An Indonesian literature student was asked about Pramoedya Ananta Toer on an author forum in Paris in 1999. To the audience surprise, he answered that he never heard nor read any of his works. Later he explained. Pramoedya’s works were strictly prohibited in Indonesia by President Suharto—also known as the New Order regime—who ruled from 1966 to 1998. A student was imprisoned for 8 years because he discussed about Pramoedya’s novels. How bizarre!
Who is Pramoedya Ananta Toer really? He is one among many Indonesia’s authors. Yet his writings were his soul as they expressed his views. As a humanitarian who could never stand the injustices, his works were full of criticism towards the ruling government. As the result, life was constantly made uneasy for him. Almost half of his life was spent under imprisonment.
In his twenties, he joined a paramilitary group in Jakarta to defend the newly independent country from the Netherlands’ aggression after the World War II was over. During his military career, he began to write short stories and books. He was then jailed by the Dutch in 1948 and 1949. He could however read books such as John Steinbeck’s “Of Mice and Men” and “The Human Comedy” by William Saroyan which were his strength to survive.
In 1958 he was appointed a member of Lekra’s Plenum, an organization which was said to be a supporter of the communist party. Upon this decision, people accused him of moving leftwards, proven by his works which mostly challenged the government policies. This led him to receive a lot of criticisms from other authors. His story “Korupsi”—Corruption—had created a small feud with President Sukarno’s government. In 1960, under General Nasution’s order, he had to return to jail for disagreeing with the government policy concerning the discrimination towards the Indonesian Chinese. His book “Hoakiau” was banned since then, and only republished in 1998 after Suharto was forced to resign.
His other works since then were more or less received the same treatment. Many of his manuscripts had been ransacked by the Dutch, English, and mostly Indonesian government. “I don’t know why. They had looted everything,” said he. When he recalled those works, his face turned gloomier. “I don’t understand; if they wanted those documentations, I would give them gladly. But they could have used more humane ways. I have started to collect those manuscripts since the previous century. How could they do that!” There was a almost a tear he tried to hide on his old face.
But Pramoedya has always been strong. In 1962-1965, he was an editor of “Lentera” (Lantern), the weekly section of the leftist daily “Bintang Timur”; lecturing Indonesian literature at the University of Res Publika; teaching at Dr. Abdul Rivai Academy for Journalism; and one of the founders of the “Multatuli” Literature Academy.
While his star was rising, a tragedy happened in 1965 and changed his life forever . On October 1, he heard on the radio about an attempted coup which resulted in kidnapping and murdering six generals. The news was followed by the announcement of promotion and degradation for those who did and did not participate in the coup. He was stricken dumb and confused. It all happened in a sudden as he heard nothing of it before between his works which occupied most of his time.
However, the news was soon spread by several friends who came to him. There was a writer who asked him to allow him to stay at his house—which he refused, since he had not yet known the real situation. Shortly after, an officer from the university came to give his payment and said that the university was closed because of the situation was unsafe. A few days later, an officer from a pencil factory in which he served as an advisor gave him six months of emergency wages and said that the factory had to be closed because the situation worsened. A friend came and said that D.N. Aidit—the leader of the communist party—had his house burned down by a mob, along with a few others’. He also reported how these people moved: they attacked somebody’s house, and then people in uniforms would come. But it was strange, as they did not protect the owner of the house; they arrested him instead. “I’m sure you’ll be treated the same way,” he said then to Pramoedya. “But what is my fault?” asked Pramoedya in return. “Your only fault, sir, is because you’re an important figure.”
“Is that all? Then I am always here,” he said eventually.
During those days, the Armed Forces chief General Nasution made commando-like speeches on the radio, urging the public to “destroy the Communist Party root and branch.” After these statements, the murder, looting and burning of the army intensified to the point of madness. It was this general who awarded the military regime with the name “New Order,” which is used to this day to refer to Suharto’s government in Indonesia.
People kept advising Pramoedya to leave meanwhile. A tailor offered him a safe place somewhere in Central Java . He said thank you, but politely refused. He was even wondering why others could see that his life was in danger. Another friend warned him to escape. “What should I escape from? Why?” he repeatedly asked. To a young writer who acted suspiciously, he said, “I have been always here, alone. If the mob will really come, I will face them alone. I belong here.”
The clock was ticking, and the situation was becoming more and more terrible. Fortunately his wife who had just given birth two months ago stayed in her parents’ house; along with the children. Pramoedya then put his name plank which was fallen back to its place as if to say: “Here I am, don’t get lost!” He afterward returned to his work on the encyclopedia of Indonesian literature until he grew tired; and read an Islamic book where he turned off all the lights and sat alone at the courtyard. His only companion was his younger brother who returned to Indonesia from his study abroad to work on his dissertation.
They came! At 11 PM on October 13, he suddenly realized that his house was surrounded by people. He then switched the lamp-post on. He could see people tried to escape from the light. They wore mask. In an instant he had a bad thought that those people had just robbed somebody else. He had heard enough rumors already about the military officers ordered school students to shout against President Sukarno. And there was a soldier lived nearby who kept shouting since two days before, that the military had their own policy Sukarno had no more authority. “So I was not just blindly giving prejudice,” he explained.
However, the horde seemed to be in doubt. Each time he turned the light off, they appeared. But then when it was turned on, they ran away. He suspected that he knew those faces behind the mask. Not so long after, rocks were hurled onto his house—too big to be thrown by one person. “I could not imagine what would happen to my two month old baby if he were here,” Pram recalled. Huge rocks flew and landed through the roof. He was sure that these people wanted his life. He hurriedly grabbed a wooden stick and a small katana given by his friend who came from Japan. It was his last day, he thought, at his own place. There was no way to fight so many people, but he must defend himself anyhow; and at least to give something to remember to those people: words which are sharper than any weapons.
He shouted furiously at those people, “Is this what you call as struggling? I have been fighting since I was young, but not like this. Come, call your leader! What kind of fight is this?”
The noise stopped; and also the rock throwing. But a moment later a quite huge piece of stone broke the silence and landed on Pramoedya’s thigh before continuing to hit the front door to crash. Then the rock throwing continued. Some even hit the lamp-post and caused it broken.
A voice was heard, “Where is the oil? Let us burn the house!” Another voice replied, “Don’t! It would also burn my house!” Pramoedya turned back, and noticed that his brother was no longer there. He hoped that his brother could escape from the back gate and jumped to the neighbor’s courtyard. Things nevertheless turned to happen exactly as he heard from his friend. Soon after, people in uniforms arrived: a method which could be seen during the New Order rule. They were soldiers and policemen. He opened the door for them all. They came in and said, “It’s useless to fight against public opinion.” He answered, “They are lynch mob; they don’t represent the public!”
The leader proposed after checking the whole house, “Come Sir, we will guard you from here,” in which he responded by calling his younger brother to prepare things since they promised to guard them. He packed the manuscript of his book “Girl of the Coast” and a typewriter. He asked one of the policemen in the team to promise to save all his works and library within the house. The policeman promised he would. Then the guards took them—Pramoedya and his brother—away from the house followed by the people in mask. They brought spears, krises, daggers, and small swords. The guards did nothing to these men. When they reached the field behind Pramoedya’s house, before getting the prisoners onto the car, they tied their hand backwards and connected it to their neck; so that whenever they struggled, the tie would suffocate them.
Suddenly Pram regretted his decision. It was painful to die like that, he thought. It would be much better if he fought on the land he lived. But he kept walking towards the car waiting for them. There, an angry guard blew a strike to his face using the butt of his rifle. Hurriedly he turned his face so that the metal missed his eye. It “only” broke his cheek bone instead. He had almost completely lost his hearing since then.
The prisoners afterwards were brought to the Army Strategic Reserve Command (KOSTRAD) headquarter. Again, Pramoedya asked one of the soldiers to save his beloved private library. “The government could have them; just don’t let them to be destroyed”, he warned the officer, who promised he would do as he was told. Then they were marched to another house inside the building.
A guard took everything Pramoedya had in his hands, including: papers, typewriter, also the small katana which was slipped inside his socks. When he was left alone, however, the guard approached him and returned his Rolex, after warning him to hide it carefully. They were then led to a room where there had been several people laid down on the floor.
A young soldier with a charming face approached and asked him questions. He replied with a question concerning the soldier’s rank. The young soldier knocked him over several times before leaving. Two hours later another Nissan patrol arrived. It carried lots of things. He could recognize some of his belongings there. At that point he began to understand that his library which including 5,000 books and a few tons of newspapers collection from his students had been raided.
It was over midnight. In the meantime more and more people were captured. Some of them could not walk that the guards tossed them onto the floor. One of them recognized Pramoedya, and asked what happened to him. He looked upon himself. His clothes were full of blood stains from his face and also his wounded thigh. This man then told him that people had looted his house and left it empty; not even a single ripe mango could stay on its tree.
The morning was started by the arrival of barefooted journalists; they were all wounded on their knees. Among them there was his uncle. Soon he learned that those journalists were forced to crawl on their knees on the rock-strewn road. As always, the soldiers flung them out of the truck. The room was full of people already, and more were still to come. Painful moans were heard, including from female voices. On the other hand, growing tensions were felt as the media—those which supported the army movement—kept arousing people’s anger by making up insane stories: the female partisans of the party had cut the private parts of the generals who were kidnapped and did seductive dancing in front of them. Pramoedya was shocked to see that his own people could ever do such a thing. The guard who returned his watch entered the room and erased the words written on the blackboard: “Banish the communist party!”
And then there came Pramoedya’s turn for interrogation. He was taken to a room where terrible groans were often heard; also from women. But at that time it was rather quiet. The electro-shockers were switched off. In the corner there was an officer questioning an inmate; he was dark, tall, slim, and wearing heavy boots. He repeatedly trampled on the inmate’s naked feet. Between the poor lad’s fingers there were pencils; and repeatedly the officer squeezed his fingers. He smiled while asking, “What is wrong? Why are you shouting?” Pramoedya sat next to the boy. Yet, unlike him, he received a humane treatment. His interrogator started with the question why he was bleeding all over.
Pram: I fell down.
Question: What do you think about the last night movement?
Pram: I know nothing about it.
Question: Do you agree with it?
Pram: Given the real information, maybe I could answer the question within five years from now.
At that point, things were not yet clear, but Pramoedya could suspect that the communist party was thought to be responsible for the kidnapping—and murdering—of the six generals. Another inmate had also suggested him to admit that he was a member of the party whenever he was asked the question—the truth matters not—unless he wanted them to change him into a disabled for the rest of his life. So he did.
Question: Do you believe that this country will be a communist country?
Pram: Not within these 40 years
Question: Why not?
Pram: Because of the geographical factor and people’s conventionality
When the interrogation was over, he asked the officer who returned his watch to free his younger brother, which he accepted. Then he also entrusted his watch to be given to his wife. After that, he was removed to another CPM Guntur prison only to be ripped off from all he had left, including tooth brush and belt. His six month wages from Res Publika and the pencil factory inside his pockets were also taken. They said it was necessary to prevent them from being stolen. From there, they were all transferred to another prison called Salemba. Hands up behind their neck, walking on their knees; they must not stand as tall as the guards.
Subsequently the human rights of these people were continually harassed. Around 1.5 millions people were estimated to be the victims of this operation, including Pramoedya. He—along with 12 thousands more people—was then sent to the concentration camps in the infamous Buru Island where oppression and hard works had waited. The rest died in various other ways. A fellow detainee claimed, “Only your right to breathe could not be taken away,” which was exaggerated; since many detainees also died during the encampment.
They all were imprisoned by their own government, yet the treatment they received was even worse than the prisoners during the Dutch reign. Pramoedya could no longer read nor write, for papers were not allowed. There were several Catholic missionaries who secretly gave books for the inmates to read, but it was far from safe. An inmate was killed for reading newspaper. But of course, nothing can stop Pramoedya from telling stories. After trying to send letters to his family to no avail; after helps from outsiders failed to reach him—including a typewriter sent by the French author Jean Paul Sartre ; he never gave up. He wrote many essays, notes, and letters and smuggled them out of the island with the help of a German priest. “These are personal notes, nothing more. There is no grand plan here,” he wrote as a foreword on his best-selling work “The Mute’s Soliloquy”. However, these personal notes are read by many around the world as well as his other books; the ones such as “The Buru Quartet”. His true power lays on his courage to report all.
Alone, he could not fight the situation, as he described on the work of how the inmates woke up in the morning after being beaten the night before, “The bodies of those men who could stand were wet with dew, but many more were unable to get up; they were either dead, unconscious, or had no strength left to stand. A sour smell of blood and human waste clung to the air.” By the end of the book Pramoedya included an unfinished list about the people who died on Buru—men, women, children—with their manner of death and last-known addresses; hoping that they would receive some justice they deserved one day and remain to be a part of the national memory.
In 1979, he was finally freed. Again, all his papers were taken from him, including a letter from President Suharto in which he advised Pramoedya to pray to God for guidance in “returning” to the path of righteousness. There was never a sound from the judiciary about the violations of his rights; not a single trial; not a formal charge.
Things were never the same again. Violations on the human rights kept happening to him and other ex political detainees; including their families. Their release from the camp was continued by years of house arrest. Their belongings—including house—were taken. They were banned from participating in the country’s election. For generations they—and their relatives—were given special stamp on the identity card which explained that they were related to a political detainee. Traveling abroad was forbidden. Beatings and insults were part of their everyday life. One of Pramoedya’s sons was beaten by his schoolmates while he was still in Senior High due to his father’s circumstances. Police came, arrested and beat him.
It all happened due to an unproven relation to the bloody revolution in 1965 which remains mystery even nowadays. Indonesian history books and newspapers still refer to this incident as an “attempted communist coup,” but there is no evidence that the Communist Party of Indonesia, as an organization, was involved in the kidnapping. “It was one of the biggest parties in the country with three million members at that time. If they wanted to launch a coup, why didn’t they just mobilize their branches in cities and towns outside Jakarta? Why was the party leadership caught completely off guard by the kidnapping?” asked Pramoedya. There were new facts found since then, including the connection of Suharto to the incident, but nobody knows for sure; not even Pramoedya, who had been victim. As there was no trial for Pramoedya, there has never been any trial for Suharto.
Now, eighty years have passed since Pramoedya was born. Many have happened to him. His courage to speak his mind had made him one of the most influential authors in Indonesia, although it took years for readers in Indonesia to know that; following the banning of the works in the author’s homeland.
That, however, never prevents him from getting international acknowledgements. So far his works have been translated into at least 28 languages, and he was awarded the 1995 Ramon Magsaysay Award for Journalism, Literature, and Creative Communication Arts. He has also been considered for the Nobel Prize in Literature. He also won the 2000 11th Fukuoka Asian Culture Prize and most recently the 2004 Norwegian Authors’ Union award for his contribution to the world literature and his continuous struggle for the right to freedom of expression. He completed a tour of North America in 1999 and won awards from the University of Michigan. The new government in Indonesia not only allows his books to be published, but also permits him to travel abroad. There are academics and readers and friends—Pramoedya is a friend of German Nobel prize winner Günter Grass—who honor him for what he has done. Denying any grudge against his fate, the author was fond of saying, “In this world everything has its own purpose; even injustice has its purpose. What is the purpose? It is to be fought.”
This has been originally posted here on September 6, 2005
nor delicious chicken curry …
