Missing Victims of the 1965-66 Violence in Indonesia: Representing Impunity On-screen in The Act of Killing (Hearman, 2014)

=== [PDF page 1] === Critical Asian Studies ISSN: 1467-2715 (Print) 1472-6033 (Online) Journal homepage: www.tandfonline.com/journals/rcra20 “MISSING VICTIMS” OF THE 1965–66 VIOLENCE IN INDONESIA: Representing Impunity On-screen in The Act of Killing Vannessa Hearman To cite this article: Vannessa Hearman (2014) “MISSING VICTIMS” OF THE 1965–66 VIOLENCE IN INDONESIA: Representing Impunity On-screen in The Act of Killing, Critical Asian Studies, 46:1, 171-175, DOI: 10.1080/14672715.2014.863586 To link to this article: https://doi.org/10.1080/14672715.2014.863586 Published online: 19 Feb 2014. Submit your article to this journal Article views: 2276 View related articles View Crossmark data Full Terms & Conditions of access and use can be found at https://www.tandfonline.com/action/journalInformation?journalCode=rcra20 === [PDF page 2] === Hearman / “Missing Victims” “MISSING VICTIMS” OF THE 1965–66 VIOLENCE IN INDONESIA: Representing Impunity On-screen in The Act of Killing Vannessa Hearman, University of Sydney My first viewing of The Act of Killing (TAOK) led me to believe that the film suffered by neglecting the voices and experiences of victims of the violence. The 1965–66 killings claimed some half a million lives. Despite the number of victims and the survivors of imprisonment throughout Indonesia who could have been interviewed, filmmakers Joshua Oppenheimer et al. did not include them. It was as if the violence carried out by Anwar Congo, the film’s chief protagonist, and his friends had no victims to speak of. The phantasmagorical aspects of TAOK and the reenactments of crimes through Anwar’s acting in films ranging in genre from Westerns to romance might prevent viewers from understanding the magnitude of the crimes and the continuing impact of these crimes. Yet following a second viewing of the film and seeing again Anwar’s neighbor Suryono’s disclosure that he had lost a family member in the killings, I realized that through the relative absence of victims and the dominance of perpetrators, TAOK’s greatest contribution to advocacy for the victims is in showing us a highly realistic picture of Indonesian society and the impunity of the perpetrators. In spite of the passing of the regime, the perpetrators’ version continues to dominate the narrative about the September 30th Movement and its aftermath. The victims may be “missing,” but the larger point the filmmakers make about impunity is thereby emphasized even more. Since the fall of the Suharto regime in May 1998, victims of human rights abuses committed under the regime have established campaign groups to press for state accountability. These include groups that campaign about the legacies of the 1965–66 violence. The role of victims and victim groups has been understood in the universal discourse of international human rights with expectations that they would undertake advocacy on the issue. As a result, in Indonesia, the experiences of several former political prisoners who have spoken publicly have come to represent the experiences of the majority, in spite of 1. I viewed the long version of the film on 11 February (with English subtitles) and on 6 September 2013 (the Indonesian version, which is titled Jagal [Butcher]). 2. On estimates of the numbers killed, see Cribb 2001, 233. 3. North Sumatra survivor Astaman Hasibuan told the Jakarta Post that he was interviewed by Oppenheimer, but did not appear in the film. Gunawan 2012. 4. National groups include Yayasan Penelitian Korban Pembunuhan 1965–66 (YPKP 1965–66, Foundation for the Investigation of Victims of the 1965–66 Killings), a component of which split to create Lembaga Penelitian Korban Pembunuhan 1965 (LPKP, Institute for the Research on Victims of the 1965–66 Killings), as well as Lembaga Perjuangan Korban Rezim Orde Baru (LP-KROB, Institute for the Struggle of Victims of the New Order Regime) and Paguyuban Korban Rezim Orde Baru (Pakorba, Association of Victims of the New Order). Examples of local groups include the Solo-based Forum Komunikasi Korban G30S (FKKGS, Communication Forum of Victims of the Thirtieth September Movement) and Sekretariat Bersama “65 (Joint “65 Secretariat). 5. See for example Kontras 2012, a report by human rights organization Kontras. Vannessa Hearman <vannessa.hearman@sydney.edu.au> Critical Asian Studies 46:1 (2014), 171–175 ISSN 1467-2715 print/1472-6033 online / 01 / 00171–05 ©2014 BCAS, Inc. DOI:10.1080/14672715.2014.863586 === [PDF page 3] === the vast complexity of the repression. They include Bedjo Untung, Lestari, Putmainah, Hersri Setiawan, and Putu Oka Sukanta, who have all become well known through their writings and campaign activities. This phenomenon is partly driven by the need to document the abuses they suffered in order, for example, to conduct legal proceedings against the Indonesian government. The needs of advocacy have influenced the shaping of victim narratives, as well as the kinds of films produced about the 1965–66 violence. My expectations about the visibility of victims and the kinds of roles they would perform in TAOK were therefore molded by these advocacy intentions and by films produced earlier about the violence in 1965–66. In the earlier documentaries, victims participated primarily by providing testimony to camera. The “audiovisual testimonial scene” is one of the most common and geopolitically significant venues for the “attestation, mitigation and reception of social suffering,” according to Bhaskar Sarkar and Janet Walker. The presence of the “talking head” suggests authenticity and at the same time enables us, the audience, to respond to this suffering. As well as the precedence laid down by earlier films dealing with the topic, an additional problem is posed by the form of the documentary and the expectations that the form carries. The “documentary” is itself a difficult term to define, particularly in what John Corner terms the post-documentary world in audiovi- 10 sual media such as television. A post-documentary world is one in which “documentary elements have been combined with components from fictional, light entertainment and popular factual formats to produce a wide range of tex- 11 tual hybrids.” Certainly TAOK is no conventional documentary. For example, reenactments of the violence are embedded within the (fictional) making of several feature films starring Anwar Congo and his friends. Taking at face value its label as a documentary, we tend to come with a set of expectations, including expecting to see victims provide testimony to camera. Many victims in Indonesia are, however, unable to speak about their experiences. Despite the expectations about accessing victim testimony in a documentary, ongoing human rights abuses include the suppression of testi- 12 mony. The exclusion of victims from TAOK is therefore also a comment on the invisibility of victims in Indonesia. Instead the film teaches us to look for them in unexpected places. This quest is mirrored in the way in which the filmmakers seem to have stumbled across Suryono. Although Oppenheimer himself was unaware that any of the cast had had direct experience of the violence, Suryono, a neighbor of Anwar Congo, became part of the cast of Anwar’s film. In a break 6. There have been a number of media reports, even books about each of these, for example Batlolone 2012. 7. Hutabarat 2011. 8. These films include Sukanta and Munafidah 2007, Wiranegara and Sukanta 2008, and Wechselmann 2013. 9. Sarkar and Walker 2010, 8. 10. Corner 2002, 263. 11. Austin 2007, 4. 12. Sarkar and Walker 2010, 6. 172 Critical Asian Studies 46:1 (2014) === [PDF page 4] === during filming, Suryono is seen putting his socks on and chatting with Anwar and his friends. Suryono’s subordinate position is suggested by his sitting on the stage below Anwar who sits on a chair on the stage. Suryono says in a deferential manner, “Tapi kalau mau asli-aslinya ceritakan itu lah” (If you want 13 something authentic, tell the story of that). It is not immediately clear what Suryono means by “that.” A colleague of Anwar, who is wearing a yellow batik shirt, responds to him, “Lah itu perlu dibikin itu” (That’s what needs to be made). Suryono laughs in agreement. The man continues, “Karena kalau kita bikin cerita, jangan mengada-ada. Kasih masukan” (Because if we are putting together a story, don’t make things up. Give us input). Suryono then does give them input by disclosing his personal story. Suryono tells the men of his Chinese stepfather, Bun, a wholesale trader in a rural area somewhere in North Sumatra, where he was the only Chinese. Suryono recounts how Bun was taken away by a group of men when Suryono was eleven or twelve years old. Bun was then murdered, his body dumped and covered with half a metal drum and pieces of sackcloth. Suryono intimates that only his grandfather and he were willing to deal with Bun’s corpse (other people being too afraid to do so). They buried Bun “like a goat” by the side of the road leading to Sigura-gura, a town in North Sumatra. Suryono then tells the men how he was ostracized socially and was unable to obtain an education because he was discriminated against, as the son of an accused leftist. The men listen with interest, with the exception of Herman, who looks bored and argues loudly that Suryono’s story could not be included because the plot of the movie they were making “was already set” (sudah disetting). Indicative of the somewhat black-sheep status Herman has in the group, there was then furious agreement, almost too eager among the other men, that “connections” (kaitankaitan) would be made between Suryono’s story and the movie. And one person interjected, “Paling tidak bisa menjadi motivasi Pak” (At the very least, it could motivate us, Sir). It was perhaps this motivation that then led to the next scene, in which Suryono acts the part of a communist in an interrogation. His hands are tied and his eyes blindfolded. The men helpfully suggest to him how the victims would have behaved, perhaps based on their own experiences. Suryono appears very distressed in this scene. I am not aware of the sequence of events in the filming, therefore I do not know if Suryono participated in this scene before or after his disclosure of having been a victim himself. A number of questions arise as to the men’s motivations in having Suryono take the part of the communist in the interrogation. Was it to ensure his story was included? We do not know if they considered Suryono as one of those sons and grandsons who could exact revenge for their loss of family members, as was feared by the men. Was his inclusion in their film a symbol of their acceptance of a man who had suffered social exclusion in the past? In including him, did they want to absolve themselves of their crimes? Or did they typecast him in the mold of his stepfather? 13. All dialogue taken from the Indonesian version of the film and translations are mine. Hearman / “Missing Victims” 173 === [PDF page 5] === Suryono’s disclosure challenges the men’s narrative on several levels. His willingness to tell his story makes explicit the presence of victims in what at first seemed to be a terrain populated only by executioners. Moreover, Suryono challenges the anti-Chinese messages the Pemuda Pancasila men convey. Suryono showed that anti-Chinese sentiment was not shared by all in the community, as evidenced by his mother’s mixed-race marriage. His rather apologetic tone in acknowledging Bun’s role as a father to him since he was a baby shows his awareness that his story does not fit the men’s narrative and its ex- 14 plicit anti-Chinese tone. Yet Suryono was at pains to emphasize that for him, Bun was a good man. We do not know why Suryono wanted to disclose this story to the men or what consequences the revelations may have had for him. He passed away after the film was made, thereby denying Oppenheimer the op- 15 portunity to have further discussions with him. Nevertheless, Suryono’s disclosure highlights an important aspect of victimhood in Indonesia and that is the process of negotiation that is required between victims and their oppressors, sometimes on a daily basis, because of their close proximity. The proximity of victims to perpetrators can impose a code of silence on the victims. Leslie Dwyer argues that silences are not “blank spots of communication,” but rather social products with particular genealogies, in this case “the cultural work of the state” in managing both the history and representation of 16 the 1965 events. If my earlier criticism of the absence of victims in this film was based on my own unmet expectations, Suryono’s presence is all the more powerful because it illustrates the daily reality for many victims in Indonesia. He is not silent, but neither does he conform to my stereotype of how a victim might behave. His involvement in the film is part of his negotiation with those with whom he must coexist. He survives by participating in their ventures sometimes. In showing Suryono’s disclosure the film emphasizes the difficulties for victims of having to live in a society in which the Pemuda Pancasila still rules the streets and marketplaces of Medan. The enmeshing of oppressors into the very fabric of society and the difficulties of dislodging them lead to the situation of compromise that we see depicted on screen. Victims compromise for a variety of reasons, including structural powerlessness, fear, and a sense of resignation. In positions of power, men like those in Pemuda Pancasila can influence the kinds of stories told about the past. TAOK shows that as researchers, we have to be open to victims being located in the most unlikely places and disclosing their stories in unexpected ways. Suryono most likely had not spoken much about the loss of his stepfather or Oppenheimer would have known about his personal history in the course of making the film. Disclosures such as this, no matter how limited, have a certain impact. Accessing and offering up victims’ narratives beyond those that are readily available in testimony or biography 17 form (or as a “talking head’) is a complex task. Hilmar Farid suggests that the 14. See Tsai and Kammen 2012 on the anti-Chinese attacks in Medan in 1965–67. 15. Melvin 2013. 16. Dwyer 2009, 117–18. 17. For a discussion of some of the implications of using victim testimonies in oral history and biographical works, see Hearman 2009, 21–42. 174 Critical Asian Studies 46:1 (2014) === [PDF page 6] === importance of victim narratives is in understanding “the victims within their 18 concrete histories, not just [seeing them] as a series of statistics.” The history of the left in North Sumatra and in Indonesia and the reason they were perceived as a threat still need to be unearthed. These “concrete histories” do contribute to human rights advocacy in that they convey the overall picture of the violence, but at the same time they can rehumanize the victims by restoring them into the 19 society from which they had been erased or in which they had been silenced. This film, which Oppenheimer calls his “love letter” to Indonesia, helps us un- 20 derstand how this society has been constituted. It is a form of advocacy, but not in the form to which we are accustomed, or expect, in documentary filmmaking. 18. Farid 2006, 273. 19. Ibid., 269–70. 20. Schaer 2013. References Austin, Thomas. 2007. Watching the world: Screen documentary and audiences. Manchester: Manchester University Press. Batlolone, Vidi. 2012. Bedjo Untung, Tak Lelah Mencari Keadilan [Bedjo Untung, tireless in seeking justice]. 30 July. Available at www.shnews.co/detile-5570-bedjo-untung-tak-lelah-mencarikeadilan.html (accessed 9 September 2013). Corner, John. 2002. Performing the real: Documentary diversions. Television & New Media 3 (3): 255–69. Cribb, Robert. 2001. Genocide in Indonesia, 1965–1966. Journal of Genocide Research 3 (2): 219–39. Dwyer, Leslie. 2009. A politics of silences: Violence, memory and treacherous speech in post–1965 Bali. In Alexander Laban Hinton and Kevin Lewis O’Neill, eds. Genocide: Memory, truth and representation. Durham, N.C.: Duke University Press. Farid, Hilmar. 2006. Political economy of violence and victims. In Charles A. Coppel, ed. Violent conflicts in Indonesia: Analysis, representation, resolution. Abingdon: Routledge. Gunawan, Apriadi. 2012. 1965 victims protest against “The Act Of Killing.” The Jakarta Post, 30 September. Hearman, Vannessa. 2009. The uses of memoirs and oral history works in researching the 1965–66 political violence in Indonesia. International Journal of Asia-Pacific Studies 5 (2): 21–42. Hutabarat, Restaria, ed. 2011. 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Sukanta, Putu Oka, and Lilik Munafidah. 2007. Perempuan yang tertuduh [The accused women]. Jakarta: Lembaga Kreativitas Kemanusiaan. Tsai, Yen-Ling, and Douglas Kammen. 2012. Anti-communist violence and the ethnic Chinese in Medan. In Douglas Kammen and Katharine McGregor, eds. The contours of mass violence in Indonesia. Singapore: NUS Press. Wechselmann, Maj. 2013. The women and the generals. Stockholm: Swedish Television (SvT), Norwegian Brodcasting (NRK) and Fritt Ord (Norway). Wiranegara, I.G.P., and Putu Oka Sukanta. 2008. Tumbuh dalam badai [Growing under the storm]. Jakarta: Lembaga Kreativitas Kemanusiaan. Hearman / “Missing Victims” 175