Raphael Pura, Krueng Geukueh – In his crisp safari suit and gleaming black shoes, sub-district officer Marzuki Muhammad Amin looks the very image of local authority as he strolls this dusty hamlet. With Indonesia's first free election in 44 years less than two weeks away, he says he should be exhorting fellow citizens of Aceh province to vote.
Instead, Mr. Marzuki is describing how the Indonesian army almost killed him a few weeks ago. "Two people died here," he says, pointing to a row of rickety roadside coffee shops. "And another one there, and a child over there." Gesturing toward a bullet-pocked mango tree, he says, "I hid behind that."
Free Aceh movement keeps up fight for independence
Political violence – fueled by years of neglect and abuse by the central government and the military – is sweeping Aceh, making this province Indonesia's most-worrisome separatist threat and a guaranteed headache for whoever wins the election. Indeed, the election itself might be in jeopardy in Aceh because of low voter registration and mounting unrest. On Wednesday, Home Affairs Minister Syarwan Hamid suggested the turmoil could force postponement of balloting in the province, according to The Associated Press.
The heart of the matter is economics and oppression. Aceh spent most of the 1990s under de facto military rule. Now, alienated Acehnese are demanding redress for the killing, torture or disappearance of thousands of people during that period. And they bitterly blame Jakarta for plundering the province's resources, ranging from natural gas to timber.
Automatic-weapons fire
The May 3 massacre that Mr. Marzuki describes is the worst incident to date. Soldiers with automatic weapons opened fire on several thousand Acehnese who were protesting abusive treatment by the army. The shooting went on for 30 minutes, according to eyewitnesses, killing 41 villagers and wounding more than 100. Medical workers say at least 15 people were shot in the back.
Aceh's top military commander, Col. Johnny Wahab, a wiry infantry officer who brandishes a silver-tipped swagger stick, contends villagers threatened his men with clubs and knives. He says his troops fired in "self-defense."
Mr. Marzuki, who was trying to defuse the confrontation, has another word for it. "Kosovo," he says softly.
Unlike Kosovo, where the Yugoslav government has brutally purged the ethnic-Albanian population of a rebellious province, Aceh is more likely to fester than explode. Separatist groups lack the muscle to sustain an armed revolt, and many citizens probably would settle for increased autonomy within Indonesia.
"An independent Aceh isn't wanted by the entire population," says Darmansyah, the editor of Aceh's main newspaper, Serambi Indonesia.
But the mood is sour and the stakes are high. In contrast to East Timor – which was annexed by Jakarta only in 1976, and will be allowed to vote on independence in August – Aceh has deep, rich roots as a vital part of Indonesia. The fertile, forested province is also a greater economic asset than arid East Timor, which has some offshore oil and gas deposits, but little else.
Thus, letting Aceh break away isn't an option for President B.J. Habibie, the powerful Indonesian military or even the leading opposition presidential candidate, Megawati Sukarnoputri, an ardent nationalist.
"Aceh is more critical to Indonesia's concept of itself," says Sidney Jones, executive director of Human Rights Watch Asia. "It is vital to Indonesia politically, strategically and economically."
Proud, devoutly Muslim, Aceh – located 1,700 kilometers northwest of Jakarta at the northern end of the Malacca Strait – has a special place in Indonesian history. Descended from Arab and Indian migrants and indigenous people, the feisty Acehnese stubbornly resisted Dutch colonization in the 19th century.
Aceh was also a bastion of Indonesia's independence struggle after World War II. Local merchants raised cash to buy the fledgling Indonesian military's first airplane, which was used to airlift vital supplies past the Dutch, who were trying to reoccupy the province.
Military is faulted
Today, however, Acehnese complain that integration with Indonesia has brought more pain than gain. De facto military rule lasted nine years until 1998, when former President Suharto was driven from power. Human-rights groups in Indonesia and abroad blame the military for the killings, torture and disappearance of several thousand Acehnese during that time.
When Mr. Suharto quit, Acehnese hopes rose. New President Habibie and armed-forces chief Gen. Wiranto acknowledged past military abuses and promised redress. But there is no sign that any serious investigation is under way, and no cases have been prosecuted. Instead, military-related violence has increased along Aceh's 400-kilometer eastern coast, home to half of Aceh's 4.1 million people.
Jakarta's complacency is radicalizing the Acehnese, says Hasballah M. Saad, a politician and Islamic intellectual. "The Acehnese want to be appreciated by the central government," he says. "If this doesn't happen ... you will need more and more water to put out the fire."
T.S. Sani, a burly businessman, leads a local-government team trying to document human-rights violations in North Aceh district in the past decade. He displays a thick dossier compiled from interviews in 600 villages. The findings: 346 killings, 723 cases of torture, 494 disappearances and 272 homes burned. It is only a partial count, he says.
"No one has ever been brought to trial for any of this," says Adek Lataikham, whose coffee shop was sprayed by bullets in the Krueng Geukueh massacre. One round slammed through the shop's inner wall and ripped a gash through a cooking pot just above his wife's head. Another slug lodged in a framed photo of Mr. Adek's seven-year-old daughter.
"The government always says 'we will do something, we will do something,' but nothing happens and the anger grows," he says.
Digging too deeply could be embarrassing for Mr. Habibie and the armed forces. Mr. Habibie's current home-affairs minister, Mr. Syarwan, was the military commander in Aceh in the early 1990s at the peak of the army crackdown. Other military brass during the 1990s include Try Sutrisno, a former vice president under Mr. Suharto, Feisal Tanjung, the current coordinating minister for politics and security; and Gen. Wiranto, the current military chief.
Workers are imported
In the 1970s, Mr. Suharto promised to industrialize the province. A joint venture between Indonesia's state oil company, Pertamina, and a unit of Mobil Corp. operates a $2.75 billion liquified natural gas plant near Lhokseumawe; fertilizer, paper and plastics factories went up in the same neighborhood. But only a tiny portion of revenue generated by the industries has remained in the province. And since locals didn't have the skills for many of the jobs, most of workers were brought in from other parts of Indonesia, where they live and work in modern, walled enclaves.
Behind the walls, "they even imported the bananas," rather than buy locally, claims sociologist H.M. Hakim Nya Phu of Syiah Kuala University in Banda Aceh, the capital.
Today, Aceh's per-capita gross domestic product is among the highest of any Indonesian province, but local income and consumption levels rank among the lowest.
"All the corruption, collusion and cheating of the Suharto era entered Aceh," Dr. Hakim says.
A few months ago, Indonesia's Parliament passed new laws granting provinces such as Aceh a bigger chunk of income from their resources. But critics in Aceh say it is too little, too late. The province's gas resources are running down; the LNG plant will close one of its six production units next year and four more by 2005. "We would like compensation for all the years past," says Mr. Sani, the businessman.
Separatist movement grows
Jakarta's failure to address the deep grievances gave new life to separatists allied with the long-dormant Gerakan Aceh Merdeka, or Free Aceh Movement. It has begun operating openly in eastern parts of the province, where cadres regularly surface at village mosques to give political lectures that draw crowds. Images of the red, white and black Free Aceh flag – taboo and immediately expunged in the Suharto era – are painted on roadside signs, walls and buildings, and even on government offices. Nominally, the movement is a revival of a campaign begun in 1976 by Hasan Tiro, an intellectual who is now aged and ailing in exile in Sweden. But today the group has no acknowledged local leader, and it isn't clear whether or not cadres take orders from Mr. Hasan. Col. Wahab blames Free Aceh cadres for pitting Acehnese against the army.
Indonesian and foreign military analysts doubt the movement has enough weapons or organization to wage an all-out guerrilla war. Indeed, Free Aceh operatives assert that their military strategy stresses defending villages against army incursions.
A separate, student-led drive for a referendum on Aceh's political status also has spread along the eastern coast. The highway from neighboring North Sumatra province to Banda Aceh is lined with elaborate, colorful graffiti demanding a referendum. Banners bearing the same message flutter outside almost every village and town.
Although Indonesia's constitution provides no legal basis for such a referendum, the idea has won adherents. Last week, Abdurrachman Wahid, the leader of a major Islamic national political party, publicly suggested the proposal be considered, while saying he personally opposed independence for the province.
Disenchantment has even breached the walls of the industrial enclaves. At the housing compound for the LNG plant's workers, several high-school students recently ran up the Free Aceh flag, unnerving residents. Some workers say they might need to flee, and have quietly packed their belongings. "We don't feel safe," says an Indonesian engineer who has worked there for 20 years.
Military presence increases
Jakarta's response has been to pour in more soldiers. At least 500 anti-riot troops have arrived since the Krueng Geukueh killings. Col. Wahab, the local commander, calls it a temporary assignment to safeguard the election.
But many Acehnese are skeptical. They say the riot squad – reportedly composed of police officers – has been laced with hated army special-forces troops, who Acehnese fear might try to reimpose military control.
It adds up to an atmosphere rippling with paranoia and counter-accusations. Dissidents claim the army has inserted double-agents and provocateurs into local political groups, including the Free Aceh movement. Army leaders retort that the secessionists are intimidating people and fomenting trouble, and actually have little or no popular support. It happened again on Tuesday, when at least six people were killed by unidentified gunmen. Free Aceh blames the army; the army blames Free Aceh.
"There is a kind of psychological war going on here," says Yusuf Pase, who leads the Indoensian Legal Aid Institute in Lhokseumawe. "There are people being kidnapped, being killed," he adds. "Houses, schools, government offices being burned. Nobody knows by whom."