‘The Silent Song of Genjer Flowers’: Against despair through storytelling

In her play “Nyanyi Sunyi Kembang-Kembang Genjer” (The Silent Song of Genjer Flowers), feminist playwright Faiza Mardzoeki captures how, for female survivors of the communist purge, the simple act of telling their stories is an act against despair.

What is it like to keep the secret of the most painful experience you’ve ever had from your own flesh and blood? What is it like to be emotionally alienated from your loved ones, separated by lies systematically spread and kept alive for decades?

In modern-day Indonesia, these questions are not hypothetical. For a long time, survivors of the 1965-1966 communist purge kept their traumatic experiences of torture, sexual violence and imprisonment from their next of kin for various psychological and political reasons. Many have carried them to their graves.

Playwright Faiza Mardzoeki, in her play Nyanyi Sunyi Kembang-Kembang Genjer (The Silent Song of Genjer Flowers), captures how, for women survivors of the communist purge, the simple act of telling their stories is an act against despair that carries with it the faint hope of healing.

It was a leap of faith to end their emotional isolation from the younger generation, who had been raised to fear and hate them. The play, first performed in the Goethe Institute in 2014 and recently this year at the Asean Literary Festival, is now available in book form, published by Bandung-based publisher Ultimus.

In 1965, after the failed putsch that killed six army generals and an officer by a group calling themselves the 30th September Movement, the military slandered the communists and their supporters, especially members of Gerwani, the women’s organization affiliated with the Indonesian Communist Party (PKI), stating their involvement in torturing the generals.

As researcher Saskia Wieringa wrote in her book The Destruction of the Women’s Movement: Sexual Politics in Indonesia after the Downfall of the Indonesian Communist Party, horrific stories of communist women seducing the generals with lewd dancing, mutilating their genitals and gouging out their eyes, were circulated in military-controlled newspapers — the only press allowed at the time.

Soeharto, who grabbed the seat of power after the entire Indonesian left was eliminated, made sure the lies were repeated to the next generation, creating a specter of communism within Indonesian society.

In Silent, Mardzoeki took true stories of former prisoners at Plantungan, a prison for women in East Java where members of Gerwani, the female union workers, left-leaning journalists and communist sympathizers were banished.

The phrase Genjer Flowers is a metaphor for female victims of the communist purge. The folk song “Genjer-Genjer,” about a wild plant that was eaten as a vegetable during the Japanese occupation, was popular among Gerwani members and many leftist artists.

Mardzoeki, 43, grew up under Soeharto’s regime and was one of the first batch of Indonesian students to see the propaganda slasher-style film Pengkhianatan G30S/PKI that depicts communists as violent and immoral.

In Silent, she incorporated her own experience of discovering in her 20s the unspoken violence against communists and their sympathizers. Originally an activist for worker’s rights and women’s rights activists, she encountered women survivors of the 1965 communist purge through her work.

She witnessed how difficult it was for the survivors, such as Sulami, former secretary general of Gerwani, and Sudjinah, who worked as a journalist and translator in the 1960s, to revisit their traumatic past and share their stories with her. Yet they did.

Silent tells the story of Minghayati Dayanina, a beautiful young woman in her 20s who is piecing together stories of her grandmother’s past. Her grandmother, Suhartini, 83, was a member of Gerwani.

Nini, as Suhartini is called, lost her beloved husband in the pogroms. Meanwhile, she was taken to Bukit Duri prison while three months pregnant with Ming’s mother Rachmanina. She later gave birth in prison, had to give up her daughter to relatives and was sent to Plantungan.

The death of Rachmanina due to a broken heart — her husband, upon knowing her family history, left her — brought Ming to Nini.

Like other children who grew up under the Soeharto dictatorship, Ming grew up fearing Gerwani. Even mentioning the word Gerwani felt awkward to her.

“You’re not afraid are you, to hear the word ‘Gerwani’?” Nini asked Ming. “I have to admit, it does feel strange in my mouth to say the word,” Ming replied.

But Nini, who is ageing and ailing, decided to set things straight about the slander against Gerwani. She also wanted to tell Ming a family secret.

But before she did she enlisted the help of her friends, who were also at Plantungan prison, to give her moral support on the day she decided to tell the truth. She invited her friends for a luncheon at her place and there she told Ming her deepest secret.

The Silent Song of Genjer Flowers is more than a play about the sufferings of women political prisoners that happened 50 years ago. It’s a play about our present time.

It’s a play about women survivors ending their silence and reaching out to the younger generation with their own narratives.

Faiza, heavily influenced by Egyptian writer Nawal El Sadaawi for her feminist views and Norwegian playwright Henrik Ibsen in her style of plays, aims to tell a story of how women survivors share their narrative to express themselves in the last years of their lives and bestow their stories on the younger generation.

Silent then is a story about storytelling and the hope that their narratives, never acknowledged by the government, do not end with them.


This article was published in thejakartapost.com on Monday, August 22, 2016, with the title “‘The Silent Song of Genjer Flowers’: Against despair through storytelling”.

Click to read: https://www.thejakartapost.com/news/2016/08/22/the-silent-song-genjer-flowers-against-despair-through-storytelling.html.

Indonesians in Queens Are Beginning to Learn About Film on Genocide


A prayer meeting at Grace Indonesia Baptist Church in Woodside, Queens. Credit Katie Orlinsky for The New York Times
A prayer meeting at Grace Indonesia Baptist Church in Woodside, Queens. Credit Katie Orlinsky for The New York Times

Every Friday afternoon, Mas Pratomo, 83, sips tea at Fay Da Bakery on Justice Avenue, in Elmhurst, Queens, and catches up with fellow Indonesians. He never forgets to list the day’s attendees in his journal.


Having left his home country four decades ago, the teatime ritual is his way of connecting with his roots, as he and friends converse in their native Indonesian.


On a recent Friday, the conversation turned to “The Act of Killing,” the recent documentary film about Indonesia’s 1965 genocide.


The film, released last year, features two notorious figures in the mass killings discussing and even re-enacting some of their actions in the anti-Communist purge. The killers’ boastfulness has shocked some viewers, and the film has brought new attention to the slaughter of hundreds of thousands of suspected Communists across the archipelago nation in Southeast Asia.


But in Indonesia, where the anti-Communist campaign remains a sensitive subject, defended by some powerful figures, the film was not widely seen or embraced. And in New York’s small but growing Indonesian enclave in Elmhurst, word of the film has spread slowly.



Joshua Oppenheimer,  the director of “The Act of Killing,” participated in a discussion after a recent screening of the film in Brooklyn. CreditKatie Orlinsky for The New York Times


Many of the estimated 7,000 Indonesians living in the city came to the United States hoping to make a new life here after the bloodshed of 1965 or the upheavals of the late 1990s.


For Mr. Pratomo, the film awakened him to the brutality of the killers and the scale of the massacre. “I was appalled when I found out about the truth,” he said.


At the time of the anti-Communist campaign, he was living in the capital, Jakarta, while much of the bloodshed was carried out in small towns of East Java, on the Hindu island of Bali, and in North Sumatra, where the film is set.


A year later, in 1966, he encountered a hint of the violence. An architect, he went to Bali to manage a hotel project. But he could not find workers, he recalled. In hushed conversations, he was told that all of them had been killed.


It was a fearful time in Indonesia. Government propaganda had demonized the Communists, who were alleged to have staged a coup. Many Indonesians accepted the government line or were too scared to challenge it.


Mr. Pratomo left for New York a year later and he had put that era behind him, he said, until friends told him about “The Act of Killing.” He watched it on Netflix with his wife.


“How could it come to this — murdering people as if it were a feast?” he said.


For some among his generation, the film evoked difficult memories about the years leading up to Suharto’s rule. For some younger Indonesians who have come to New York, the film has been an eye-opening window on a period still shrouded by fear and trauma.


Among those living here, word of the film has spread slowly. Many Indonesian immigrants working busy blue-collar jobs have little time for films.


At Grace Indonesia Baptist Church in Woodside, Queens, none of the congregation members at a recent prayer meeting had heard of the film, except for the church’s leader, the Rev. Sutoyo Sigar, 65, who was a witness to the bloodshed.


The two-year-old church is one of the 32 Indonesian churches that have sprung up in New York in the past decade, partly to accommodate the influx of Chinese Indonesian immigrants that followed the upheaval in the late 1990s.


Anastasia Dewi Tjahjadi, 45, owner of Java Village, an Indonesian restaurant on Justice Avenue, was not aware of the genocide. “I heard from my parents that a lot of our relatives returned to China at that time, but we didn’t talk much about it,” she said.


Curious after hearing about the film, she played it a couple of days later on her restaurant’s big-screen TV. But she found herself struggling to watch it while attending her restaurant, she said.


Mr. Pratomo said the film had helped him realize how much his homeland was scarred by the events of 1965, and he hopes it spurs a search for the truth and justice.


“There should be a tribunal, there should be reconciliation, there should be an apology,” he said. “And the apology should be accepted and everyone can continue to live together side by side.”


MARCH 27, 2014

‘There have been efforts to move to an independent Asia’

Noam Chomsky: (AFP)
Noam Chomsky: (AFP)

Noam Chomsky, the world-renowned linguist and philosopher, was a vocal advocate for formerly occupied East Timor (now Timor Leste) and continues to be a proponent of the Papuan struggle for self-determination. He spoke recently with The Jakarta Post’s contributor Prodita Sabarini in his office at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT) in Cambridge, US, on the impact of US foreign policy on Indonesia and how Southeast-Asian countries should be more independent.

Question: What do you think are the main factors enabling impunity on cases of abuses such as in the 1965 communist killings, the war crimes in East Timor and continuing human rights violations in Papua?

Answer: There’s a very simple reason for it. The US supported it all, every one of them. The US was ecstatic in 1965. In fact, the support was so overwhelming that it was just public. The New York Times and other journals were euphoric about it. They didn’t suppress it. They described the massacre as wonderful. Same in Britain. Same in Australia.

What happened in East Timor was because the US and its allies supported it for 25 years. West Papua is the same. As long as the US primarily and its allies as well — the Western powers — support atrocities, they are carried out with impunity, just like their own atrocities are. I mean, the Vietnam War was the worst atrocity in the post-World War II period but nobody’s [found] guilty for it.

Indonesia’s election is just around the corner. How do you see the potential shift from the desire for more political freedom to a return to the old powers in Indonesia?

Same as everywhere else, the powerful win. I mean the overthrow of the dictatorship in Indonesia was important. Part of the reason [for the overthrow] was Soeharto not carrying out roles that the IMF [International Monetary Fund] and the US demanded. And in fact, Madeline Albright, the [then] secretary of state at one point said that the US was dissatisfied with what Indonesia was doing and they ought to think about real change. About four hours later, Soeharto resigned. I don’t know if there was a causal connection but it was awfully suggestive. It is the great powers who decide. Mainly, the US in recent years decides what happens.

What can citizens do to guide where their country’s heading, given these external forces?

Well it’s not hopeless. In fact there are changes. Striking ones. Take Latin America. Ever since the beginning, for 500 years Latin America has been under control of Western imperial power. But now, South America is pretty much liberated. Just in the last 10 years, the changes are enormous.

When the spying scandal broke, Brazil was by far the most outspoken opponent. And in general, Latin America has witnessed a stark change. They’ve pretty much freed themselves, not totally, but largely from imperial control.

There’s recently a study of rendition of which country cooperated: all of Europe — Sweden, France, England, Ireland — Canada and the Middle East of course because that’s where they send them for torture; and Asia mostly cooperated.

One region refused to cooperate: Latin America. And if you think, Latin America not long ago was just the backyard, they did whatever they were told. That’s a pretty astonishing change. I think that should be kind of a model for what could be achieved.

So it’s not hopeless. Latin America was the last place one would have expected to find real independence, given its history, and now it’s maybe the most independent area in the world.

Do you think Indonesia should look into the experiences of Latin America?

You can’t carry over the model. Latin America doesn’t have security problems. Outside of the US there’s no real threat to Latin America. Indonesia does. China’s there. All countries in Southeast Asia have to be concerned with Chinese power.

What do you think of the role of ASEAN is in terms of resisting China’s power?

My feeling is that there have been efforts to move to an independent, non-Chinese Asian system. Like Asian Development Bank for an example. Most have been blocked by the US in the past.

There was a Japanese-based effort to form a kind of Asian Development Bank, but the US undercut it. They want the World Bank, which is US-run, to handle it. But those things can be done and it has to be done in a way which doesn’t form a part of an alliance against China. I don’t think it’s impossible for Southeast and East Asia to become a sort of independent bloc in world affairs, separate from China, separate from the United States.

They’re not doing it now. They’re becoming part of the US system but that’s not good for anyone. That could lead to major serious confrontations.

The US is now strengthening their relationship with Asia.

Pivot to Asia. Well, unfortunately it’s being done in a way which is really threatening to China. I mean, China is not a nice government. They’re not going to be nice to people, but they do have their problems. They’re surrounded and contained.

Take a look at the conflicts between the US and China now. The conflicts are mostly over the seas near the China coast. The US wants to have free rights to send military vessels into those waters and China wants to control those waters. So that’s a confrontation.

There’s no confrontation over the Caribbean or over the waters near California. That would be inconceivable. That tells you about the balance of power.

China is encircled. There’s a ring of military bases from Japan, South Korea, Australia. These are hostile bases and they just surround China. In fact that’s one of the reasons why China is moving to Central Asia where they don’t have these barriers.

If East Asia and Southeast Asia move toward more independence in world affairs, they have to be careful not to be just part of a ring of military containment around China, preventing it from exercising pretty legitimate rights to have free access to its own maritime [sources] in the area.

The Jakarta Post | World | Wed, March 19 2014, 11:31 AM

Joshua Oppenheimer: Facing the monsters in the dark

Joshua Oppenheimer. Daniel Bergeron
Joshua Oppenheimer. Daniel Bergeron

Joshua Oppenheimer was walking down a glacier on Mount Karakoram in Pakistan when he had an epiphany.

It was the mid-1990s. He had been crying while sitting on the top of the glacier, remembering something about his childhood, said Oppenheimer.

When he walked down the black rocks, he realized that recording how humans imagined themselves could help people better understand reality.

He was spending a summer in India that year, working on a street theater project.

Around that time, Oppenheimer had changed his undergraduate major to philosophy from theoretical physics.

As a boy he was interested in the nature of reality and its relationship to consciousness. He said he was amazed as a high school student to learn that subatomic particles only show a fixed nature once we
observe them.

However, when he started at university, quantum physics were not as developed as the science is now and students were geared to become engineers, which Oppenheimer was not interested in.

However, after his moment of clarity on the glacier, he returned to Harvard and crammed three years of film studies in two.

Nearly 20 years after his epiphany, Oppenheimer, 39, has made a film, The Act of Killing, about former death-squad leaders as they re-enact the work during the mass killings following the purported attempted Communist coup in Indonesia in 1965.

The film is favored to win the Academy Award for Best Documentary, which will be handed out Monday morning, or Sunday night in Los Angeles.

The Copenhagen-based American was recently in New York after screening the film at the Library of Congress in Washington.

Beyond racking up a host of awards, The Act of Killing, eight years in the making, has achieved something that no other documents or reports on the genocide have.

It has broken the taboos on speaking about Indonesia’s dark past, stirring a national conversation that has been stifled for nearly 50 years by government propaganda and media self-censorship.

Internationally, the film has raised awareness about the killings and the collective role Western governments had in encouraging and ignoring one of the greatest massacres in history.

Oppenheimer himself has become a spokesperson about the genocide as the film gain prominence.

At both the Washington screening and when he accepted a British Academy of Film and Television Arts (BAFTA) award, Oppenheimer said that the Western world had not only ignored the killings: They encouraged it.

He called on the US and the UK to acknowledge their collective role in the genocide.  “I often talk about how The Act of Killing is a film about when killers win and take power.

“But the killers include the Americans, the killers include the CIA officers and the State department officials who gave a list of thousands of names to the Indonesian Army,” he said referring to the 5,000 names of public figures US officials gave to the government.

“It would be hypocritical for example for the US or for me to say the government of Indonesia should apologize without articulating equally forcefully [that] the US should apologize,” he said.

For Oppenheimer, the role of art is to show us “things that we already know but maybe had been too afraid to acknowledge or too afraid to remember”.

He chose nonfiction cinema to capture “the rainbow of stories that make up our factual reality”, which he said was made up of “almost innumerable number of fragmentary molecular interacting fantasies, stories, narratives, fictions”.

Non-fiction storytelling, he says, can “make visible the fiction” behind our perceptions.

“I think there’s a false and boring notion of nonfiction film that it’s a kind of window onto the world and you look into the window and you see the world,” he said.

Whenever people are filmed they “present” themselves, according to Oppenheimer. “We start acting out some of these invisible, second-hand, third rate, half-remembered script or stories that we have of ourselves that we identify
with — images that we have of ourselves that come from movies and culture and our parents and history.”

Oppenheimer said that filming people as they presented idealized images of themselves, as he did in the reenactments in The Act of Killing, gave a window into people’s deepest fears.

“What are they hiding? Why do they have to act like something that they’re not? Why do they have to act out an image of themselves. Which is pretend but very real?” he asks.

“Anytime you film anybody, you can see the fictions that people cling to so they can live comfortably withthemselves and you can glimpse behind that — who they really fear that they are.”

“There are events that we’re too afraid to inquire about,” Oppenheimer says. “But we know [they] lurk there like a kind of monster in the dark.”

Oppenheimer started his work in Indonesia in 2001, three years after the fall of Suharto, to examine the impact of globalization.

He filmed workers in a Belgian plantation in North Sumatra struggling to form a union. Many had family members who had been killed in 1965 or 1966.

When news of the project reached the authorities, the military intimidated the workers to keep silent.

At the suggestion of one of those who survived the genocide, Oppenheimer aimed his lens at the perpetrators.

To his horror, he encountered boastful men who would tell stories of how they killed — and reenact the deeds using their wives as subjects or in front of bored grandchildren.

Oppenheimer is now editing his next film, The Look of Silence, about a family of survivors of the 1965 violence confronting the killers.

“The Look of Silence is in some ways the film that I set out to make. But it’s not. It’s really different because making The Act of Killing changed everything and changed me in how I see what’s happening,” he said.

The second film Oppenheimer said has turned into “poem about silence that’s born out of fear and the necessity and trauma that comes out by breaking that silence”.

The Look of Silence will be Oppenheimer’s last film about the genocide in Indonesia. Conscious of the importance of acknowledging and the crimes of the past, Oppenheimer said that he could be a spokesman for the issue for as long as the film is in the spotlight.

He said there have been many activists and historians who have raised this issue, comparing the people to the truth-speaking child in the fairy tale “The Emperor’s New Clothes”.

“We’re trying to create a space where people can talk about and therefore to address their biggest and most frightening problems because if we don’t address them we’re doomed to continue living in the nightmare.”

Prodita Sabarini, Contributor, New York | People | Mon, March 03 2014, 12:40 PM

Published in The Jakarta Post

Director calls for US to acknowledge its role in 1965 killings

The killer: Former death-squad leader Anwar Congo (center) re-lives his savage past in The Act of Killing. (Dogwoof.com)
The killer: Former death-squad leader Anwar Congo (center) re-lives his savage past in The Act of Killing. (Dogwoof.com)


Oscar-nominated documentary filmmaker Joshua Oppenheimer on Tuesday called on the US to acknowledge its role in Indonesia’s communist purge after screening The Act of Killing, his film on 1965 death-squad leaders, for US Congress members and staff.

“Fifty years is a long time to not call a genocide a genocide,” he said. “If we want to have a constructive and an ethical relationship with Indonesia moving forward, we have to acknowledge the crimes of the past and we have to acknowledge our collective role in supporting those crimes, in participating in those crimes and ultimately in ignoring those crimes,” he said.

The Army, with the help of civilian death squads, killed 500,000 to 1 million people between 1965 and 1966 after the assassination of six army generals in an alleged communist coup attempt. The US government, which at the time was waging a war against Vietnamese communists, was reportedly pleased with the crushing of communism in Indonesia, and saw it as a success in their containment policy. Declassified CIA documents and investigative reports by journalist Kathy Kadane have showed that the US supported the communist purge by providing a list to the Army of around 5,000 people to be killed. The US then supported the Soeharto regime, responsible for orchestrating the massacres, as the new regime took over the country.

Despite the enormity of the crime, the International Criminal Court could not try the perpetrators of the 1965 genocide as it happened before the signing of the Rome Statute that founded the court. “What can happen is a special tribunal like the International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia can be formed and that usually happens at the level of the UN Security council,” Oppenheimer said. “Before that can happen, probably the countries that were involved with supporting this, will actually have to say ‘Hey enough time has gone by for us to become comfortable with acknowledging what has happened here, in the name of addressing impunity and corruption in the fourth most populous country in the world’,” he said. “We need to pursue this because this was in fact a crime against humanity,” he said.

The Act of Killing was recently nominated for an Oscar Award in the Best Documentary category. The chilling film that follows death-squad leader Anwar Congo happily re-enacting the killings of 1965 has picked up awards in film festivals around the world. In Indonesia, the film has been shown in thousands of underground screenings across the country and as of Sept. 30 last year has been available for download in Indonesia. It has become a catalyst for national conversation on a topic that was largely buried under government propaganda during the Soeharto regime and self-censorship after reformasi (reformation).

“Bringing it here [Washington] is a new step in that journey for me,” Oppenheimer said. “I’m just pretty moved sitting here talking to you because it has been our hope that this would start a conversation everywhere about this past and about who we are as human beings in some deeper ways as well,” he said to the audience.

US Senator Tom Udall, who sits on the Senate Foreign Relations Committee, organized the Tuesday night screening. “When I heard about this film, I thought that this should be given an opportunity for members of congress and staff and everybody to see,” he said.

Some 60 people, mostly staffers of Senators, attended the screening held at the Library of Congress. The audience was silent for a couple of moments after the film ended before giving a somber applause. After watching the film, Udall called Oppenheimer an artist. “Artists sometimes tell us stories that we don’t want to hear, that we don’t want to face. They open a reality to us,” he said.

Udall said it was significant that the film was screened here. “This is our nation’s capital. This is the seat of government. As you heard from his [Oppenheimer’s] interview, we [the US] were involved. So it’s important that this space be created to have a discussion also,” he said.

Prodita Sabarini, Contributor, Washington, DC | Entertainment | Sun, February 16 2014, 11:25 AM

Published in The Jakarta Post

Errol Morris: No redemption

(AFP/Larry Busacca)
(AFP/Larry Busacca)


Errol Morris sits in his office in Cambridge in the US. A horse’s head hangs from the wall in the dimly lit room, while snow falls outside.

The 65-year-old former private investigator’s latest film, The Unknown Known (2013), about Donald Rumsfeld, was born out of a fascination with a different kind of precipitation: The 20,000 internal memos that Rumsfeld called “snowflakes”, produced over his six years as defense secretary for George W. Bush.

One memo, dated several months before 9/11, contained what became Rumsfeld’s foundation for invading Iraq.

With a subject heading: To Discuss with P, he wrote: “Known knowns, known unknowns,and unknown unknowns. The absence of evidence is not evidence of absence.”

In March 2003, Rumsfeld answered journalists asking about the links between Saddam Hussein and terrorists with those definitions.

Morris’ film title, however, describes a state that Rumsfeld failed to grasp.

Philosopher Slavoj Zizek said Rumsfeld forgot to add a crucial fourth term: the unknown knowns: “The disavowed beliefs, suppositions and obscene practices we pretend not to know about, although they form the background of our public values.”

Morris, after interviewing Rumsfeld for 34 hours, wonders if Rumsfeld had not been aware of what he did not know in the first place.

In 2003, as Rumsfeld was making the case for invading Iraq, Morris released The Fog of War, an in-depth interview with former US defense chief Robert McNamara, who publically stated that the US-Vietnam War was a mistake and that the US had carried out war crimes.

The film won an Oscar for best documentary.

Today, Morris is one of the executive producers of Joshua Oppenheimer’s eye-opening documentary The Act of Killing, nominated for the same award.

Morris’ career as documentary filmmaker spans three decades and covers a host of topics, from Gates of Heaven (1970), about a pet cemetery business, to The Thin Blue Line (1988), which freed a man falsely convicted of murder.

An underlying thread connects Morris’ films, he says. “I’m fascinated by all these kinds of questions: What is our relationship to the past? Do we ever see ourselves and what we’ve done? These are the questions that are the heart of almost everything that I do.”

For Morris, the key question is what the thoughts of those behind such mass killings are.

The lack of satisfactory answers in his 34-hour interview with Rumsfelf reminded Morris of Hannah Arendt’s notion of the banality of evil, which she wrote of after following the trial of Adolf Eichmann.

Morris said he watched Margarethe Von Trotta’s film on Hannah Arendt the previous night. “She engaged [with] this issue. She thought about this issue [….] In some crucial moments where you thought that there should be something there was nothing.”

He continues. “It was not that Eichmann was not really such a bad guy or was so ordinary but that somehow ultimately he could give no real account. It’s one of the frightening things in my recent Rumsfeld movie. I’m left with Chinese fortune cookie slogans platitude — these evasions — but I never really have a feeling that he had engaged with any of it.”

This is a depressing and different conclusion from The Fog of War. Morris said his wife, art historian Julia Sheehan, likens McNamara to the Flying Dutchman, who flies around the world seeking redemption, and Rumsfeld to Lewis Carroll’s Cheshire Cat, who cannot stop grinning.

In The Fog of War, some focus on McNamara’s admission of guilt and remorse, finding redemption in the elderly man’s tearful regrets about the American, Japanese and Vietnamese who perished in the wars he fought.

Morris said that such a focus was skewed.

While McNamara’s admissions that the war was wrong were remarkable, he says that viewers should not mistake the film for an apology.

“People like stories of redemption,” according to Morris. “But there is nothing redemptive about the story. [It’s a] story about a man who’s involved in the death of millions of people. He’s a war criminal properly considered.”

“I liked him, but he was a war criminal. There is no redemption for anything.”

Morris agreed to executive produce The Act of Killing after watching a rough cut of the film, which depicts boastful killers in Medan re-enacting how they murdered suspected “communists” in the 1965 Indonesian genocide.

“It’s amazing. I’ve never seen anything like it,” Morris said. “I thought it was a great achievement.”

Morris said he knew nothing about the period in Indonesia before the film. “I remember of this feeling of shock, when I realized, wait a second, when we’re talking about 1964 and 1965, these are years in which we escalated the war in Vietnam.”

“I began to wonder if there’s a connection. There had to be a connection somehow to Vietnam and Indonesia,” he continues. “Then I read this one extraordinary passage in Bradley Simpson’s book Economists with Guns. He cites Robert S. McNamara, saying that the war in Vietnam was really unnecessary because we already have prevented the dominoes from falling in Indonesia by killing whatever the figure is.”

For Morris, The Act of Killing also offers no redemption.

On the film’s final scene, where Anwar Congo retched on the roof where he killed his victims, Morris said: “You can vomit as much as you want in whatever roof top you want. You can cry. You can say you were sorry [or] ‘I don’t know what I was thinking’ but it doesn’t bring back the millions of people that are dead.”

“They remain dead”.


Prodita Sabarini, Contributor, Cambridge, the US

Published in The Jakarta Post| People | Sat, January 25 2014

Honoring women reporters who get the story, despite odds

War photographer: Syrian Nour Kelze knows that she can die anytime. (Courtesy IWMF/Matthew VanDyke)

Photojournalist Nour Kelze knows that she can die anytime. The 25-year-old says that she accepts that risk to show the world the horrors that have been happening in her home country of Syria.

“This is something I have to do, Kelze said in a video message shown in New York recently. “I mean so many people, so many girls, died in the kitchen. Like doing a dishwash or something and they have like a morsel or a shrapnel coming through the window and drop dead. So what’s the point? Why should I die cheap?”

On Oct. 23, the International Women’s Media Foundation (IWMF), a Washington-based organization that aims to strengthen women’s role in journalism, honored Kelze, Afghanistani media director Najiba Ayubi and Cambodian editor Bopha Phorn at the 2013 Courage in Journalism Awards for their bravery and determination in reporting.

The IWMF also presented a lifetime achievement award to Edna Machirori, Zimbabwe’s first black woman editor.

While Machirori, Ayubi, and Phorn all flew to New York to accept the awards, Kelze was unable to join. The ceremony and luncheon, attended by nearly 500 prominent US news personalities, also aimed to raise US$100,000 for an emergency fund for women journalists reporting in dangerous areas.

The risks that women such as Kelze face are formidable: The Committee to Protect Journalists (CPJ) has ranked Syria as the most dangerous place for journalists in the world.

Despite the risks, Kelze made the transition from elementary school teacher to photojournalist last year as her country continued to spiral into conflict.

At first, Kelze worked independently, taking pictures of rebel fighters using her cell phone. A veteran war photographer for Reuters, Goran Tomasevic, noticed her talent and gut, giving her his camera equipment and training her.

Before long, Kelze’s pictures bagan to appear on the pages of newspapers around the world.

Kelze has escaped many near death experiences. Soldiers from a small aircraft fired at her when she was taking pictures of the aftermath of a missile attack in a residential area in Aleppo.

In February, she broke her ankle after a wall fell on top of her as snipers shot at rebel fighters.

She went to Turkey for an operation and was back in the field reporting four days later.

In Kelze’s acceptance letter, she acknowledged the courage of the Syrian people.

“I know deep in my heart there are many people who deserve this award more than I do. Syrians showed a lot of endurance and patience and courage through this crisis,” Kelze wrote.

“This award is for Syria — for standing strong still after all the hardships since the past till the present day and even in the future. Syria will survive […] let the whole world know. We will survive.”

While those at the awards ceremony could only glimpse Kelze’s world through a powerful video documentary by Matthew VanDyke; Najiba Ayubi, Phorn and Machirori all took the stage and gave speeches.

Following the ceremony, Ayubi could not hold back tears when remembering 11 of her colleagues who have died, saying that the acknowledgment of her work was bittersweet, considering the memory of the friends who could not be with her.

Ayubi, who is the managing director of the Killid Group, a public media NGO in Afghanistan, had been criticized by state-run media for questioning the lack of independent media in the nation.

Fearless: Bopha Phorn from Cambodia escaped death when gathering information about illegal logging in the jungle. She scribbled the phone number of her editor on her stomach in case people found her body. (Courtesy IWMF/Simon Marks)

Gunmen knocked on her door after she reported on a scandal involving parliament members and the secret police have told her to “be careful” because someone might be after her.

She said that those challenges were “sweet” to her. “Journalism is not my job. It is my life,” Ayubi said in her acceptance speech.

The 28-year-old Phorn has shown a similar passion for journalism, saying that it was like breathing for her. Last year, Phorn escaped death when gathering information about illegal logging in the Cambodian jungle. Environmentalist Chut Wutty was shot and killed by soldiers in uniform, while Phorn and another reporter survived.

Phorn said that she thought she was about to die, and scribbled the telephone number of her editor on her stomach, just in case people found her body.

Despite having nearly being killed while reporting, Phorn said that she became more determined in her work.

For Machirori, who has been a journalist for 50 years, receiving the Lifetime Achievement Award was “the climax of her life”.

She was the first black female editor in Zimbabwe, considered one of the most dangerous countries for journalists.

She said that it was not easy for a woman to be a journalist in Zimbabwe’s patriarchal society. “Women must be seen but not heard.”

“Powerful people in my country dislike being taken to task and be held accountable by male journalists, but they regard this as an attack against their personal honor and a mortal blow to their egos to have a mere woman do the same,” Machirori said in her acceptance speech.

Machirori has mentored young women to become professional reporters able to navigate discrimination and sexual harassment. Her daughter Fungai has followed her footsteps.

IWMF program director Nadine Hoffman said that the awards honored the work of women journalists working in dangerous areas and hoped to increase the international profiles of these women to better protect them.

In the last 25 years, the Courage in Journalism Award has been given to more than 100 women from around the world. Some have been killed or imprisoned, while others have benefitted from the network provided by the IWMF, from medical assistance to pro-bono legal assistance to temporary housing.

Previous recipients of the Courage Awards include Indonesian journalist Bina Bektiati in 1997; Russian journalist Anna Politkovskaya in 2002, who was gunned down in her apartment in 2006; and British journalist Marie Colvin in 2000, who died while covering the war in Syria in 2012.

The writer, a former journalist for The Jakarta Post, received IWMF’s Neuffer fellowship.

Prodita Sabarini, Contributor, New York | Feature | Thu, October 31 201

Interview with Joshua Oppenheimer

Joshua Oppenheimer/Photo by Oliver Clasper. Courtesy of Drafthouse Films
Joshua Oppenheimer/Photo by Oliver Clasper. Courtesy of Drafthouse Films

I recently interviewed Joshua Oppenheimer via skype before the screening of “The Act of Killing” in Harvard today. It was a fascinating interview. The Boston Globe published a condensed and edited version of the interview. But, here is the extended interview, which is some 6,000 words.

Here you’ll find his theory of how society enters into a moral downward spiral in total impunity.

Q: How do you think the free access to digital download will influence the discussion about the anti-communist purge in Indonesia?
A: Our intention is the film reaches as wide Indonesian public as possible. Indonesia bans film on human rights violations committed by the government of Indonesia and we knew that if we simply release the film in Indonesia commercially in cinemas we first have to give it to the Badan Sensor Film (The Film Censorship Body) and they would likely ban the film. So we knew if they ban the film it would become a crime to show the film at all and that in turn can be used as an excuse by the government or it can be used as an excuse by the paramilitary movement Pancasila Youth or by the army or by similar paramilitary movement to physically attack screenings and that would make it difficult to show the film in Indonesia because people would be afraid to hold screenings. So we didn’t want that to happen, so we knew we have to build up very serious high level support for the film in Indonesia before we can really start screening. So all last autumn we held screenings in Komnas Ham (Indonesia National Human Rights Commission, ed) in Jakarta for Indonesia’s leading journalists, filmmakers, even celebrities, writers, artists, educators and so forth, human rights advocates, and we can say that everyone was very moved by the film. Komnas HAM loved the film and felt that everybody in Indonesia should see this film. And the journalists, in particular the staff of Tempo Magazine felt that there was a time before “The Act of Killing” and there was a time after “The Act of Killing” and they could no longer remain silent about the scale of what happened in 1965. The fact that the corruption and impunity and abuse that you see in the film are systemic and “The Act of Killing” is a repeatable experiment, so they felt it was time for them to break essentially the 47 years of silence about the killings. To do so they wanted to marshal fresh evidence about the killings. So they sent, I think it was 47 journalist plus editorial staff and support staff around 15 people to go around the country even to areas where they didn’t know if the killings had taken place and gathered and try to meet men like Anwar, meet men like the perpetrators I filmed to show that the film was a repeatable experiment, to show that Anwar was just one man among 40,000 people. They came back with hundreds of hundreds of pages of boastful testimonies by perpetrators in just a few weeks and edited it down and came up with a special double edition of Tempo. And then there’s an extensive coverage of the film as well and the rest of the media started to break their silence little by little about the killings and all the people who saw the film then started to hold screenings. They said, “OK first step was to go back to our communities and networks and hold screenings”. And on 10th of December of International Human Rights Day last year, we held 50 screening in 30 screenings ranging from 600 to700 people and that grew as of April to 500 screenings in 95 cities and then we lost count.

The point is the film should spark a discussion. We didn’t want people to just watch it at home alone we wanted people watching it together and having these debates together and once we felt really well underway, we felt we can look to make the film available online. So, one of the things that happened that happened between December and now, the screenings have been more and more public and more and more interesting. We had a screening in a mass grave in Central Java where the relatives of the victims who were killed there were too afraid to go untuk ziarah (to visit the grave, ed) at the end of Ramadan because the anti-communist- sort of the veterans of the anti-communist militias would threatened “You can’t come here!” They were too intimidated to go and visit the grave, so one organizer held a screening at this mass grave for the survivors and for the children of perpetrators, that now they have allowed both sides to visit the grave and pray at the grave.

Those screenings happened. That was one amazing screenings. But also the screenings have become more and more public, people started to announcing them on Facebook, announcing them on twitter, putting up posters in university campuses. A couple of screenings have been threatened. A couple of screenings have had Kodim (District Military Comandy, ed) said you can’t do the screening. But by and large the screenings are open and there’s no stopping it now. So now it feels like the time is right to put the film online so that as many people can see it as possible. We knew we have been giving out DVDs for free for the last six month and we knew that it would enter the pirate sphere but we wanted people to be able to see the film for free and not have to pay for it. And the hope is that every Indonesian should see the film

You have mentioned that talking to the perpetrators made you feel like you were in Nazi Germany 40 years after the Holocaust and the Nazi still in power. Can you tell us how you come to feel that way?

Well there were two things that happened. First of all the perpetrators were boasting and the boasting was obviously a sign. It wasn’t necessarily a sign of pride. I’ve come to understand that it’s actually that they’re boasting not necessarily because they’re proud. In fact in the end I think “The Act of Killing” really shows that the boasting is defensive and they’re desperately trying to convince themselves what everybody knows, namely that of course mass killing is wrong and when you killed unarmed defenseless people it’s wrong. Period. The message of the film could be: everybody already knows everything. And I’ll come back to that in a moment.

Two things happened in the early years I when was filming with survivors and perpetrators. First, the perpetrators were boasting and I understood: OK the reason they’re boasting is because they’ve never been removed from power and therefore, they’ve not been forced to admit what they had done was wrong. So therefore they neither deny what they’ve done nor do they apologize for it or act ashamed of it. The second thing I realize was that I understood they could either feel proud of what they’ve done or perhaps as I think the film shows that they’re desperately clinging to the justification that it’s OK, that they don’t have to wake up in the morning, look in the mirror and see mass murderers in the mirror. The other thing that happened was that the survivors that came out. Word got around that we were talking about what happened in 1965 and the survivors were no longer allowed to talk to us. We were arranged to film with somebody. We would come to the house to start filming and within half an hour people from Koramil (the military subdistrict command, ed) would show up and say “sorry you can’t film”. Or people would come from Polda (District Police) and say “you can’t film these people”. And our equipment will be taken and they would pretend that they’re looking at our tapes but they would have nothing on the tapes yet because we haven’t managed to start filming. So the contrast between survivors who were bullied or forced into silence while the perpetrators were boasting about telling stories, which were far more incriminating that anything the survivors could possibly tell, that was what made me feel this is something I’ve never seen before. It’s just like being in Germany 40 years after the Holocaust and finding the Nazi still in power.

But because I started my work in Indonesia filming on a Belgian oil palm plantation on the very brutal conditions by which our palm oil — therefore our margarine and skin cream – were produced. I came to feel this horrible situation is by no means unique and it’s not just this is an amazing case study for a country where there has been total impunity. I recognize that this is how most of the world is organized. That everything we buy, whether we’re from a country in the global south like Indonesia or in United States or wherever, everything we buy is haunted by the suffering of people who make it for us. All of them are working in places like the Indonesia of “The Act of Killing”, places where there’s been mass political violence, places where perpetrators have won and in their victory built regimes of fear that keep everybody who makes everything we buy too afraid to effectively get the human cost of what we buy included in the price tag that we pay. In that sense we all depend on Anwar and his friends for our everyday living. I don’t think we want to, but that’s the world we’ve inherited and the position we’ve inherited. And I think it damages all of us. I’ve said we are guests of Anwar’s cannibalistic feast but I would say more chillingly we are hosts of the cannibalistic feasts. Just as Jusuf Kalla says we need our thugs to do our dirty work and get things done, so too does Anwar and his friends do our dirty work. And it’s maybe dirty work that we wished the world hasn’t done. We wish the world to be organized in a different way where people are not exploited like the H&M T-shirt or the Macbook that I’m speaking to you through, but I think that’s the world that we live in and I think it damages us. I think as Anwar and his friends are damaged from building a normality on mass graves and the suffering of others, we are damaged by depending for our lives from the suffering of others.

Back in 2002-2003, I set out to expose that. The human rights community in Jakarta and also the survivors when they saw the footage I was getting with the very perpetrators I filmed — They saw them boasting in front of their grandchildren, taking me to the places that they killed. And you’ll see that material in my new film, it’s sort of similar to the footage of Anwar on the roof in the beginning where he dances, people were simply taking me to the places that they killed, showing me how they killed and demonstrating it — they say continue filming even if the survivors can’t be filmed. “Keep filming the perpetrators because you’re finding out what happened and when the viewers see them boasting, they’ll see exactly what we’re afraid of and they will glimpse the moral vacuum, the cultural vacuum that is inevitable when you have total impunity for genocide”. So I kept filming, I film every perpetrator I could find across the region up the chain of command to some retired generals in Jakarta, — General Kemal Idris was one and Herman Saren Sudiro was another, both of them have died — retired CIA officers and State Department officers living outside of DC. And everyone was boastful, even the Americans. And the State Department Guy said: “I may have blood on my hands but sometimes that’s a good thing.” He was just providing the list of thousands of names of journalists and educators and union organizers, people who were non-violent, people who were not communists necessarily at all, providing them to the army and say kill these people. For us.

Coming back to the question, this is sort of the space where the Nazi have won. This is not unusual, this is the underbelly of our reality and we all depend on it. And the other day, we had our Finnish premier, and someone say “Josh these things don’t happen in Finland but we have our own historical violence that we’re silent about” and I said, “first of all, no they do happen in Finland. Every time you buy a shirt in H&M it’s happening in Finland. Every time you put petrol in your tank it’s happening in Finland”. There’s of all of that.

And I think what makes Indonesia special, in particular North Sumatra, is the shamelessness of the perpetrators and that of course is a consequence of the fact that unlike the Holocaust the rest of the world was cheering them on while they were killing. During the Holocaust maybe the rest of the world didn’t intervene to stop it but they were opposed to it. Here the world was cheering them on and so, they’ve clung to that celebration so that they can live with what they’ve done ever since. And that is what makes Indonesia unique. Not the violence, not the terror, not the regime of fear. Indonesia is not so much worse than China or anywhere else. In fact I don’t think it’s worse than China. I’ve spent time in China and China is probably the more serious case of them all by far. The shamelessness of the perpetrators in Indonesia is what makes Indonesia such a powerful allegory for everywhere else.

Drafthouse Films
Drafthouse Films

Q: One of the questions about your film is that you interviewed a lot of people including the retired generals and up to the CIA but those people weren’t present in the film. Why was that?

A: The film is not a historical documentary of what happened then. The film is about the consequences of impunity now, the consequences on a group of people and on a whole political culture for building your normality on terror and lies. So if I want to include the story of American involvement, there will be two problems. One is that is by no decisive means we can show, we can demonstrate that America supported this, that America provided weapons and money and cheered and gave encouragement to kill more and more people. We can’t show that this was decisive. America was not the dalang (puppet master) behind this. And the reason for that of course is that America burned a lot of its bridges with the Indonesian army in the late 50s when they supported the PRRI/Permesta rebellions because they were caught red handed tried to break up the country. And Indonesia, although many of the people involved in the Permesta rebellion later returned from exile from Singapore — these are traitors, Suharto called them back. How many people in the Suharto cabinet were actually traitors trying to break up the unified republic of Indonesia and the New Order bangs on about, what is it, the Negara Kesatuan Republik Indonesia. It’s ironic that the actual framers of the discourse were actually traitors caught red handed trying to break up the unified republic of Indonesia but that’s the side story. My point is that the US has burnt its bridges with a lot of the Indonesian army. So they could offer support, they could say, “OK if you really move forward against the communist we will give you lots of aid, if you go against every potential supporter of the communist, the whole Indonesian left, we’ll give you even more aid et cetera. But we can’t show that that’s determinate and so it felt like if you show and tell that story you would be drawn into a historical argument about how significant was that support right. And to do that you’ll inevitable be making a film, a historical documentary about what happened in 1965 and I bet even if I did an excellent job of it no one would care. No one would care, including Indonesians. Because in fact the facts are available online and we can’t even get people to care about what’s going on in Syria right now or Egypt, much less what happened in Indonesia in 1965 at the height of the cold war. It was a decision to make a film about now. And about a regime now, and about corruption now, and the moral vacuum now.

And but therefore, I took a decision to kind of make America a character throughout the whole film, whether it’s American culture or American movies, American fashion. I think that it’s fair to say, the same person who said this wonderful thing, “Your film is about how everybody already knows about everything” is Peter Seller, he’s a friend of mine and a friend of the film. He also said, “Your film Josh is a film by an American”. It’s a film about Indonesia, and it is an Indonesian film about Indonesia, because of its huge Indonesian crew and component but it’s also an American film by an American, and I think it’s so because of the way the U.S. and the U.S. culture is haunting the whole film, also the victims are haunting the whole film. The dead haunt every frame of “The Act of Killing”.

The Human Rights Community in Indonesia said to me, one person said to me very clearly, “Josh we need a film that is an expose but an expose not of the things we don’t know but an expose of things that everybody in Indonesia somehow already knows but has been too afraid to address. We need a film that comes to Indonesia like the child in the ‘Emperor’s New Clothes’, and it points to a reality that everybody knows about but is too afraid to address”. And that’s what the film somehow I think does.
And I think in that sense the film has come to Indonesia a little bit like the child in the “Emperor’s New Clothes” and it will continue to do its work as that opens up a space where people have the courage to talk about the things they can’t talk about before. And it’s done that around the world. The film almost literally holds up a dark mirror to Anwar but it holds up a dark mirror to the whole regime and it holds up a dark mirror to all of us. I’ve been amazed and heartened by the bravery and the courage of viewers all around the world to see themselves in this. This is me. Anwar is me. The society is my society and it’s something of the humanity of the way I approached Anwar.

Q: The film is powerful and disturbing at the same time as it forces the viewers to see Anwar in an intimate setting as a human, which makes viewers confront their own human flaws. Was there a time in the filming process that you stopped seeing Anwar as a human to be able to maintain your own sense of humanity?

A: No, I made a rule to myself that I would never for a second stopped seeing Anwar as a human and that was a painful rule because when you make a film about another human being when you’re not just trying to gather facts and issue a verdict to judge them, you actually have to get very close to the person. When you become close to someone of course you become vulnerable to them and that was painful because then that gave me pretty bad nightmares. And yeah, it gave me nightmares. That gave me intermittent insomnia because I couldn’t sleep because of the nightmares. And I only really got through it because of the support of my crew especially my anonymous co-director and the rest of the crew too. On the contrary when you decide, “OK, I’m going to see this man as inhuman, as a monster to retain my humanity”, the opposite is what happens. If I were to say, “This man has done something monstrous and therefore he’s a monster”, what I would be doing is simply reassuring myself that I’m not like him and I would be closing off two things. I’d be closing off any possibility of understanding how human beings do this to each other, because in fact every act of evil in our history has been committed only by human beings like us. And when people ask: How can you humanize Anwar? The answer is extremely simple. It’s three words: He is human. Period. But I would also be closing off my possibility to empathy in that moment. And empathy is not a zero-sum game. You can’t have too much of it. If I empathize for Anwar it doesn’t mean I have any less empathy for the survivors who I began this project with. On the contrary I think empathy is the beginning of love and you can never have enough of it.

Q:How much has your cultural and family background as descendant of people who escaped the Holocaust influence you in the making of the film?

A: I think it’s probably the source of the large part of my commitment. You know I’ve dedicated a decade to this work and there’ll be another year before I’m done with this because I have another film coming and I think when I had this feeling that I’m now in you know the equivalent of post-Holocaust Germany if the Nazi’s were still in power I understood I have to give this as many years as it take. And I think that way because growing up I very much was taught that the aim of all culture, certainly art, and the aim of all politics certainly and maybe the aim of all culture is to prevent these things from happening again. And not in the limited sense of never again to us but in a human sense of never again to any human being anywhere. And the tragedy of course is these things keep happening again and we have to look at the reality that although there is much that is singular about the Holocaust, every genocide is singular, and we have to look at the reality that human beings keep doing this to each other and we have to look at how human beings do this, why they do it, and the effects of this kind of evil on ourselves on each other on our society on our common humanity.

One of the things that the film I thing that have discovered, you know Anwar is the 41st perpetrators I filmed, but I lingered on him because somehow his pain is closer to the surface, and I saw there, “OK the boasting is not a sign of pride, it’s actually covering guilt”. I saw the whole film a study of the consequences of guilt and living with guilt. And therefore I sort of saw that the film is about Anwar but there’s also this whole layer about the society about the use of preman (thugs, ed) in politics, Pemuda Pancasila (Pancasila Youth), the corrupt politicians and so forth. And I saw the corruption, this sort of moral vacuum of corruption and exploitation is also perhaps a consequence of people maintaining lies that they tell themselves because they don’t want to admit their guilt. So when you have a whole society, a whole regime, committed this huge atrocity, gets away with it, is celebrated for it and rewarded for it by at least one of the superpowers and the whole Western bloc and then they produce excuse for what they’ve done, a lie. And then the perpetrator clings to that lie. That demands a downward spiral into further evil and corruption because now you have to blame the victims and survivors. That’s part of the excuse, “it’s their fault, they deserved it”. You have to de-humanize them because it’s much easier to live with having killed them, for they’re not fully human. You have to stigmatize them. You can steal their land because every time you steal their land or every time you shake them down in the market, every time you extorte them in the market, of course you are reasserting their lack of humanity. And you have to kill again. Because if the army now tells Anwar – kill this group of people – for the same reason he killed the first group, and if he don’t do it the second time, you’re admitting it was wrong the first time. Here, I stand on the shoulders of Pramoedya Ananta Toer’s Rumah Kaca (Glass House) where you see this colonial police inspector, collaborator, who knows what he’s doing is wrong and despairingly throws himself, justifies it to himself. Despairingly, knowingly he has to justify it and throw himself into further violence, further corruption, further evil. We see that corruption in the whole society in “The Act of Killing” and we see it inside of Anwar because we see Anwar recognizes after they burned down Kampung Kolam — they re-enact the attack of Kampung Kolam, he says, “It’s too much this is wrong. It’s the end of the world”. He’s in the jermal, on the fishing platform in the middle of the night, saying it’s “dunia hampir kiamat” (The world is nearing its end) or something and then he throws himself despairingly into finally reliving in that office the sadism of the film’s noir scenes and of course he also, in the section of Pengkhianatan G30S/PKI he says, “I know this was wrong, I know it’s a lie”. They know the film is a lie, but Anwar says it’s the one thing that makes me feel better about myself.

I think the film witnesses that downward spiral and the irony is that the cause of that evil, is not that the perpetrator are immoral evil people but actually that they’re human and they’re moral beings and they know the difference between right and wrong and it’s precisely because they’re moral not immoral that they have to lie to themselves to protect themselves from the terror of guilt.

That’s a really counterintuitive idea but it’s something that I really didn’t understand before I made the film. But you know we have this idea that everyone out there is pretty much good and there are a few people who fuck everything up for the rest of us. But in reality, everybody’s human and we all do bad things and we cover it up and sometimes those stories we tell to justify our actions, how we lie to ourselves to justify our actions, to maintain those stories and those lies lead to this downward spiral. So corruption corrupt absolutely and the first act of corruption is when they first kill.
Sometimes people say to me, “Josh, Anwar must have been really dumb to be in the film to participate in the film”. And actually I don’t feel Anwar feels tricked by the film at all in the end. He and I remain in touch all the time. At the beginning, I didn’t know how to answer that question. But now I have to say no, Anwar wasn’t dumb to be in the film. Anwar was dumb to do the killing in the first place. That was stupid, that’s when he really fucked up.

Q: How did you decide on using a participatory method in documenting the film?

I want to ask that in two ways. First of all, all documentaries are participatory. That in fact it’s a myth that you’re just filming people. That’s a lie that we tell. In reality every documentary shoot is an occasion for people to perform on camera. They’re always aware of the camera. They always try to act normal but it’s still acting or they can use the occasion of being filmed to express, to confess to something, to prolong an argument. If I film you for the day, the biggest event in your day is being filmed by me, it’s no longer your day, and in that sense we can try to get you to quote-on-quote act normal, but that would still be acting. We really create reality anytime we film anybody and it seem arbitrary to create a reality in which we pretend that I’m not there filming. In that sense all documentaries are collaborative and participatory. It’s just whether you want to show that or not. And I think it’s more honest to show it.

And then as I filmed 40 perpetrators before I met Anwar, all of them were inclined to take me to the place where they show me how they killed, boast about how they killed. And I realize they’re not really giving me testimonies. They’re not really going to a sober process of trying to remember. They’re performing. They’re telling me facts, but it’s all oriented towards a spectator. They have a spectator in mind. And the question is: Who is the spectator? Why are they performing. I film a man boasting about killing a man in front of his granddaughter. She looks on bored as though she’s seen this many times before. Ok, I can understand that he boast to his neighbors because he’s afraid of them taking reveng — the survivors. He wants them to be silent and suppressed so he boast to keep them afraid or he boast to keep people afraid so he can wield power as a gangster. But why does he boast to his granddaughter? Surely he doesn’t want his granddaughter to be afraid of him. So I started to wonder for whom are they performing in their normal lives? What is the function of this performing? For whom are they performing? For whom are they boasting? What are the effects of this boasting on the whole society? How did they want to be seen and how do they really see themselves? And I understood that if I let them show me what they’ve done in whatever way they wish, and film the process, I can answer those questions. I can produce a documentary of the imagination instead of a documentary of their everyday lives.

Q: Your film allowed creative participation for your subjects. Where did the idea of reenactments come from? 

A: The form of “The Act of Killing” as a film was my idea. And they’re not making another film. But the re-enacting the killings were something they were doing from the moment I met them. In the living room they’d start re-enacting. The first perpetrator I film had a wife. He said, “Oh let me show you how I killed the Gerwani (Women’s wing of the Communist Party) members”, because it was different from the way he killed everyone else. He called his wife in and starts acting it out on her. The next person invites me to this Snake River, sungai ular, and shows me, he and his fellow death-squad member showed how he would drag people to the river and cut off their heads, taking turn playing victim and perpetrator without my asking. I think because they know the films they’ve seen are dramas and maybe they had a notion that they should dramatize. And then they would watch the footage and then they would say, “Oh it’s not good enough”, because it doesn’t look like a movie. And I was thinking, what is going on here? What image are they trying to project? So the re-enactment came from them.

And in “The Act of Killing”, you see these very simple demonstrations, like Anwar does on the roof, evolve into more and more surreal, more and more grotesque re-enactments. And that process happened organically because of the love of American movies because of the days of preman bioskop (cinema thugs). And it happened, as you see in the film, in response to dissatisfaction with the first re-enactments. So the narrative was the same from the whole time. From the beginning, they film something — I mean I film with them — they started re-enacting. They re-enact because that’s what they were doing I didn’t ask them to. Then we’d show that footage back to them, wondering how on earth this is possible and will they recognize the moral meaning of what they have done when they saw the footage in the mirror of the film. And then they would plan what to shoot next. When I met Anwar, he looked very disturbed when I showed that footage back to him, where he’s dancing on the roof that first shoot. I think he’s very disturbed about what he did, but he dares not say it because he’s never been forced to admit it was wrong and to say “this makes me look bad, this is terrible” would be to admit it’s wrong and he’s never been forced to do that. So, he displaces that discomfort on to his clothes, he says “I look like I’m dressed for a picnic and my acting is bad”, and so began this process of more and more surreal embellishment each time he’s trying to run away from the horror that’s evoked by the previous shoot. And in that sense it’s little like the artist painting his own picture. He paints a little, steps back, looks at the canvas chooses what to paint next. We only plan one re-enactment at a time. We’d shoot it. He’d watch it and then we’d plan the next based on his reaction. Of course what’s fueling this process from the very beginning if you think about is his conscience. And in that sense it’s not a surprise in hindsight that the fictional dramatization becomes the prism through which he’d finally confronts the unspeakable of what he’s done.

Q: You interviewed 70 people and used a participatory method, but in the end you as a director had to choose which characters to present to tell their story. What are your considerations in choosing who to present in the film?

A: Well it’s not a casting process. It’s not like I was looking for the right character. I thought I cut a film out of the 40 men that I filmed before I met Anwar, plus Anwar the 41 and it would be a kind of horizontal film with lots of different people, kind of a kaleidoscopic. But the way I work — I’m not a filmmaker who looks for a great story and thinks about the best way of telling that story. I look for a theme, a location, a powerful metaphor. Boasting perpetrators was the powerful metaphor. The theme was about impunity. The location was North Sumatra. And then I looked for some methods and a few characters. Those thing become a machine to investigating and exploring that world deeply and unearthing and answering it’s most pregnant and important questions. Those parameters can evolve as the process goes on. The characters can evolve and when I lingered on Anwar was because I saw that with him — he was bringing his other friends. Because his guilt was closer to the surface he started bringing in his other friends for a collaborative process of essentially trying to cover his guilt cover his wounds with almost the cinematic scar tissue of more and more layers of performance. And I understood that this is almost a replication of what the whole regime has done. And so, I was fascinated by it and I found myself going down that rabbit hole with him. But it wasn’t like I was looking for him.

Times they are a changing in Myanmar

Serene: Temples pepper the plain in the ancient city Bagan.
Serene: Temples pepper the plain in the ancient city Bagan.

The budget airplane to Mandalay was rolling along the apron of Bangkok’s Don Mueang Airport ready for take off. The flight attendants — all with model good looks — were giving safety instructions.

Excitement started to swell in me. In just one-and-a-half hours, I would land in Myanmar: the fast-changing homeland of Aung San Suu Kyi. The plane picked up speed. There was no turning back. I flicked through my guidebook, a Lonely Planet published in 2011 that I bought months before but had not read. It seemed appropriate to read the “need to know” page before touching down.

My eye scanned a heading printed in blue font: “cash-only economy”. My heart rate quickened. “Myanmar ATMs don’t accept international cards”. It continued: “Budget carefully and get the right kind of bills before your plane lands in Yangon. Otherwise, you’ll end up in financial trouble”.

I was a couple of hundred feet in the air already. I landed in Mandalay and was sure I was in trouble. With only Rp 600,000 (US$58.2) in my pocket and not a single dollar or kyat in hand, I had visions of sleeping on the streets of Mandalay before making my way to the Indonesian consulate in Yangon to beg them to take me in.

I had been feeling that Myanmar was calling me to visit. The military junta finally released opposition leader Aung San Suu Kyi after years of house arrest in 2010. News reports from Myanmar’s Rakhine state detailed the deadly ethnic and religious conflicts between Burmese Buddhists and Rohingya Muslims. There seemed to a parallel to Indonesia, which overthrew its despot long before Myanmar, and which has also been struggling with religious conflict.

My one-week plan was to visit the dusty commercial town of Mandalay, made famous by songs inspired by Rudyard Kipling’s poem Road to Mandalay, followed by a stop at the ancient city Bagan, where thousands of red-brick pagodas stretch across the plains.

While there are no direct flights from Jakarta to Yangon or Mandalay, the cities with international airports in Myanmar, budget airlines such as Air Asia serve routes such as Singapore-Yangon or Bangkok-Yangon and Bangkok-Mandalay.

The country is transitioning from a reclusive dictatorship hit hard by embargoes to a nation eyed by foreign investors. The economic sanctions that cut off Myanmar (and its ATMs) from the rest of the world were lifted last year. This saved me from a life of indigence on the streets of Mandalay, as I found that the ATMs there and Bagan did indeed accept international cards, thank you very much.

Mandalay, the capital of Burma before the British takeover in 1885, is a bustling town with rows of five-story buildings. Here and there, you will find monasteries with lush trees. While Buddhism is the religion of the majority of Mandalay population, it’s a city of many different faiths. Min, the taxi driver who took me around, said that his wife was Roman Catholic, while he was a Buddhist who believes in nats (spirits). In honor of his wife, he can recite the Lord’s Prayer.

If flying on Air Asia, the airline provides free shuttle bus from the airport to the city, which is an hour’s ride. Mid-range hotels costing between $20 and $40 a night are plentiful.

I chose the Royal City Hotel, which had a rooftop terrace that was good for watching the sunset. Also visible from the rooftop of the hotel, which was near the Mandalay Palace, were the dome of a mosque, the spire of a church and the stupas of the pagoda — as well as ubiquitous satellite-dishes buildings.

Take a boat from the pier to Mingun Paya and climb the giant unfinished red brick stupa. A self-appointed guide said that it was forbidden to climb, as there are cracks and deep cuts between the bricks due to an earthquake. However, teenage boys and young couples were climbing the structure anyway, and I followed suit. From atop Mingun, you can see the river cutting through Mandalay and the white pagodas from afar.

Beautiful: Whitewashed pagodas surround the Kuthodaw Pagoda in Mandalay.

Beautiful: Whitewashed pagodas surround the Kuthodaw Pagoda in Mandalay.

Mandalay city itself is home to interesting places to discover. There is a Big Ben replica in the Ma Soe Yein Nu Kyaung monastery, where hundreds of monks in red robes wander about in the compound carrying books. A friendly monk gave me a tour after seeing me taking pictures of the clock. We entered a meditation building where the fifth floor was a prayer, complete with a statue of Buddha and fake mango trees.

The beautiful teak monastery Shwe In Bin Kyaung is worth a visit. Mango trees surround the compound, with fruit falling to the ground. Flocks of crows can be seen flitting from branch to branch above the meditation house where people sit silently for hours.

The nicest place for sightseeing and people watching is U Bein Bridge in Amarapura. Fishermen line up with their boats near the bridge and throw their nets into the water. Schoolchildren in green sarongs and with faces adorned
with liquid face powder from Jataka trees walk along the bridge to school. The Burmese use the face paint to protect their skin from sunburn, says Min.

On the road: Girls walk to school over the U Bein Bridge in Amarapura.

On the road: Girls walk to school over the U Bein Bridge in Amarapura.

Due to time limitations, I chose to fly to Bagan from Mandalay. Another option would have been to take a two-day boat trip along Irrawaddy River. Flying has its advantage though as you can see the thousands of Buddhist temples across the plains.

According to the Lonely Planet Guidebook, the Bagan temples were built during a two-and-a half century building burst that began during the reign of Anawrahta, who developed an edifice complex after converting to Theravada Buddhism in the 11th century. His successors continued his building frenzy.

The result is a magnificent sight. Without any other modern buildings — only the domes of the pagoda — I felt as if I was journeying not only to another place, but to another time.

To explore the temples, bicycle rentals are an inexpensive and convenient choice. A strange security policy in Bagan bans foreigners from riding motorbikes, according Aung Myo, a taxi driver in Bagan. He said that even riding as a passenger was not allowed.

I rode my rental bike on dirt road that led to mysterious temples. Sticking to the dirt road will ensure that you avoid other tourists too.

It is still possible in Bagan to sit on top of a pagoda by yourself while watching the sunset over the horizon. The times, however, are changing in Myanmar. So, pack your bags and go.

— Photos by JP/Prodita Sabarini

Prodita Sabarini, The Jakarta Post, Mandalay/Bagan, Myanmar | Travel | Mon, July 29 2013

Sober optimism and ‘Endgame’ reinterpreted

Steady: “We cannot laugh. It’s funny and hilarious, but we can’t laugh at it like any other comedy,” Garasi director Yudi said of Beckett’s play. (Courtesy of Komunitas Salihara)

The absurdity of human existence is universal as Teater Garasi succesfully showed in their recent performance of Samuel Beckett’s classic play Endgame.

We are all on the Earth and “there’s no cure for that!” as the lame tyrannical narcissist Hamm points out repeatedly in the play — something that holds true in post-Reform Indonesia as well as the work’s late 1950s original European setting.

Teater Garasi, the now established and mature Yogyakarta-based experimental theater company, revisited the satire 15 years after its presentation of the play. The troupe first brought Hamm, Clov, Nagg and Nell to life in 1998, when the country was in a period of change, disruption and euphoria. Back then, the company’s interpretation of the tragicomic play was serious, or in the words of codirector Landung Simatupang, “stingy on laughter”, as they reflected on how Soeharto managed to postpone his downfall for too long.

As hilarity rises in Indonesia’s increasingly absurd democracy — with its celebrity politicians, graft ridden political parties and government inaction on religious violence — Garasi indulged in Beckett’s humor when presenting Endgame this time.

Endgame is a one-act play set in a post-apocalyptic world. Hamm is bound to his wheelchair, ordering around his reluctant servant, Clov, who is so stiff that he is doomed to never sit down.

“Every man has his specialty,” says Hamm. Nagg and Nell, Hamm’s parents who are also immobile, live inside corrugated bins, their limbs lost after a bicycle accident. Outside of their grey shelter awaits death. The four souls are trapped in a game of mundane repetitive acts and conversations with nowhere to turn.

Hamm, played in turns by Garasi director Yudi Ahmad Tajudin and play codirector Gunawan Maryanto, is portrayed as a smug blind tyrant who feels good about himself and his knack of language. Clov, played by Whani Darmawan and Theodorus Christanto, is a simple-minded servant with a speck of defiance. He answers with a straight face to Hamm, but keeps himself bound to his overbearing lmaster. Nagg (Kusworo Bayu Aji and MN. Qomaruddin) is Hamm’s father who has lost the respect of his son and slowly realizes the irrelevance of his overused comic routine. And Nell (Erythrina Baskoro and Arsita Iswardhani) is Hamm’s mother, who finds the tragic essence of comedy before her demise.

Why don’t you kill me asks Hamm of Clov, who replies cooly and automatically: “I don’t have the combination of the cupboard”.

Later Hamm asks again, “Why don’t you finish us? I will give you the combination of the cupboard if you promise to finish me.”

Clov: “I couldn’t finish you”. Hamm: “Then you won’t finish me”.

Each character understands the hilarity of their situation but has lost the will to laugh. As Nell aptly declares: “Nothing is funnier than unhappiness, I grant you that.”

“Yes, yes, it’s the most comical thing in the world. And we laugh, we laugh, with a will, in the beginning. But it’s always the same thing. Yes, it’s like the funny story we have heard too often, we still find it funny, but we don’t laugh anymore”.

And indeed, they don’t feel like laughing.

“Don’t we laugh?” asks Hamm. “I don’t feel like it,” Clov answers after a moment of reflection. “Nor do I,” Hamm answers.

Reprise: Teater Garasi, the now established and mature Yogyakarta-based experimental theater company, revisited the Beckett’s satire Endgame 15 years after its first presentation of the play. (Courtesy of Komunitas Salihara)

Reprise: Teater Garasi, the now established and mature Yogyakarta-based experimental theater company, revisited the Beckett’s satire Endgame 15 years after its first presentation of the play. (Courtesy of Komunitas Salihara)

Garasi director Yudi said that the group’s interpretation of the play this year reflected the current situation. The conversations in the play were as funny as the situation the country is facing. “We see the 98’ movement falling into a silly whirpool. Laughing at it would be as if we are cool with this difficult and silly situation,” Yudi said.

“We cannot laugh. It’s funny and hilarious, but we can’t laugh at it like any other comedy,” Yudi said.

The ability to find the humor behind the absurd is what Garasi aimed to achieve through its presentation of Endgame.

Yudi said that he first encountered the script for Endgame in 1992 and was immediately caught by the strength of its dialogue. He struggled to translate the English text to Indonesian between 1992 and 1994.

Garasi performed Endgame in 1998, riding the wave at the end of the regime. This year, Garasi performed Endgame as part of Salihara‘s Helateater festival.

Beckett wrote Endgame in French in 1953 and the play was first performed in London on 1957, titled Fin de Partie. The title referred to the last moves in a chess game, when the end is near but the moves had to be taken anyway. Beckett translated the play from French to English himself.

For this year’s performance, Yudi worked with Jean-Pascal Elbaz, former director of the French Cultural Center in Yogyakarta and producer of Endgame in 1998, in translating the script from French to Indonesian. Yudi said that there are things that are lost and things that are found in every translation.

“In French, there is vous and tu, which give a richer meaning and can be adapted to Indonesian with anda dan kamu. We wouldn’t find that in the English translation,” Yudi said.

Aside from what can be found (or lost) in translation, Garasi succeeded in presenting dark Beckett’s dark comedy. Endgame is a tragedy wrapped in humor wrapped in, to use Yudi’s words, a “sober optimism”. Amid the Indonesia’s everyday insanity, some sobriety is always welcome.

Prodita Sabarini, The Jakarta Post, Jakarta | Art and Design | Thu, July 11 2013