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| Wanti binti Sariman wipes away her tears during a commemoration in Rawagede, West Java, on Dec. 9, 2011. After six decades of waiting, relatives of men killed in a notorious massacre during Indonesia's bitter struggle for independence were awarded compensation, but villagers say the money has torn apart the community. (AP Photo/Achmad Ibrahim) |
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Rawagede,
West Java. Relatives of men executed by Dutch troops in this tiny Indonesian
village fought for six decades to get compensation that was supposed to heal
wounds. Now that they have the money, it has ripped Rawagede apart once again.
Only a few
of the residents — most of them widows in their 80s and 90s — brought the case
to court.
But with
hundreds killed, many more suffered. Claiming part of the $270,000 was
rightfully theirs, old friends and neighbors cajoled, bullied and intimidated
the plaintiffs and their families until local officials jumped in, forcing them
to part with half their cash.
“It’s not
fair,” said Muskar Warjo, who lost his father and grandfather in the massacre
that wiped out nearly the entire male population of Rawagede. “Our lawyers said
the money belonged to us, that we could use it as we saw fit.”
Soldiers
clinging to their retreating colonial empire arrived just before dawn on Dec.
9, 1947, in search of a well-known resistance leader and — after getting no
help — led up to 430 boys and young men to a rice field and shot them one by
one.
It took 64
years, but in September a Dutch court ordered its government to apologize for
the killings and to give each of the 10 plaintiffs $27,000. Three died during
the course of the trial and the money went to their families instead.
Muskar,
representing his mother after her death in 2009, said almost immediately after
the verdict was handed down, mobs surrounded his home, the faces of people he’d
known all his life, twisted with hatred and anger.
“There were
hundreds of them, screaming, threatening to burn down my house if I didn’t give
them some of my money,” said the 75-year-old, his eyes brimming with tears. “In
the end, I didn’t have any choice.”
The court
ruling has paved the way for similar allegations of war crimes during the
Netherlands’ centuries-long rule in Indonesia — and raised the possibility of
further compensation.
But good
intentions went awry in this small farming village of 3,000 where — as in other
parts of this sprawling, developing nation of 240 million — quick turns of
fortune are rarely celebrated by those left behind, trying to eke out a living
on as little as $2 a day.
In
Rawagede, the jealousy even set siblings against each other.
Muskar
escaped the mob outside his house on Dec. 27 and — after a community decision
to divvy up the cash — was escorted by local authorities to a neighboring
village for his own safety until tensions eased.
Still
afraid, he decided to go instead to a relative’s house just outside the
capital, Jakarta. Before long, however, Rawagede officials showed up in a van
to bring him home. They said they could guarantee his safety, but in turn
wanted him to sign a letter agreeing to part with his money, Muskar said.
In the end,
his mother’s dream to replace their rickety, wooden shack with a new brick
house remains just that, he said: a dream.
Additional
compensation in the works would benefit the community as a whole: the Dutch
government promised three years ago to provide $1.2 million in “development
aid” to build a school, hospital and market in Rawagede. But even that money
has been caught up in a dispute. It remains stuck in The Hague because of a
disagreement between two Indonesian foundations — both claiming to represent
the villagers’ interests.
Officials
at the Dutch Ministry of Foreign Affairs could not immediately be reached for
comment about any of the compensation disputes.
The
executions still loom large in Rawagede.
A hero’s
cemetery, with row after row of simple white grave stones, has been built on
the outskirts. The anniversary is marked by the whole town every year.
Old women
and men, their faces heavily grooved and backs curved by scoliosis, tremble
when talking about the morning Dutch troops arrived in their village by the
hundreds and opened fire, sending sleepy residents scattering from their homes
in panic.
Some hid
under beds with their children. Others concealed themselves in bushes or jumped
into rivers, helpless as they watched the soldiers round up all the boys and
men they could find.
Forced to
squat in rows, with both hands placed on the backs of their heads, they were
shot, the survivors say.
Kadun bin
Siot was among those who protested the court award.
“What about
me?” he said, his lips quivering as he struggled to contain his emotion. “Why
don’t I deserve to be compensated. I suffered as much as they did.”
He was 12,
peering through the slats of a wooden barn as soldiers flushed his father out
of his hiding place in a trash heap, stabbing it with bayonets until he
emerged, blood pouring from his face.
“They
dragged him away,” said the 76 year-old farmer. “I never saw him again.”
“I’m very
angry at the Dutch. First the killings and now this. The way they are handing
out money,” he said. “It’s just created jealously, anger.”
It was
after hearing many such complaints that Mamat, the village chief, decided to call
a meeting. He invited plaintiffs and their families — as well as police and
other top local officials — to reach an agreement. The widows and their
families should share. People like Kadun ended up getting $500, a lot in
Rawagede, but not nearly enough to fully appease anyone.
“It’s an
extremely sensitive situation,” said Mamat, who goes by only one name. “The
Dutch government can’t be expected to understand that money, distributed
unfairly, causes new problems. We all know it’s impossible to make everyone
happy, but we had to try.”
The
plaintiffs say in the end the money may have caused more problems than good.
The family
of 92-year-old Wanti Dodo was ripped apart.
What the
widow wanted was a few gold bracelets and rings — a dream she had since childhood.
The rest she divided between her seven sons and daughter. Two of her children
protested — those from Wanti’s first husband, Enap, who was killed in the
massacre.
They felt
they deserved more, said Iwa Kartiwa, Wanti’s son.
The
hassling by villagers started as soon as the court handed down its verdict, he
said. Every time the phone rang, neighbors would flock to the house and pepper
them with questions.
Was it news
about the compensation, the would ask. How much was it? When would it arrive?
The tone
quickly grew hostile.
Soon their
house, too, was surrounded by a mob.
“We didn’t
‘agree’ to give away the money. We had to,” said Cawi, his sister.
“What else
could we do?”
Associated Press
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