During the era of Japanese occupation (1942-1945), many Javanese women were brought to the island to serve as comfort women, popularly known as jugun ianfu, for the Japanese military forces in Buru. To lure them at first, the Japanese promised them education and work.
When the Japanese left Indonesia, these women were left behind in Buru. Some of them later married local men.
In the early years of the New Order regime, at least 10,000 individuals alleged to have been involved with the Indonesian Communist Party (PKI) and the 30 September 1965 Movement (G30S) were exiled on the island. They were transported there in several stages between 1969 and 1972.
The presence of former jugun ianfu and political prisoners has turned Buru into a seemingly terrifying place not worthy of being remembered.
Never give up
Despite the gloomy fate that had befallen him, former Buru political prisoner Hersri Setiawan wrote in his book “Buru Island Memoir” that the political prisoners refused to resign to their fate. Amid the pressures, they struggled to stay alive.
“We worked from sunrise to midnight with the tools we had and limited meals. Our goal was for our paddy fields to bloom and earn us enough rice to stay alive until food assistance came,” said former political prisoner Hasanuddin, 74, who resides on Savanajaya Island in Buru.
Thanks to the toil of the political prisoners, the land of jungle and swamp in Waeapo, where the prisoners were exiled to, is now fertile farmland.
When the political prisoners were freed between 1977 and 1979, the local rice fields produced plenty of rice. The political prisoners’ work was continued by transmigrants who came to Buru in 1980. The transmigrants expanded the rice fields, turning Buru Island into a rice bowl of Maluku.
The work of political prisoners and transmigrants in managing the rice fields attracted Buru locals. Without any previous farming knowledge of their own, they learned everything from the political prisoners and transmigrants.
Ibrahim Belen, 50, the head of Waetele village in Waeapo, Buru, was among these locals. Nowadays, he no longer relies on sago for his family’s sustenance.
Changes after changes slowly transformed the face of Buru. What used to be a terrifying place not worthy of being remembered is now a promising land. Rice fields are continuously expanding and improved with the construction of irrigation canals and dams. Buru has become yet more attractive with the recent discovery of gold in local hills.
Nevertheless, ethnobiography laboratory head Max Marcus J Pattinama of Pattimura University’s faculty of agriculture in Ambon said that, without anticipatory measures from the government, humanitarian tragedies might reoccur.
The finding of gold will bring prosperity for locals on one hand, but may threaten agriculture on the other hand. The mercury used to process gold will pollute the river, the water of which is used for agriculture. Rice produced in fields polluted with mercury may be a health hazard.
Another thing that must be anticipated is the social envy growing among locals upon witnessing the government’s huge attention toward rice-producing transmigrants and former political prisoners.
“They feel left behind. The government should have developed sago, the source of locals’ livelihood, so that it has economic value equal to rice,” he said.
Refugees
Another story of people on the losing side of history who remain in love with their country can be found in the former East Timor refugees in East Nusa Tenggara (NTT). They remain loyal to Indonesia despite having seemingly been forgotten amid the accelerated development of eastern Indonesia.
In the past two years, development projects have flourished in Belu regency in NTT. Major roads are expanded and concrete is poured into roads in villages. However, behind all of this, former East Timor refugees in the region lead their lives as “forgotten” people.
Some of them still live in refugee camps. Others have moved to semi-permanent houses and yet remain poor – their lives are pretty much unchanged from their days in the refugee camp. They only rely on homemade weavings to earn money, barely enough to cover their daily needs.
As a result, many local children fail to move on beyond junior high school. Many work as middlemen for taxi services at the local airport or drive motorcycle taxis in the Indonesia-Timor Leste border region in Motaain, Belu.
Amid the various limitations, the former refugees pin their hopes on the Indonesian government, including to provide them with safety, freedom and a better livelihood. “Even though we live like this, we feel safe here. There is no trouble here,” said Silfano Dosantos, 37, who lives in a refugee camp in Silawan, Belu.
Since choosing Indonesia in the 1999 referendum, which was won by the pro-independence side, these former refugees seemed to have lived on their own. They had received assistance, but that stopped in 2002 – when they were no longer deemed refugees. It was only the kindness, assistance and openness of locals that helped them survive in the refugee camps.
They have Indonesian identification cards and political rights. However, the government has yet to implement a good program to improve their welfare.
Former East Timor people’s association Uni Timor Aswa’in (Untas) regional head Felisberto Amaral said that the government could assist the former refugees by including them in community empowerment programs, such as through establishing cooperatives and facilitating farmlands and cattle farms.
Widya Mandira Catholic University anthropologist Gregor Neonbasu in Kupang said the former refugees needed welfare services based on humanitarian approaches. They had left their hometown with a broken heart for the sake of their political choice.
“This is about using an approach that does not undermine the refugees’ dignity as Indonesians. Emotional trauma healing is also important. The government should not only be focused on material assistance,” he said.
(ANTONY LEE/MADINA NUSRAT/RINI KUSTIASIH/A PONCO ANGGORO)
