Mardiyah Chamim, Jakarta – It was a breezy, sunny day. The Neusu soccer field in capital Banda Aceh was abuzz with positive energy. A dozen or so small boys were playing soccer, while several young men jogged around the field – A happy scene amid the sadness left by the deadly tsunami that killed more than 100,000 people in December 2004.

The idyllic Sunday morning, however, came to an abrupt end when members of Wilayatul Hisbah or morality police arrived at the scene. "All of you, get into the car!" they shouted at the boys and adults on the soccer field.

Ahmad Sobirin, a social worker with the Jesuit Refugee Service (JRS) who was jogging around the field, was also asked to come to the office of the morality police. "Your knees are not properly covered," one officer told Ahmad.

At the office, Ahmad and the young boys received a lengthy lecture on Islamic law or sharia which requires Muslims to cover certain parts of their body in public.

For women, it is the whole body except their palms and face. For men it is their lower body, between the belly and knee. No discussion, no other interpretations allowed.

Last month, I encountered a similar experience when my team and I were conducting a mobile movie screening program in several villages in Aceh.

We were setting up to show the movie Rindu Kami Padamu, directed by Garin Nugroho in front of a wooden barrack. Before the show started, a certain Bapak Anwar asked me to separate the audience into two rows.I knew such a "request" would come up, but people here just wanted to have a fun. They needed to restore their shattered spirits by sitting with their loved ones – husband, wife, grandma, grandpa, mom, dad and cousins. How could we separate them? Thank God, Anwar agreed with me. The show went on smoothly, with people of the opposite sex mingling freely with each other.

At the end of the trip we went to Panti Asuhan Aneuk Nelayan (orphanage for fishermen's children) in Lhokseumawe, North Aceh. Seventy children, aged between five and 18 years old, stay in the orphanage. I already sensed that something was "wrong" when I set up equipment for the show. Come dinner time, only boys were found in the dining room, while all 30 young girls stayed in their rooms, chatting.

"Kakak (elder sister), we will have our dinner after the boys. We are not supposed to be together in one room with the boys," nine-year-old Noni told me. Frankly, as a woman, I was shocked. We all have the same biological rhythm. An empty stomach knows no gender.

Are these the problems linked to sharia? Perhaps. But, these experiences reminded me of the controversial book The Trouble With Islam by Canadian television journalist Irshad Manji.

Many Acehnese are now demanding that the morality police redouble their efforts to ensure people's compliance with sharia. Anyone who gambles, commits adultery or steals must be punished without mercy. "We need strong action. God already punished us. We don't want another tsunami," are the comments frequently heard.

On the other hand, there are also people who expressed fear of being misunderstood. "I do not quite understand Islam. Therefore I am afraid of acting improperly, of getting caught and being whipped by the Wilayatul Hisbah," a woman wrote in a letter published by local daily Serambi Indonesia.

The pros and cons of the implementation of sharia are often discussed in daily conversation. A woman who lives in Banda Aceh, who asked to be identified only as Sari, was not happy when her youngest daughter was forced to wear a jilbab (Muslim headscarf) by the morality police. "She is only 10, she hasn't even had her first period yet. Let her grow up and think for herself what's best," she said.

Sari did not wish to reveal her identity since her thoughts on jilbab are considered heretic. "People will get angry with me," she said, "They will say, this is exactly the thing that invites a tsunami."

As for the jilbab, there are many interpretations about its use. Some say the wearing of the jilbab is mandatory for Muslim women, while some say that the jilbab was worn by Arab women purely to prevent dehydration in the desert.

Indonesian Muslim women have a long history of wearing various headscarves. Cut Nyak Dhien, an Acehnese independence heroine, for example, wore a long, silky, transparent scarf while her hair was done nicely in a small bun. Unfortunately, there is no room for other interpretation of headscarfs.

"I do not like this situation," Sari said after a long pause. "If my daughter wants to wear the jilbab, it has to be her own decision. Besides, who are they to judge? How hypocritical."

She is probably right. The air of hypocrisy is relatively thick in Aceh. The local administration has issued a series of regulations concerning daily activities. One of the rules stipulates that all stores, restaurants and coffee houses are to stop operations during prayer times. So, if you go to Aceh nowadays, you will not find coffee houses that are open during prayer times, especially at noon on Friday, maghrib (sunset) and Isya (night). They are all closed, with front blinds rolled down.

But, take a closer look at those coffee houses and you will find there is always a small door open at the back from which you can go inside. Inside the coffee house, I guarantee you that you will find many people – mostly men – enjoying a cup of coffee.

Where are the members of the morality force? Back in 1999, Jakarta thought that the application of Islamic law would resolve the bloody conflict in Aceh. Then president B.J. Habibie thought that applying sharia would somehow heal the wounds caused by decades of injustice and violence among Acehnese.

Soon after the government officially declared the application of sharia in Aceh, names of stores, offices, streets and schools were all written in Arabic. Headscarf-mandatory areas were declared all over the province.

Then came the catastrophic tsunami in December 2004. The Acehnese and people around the globe went into deep shock. The morality officers had no energy to do their job. Day in and day out, for weeks and months, the Acehnese – as well as thousands of volunteers from all over the world – were busy with humanitarian work. For the moment, the headscarf issue appeared to have taken the back seat.

More than one year after the giant tidal waves, however, the sharia officers are back with a vengeance. The "we-don't-want-another-tsunami" line is often used to justify harsh treatment against people allegedly violating sharia.And obviously, women are the most vulnerable group. Going by a local saying that the ups and downs of a country (province) depends on the "quality" of its women, some have openly accused women of ignoring Islamic law, a sin that triggered the killer tsunami.

There are thousands of important issues that need to be addressed in Aceh. Instead of paying attention to children wearing shorts while playing sport, our energy should be focused on education, taking care of orphans, keeping an eye on the rehabilitation process and so on.

Mashudi SR, is a researcher with Human Right NGO Coalition of Aceh, in his article published online at www.acehinstitute.org, reminds us of the importance of real hard work to build prosperity and social justice if we want to establish an Islamic community.

Abu Bakar, one of Prophet Muhammad's best friends, once said: "if social justice and welfare doesn't exist, then God's law should prioritize public welfare".

Mashudi stressed that forcing and humiliating others is strictly prohibited in Islam as a religion of peace. "It is right that sharia has been made to keep men and women to do things right. But it is totally wrong if we, in the name of sharia, take away all individual rights and impose it upon others. It's against sharia itself."

There is little hope, though. Prof. Ali Yasa, chief of the sharia office, admitted that the morality police officers sometimes take their job a little too far. He promised to evaluate their performance. Islamic law, he said, must be applied with gentleness and compassion. If that happens, then Aceh could really become a darussalam, a peaceful house.

[The writer is a journalist and the author of the book History Grows in Our Village - A Journal of Aceh-Tsunami Hot Zones.]