Lesley McCulloch – It is too easy for the world to forget Aceh, an embattled, silent and closed province in the northwest of Indonesia. The reason is simple: international journalists are prevented from entering legally and the local media are either embedded in the military or attacked – even kidnapped – when attempting to work independently.

There is an acute sense of lingering Suhartoism in Indonesian President Megawati Sukarnoputri's response to Aceh – dissent has been met with state-sponsored violence. Almost six months of martial law has resulted in the province being all but closed to the outside world. On average, 12 people are killed each day, the same number are arrested and many more simply disappear. These are the official figures; data from locals suggest the human cost of this latest military operation is in fact much higher.

The misery of the Acehnese is compounded by the fact that poverty is running at around 40 percent, food and health security are something of the past – certainly not the present – and many children do not attend school. The education infrastructure no longer exists in any meaningful form (600 schools have been destroyed); many teachers – accused by the military of spreading pro-independence "propaganda" – have been killed or abducted, and pupils are often too afraid to venture far from home.

Coordinating Minister for Political and Security Affairs Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono has in recent days announced an extension to martial law, which had been due to end in mid-November. To many, this has come as no surprise. Sofyan Daud, spokesman for the separatist movement, said by satellite phone from Aceh: "You know, we are never surprised by the actions of the Indonesian government or military – and we are always ready for them. Of course it would be much better to return to the dialogue and stop the bloodshed, but the Indonesians are reluctant to follow this path."

The question remains whether the extended military operation can indeed fulfill its aims of eliminating the movement. Said Daud: "Yudhoyono has himself said that the operation is proving to be less effective and more costly – in terms of both finances and lives lost – than they had planned. We [GAM, or the Free Aceh Movement] are still a force to be reckoned with. So what to do now? It is a real problem for the Indonesians – our people just wait and see. They can never eliminate us. Some day – soon I hope – they will realize this and resume another peace process."

With the fall of Suharto in 1998, the Indonesian media were hailed as the freest in Asia by over-enthusiastic or self-deluding supporters of the new regime. It is true that they had more freedom then than during Suharto's time, but they were by no means free.

In the weeks following the imposition of martial law in Aceh on May 19 this year, both local and international media were still able to cover the military operation. As journalists traveled the embattled province, worldwide headlines such as "Aceh's death toll tops 100" (British Broadcasting Corp, May 29) after only 11 days of war, and stories of military-backed militia destroying infrastructure and killing civilians became unpalatable to both the Indonesian military and government. The inevitable response – closing Aceh to the media – was met with little opposition by the domestic populace that has lived in a country where traditionally voices of dissent have been silenced – one way or another. In the absence of any "new" news, the international community quickly lost interest.

In Indonesia a culture of militarism and secrecy has outlived the 30-year dictatorship of Suharto. Megawati's administration has discovered that withholding information is an extremely powerful weapon. Freedom of expression, association and access to information are all fundamental rights and constitute a large component of the cornerstone of democracy: none are yet available in Indonesia.

The process of closing Aceh to the media was very simple. By late May the military, and by extension the government, was already showing signs of nervousness because of the negative coverage. Military commander General Endriartono Sutarto stated: "[Media] reports covering the comments of both sides, or neutrality, cannot be permitted because GAM's chaotic statements will then be released and lead to confusion among Acehnese about who is in the right." The only Acehnese newspaper covering the war, Serambi, followed military orders and all but stopped reporting the conflict.

Following that theme, local military operations chief General Endang Suwarya warned journalists not to quote, interview or write about the rebels: "I want all news published to contain the spirit of nationalism."

Presidential decree 43/2003 (June 16) on restricting the media stipulates that foreign journalists must get permission to report on Aceh from the minister of foreign affairs, and that local journalists must apply to the military emergency authority.

In the post-Suharto flush of enthusiasm that Indonesia was firmly on the path to reform, many hailed the country as the world's "newest democracy". These days, since the reformasi dust has settled, we don't hear so much praise for the process of democratization. There has been a realization that reformasi has, by design rather than default, all but stalled, and that democracy is something that only the most optimistic can see on the horizon. For most there is only quiet acknowledgement that nothing much has changed as Megawati struggles to convince the domestic and international audience that she is not simply a figurehead president while the old Suharto guards and the military continue to reign supreme.

Under Megawati the Acehnese continue to inhabit an "extreme zone" where death, arrest, torture and destruction are the norm. If Indonesia wants to prove its democratizing credentials, the restrictions on access to information in Aceh must be opened to a public and independent review that should ask: "In closing Aceh to the media, exactly what information are Megawati and the military trying to withhold?"

Perhaps we do not fire the bullets or draw the bayonets to kill, maim and terrorize; nor do we light the torches to burn the schools and houses. But our willful ignorance makes us complicit – as it did in East Timor – to the unfolding tragedies. The door is closed, we cannot see – we know, but (again) choose to ignore.

[Lesley McCulloch is a research fellow in the School of Social and International Studies, Deakin University, Melbourne.]