A journalist’s brief experience as a GAM hostage in East Aceh

 

The Jakarta Post, Jakarta || Sat, May 29 2009

Nani Afrida, The Jakarta Post‘s correspondent in Aceh, spent two nights two weeks ago at the Free Aceh Movement’s (GAM) hideout in East Aceh regency, after she and five other journalists offered themselves as collateral for the release of about 100 GAM hostages, including RCTI television cameraman Fery Santoro. Recovering from the trauma that she endured during the rare experience, she recounted her story during her stay with GAM.

A starry night illuminated pitch-black Lhok Jok, Peudawa Rayeuk district, East Aceh regency. Electricity to the village had been cut by Free Aceh Movement (GAM) separatists to make them harder to detect by Indonesian Military (TNI) troops.

East Aceh Free Aceh Movement (GAM) . PHOTO: Nani Afrida

Lhok Jok is an isolated village inhabited by 100 or so people. It is hilly terrain, situated 64 kilometers from Langsa town and a GAM stronghold in the regency.

It was the first night (Saturday) that I was staying with GAM guerrilla fighters, along with five other journalists from print and TV media outlets, including two from RCTI.

We spent the night at a GAM hideout there to “”hand over”” ourselves to GAM so that RCTI cameraman Fery Santoro and about 100 other hostages could be released.

Fery was abducted 11 months ago. His colleague, Ersa Siregar, who was with him when they were taken, was killed in a gunfight with TNI troops at the end of last year. Every effort to free Fery failed, until, in early May, Peurelak GAM commander Teungku Ishak Daud decided to release the hostages, subject to conditions.

One of these required that reporters stay overnight to convince Ishak that he would not be set up and ambushed. The TNI gave GAM 36 hours to free the hostages but declined to let reporters stay overnight, for safety reasons.

After intense negotiations, the TNI eventually agreed to six journalists staying overnight; I was one of them.

The air in Lhok Jok was getting chilly on Saturday. After magrib (prayers at dusk), we were invited to dinner by GAM men toting M-16 rifles. About 100 GAM personnel were there. Despite the TNI’s promise not to attack, they were still vigilant. As guests, we were treated well.

Ishak chatted with us that night, mostly complaining about reporters who, during the period of martial law, he said, had filed biased reports.

To him, reporters were inclined to quote the TNI rather than report directly about the grief of Aceh people. He also explained that hundreds of civilians detained by GAM now were people who had requested protection from the cruelty, he said, of TNI. Only three people were listed as hostages, one of them Fery.

The night was almost over. We stayed in a surau (prayer house) adjacent to the Lhok Jok mosque.

Fery was released that afternoon (Sunday), in addition to about 100 other hostages. He was immediately taken to Langsa for medical treatment. He looked thin, weary and traumatized by the ordeal. We were saddened at seeing him.

As he left, we remained at Lhok Jok because the release of the 100 other hostages was put back until the next day. Ishak asked us to stay and the International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC) promised to return the next day for a customary hostage-freeing ceremony.

The cessation of hostilities was over but the separatists requested, through the ICRC and their mediator, Alamsyah, more time because the hostages were held at different places and they needed time to collect them.

At 12 midnight on Sunday, the rebels received information that the TNI had objected to their request. The TNI had blockaded Lhok Jok with tanks and would strike at 6 a.m.

We tried to contact everyone, using GAM’s satellite telephone to communicate, but to no avail. Head of the Alliance of Independent Journalists Edy Suprapto, when contacted by us, confirmed the deadlock.

“”Never mind. The TNI are not concerned about your safety. It would be better if we took you all to the woods. After all, you have been captives since yesterday,”” said Ishak, smiling.

We were shocked and scared. We had seen the state that Fery was in. Who knows? We might have ended up like him.

To make it easier, Ishak divided us into three groups. We had no choice but to follow his instructions. Initially, I was put into the same group as Ishak, but he eventually decided to release me as I was the only woman in the group of reporters.

We hugged each other before departing.

As it was already 3 p.m. on Monday and still there was no good news from Langsa, all rebels, including the five journalists, set off. They faded from sight as they passed behind the bushes.

I was alone and, to be frank, scared. Residents who gathered at the Lhok Jok mosque also looked anxious. According to them, if subsequently a gunfight were to ensue and rebels were not found, civilians would become the target.

I couldn’t recall how long I’d been daydreaming when suddenly a GAM rebel approached. I recognized him as Ishak Daud’s aide-de-camp. “”Kak (sister), it’s OK! The TNI has given us until May 17 — midnight tonight,”” he said.

I couldn’t believe it at first, but when I saw Ishak Daud and my colleagues with smiles on their faces, I realized that I wasn’t dreaming.

Some 155 other hostages were freed by GAM. We could now go home after every hostage had been freed and was in a safe place. Only when we reached Langsa did we find out that it was our journalist colleagues in Langsa who had saved us, asking the TNI to extend the deadline for GAM to release the hostages.

A journalist ponders lives changed forever

By Nani Afrida

Special to The Seattle Times

BANDA ACEH, Indonesia — It has been one year since the tsunami devastated Aceh.

What Aceh looked and felt like when the tsunami struck, and the panic of the people around me are still fresh in my mind. The sad faces of those looking for missing family members stick in my memory. And like any other survivor, I’ve had to accept the fact that half of Banda Aceh disappeared in the huge waves.

As a journalist for five years, I know every corner of Banda Aceh and the surrounding landscape, the places that I scour every day to gather news.

A few hours after the tidal wave, I stood alone at the edge of the city, staring at the vast expanse of seawater. There was no sight of the houses that once stood closely in a row, and familiar roads had vanished. Everything was flattened by the giant waves.

In that moment, I realized that the lives of the Acehnese, including me, had changed forever.

I never stop expressing my gratitude to God for allowing me to survive and witness the events after this disaster.

But working as a local reporter in a disaster area isn’t as easy as one might think. Jakarta and foreign journalists might find reporting on such a calamity to be a goldmine of stories.

For me, as an Acehnese, the job has become a burden.

In the last several months, I’ve heard the same stories over and over: The sorrow of survivors continuing to search for their missing loved ones, their futile queries about houses or jobs, their worries about an uncertain future.

Two of the questions I hear most frequently are “When shall we get our houses?” and, “Why are we still living in tents while there are quite a lot of nongovernmental organizations in Aceh?”

There are more than 500,000 homeless people in Aceh today. Most live in tents or barracks or stay with relatives. One year after the tsunami, only 16 percent of the planned 200,000 new houses have been built. Only God knows when the remaining ones will be built.

The patience of those living in makeshift tents is wearing thin. Worse still, they feel their misery has been exploited by many parties.

In this case, their displeasure and distrust are not only aimed at the government and relief workers, but also journalists. I don’t often feel offended or angry by their reaction.

But at times, when I interview them in their tents, their words hurt my heart.

I know perfectly well that there have been positive changes since the tsunami. The Indonesian government and the Free Aceh Movement (GAM) signed a peace deal to end 30 years of fighting. Martial law was lifted, opening up Aceh to the world. That has been a blessing for all of us.

But too little has changed in the lives of the tsunami victims.

The less fortunate are still in tents, having to put up with the unfavorable effects of the rainy season — wet roads, malaria mosquitoes and dirty water. Some tents have begun to wear out.

The luckier ones live in barracks. Each barrack measuring 2×2 square meters must accommodate two to three families, and people sleep packed like sardines. There are few regular jobs.

Relief groups organize work-for-cash programs where each person is paid 35,000 rupiah — about $3.50 per day — but these aren’t steady. And the government’s monthly allocation of 90,000 rupiah — around $9 — does not come on a regular basis.

Everything is costly in Aceh now, with prices pegged to the U.S. dollar, the currency used by foreign-aid organizations. Rice, for example, is now two or three times more expensive than before the tsunami.

Many survivors have begun to show their disgust at outsiders, foreign or otherwise, who drive about in luxury cars while they sit despondently in their tents. They have little confidence in the Indonesian government, believing graft keeps them from receiving the help they deserve.

I sometimes feel frustrated because I believe that the situation in Aceh will hardly change.

I have met Nurleili, a 23-year-old girl whose right leg had to be amputated. I have met Mar, 54, a housewife who is still staying in her tent. I have met Hasra, a 23-year-old homeless victim now staying in a barrack.

When I came to them for a story about tsunami victims, the three asked me the same question: “Do you think our fate will change for the better after you write about us? Many have written about us, but our plight remains.”

Now, though a year has gone by, I feel as if the disaster took place just yesterday.

It seems like only a short time ago that I saw the residents in the Meuraxa district sitting on their terraces while it was raining, eating fried bananas with their families. Now, these people — their families torn apart — sit in wet tents counting the passing days.

I still have fresh memories of a time before the tsunami, when residents of the Kemukimam Lamdingin would smile hospitably and ask me to drop by when I passed their houses at night. Nowadays, they are busy each night drying out their tents from the flood that rushes in with the high tide.

It is too difficult to smile.

At these moments, I realize that I long to see Aceh as beautiful as it was before disaster struck, at a time when people still smiled.

Nani Afrida is an Acehnese journalist

who writes for the Jakarta Post

and other publications.

Copyright © 2005 The Seattle Times Company

‘Serambi Indonesia’ survives the tsunami | The Jakarta Post

‘Serambi Indonesia’ survives the tsunami | The Jakarta Post.