A verbal spat at a concert late last year unleashed a wave of riots in West Kalimantan that left about 200 people dead and two dozen settlements destroyed. In a recent special report, The Jakarta Post examines the causes of the riots that have pitted the native Dayaks against the Madurese community.
The Dayaks have dismantled their road-blocks on the inland roads and peace is being restored gradually to the north-east of West Kalimantan.
The government's latest peace initiative was held late last month in Anjungan, 70 km north of Pontianak. About 1,000 people attended a ceremony where Dayak and Madurese leaders pledged to work towards peace.
The latest clashes between the Dayaks and the Madurese had its beginnings in a quarrel between youths from the two ethnic groups in September last year. The lingering ill-feelings flared up during a Dec 29 concert, when a verbal spat led to two Dayaks being stabbed. Rumours that they had died triggered riots in which thousands of houses were set on fire and many lives were lost.
Religious teacher Tadjul Anwar, 31, was among the hundreds of Madurese who fled their homes in the hot-spot of Sanggau Ledo and sought shelter in Singkawang, 70 km away.
He and his family hid in the woods for some three days before seeking protection at a local military station. During that time, he watched from afar as rampaging Dayaks vented their rage.
"I had to watch them burn not only my house, but also my books, most of which were gifts from my brother in Medina," he recalled.
Madurese Zainul Amin, 28, was an Arabic teacher at an Islamic boarding school in Jirak village, 80 km from Sanggau Ledo. He and his family fled Samalantan when the upheaval swept the area.
Like Mr Tadjul, he came to West Kalimantan in 1990 to teach. "I never thought the violence could spread to my area," he said. "I shall never return there. There's no guarantee we will be safe."
One of the sights he could not forget was the dead bodies lying on the roads as he made his escape. "I didn't know the Dayaks had intended to eliminate us," he said.
The latest outbreak of violence appears to have run its course, with the last violent incident occurring on Feb 22, when Dayaks razed 60 houses in Capkala Mandor, 100 km north of Pontianak.
However, it will be a while yet before a sense of confidence takes hold.
The Madurese have yet to return to the towns in the interior where their homes were set aflame by the Dayaks, and many refugees were still leaving Pontianak by boat, said Mr Dismas Aju, a researcher at a Pontianak-based Catholic institute investigating the ethnic conflict.
They are not the only ones who are scared. Dayak families living in and around Pontianak have also retreated to their home villages for fear of retaliation. The family home of Mr Martinus, a Dayak, was set aflame despite the fact that his brother is a soldier. He has since moved his family to Ngabang.
The police are preparing dossiers on 70 people charged with various offences, including murder, arson, assault and weapons possession. They are expected to be tried before the May 29 General Election.
Mr L. H. Kadir, the head of the Directorate of Village Development, said it would be difficult to collect evidence to prosecute those involved in the ethnic conflict.
"Dayaks in the villages will say teriyu is what set them off," he noted, referring to a traditional ritual which puts Dayaks into a violent trance. "If there's no evidence, what can we do?"
Conflict between the indigenous Dayaks and the Madurese immigrants is not new. The two groups have clashed several times since the late '60s, when the Madurese began settling along the roads in the interior.
The triggers for the violence were usually minor in themselves. But they were allowed to fester, leading eventually to a showdown between communities.
The latest bloodshed in Sanggau Ledo, for instance, started with a Madurese making a crude remark to a Dayak woman. Taken to be an insult to the Dayak community, it led to an escalation of violence.
Army Chief, General R. Hartono, has expressed the view that ethnic differences are only one of a few causes of the West Kalimantan riots.
Rapid economic development has been cited as another possible source of trouble.
Gross Domestic Product for the province has risen from 3.2 million rupiahs ($1,933) in 1986 to 4.6 million rupiahs in 1991, based on constant prices in 1983.
However, the growing wealth has brought with it social envy, as segments of the population grew richer while others remained mired in poverty.
Mr Tadjul acknowledges that many Madurese are better off financially than the Dayaks, and attributes this disparity to the former's skill in trading. "We used to have a good relationship with our Dayak neighbours, especially those who converted to Islam," he added. "When violence broke out, our good neighbours turned their backs on us."
The vast Kalimantan forests are a source of enormous wealth which has attracted investors and entrepreneurs seeking exploitation rights.
In the past five years, widespread felling of trees has fuelled resentment among the Dayaks, who feel that their native land rights have been brushed aside to accommodate the interests of transmigrants and commercial plantations.
"This is about land conflict," said Mr Laurentius Kadir, a Dayak and head of the province's Directorate for Village Development. "What has to be done is more balanced development."
Gold fever is another source of contention.
The locals believe that they did not get sufficient compensation for their land in the vicinity of the Monterado gold mining project.
Early last year, a protest was held by local landowners and workers of the Monterado gold mines against its foreign owners.
To some members of the Dayak community, what is more important than differences in economic status is the perception that the authorities are partial to the outsiders. "Many Madurese are pedicab drivers or construction workers," said a Dayak who requested anonymity. "Sure, some are rich, but we're not jealous. What we don't like is the way they've gotten their land with government help."
Indonesia's ambitious transmigration programme, which resettles the very poor of Java and Madura to the outer provinces, has had its share of blame for the riots.
Often arriving with little knowledge of their hosts' culture, the transmigrants expand the cultural divide by living in separate hamlets. Analysts have advised that the Coordinating Body for National Unity should focus not only on assimilating the ethnic Chinese, but also on acculturating migrant communities.
Cultural differences between Dayaks and Madurese do lead to friction. The Dayaks, for instance, complain that the Madurese are quick to draw the knives they always carry – itself an affront to Dayak adat or custom.
Some observers point out that hatred towards outsiders is being fuelled by a fear among the Dayak community that its people are being marginalised. Many Dayak warriors who razed Madurese villages were from the poor interior, where there is, in fact, much less contact with the migrant community.
Pastor Yeremis of Menjalin parish, which saw 5,000 Dayak refugees during the peak of the violence, said the Madurese were scapegoats of pent-up Dayak anger.
"The Dayaks are so gentle and generous, but they are also easily manipulated and used. This frustration is exploding now, and manifesting in their conflict with the Madurese," he said.
Inland Dayak communities – from areas such as the Kapuas Hulu, Sambas and Putussibao regencies – have kept more of their traditions than their southern kin.
However, they, too, have not escaped the upheavals brought about by government-led modernisation.
For instance, the famous communal longhouses have been replaced by single-family dwellings. This, in turn, has undermined the oral traditions, cultural cohesion and political unity of longhouse culture. Economic development has also disrupted the Dayak's traditional barter system and pushed many into greater debt.
It was, thus, a matter of time before the combination of economic, social and political frustrations burst into open violence.
Two dozen Madurese settlements were reduced to ashen rubble in its wake.
Since then, attempts have been made by the authorities to restore peace and reconcile the communities.
Some Madurese leaders have expressed the wish to move on rather than dwell on the past. Mr M. H. Hambali, a Madurese MP who lives in Pontianak, believes that the two sides can reconcile their cultural differences.
Mr Hambali, who was born in Kalimantan and sees himself and his Dayak wife as Kalimantan natives, said: "It is a hardship that we must overcome. If we want to continue living together, we have to just let it pass."
This land is my land...
The term "Dayak" describes more than 400 groups of Kalimantan's indigenous people. While they may differ in language and art form, they share such features as a tradition of longhouse living and a world-view which holds that all things, be they man or stone, have a living spirit which must be respected. So, if a Dayak were to pick up a bird's nest, he has to perform an appropriate ritual.
What is most basic to them is their land, which is seen not just as an economic resource, but also as a birthright and the basis for cultural, social, political and spiritual life.
Territorial boundaries between banua or villages are usually agreed upon by the village heads. Breaking this consensus would be a source of collective conflict.
The stripping away of their traditional land, to make way for plantations and transmigrants, has thus become a sore point with the Dayaks, who often lack legal papers to assert their rights.
Confronted with the law which declares that all uncertified land belongs to the state, one Dayak remarked: "We resent the Madurese taking our land, but we also resent the government for not protecting our rights."
The shrinking size of their traditional land has also hurt the Dayaks in other ways. Dayak farmers are forced to shorten their fallow period, thus destroying the sustainability of the land.
The spread of palm oil and rubber plantations has not brought much cheer either. Despite an annual export-led growth rate of 10.7 per cent, West Kalimantan has a high local unemployment rate – it was 13 per cent in 1995.
Said Mr Laurentius Kadir, a Dayak who heads the province's Directorate for Village Development: "These projects have to stop bringing in labour from outside. They must hire Dayaks, too."
For the moment, the Dayak frustration has been vented on the Madurese. Those who set Madurese houses ablaze avoided attacking government buildings, mosques and houses belonging to people of Javanese or other descent.
A sign painted next to the road near Anjungan stated: "The Dayaks will struggle until their last drop of blood if the Madurese are still in Kalimantan."
The Madurese have a reputation for being a tough, hardworking lot, having come from a dry and unproductive land.
They have a saying, "kar-karkar colpe", which is analogous to a hen scraping the soil to find something to eat, no matter how small the food, according to Mr H. A. Latief Wiyata, a lecturer at the University of Jember, East Java, who is doing an anthropological study of the Madurese people.
That some Madurese have prospered in their new settlements has added to the resentment of the Dayaks, who do not see themselves as the notorious head-hunters of old, but as a hospitable people whose generosity has been "abused".
In West Kalimantan, the Madurese have the reputation of being short-tempered, vengeful and quick to draw their knives. Although it is customary for them to carry a dagger or celurit, this has not been well received by the Dayaks.
Land and wealth issues aside, the Madurese insularity has also irked the Dayaks. "It might appear as ethnic solidarity, but it could also be interpreted as exclusivity," said Mr Latief Wiyata. (from the Jakarta Post)