it does not reside within the society and within its individual members. It is a remembering from without, an incentive triggering recollections and perceptions of things from the outside. The disappearance of memory creates ‘sites of memory’. As Nora writes: The less memory is experienced from within, the greater is the need for external props and tangible reminders of that which no longer exists except qua memory – hence the obsession with the archive that marks an age and in which we attempt to preserve not only all of the past but all of the present as well.14 Creating such sites of memory is a reaction to an increasing and accelerating disappearance of memory and, finally, even to its complete loss. The reason for this eventual loss, according to Nora, is the impact of modernisation on European societies. Nonetheless, although he focuses his investigation on French history and society, one can assume that he would discover similar trends and processes in other societies as well. He certainly intended his work ‘Les Lieux de Mémoire’ to serve as material for comparative research into other European societies.15 Assuming that capitalist modernisation is – to a greater or lesser extent – nowadays affecting virtually all societies in the world, one could suppose that analogous processes can be observed in many societies in the so-called developing countries. Nora explicitly refers to these societies as those ‘only recently roused from their ethnological slumber by the rape of colonization’,16 when he claims, that societies based on memory are no more: the institutions that once transmitted values from generation to generation … have ceased to function as they once did. And ideologies based on memory have ceased to 59 === [PDF page 4] === KLAUS H. SCHREINER function as well …. The ‘acceleration of history’ thus brings us face to face with the enormous distance that separates real memory – the kind of inviolate social memory that primitive and archaic societies embodied, and whose secret died with them – from history, which is how modern societies organise a past they are condemned to forget because they are driven by change.17 Nora identifies ‘globalization, democratization and the advent of mass culture and the media’18 as the main causes of the fundamental change. In Europe one can observe the results of this process, but its beginnings are already visible in societies like Indonesia. Rapid economic growth, dissolution of traditional structures, new patterns of working relations, and global economic integration are destroying traditional modes of a living memory. In such a situation of deficiency it becomes increasingly important to create places and opportunities, not only to store memory, but to preserve artefacts, to protect monuments and landscapes and to pass on rituals and patterns of behaviour that embody the capability of provoking and stimulating acts of common remembering. Rapid change in society and culture creates uncertainty that in turn provokes a desire for orientation and ordering an increasingly irritating environment. The feeling of deprivation, of losing grip on the passing aspects of one’s life produces a tendency to save all those items that can impart a sense of security and meaningfulness.19 The transformation of the living, the ‘true memory’ – as Nora calls it – into a ‘modern memory’ results in a memory of archives, museums and historical storehouses. They contain all sorts of remains and vestiges that – in whatever distant way – seem to have a commemorative or even sentimental value: Lieux de mémoire arise out of a sense that there is no such thing as spontaneous memory, hence that we must create archives, mark anniversaries, organise celebrations, pronounce eulogies, and authenticate documents because such things not longer happen as a matter of course.20 The rapidity of change and the ‘acceleration of history’ (Nora) put a distance between people and their life histories. Thus, memory’s range becomes steadily smaller and seems to cover only the immediate past. Consequently, man begins to set up places where he can bridge this gap and get in touch again with his past. These are the ‘sites of memory’. What do ‘sites of memory’ look like and how can one identify them? Pierre Nora did not see much sense in giving a full theoretical account or a tightly and welldesigned definition of ‘lieux de mémoire’. He plays with all the facets and connotations of the term to arrive at a concept as comprehensive as possible. He writes: Lieux de mémoire are complex things. At once natural and artificial, simple and ambiguous, concrete and abstract, they are lieux – places, sites, causes – in three senses: material, symbolic, and functional.21 60 === [PDF page 5] === REMEMBERING AND FORGETTING AT ‘LUBANG BUAYA’ All places in the proper sense of the word belong to the first category: battlefields, monuments, buildings and so on. The second group may comprise charters, constitutions and the like, while the third one refers to distinct and prescribed patterns of behaviour and rituals. If one takes them at their face value, one will not be able to gain any insight into their true characteristics. It is the dimension that transcends the material, object-like form of these places that is of real interest. Only if one studies what people read into these places, can one open up the invested and symbolic meanings of these sites. One of the elements which must be taken into account while studying such sites, therefore, is the existence of the ‘intent to remember’.22 Only by way of remembering, will the site – in whatever kind of appearance it occurs – be reinvigorated, be given life, because ‘memory is life’, as Nora states. If there is no such intention, there is no memory, but only lifeless history. Nora looks for an applicable and useful frame of reference to study the history of the representations of the past, the history of the symbolic meanings of such objects and places and their changes.23 The ‘Monument of the Seven Heroes’ (Monumen Tujuh Pahlawan) at ‘Lubang Buaya’, which I discuss in this chapter, is intriguing as a ‘site of memory’ because of its symbolic value and the meaning acquired during more than three decades. Whereas the actual places and artefacts may remain unaltered, the meaning arising from them will change with the people making use of them as a stimulus for their reminiscence. The contents of ‘sites of memory’ changes according to the contemporaneous frame of reference. According to Nora, this characteristic, which Halbwachs had already emphasised in regard to the collective memory, is the innate capacity of ‘lieux de mémoire’: […] it is also clear that lieux de mémoire thrive only because of their capacity for change, their ability to resurrect old meanings and generate new ones along with new and unforeseeable connections.24 ‘Sites of memory’ are located on the border between a society with its individuals and a past that is now extant only in archival form. They represent the connecting link between the memory of people, who are prone to lose touch with the past, and history itself. Nora is interested in the historical and societal conditions that shape the perception of the past. ‘Lieux de mémoire’ are the specific places where historical consciousness is generated. Referring to both Freud and Proust, Nora has pointed out the important consequences resulting from the transformation of memory during the last century. He notes: This transformation of memory marks a decisive shift from the historical to the psychological, from the social to the individual, from the concrete message to its subjective representation, from repetition to remembrance. Memory became a private affair.25 61 === [PDF page 6] === KLAUS H. SCHREINER Though one should not yield up the area of historical research to psychology or psychoanalysis, the development of memory and consequently the perception of history calls for an integration of complementary concepts in historical research. For memory emerged as ‘something central to individual identity’26 the individual increasingly demands the attention of the historian. Memory influences the behaviour of the individual and consequently shapes his relation to the past and thus also the future. At this connecting point non-historical concepts can provide assistance to understand both the individual and the social dimensions of history and its interdependence. Trauma The concept of trauma has made its way from medicine through psychiatry and psychoanalysis into history and other humanities. The term originally denoted an organic or physical wound without implying a psychological connotation. However, modern usage of the word frequently denotes the psychic state of a person after suffering such an injury. The term was then further extended to include the response to terrible events which did not necessarily cause physical harm to the person concerned. The term ‘trauma’ has become a widely applied category in research on the Holocaust and in attempts to understand the various modes of memory and repression. As there is no clear-cut and undisputed definition of this term, it appears to be necessary and useful at least to narrow down its field of significance. Freud described as traumatic any excitations from outside which are powerful enough to break through the protective shield [Reizschutz]. It seems to me that the concept of trauma necessarily implies a connection of this kind with a breach in an otherwise efficacious barrier against stimuli. Such an event as an external trauma is bound to provoke a disturbance on a large scale in the functioning of the organism’s energy and to set in motion every possible defense measure.27 This general description, stressing the violent and intrusive character of traumatic experiences, illuminates the trauma’s consequences for a person’s perception of his or her past and the way to deal with it in the present. All scholars using the term in the Freudian sense agree upon the trauma’s overwhelming impact on the victim and the resulting incapability of integrating this encountering and the related emotions into daily life. In continuation of Freud’s interpretation of history as a ‘history of traumata’, Peter Loewenberg has pointed out some reasons to use psychoanalytical concepts in historical research, because they help to understand ‘the subjective dimensions of historical life as cultural constructions.’28 Regarding the present subject he argues: The trauma is the theoretical link between individual and group, cohort, population, state and world. Accordingly this is the starting point for 62 === [PDF page 7] === REMEMBERING AND FORGETTING AT ‘LUBANG BUAYA’ historical research and its categories for an understanding of groups and institutions […]29 The actions and perceptions of the individual are inseparably linked to society and the material world. Human history is an interdependent process connecting these two spheres, the dimensions of the individual and the society. Therefore, it is necessary to look for concepts that can help to explain their causal inter-relatedness. Beyond these general characteristics there are some more specific features of the concept of traumatic experiences that seem to be particularly stimulating for a historical and historiographical analysis. Examining Freud’s essay ‘Moses and Monotheism’, Cathy Caruth demonstrates that Freud’s reading of Jewish history establishes it as a simultaneously continuous and interrupted process. She writes: [In this rethinking of Jewish beginnings, then,] the future is no longer continuous with the past but is united with it through a profound discontinuity. The exodus from Egypt that shapes the meaning of the Jewish past is a departure that is both a radical break and the establishment of a new history.30 Trauma then marks a deep interruption in an individual’s life story or society’s history, but it represents the beginning of new history that is linked with the experience of that very event. The trauma is the interruption of history and the continuation of the past into the present. A catastrophic event is an extreme instance of discontinuity. Such events usually mark a turning-point in one’s life story and create the paradoxical perception that one is no longer the same person, and yet still the same person. Alessandro Cavalli explains: Personal identity depends on the subject’s capability of recognising himself as the same person, even after broad changes affecting both the physical and/or the psychological foundations.31 This paradox is a fundamental characteristic of human existence and its confrontation with sudden changes in the life story. The forming of personal identity is a continual process. Moreover, trauma has another important function for the memory of the respective person or society. Dealing with various modes and forms of memory, Aleida Assmann has suggested the differentiation between a ‘functional memory’ (Funktionsgedächtnis) and a storage-memory (Speichergedächtnis) which are not mutually exclusive but complementary modes of memory: The depth structure of memory with its interchange between actualised and non-actualised elements presents the condition of possibility for change and renewal in the structure of consciousness that would ossify without the background of this amorphous reserve.32 63 === [PDF page 8] === KLAUS H. SCHREINER The unconscious memory constitutes the storage-memory. It is shapeless and unorganised. It contains those issues and pieces of memory that are not actually forgotten, but also not currently referred to or used. Nevertheless, it is constantly open to actualisation by any kind of sensation. This storage-memory provides the background and the reservoir of its counterpart the organised, structured and selective functional memory. Its task is to create meaningfulness by combining, marshalling and interpreting the various perceptions and emotions. In her continuing analysis of memorial modes, Assmann has also investigated the conditions under which memory is upheld. She suggests three media that stabilise memory: affect, symbol and trauma. She argues that the traumatic event is so violent and extreme that the inflicted person is incapable of an integral constitution of herself. In this kind of event, […] the trauma stabilises an experience that is not accessible for the consciousness and that resides in the shadow of this consciousness as a latent presence.33 The excessive force and violence of the very experience are a fundamental obstacle to overcome the psychic injury inflicted by the event. The trauma lives within the person without being expressed and dealt with. This is the paradox of the situation that Michael S. Roth points at: If the trauma is unforgettable, then it is paradoxically so, because it could not be remembered, not be re-narrated. As soon as it becomes part of the historical consciousness, it may gradually fade away.34 However, there are strategies to cope with this persistent presence of trauma. Jean-François Lyotard’s observation about the function of monuments is very important in this respect. Similarly to Assmann, he notes the stabilising effect of trauma. He then argues that only those items can be forgotten that have somehow been recorded, because these records can be erased. What never has been inscribed also may never be forgotten, because it is not accessible to forgetfulness. Continuing this argumentation Assmann concludes: Monuments are for him [Lyotard] ‘representations’ and as such they serve as a relief for the memory, thus in truth: as strategies of forgetting. […] What has been fixed, can also be extinguished; however, what never acquired the form of a sign, of a rememberable symbol can, according to Lyotard, therefore not be denied or forgotten.35 It is important to note that both Assmann and Lyotard have stressed the stabilising character of trauma. It keeps the human being in an immovable inertia that 64 === [PDF page 9] === REMEMBERING AND FORGETTING AT ‘LUBANG BUAYA’ prohibits the overcoming and the forgetting. As it cannot be narrated, it cannot be spoken about.36 Assmann writes: [Trauma, that is the impossibility of narration.] Trauma and symbol are opposed to each other in a mutually exclusive way; the physical force and the constructive sense appear to be the polar extremes between which our memories are moving.37 The person remains in the numbness of the trauma unable to deal with it. It is constantly and inaccessibly present without being integrated or forgotten. Taboo Following its Austronesian etymology, the word ‘taboo’ is generally understood to denote something ‘dangerous’ or ‘impure’. It refers both to objects of material culture and to specific topics in a society’s existence. The primary purpose of a taboo is to protect these items, for they are banned from the public, and one must not touch them – neither literally nor figuratively. ‘Taboo’ can therefore be understood as the unconditional order to maintain this ban.38 Anybody breaking such a taboo will be punished according to the ethical and moral code which in turn depends on the contents of the taboo and its cultural settings. Each society possesses a set of particular taboos and the necessary mechanisms to maintain them. The existence of common taboos results in conformity and creates a ‘community of the obedient’.39 Rudas then concludes: ‘Taboo means obeying without questioning.’40 He also admits that the existence of such collective rules and their observance is necessary for the functioning of any society. Knowledge about a society’s taboos and the necessary rules to enforce them can help to explain the inner workings of a society. In the context of violent historical events, which – as I have suggested – can be understood as a trauma, I want to point out one aspect that stresses the dual character of a violent traumatic past and its remembrance in the present. More often than not, the memory of such violence is completely repressed or only certain features of these incidents are admitted to the public sphere and discussed. In this regard Anton Pelinka made the most interesting point that the creation of a taboo plays a constitutive role for a society’s political culture: Taboos assist in construing a political culture. Heroic persons, heroic achievements, and heroic events become mystified, because a subtle and precise analysis is deliberately omitted. The heroic serves as the embodiment of a certain value system that in turn enforces patterns of behaviour. The inevitable negative aspects of the heroic are thereby being made a taboo.41 The ideology of the dominant group bans the negative and undesirable aspects of history into the realm of taboo, the breach of which is sanctioned both 65 === [PDF page 10] === KLAUS H. SCHREINER juridically and socially. I mention this idea of taboo as part of political culture because it may help us to understand the following case study from recent Indonesian history. ‘Lubang Buaya’ – a site of memory During the Suharto years much of the mainstream historical research and historiography contributed to ideologically stabilising the regime by constructing historical proofs of its legitimacy.42 Therefore Indonesian historiography has hardly dealt with the mass killings in Indonesia of 1965–6. The most prominent exception is the publication of the Centre for the Indonesian Armed Forces’ History and Tradition compiled by Nugroho Notosusanto and Ismail Saleh. It is an extended version of a preliminary report which Nugroho had published already some forty days after the generals’ kidnapping.43 In 1994 the State Secretariat published a ‘White Book’ on the history of the Indonesian Communist movement since its beginnings in the early 1920s. It places the events of 1965 in a comprehensive historical framework. The explicit purpose, as the State Secretary Moerdiono stated in his preface, was to enforce the national assembly’s decree of 1966 that banned all kinds of communist ideologies in Indonesia.44 Although printed material usually reaches only a very limited audience in Indonesia, visual mass media such as television and film have a much larger range. Only in the early 1980s, which is relatively late, the government turned to this medium to convey its interpretation of the coup. The PFN recruited the well-known Arifin C. Noer as artistic director for the above-mentioned film Pengkhianatan G30S, as well as finding well-known Indonesian actors to play the key roles. The state-owned television company TVRI then broadcast the film on every anniversary of the 1965 events.45 It thus became the primary source of popular knowledge about this historic episode and is the main reference for the post-coup generation in Indonesia.46 As one consequence of political reform, the annual showing of the film was cancelled in 1998 and it was replaced by the film Bukan Sekadar Kenangan. The plot of this film combines two very sensitive and vital issues: the staunch anti-Communism of the Suharto regime and the problem of silencing traumatic experiences within a family. In this film the bridegroom’s aunt is depicted as the victim in two regards: the Communists killed her husband and she became mentally ill because she witnessed the cruel torturing of her husband. Without any doubt, one can consider such encounters a traumatic experience. However, resulting from its biased approach the film focuses on the woman’s suffering, but the victims of the army’s persecution are not put on the centre stage. Edy Sedyawati, Director-General for Culture and one of the initiators of the film, justifies the film’s biased treatment of the historic trauma: This film wants to remember the people to be cautious towards communism, because the PKI has twice revolted against the government of the 66 === [PDF page 11] === REMEMBERING AND FORGETTING AT ‘LUBANG BUAYA’ Republic of Indonesia, that is in 1948 and in 1965. The victims were innocent people.47 Still, it is noteworthy that the issue of repressive treatment of traumatic experiences is taken up at all, for the silence about the past and making parts of the history a taboo was a prominent feature of political discourse during the Suharto era. The events of 1 October 1965 – a brief assessment The developments leading to the events which are usually referred to as the coup (and counter-coup) of 30 September 1965 have been the subject of many scholarly investigations and evaluations. The books of Crouch and Sundhaussen, both dealing with military politics in Indonesia, belong to the most comprehensive and balanced studies.48 Robert Cribb has studied the historiographical problems concerning the violence and mass killings in Indonesia during late 1965 until March 1966 in the aftermath of Sukarno’s overthrow.49 A power struggle between the army on the one side and the increasingly influential Indonesian Communist Party (PKI) on the other side characterised Indonesia’s political landscape in the early 1960s. The Indonesian President Sukarno himself sometimes played an active role in this political contest, and sometimes distanced himself from daily politicking to present himself as an allegedly impartial arbitrator. In early 1965 rumours about a so-called council of generals (Dewan Djenderal) were circulating in Jakarta. General Ahmad Yani, then chief of the joint staffs, allegedly presided over this informal group of high-ranking army officers. Given their conservative political convictions, the generals must have been alarmed by Sukarno’s apparently increasing sympathies for the People’s Republic of China and the PKI. The rumours had it that they planned a coup for Armed Forces Day, 5 October 1965. The position of the PKI was strongly dependent on presidential protection. Nevertheless, the party could count on some support from the Indonesian Air Force and a number of younger officers in the army. In August, reports about Sukarno’s deteriorating health alarmed the party leadership. They triggered measures to protect the party and its mass movements in case Sukarno should die and the staunchly anti-Communist army leadership should take over power. Simultaneously, a group of young officers, led by the two colonels of the presidential guard Cakrabirawa, Untung and Abdul Latief, planned to forestall an eventual coup attempt against the president by the council of generals. Consequently, in the early morning hours of 1 October they launched an action to kidnap the supposed members of the generals’ council.50 However, the action failed for a host of reasons. First, some of the generals were killed at the time of their abduction. Moreover Sukarno failed to support the young officers in the hours following the kidnapping, even though they had declared that they were acting for his protection. Additionally, the plan of action seems to have been 67 === [PDF page 12] === KLAUS H. SCHREINER poorly thought out and had strategic and tactical shortcomings that made it easy to foil. One major reason for the failure seems to have been that Lieutenant General Suharto, then commander of the strategic reserve KOSTRAD, was not one of the young officers’ targets. Why this was the case remains a mystery and has been the subject of speculation and discussion. He was not considered one of the ‘political’ generals of the rumoured council of generals, but on the other hand he was a conservative and a key military figure in the capital. Both in his testimony before the military court and in recent interviews Latief has stated that he had informed Suharto about the imminent actions.51 Suharto has denied this allegation, but it remains unresolved why he was not on the list of officers to be kidnapped.52 After evaluating the situation in Jakarta, Suharto acted quickly. He was able to bring himself into a position where he could wield sufficient influence among his fellow officers to resist Sukarno’s orders openly, even though the president was still the supreme commander of the Indonesian Armed Forces. The Army openly accused the PKI of being the mastermind (dalang) of the coup. To increase public resentment of the Communists, the army spread false reports that the generals had been tortured and that Communist women had mutilated them by cutting off the men’s genitals. This invented story propped up with rumours about sexual orgies performed at ‘Lubang Buaya’ turned the already tense and frightened atmosphere into anti-Communist hysteria. Soon after the generals’ corpses were discovered and they were buried as ‘National Heroes of the Revolution’ (Pahlawan Revolusi), the first actions against party members and alleged supporters began. According to available sources and witnesses’ reports, the worst persecution occurred in Central and East Java. Other foci of the anti-Communist killings were Bali and North Sumatra. The estimates of the number of people killed vary between 78,000 and one million.53 Cribb has pointed out the difficulties in establishing a realistic estimate of the actual number of victims. A few years after Cribb’s analysis, Sukarno’s former assistant Oei Tjoe Tat published his memoirs. He was a member of the Fact Finding Commission that in 1966 reported the number of 78,000 victims for all three most heavily affected areas. Along with the officially reported findings, he relates a private conversation with a doubting Sukarno who pressed for the true number. According to Oei’s estimates, that figure was 500,000–600,000.54 However, neither the available archival files nor oral testimonies offer any conclusive answer to this question. Though one will probably never convincingly solve the assessment of the number of victims, the regional distribution of the killings seems quite clear. The worst killings happened in Central and East Java where the PKI had its largest strongholds because of the open social conflicts between landless and smallholder peasants on the one hand and mostly santri (pious Muslim) landowners on the other hand. The perpetrators were not only regular troops – many civilians, predominantly members of the Muslim youth organisation Ansor, were also actively involved.55 The army very often provided tactical and moral support in the form of weaponry and by ideological legitimisation of the killings. 68 === [PDF page 13] === REMEMBERING AND FORGETTING AT ‘LUBANG BUAYA’ The factual reasons for this violence are complex and very often depend on local conditions. Social tensions were one major trigger in many cases. Most of the killings occurred between early October, when the false reports about the events at ‘Lubang Buaya’ infuriated the public, and March 1966, when Suharto allegedly obtained from Sukarno a formal authorisation (Supersemar) to take over executive government.56 By the time Suharto issued the formal decree in March 1966 banning the PKI, most of the killings had already been committed. During the following months killings were still going on, however, on a lower scale. In 1966 the new regime under Suharto established an extraordinary military court (Mahmillub). There it staged trials of the main actors of the abortive pro-Sukarno operation, the army colonels Untung and Latief, as well as their counterparts in the PKI, Njoto and Sjam. Furthermore, some prominent members of Sukarno’s last cabinet, namely the Foreign Secretary Subandrio and the air force chief of staff Omar Dhani were tried. The PKI Secretary General D.N. Aidit was shot by a special unit which had traced him to a hideout in Central Java. After the first lethal purge of the PKI and the affiliated organisations in late 1965, a wave of arrests swept over the country. Hundreds of thousands of political prisoners were arrested and punished according to the degree of their alleged or even actual involvement. Thus, during the first month, most of the witnesses were either killed or their testimonies were suppressed by arrest and intimidation. ‘Lubang Buaya’ as a ‘site of memory’ While the killings in 1966 and 1967 were still going on, the junta had already begun to substantiate its rule in the ideological sphere. A fierce struggle for the enormous symbolic potency of the generals’ death broke out between Sukarno’s and Suharto’s groups immediately after the incidents. Sukarno was hampered from the start by suspicions that he might have encouraged or even masterminded the coup which was, after all, undertaken in his name and with the ostensible aim of protecting him from the generals. At first Sukarno attempted to salvage his power by refuting these suspicions. In an effort to strengthen his position, he claimed that the dead soldiers were martyrs of the ‘Indonesian Revolution’, of which he was the ‘Great Leader’. On the eve of their funerals, Sukarno hastily issued a decree awarding the victims the title ‘Pahlawan Revolusi’ (Hero of the Revolution).57 However, Sukarno’s Guided Democracy rhetoric claiming Yani and the others for his and the revolution’s cause could not convince his enemies within the army, let alone win them over. Suharto extended and strengthened his power-base within the Armed Forces and was eventually able to wrest executive powers from the ailing president. Simultaneously he could already exploit the murdered generals’ symobolic value for his purposes.58 In 1966 he commissioned a memorial on the spot where the victims had been found dumped in a well. ‘Lubang Buaya’ (Crocodile Hole), the site of an ordinary little banana grove on the capital’s outskirts, became the central shrine of the ‘New Order’.59 69 === [PDF page 14] === KLAUS H. SCHREINER The army turned the deserted place into a large memorial, which initially consisted of three main elements. There was a spacious plaza to hold ceremonies (lapangan upacara) and, not far from that square, a huge monument, the ‘Tugu Monumen Pancasila Sakti’ (Monument to the Sacred Pancasila), featured the giant statues of the seven soldiers.60 A mammoth Garuda (mythological eagle) overshadowed the whole scene. A bas-relief presenting the story of the events leading up to the actual murder covered the massive pentagonal pedestal, itself a symbol of the state ideology, Pancasila.61 Between these two places, only a few metres away from the monument, one found a modest structure designed like a traditional Javanese pavilion ( pendopo). It consisted of a domed roof and a tiled floor. At its square centre, one saw a simple hole in the naked soil: the famous well. Some years after the opening of the monument proper, the Centre for History and Tradition of the Armed Forces added two educational installations. A little wooden hut, a replica of the original shelter that stood there close to the well, which houses a diorama displaying bloody scenes of the generals being tortured and humiliated by communist youth.62 This kind of presentation, typical of the static features of New Order political culture, is also predominant in the main building that houses a collection of thirtytwo dioramas about the many treacherous acts of the Communist movement since the ‘Peristiwa Tiga Daerah’ in 1945 (Three Regions Affair).63 The dioramas in the neighbouring ‘Museum Pancasila Sakti’ focus on the various episodes directly connected with the actual events.64 In the third complex the visitors can view collections of historical photographs and an exhibition of the heroes’ relics. Personal belongings, letters, uniforms and blood-stained clothing are on display. This museum reflects perfectly the ideology of anti-Communism in Indonesia since the very beginnings of the independent states. It hides away the controversial interpretation of history in favour of a biased but authoritative version – the undebatable fundamental of political correctness. Concluding comments Nora has emphasised the point, that functional ‘sites of memory’ (rituals, ceremonies, commemorations and so on) and topographical ones (monuments, cemeteries, museums and so on) emerge at those times and in such places where there is a break with the past – either perceived or construed.65 They identify those intersections of individual and social life stories that mark their discontinuity. ‘Lubang Buaya’ combines the topographical and the functional aspects of Nora’s ‘sites of memory’ concept. The monument and the neighbouring installations occupy the very site where a new order came into existence. The death – or in the language of New Order ideology – the sacrifice of the soldiers occurring at this place marks the genesis of the ‘New Order’ and characterises it as the birthplace of the ‘New Order’. The violent traumatic events accompanying its emergence mark the break with the preceding history of Sukarno’s Guided Democracy 70 === [PDF page 15] === REMEMBERING AND FORGETTING AT ‘LUBANG BUAYA’ and the foregoing period of liberal democracy. On the other hand, the aspects of continuity are present in the veneration of the Pancasila as the protective ideological mantra. Though this implies a radical change of exegesis, the Pancasila still serves as the link joining the ‘New Order’ to the mythological origins of the Indonesian independence struggle. It can thus safeguard the continuance of the Indonesian nation’s identity.66 Monument and museums turn the place into the centrepiece of the new political universe. As symbolic centre and topographical ‘site of memory’ ‘Lubang Buaya’ becomes the theatre of the memorial sites’ functional dimensions. It is the place to perform the newly conceived rituals, ‘which are indispensable to maintain and strengthen a newly established authority.’67 From 1967, Suharto and the highest representatives of his ‘New Order’ annually performed the ceremonies of the ‘Remembrance Day of Pancasila’s Magic Power’ (Hari Peringatan Kesaktian Pancasila)68 to commemorate the birth of the ‘New Order’. The murdered soldiers are considered the ‘saints’ of a new order in Indonesia. The performed rituals are very simple. They mainly consist of the recitation of the ideologically most important texts of the ‘New Order’: the Pancasila itself, the preamble of the Constitution of 1945, and the ‘oath of resoluteness to defend the Pancasila and carry it out with devotion’.69 The ritual’s design and its liturgical elements remained unchanged until the end of the Suharto era. Though the ceremonial itself appeared to be rather unpretentious, it gained increasing ritual importance, as Purdy notes in her analysis of this memorial day. Over the years a growing number of government functionaries and high-ranking generals took part in the event. The authorities commanded representatives of an expanding spectrum of societal groups and parties, as well as of scouts’, women’s and veterans’ associations to participate in the ceremony at ‘Lubang Buaya’.70 The ‘Monument for the Seven Heroes’ and the adjacent museums have a twofold purpose. On the one hand the monument serves as a constant reminder of the threat originating from Communism and as a token of Pancasila’s strength and invincibility. The meaningfulness of the generals’ ‘sacrifice’71 does not end, though, with the salvation of Pancasila from the chaos of the old order. They are actually considered to be the progenitors of a new order, as they are the ancestors acting in the ‘New Order’s’ myth of origin, as Leclerc rightly notes.72 The monument at ‘Lubang Buaya’ in its present form, however, only commemorates the permissible aspects of the past. Regarding the negative and repugnant dimensions, that are repressed, though always present, it acquires a different function. Lyotard has analysed monuments as a means to relinquish memory.73 The monument becomes the ‘dumping site’ of recollections, and of the negative and unwanted parts of it in particular. There the society can safely store them away, so that they cannot haunt it any longer.74 Thus ‘Lubang Buaya’ serves as a ‘site of memory’ for the admissible aspects of history and as the place of relief of history’s negative aspects. As a conceptual approach I have suggested to look upon ‘heroisation’ on the one hand, and stigmatisation and repression, on the other hand, as two aspects of 71 === [PDF page 16] === KLAUS H. SCHREINER the same process of remembering and forgetting. The very specific Indonesian version of the ‘myth of the stab in the back’ characterises the historical and ideological background of this process.75 In the Indonesian ideological setting anti-Communism serves as a medium for heroisation, which on the other hand calls for stigmatisation of the negative aspects. Stigmatisation was not only a prerequisite for the unimpeded and unpunished killings. Stigmatisation deprives the victims of their human dignity and fosters the forgetting. The victims and their suffering fall into oblivion. Anti-Communism was still very influential even in the era of ‘reformasi’ as the film Bukan Sekadar Kenangan shows. The Communists and their ideology still figure as the embodiment of evil. The film suggests the need for constant alertness against a potential threat from that side. The dominance of this ideological mainstream partly explains the fact that only Suharto, as individual historical actor, and his personal rule came under scrutiny during the years immediately after his loss of office. The reform movement did not seriously challenge either the system created during the ‘New Order’ or its ideological foundations. After his fall, Suharto served as the screen for projections and as an ideal scapegoat for all feelings of guilt. Many persons who actively participated in the killings could conceal their own involvement by accusing Suharto of being a collaborator or even a secret member of the PKI. Remarkably, the stigma that was used to wipe out thousands and thousands of people came to be used in a reverse way. In any case, it still proved to be a dangerous political weapon. Accordingly, heroisation and stigmatisation shape the agenda of remembering and forgetting. An important feature of ‘sites of memory’ is ‘to generate new ones [meanings] along with new and unforeseeable connections.76 Whereas the form and design of these sites may remain unaltered, people will interpret the re-presented history anew under changing political conditions. The Suharto government turned an inconspicuous place on the outskirts of Jakarta into the central shrine of the ‘New Order’ and its variety of civil religion. Now after this regime has been ousted, ‘Lubang Buaya’ will continue to serve as a nucleus where changing and – eventually – conflicting perceptions of the past will crystallise. Notes 1 ‘GESTAPU’ combines initials and some other letters of the expression ‘Gerakan September Tiga Puluh’. The word order is forced and contravenes the syntactic rules of Indonesian grammar in order to create the allusion to the German term GESTAPO (Geheime Staatspolizei), the Nazi political police. While ‘Gestapu’ was the label used by the Suharto faction, Sukarno usually referred to the event as ‘GESTOK’ (Gerakan Satu Oktober, Movement of 1 October). 2 Suara Pembaruan Daily on-line 30 Sept. 1998: ‘“Bukan Sekadar Kenangan” Pengganti Film “Pengkhianatan G30S/PKI”’. Jonggi Sihombing directed the film, which was commissioned by the General Directorate for Culture of the Ministry for Education and Culture. 3 In spring 2001 Islamic groups labelling themselves Aliansi Anti-Komunis warned bookshops in major cities of Indonesia to remove allegedly communist and leftist books from their shelves and announced that they would publicly burn such books. 72 === [PDF page 17] === REMEMBERING AND FORGETTING AT ‘LUBANG BUAYA’ 4 See, for example, DëTAK and Adil special issues of the first week in October 1998. 5 There was a broad discussion in the Indonesian media as to whether Sukarno really died of kidney failure or whether his death was hastened by a failure to provide medical assistance. A press conference of Sukarno’s widow, Ratna Dewi Sari, accusing Suharto of responsibility for Sukarno’s death, triggered this public debate. 6 ‘Pembongkaran Kuburan Massal Korban Peristiwa G30S.’ Kompas 13 December 2000. 7 Born in 1877, murdered in a German concentration camp in 1944. 8 Halbwachs (1985: 390). 9 It seems to be an example of the ‘obsession’ to make an inventory of and save in a storehouse every item of history. 10 Nora (1996: 3); for the convenience of readers, English translations of quotations from Nora (1984) are taken from Nora (1996), even though the translation is not always satisfactory. 11 Nora (1996: 3). 12 Nora (1990: 7). 13 He refers to Frances A. Yates, The Art of Memory (London: Routledge and Paul, 1966); according to classical mnemotechnique, an orator should link every idea of his speech to a distinct place or object in his house. He then produces an inventory of these items, the ‘loci memoriae’ that help him to recall his ideas. 14 Nora (1996: 8). 15 Nora (1990: 9); see also Große-Kracht (1996: 29). 16 Nora (1996: 1). 17 Nora (1996: 2). 18 Nora (1996: 1). 19 Nora (1996: 8): ‘The fear that everything is on the verge of disappearing, coupled with anxiety about the precise significance of the present and uncertainty about the future, invests even the humblest testimony, the most modest vestige, with the dignity of being potentially memorable.’ 20 Nora (1996: 7). 21 Nora (1996: 14). 22 Nora (1996: 15). 23 Unfried (1991: 89). 24 Nora (1996: 15). 25 Nora (1996: 11). 26 Ibid. 27 Sigmund Freud, ‘Beyond the Pleasure Principle’, in J. Strachey, ed. and trans., The Standard Edition of the Complete Psychological Works, vol. 18 (London: Hogarth Press 1953–74), p. 29, quoted after Friedlander (1993: 130). Cathy Caruth argues in a similar way: ‘In its most general definition, trauma describes an overwhelming experience of sudden or catastrophic events in which the response to the event occurs in the often delayed, uncontrolled repetitive appearance of hallucinations and other intrusive phenomena.’ See Caruth (1996: 11). 28 Loewenberg (1998: 129). 29 Ibid., p. 128. 30 Caruth (1996: 14). 31 Cavalli (1997: 456). 32 Assmann (1995: 184). 33 Assmann (1998: 148). 34 Roth (1998: 168). 35 Assmann (1998: 149), referring to Jean-François Lyotard’s book, Heidegger and The Jews (Vienna: Passagen, 1988). 36 Ibid., p. 150. 73 === [PDF page 18] === KLAUS H. SCHREINER 37 Ibid., p. 151. 38 Rudas (1994: 18); He further argues that magic-oriented societies ban the touching of certain material objects, whereas modern, seemingly less magic-oriented societies ban the discussion of certain topics. 39 Ibid., p. 19. 40 Ibid. 41 Pelinka (1994: 24). 42 See Seminar Sedjarah (1958); Klooster (1985). 43 Notosusanto and Saleh (1987). See also the short article ‘Kegiatan Ilmiah dan “G-30-S”’ (1968), where the tensions between Indonesia and the United States about the so-called ‘Cornell Paper’ are also briefly mentioned. Of course there is a biased and tendentious account of the events in the authoritative Sejarah Nasional Indonesia (Indonesian National History) which was published under the general editorship of the same Nugroho who became Minister of Education after having served as head of the army’s centre for history and tradition. 44 Sekretariat Negara Republik Indonesia (1994), pp. vii–viii; decree TAP-XXV/MPRS/ 1966. 45 Sen (1988: 58). Umar Kayam acted as Sukarno, Amoroso Katamsi as Suharto. See also the interviews with some of the actors and the Arifin’s widow in DëTAK 1, No. 13 (6–12 October 1998), p. 13. 46 When I discussed the topic with some university graduates during a recent visit to ‘Lubang Buaya’, I could observe how efficient this kind of history lesson was. 47 Suara Pembaruan Daily on-line 30 September 1998: ‘“Bukan Sekadar Kenangan” Pengganti Film “Pengkhianatan G30S/PKI”’. 48 Crouch (1978) and Sundhaussen (1982); see also Dahm (1978). 49 Cribb (1990). 50 Lt. Gen. M. Tirtodarmo Harjono, Maj. Gen. Donald Ignatius Pandjaitan, Lt. Gen. Siswondo Parman, Maj. Gen. Sutojo Siswomihardjo, Lt. Gen. Suprapto, Capt. Pierre Tendean, Gen. Ahmad Yani, Pol. Capt. Karel Sadsuit Tubun was also killed that night, but is not included. Brig. Gen. Katamso Dharmokusumo and Col. Sugijono Mangunwidjoto of the Yogyakarta command were killed the same night. However, their corpses were found only on 22 October and interred in Central Java. The only general to escape was A.H. Nasution, who was also regarded as a member of the council. However, his daughter was killed by the kidnappers. 51 See for example Tempo (1998). 52 Suharto’s role in the days before and after the bloody incident is one of the most hotly debated topics in the current situation. It is still not known whether he co-operated with the plotters, whether he just utilised a situation he himself did not actually anticipate, or whether he acted on behalf and in agreement with foreign powers. See, for example, the cover stories of Adil 66, No. 52 (30.9.–6.10.1998) and DëTAK 1, No. 12 (29.19.5.10.1998). Nearly all major magazines and weeklies carried reports on this topic at the time. 53 Cribb (1990: 12), table 1. 54 Oei Tjoe Tat (1995: 192). The book provides the full text of the Fact Finding Commission’s report. The book was banned after its release in April 1995, but nevertheless had its third reprint in August of the same year. 55 Ansor still exists as affiliate of the traditionalist Nahdlatul Ulama. 56 The false reports on torture and on sexual orgies were one important element in the mythologisation of ‘Lubang Buaya’. See Leclerc (1997: 295–303). 57 Usually, various committees had to co-operate in the lengthy process of selection, screening and declaring a ‘National Hero’. However, Sukarno frequently circumvented these regulations whenever he wanted to use a hero declaration as a political instrument. 74 === [PDF page 19] === REMEMBERING AND FORGETTING AT ‘LUBANG BUAYA’ Sukarno’s decree elevating the generals was one of his last acts of this sort. For the production of National Heroes in Indonesia see Schreiner (1997). 58 Suharto forced Sukarno to sign the Supersemar-authorisation of 11 March 1966 which became the basis for the banning of the PKI. In March 1967 Sukarno was deposed and stripped of all his offices and power; Suharto succeeded him as acting president to be officially confirmed as president a year later. 59 For a contemporary account see, for example, Indonesia Raya 2 October 1970 and Kompas 27 September 1970. 60 The monument is also known as the ‘Monument of the Seven Heroes’ (Monumen Tujuh Pahlawan). 61 The five corners symbolise the five principles of the Indonesian state ideology Pancasila; see Leclerc (1997) for a description of the relief and the pertinent interpretation. 62 The official autopsy report states that no traces of torture or maltreatment could be found on the corpses of the soldiers; see Benedict Anderson, ‘How did the generals die?’, Indonesia, 43 (1987), 109–34; Margot Cohen, ‘The Red Menace is Preserved and Well in Java’, Asian Wall Street Journal 20/21 December 1991 gives an ironic, though to-the-point account of the situation. 63 Left-wing nationalists seized local power in the Pekalongan region of Central Java in 1945, shortly after the declaration of independence. On this event, see Lucas (1991). 64 Buku Panduan Monumen Pancasila Sakti Lubang Buaya ([Jakarta]: Pusat Sejarah dan Tradisi ABRI, 1994). 65 Nora (1996: 7). 66 Cavalli (1997). 67 As Kertzer has accurately concluded: ‘In short, the new political order […] must be legitimised through the creation of ritual if its political rule is to be solidified.’ See (1983: 63). 68 Purdy (1984: 230): ‘But the truly unique New Order ritual celebration was to be that which is held on 1 October, […] the ‘Day of the Remembering of the Spiritual Power of Pancasila’. It was proposed in 1967 that a brief ceremony be held annually on the parade grounds of Lubang Buaya, […]’. 69 Berita Yudha 2-10-1969; the ceremony in 1996 consisted of the same elements and was performed by nearly identical functionaries. Media Indonesia 2-10-1996. The ‘oath of resoluteness’ was replaced by the ‘oath of allegiance’ which only means a change in terms, but not in substance. President Habibie, who took office in May 1998, continued the tradition that year; Kompas On-line 2 Octobert 1998 ‘Habibie di Lubang Buaya’. The first freely elected president, Abdurrahman Wahid, remained absent during the ceremony in the year 2000 which was then presided by his deputy, Vice- President Megawati Sukarnoputri. However, many other high officials of the government and the speakers of the MPR and the DPR, Amien Rais and Akbar Tandjung attended the ceremony, who read out the text of the Pancasila and the pledge of loyalty to the Pancasila respectively. The daily Suara Pembaruan also reported that the ceremony’s name was changed into ‘Remembering the National Tragedy resulting from the Treason towards Pancasila’. It also noted that the ceremony was much briefer than in earlier years and Megawati did not pay the usual visit to the museum ‘The Treason of the Communist Party’ adjacent to the Monument, which in turn stirred a debate whether the ceremony was really accomplished and the heroes had been sufficiently honoured. Suara Pembaruan 2-10-2000. 70 Purdy (1984: 239). 71 Yani and his comrades are the sacrifice that had to be made to salvage the very fundament of the state, that is the Pancasila. They heroically gave their life for the common cause. 75 === [PDF page 20] === KLAUS H. SCHREINER 72 Leclerc (1997). 73 Assmann (1998: 149). 74 This problem currently resurfaces in the German debate about a central monument in Berlin to commemorate the victims of the Holocaust. Some observers argue against such a monument because it would lead to a final closure of the remembrance. 75 The permanent incantation of the Indonesian ‘Dolchstoßlegende’ (stab-in-the-back legend) of Madiun, the premature and aborted rebellion of the Surakarta chapter of the PKI, and sometimes the reference to the Communist uprisings against the Dutch colonial rule, and of course ‘1965’ are the themes of this invocation. The above-mentioned White Book provides all the details and the pertinent interpretation of this myth; see Sekretariat Negara (1994). 76 Nora (1996: 15). References Anderson, Benedict, ‘How did the Generals Die?’, Indonesia, 43 (1987), 109–34. Assmann, Aleida, ‘Funktionsgedächtnis und Speichergedächtnis – Zwei Mode der Erinnerung’, in K. Platt and M. Dabag, eds, Generation und Gedächtnis. Erinnerung und kollektive Identitäten (Opladen: Leske & Budrich, 1995), pp. 169–85. Assmann, Aleida, 1998, ‘Stabilisatoren der Erinnerung – Affekt, Symbol, Trauma’, in Jörn Rüsen and Jürgen Straub, eds, Die dunkle Spur der Vergangenheit: psychoanalytische Zugänge zum Geschichtsbewußtsein (Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 1998), pp. 131–52. Buku Panduan Monumen Pancasila Sakti Lubang Buaya ([Jakarta]: Pusat Sejarah dan Tradisi ABRI, 1994). Caruth, Cathy, Unclaimed Experience: Trauma, Narrative, and History (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1996). Cavalli, Alessandro, ‘Gedächtnis und Identität: Wie das Gedächtnis nach katastrophalen Ereignissen rekonstruiert wird’, in K. E. Müller and J. Rüsen, eds, Historische Sinnbildung. Problemstellungen, Zeitkonzepte, Wahrnehmungshorizonte, Darstellungsstrategien (Reinbek: Rowohlt, 1997 [Rowohlts Enzyklopädie 5584]), pp. 455–70. Cribb, Robert, ‘Problems in the Historiography of the Killings in Indonesia’, in Robert Cribb, ed., The Indonesian Killings of 1965–1966: Studies from Java and Bali (Clayton, Victoria: Monash University Centre of Southeast Asian Studies, 1990 [Monash Papers on Southeast Asia 21]), pp. 1–44. Crouch, Harold, The Army and Politics in Indonesia (Ithaca NY: Cornell University Press, 1978). Dahm, Bernhard, Indonesien: Geschichte eines Entwicklungslandes (1945–1971) (Leiden: Brill, 1978 [Handbuch der Orientalistik; 3.1.1]). Friedlander, Saul, Memory, History, and the Extermination of the Jews of Europe (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1993), ‘Trauma and Transference’, pp. 116–37. Große-Kracht, Klaus, ‘Gedächtnis und Geschichte: Maurice Halbwachs–Pierre Nora’, Geschichte in Wissenschaft und Unterricht, 47(1) (1996), 21–31. Halbwachs, Maurice, Das Gedächtnis und Seine Sozialen Bedingungen (Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 1985). ‘Kegiatan Ilmiah dan “G-30-S”’, Madjalah Ilmu-Ilmu Sastra Indonesia, 4(1) (1968), 120–1. Kertzer, David I., ‘The Role of Ritual in Political Change’, in M. J. Aronoff, ed., Culture and Political Change (New Brunswick NJ, etc.: Transaction Books, 1983 [Political Anthropology, 2]), pp. 53–73. 76 === [PDF page 21] === REMEMBERING AND FORGETTING AT ‘LUBANG BUAYA’ ‘Kesaksian Soeharto Melalui Otobiografi’, Tempo, 6 October 1998. Klooster, Hugo A. J., Indonesiërs schrijven hun geschiedenis: de ontwikkeling van de Indonesische geschiedsbeoefening in theorie en praktijk, 1900–1980 (Dordrecht, Cinnaminson: Foris, 1985 [Verhandelingen van het Koninklijk Instituut voor Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde; 113]). Leclerc, Jacques, ‘Sang et volupté à Lobang Buaya. La femme dans le mythe d’origine de l’ordre nouveau’, paper presented at the 8th ECIMS, Göteborg 1991. Leclerc, Jacques, ‘Girls, Girls, Girls, and Crocodiles’, in Henk Schulte Nordholt, ed., Outward Appearance: Dressing State and Society in Indonesia (Leiden: KITLV, 1997 Loewenberg, Peter, ‘Psychoanalytische Ich-Psychologie, Objektbeziehungstheorie und ihre Anwendbarkeit in der Geschichtswissenschaft’, in Jörn Rüsen and Jürgen Straub, eds, Die dunkle Spur der Vergangenheit: psychoanalytische Zugänge zum Geschichtsbewußtsein (Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 1998), pp. 101–30. Lucas, Anton, One Soul One Struggle: Region and Revolution in Indonesia (Sydney: Allen Nora, Pierre ‘Entre Mémoire et Histoire. La problématique des Lieux’, in Les Lieux de Mémoire: tome I La République, sous la direction de Pierre Nora (Paris: Gallimard, 1984). Nora, Pierre, Zwischen Geschichte und Gedächtnis (Berlin: Wagenbach, 1990). Nora, Pierre, ‘General Introduction: Between Memory and History’, in L.D. Kritzman, ed., Realms of Memory: Rethinking the French Past, vol. I: Conflicts and Divisions, transl. by A. Goldhammer (New York: Columbia University Press, 1996), pp. 1–20. Nugroho Notosusanto and Ismail Saleh, The Coup Attempt of the ‘September 30 Movement’ in Indonesia, 2nd edn (Jakarta: Headquarter of the Indonesian Army, Center for Armed Forces History and Tradition, 1987 [1st edn August 1968]). Oei Tjoe Tat, Memoar Oei Tjoe Tat, Pembantu Presiden Soekarno (Jakarta: Hasta Mitra, 1995). Pelinka, Anton, ‘Tabus in der Politik: zur Politischen Funktion von Tabus und Enttabuisierung’, in P. Bettelheim and R. Streibel, eds, Tabu und Geschicht: zur Kultur des kollektiven Erinnerns (Vienna: Pincus, 1994), pp. 21–8. Purdy, Susan Selden, ‘Legitimation of Power and Authority in a Pluralistic State: Pancasila and Civil Religion’ (PhD thesis, Columbia University, 1984). Rauschenbach, Brigitte, ‘Stille Post: von der Übertragung mit Unverstand’, in Jörn Rüsen and Jürgen Straub, eds, Die dunkle Spur der Vergangenheit: psychoanalytische Zugänge zum Geschichtsbewußtsein (Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 1998), pp. 242–55. Roth, Michael S., ‘Trauma, Repräsentation und historisches Bewußtsein’, in Jörn Rüsen and Jürgen Straub, eds, Die dunkle Spur der Vergangenheit: psychoanalytische Zugänge zum Geschichtsbewußtsein (Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 1998), pp. 153–73. Rudas, Stephan, ‘Stichworte zur Sozialpsychologie der Tabus’, in P. Bettelheim and R. Streibel, eds, Tabu und Geschichte: zur Kultur des kollektiven Erinnerns (Vienna: Pincus, 1994), pp. 17–20. Rüsen, Jörn and Jürgen Straub, eds, Die dunkle Spur der Vergangenheit: psychoanalytische Zugänge zum Geschichtsbewußtsein (Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 1998 [Erinnerung, Geschichte, Identität, 2]). Schreiner, Klaus H., ‘The Making of National Heroes: Guided Democracy to New Order’, in Henk Schulte Nordholt, ed., Outward Appearance: Dressing State and Society in Indonesia (Leiden: KITLV Press, 1997 [Proceedings 4]), pp. 259–90. 77 === [PDF page 22] === KLAUS H. SCHREINER Sekretariat Negara Republik Indonesia (ed.), Gerakan 30 September: Pemberontakan Partai Komunis Indonesia, Latar Belakang, Aksi, dan Penumpasannya (Jakarta: Sekretariat Negara Republik Indonesia, 1994 [1st edn 1992]). Seminar Sedjarah: laporan lengkap atjara 1 dan 2 tentang konsepsi filsafat sedjarah nasional dan periodisasi sedjarah Indonesia (Yogyakarta: Universitas Gadjah Mada, 1958). Sen, Krishna, ‘Filming “History” Under the New Order’, in Krishna Sen, ed., Histories and Stories: Cinema in New Order Indonesia (Clayton, Victoria: Monash University, 1988). Siregar, M.R., Tragedi manusia dan kemanusiaan: Kasus Indonesia, Sebuah holokaus yang diterima sesudah perang dunia kedua (N.p.: Progres, 1995). Sundhaussen, Ulf, The Road to Power. Indonesian Military Politics 1945–1967 (Kuala Lumpur etc.: Oxford University Press, 1982). Unfried, Berthold, ‘Gedächtnis und Geschichte: Pierre Nora und die “lieux de mémoire”’, Österreichische Zeitschrift für Geschichtswissenschaft, 4(2) (1991), 79–98. 78