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Handled with care, peace in Poso may be fragile
This is the third of a series on building peace in sectarian-scarred Poso
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This is the third of a series on building peace in sectarian-scarred Poso.
Peace activist Lian Gogali recalls how easy it was to spark conflict in Poso only a few years ago, when residents’ blood still boiled from the heat of sectarian rage.
“In Poso, people could be recruited to riot by provocative text messages sent by a few people but later distributed over a wide circulation,” Lian says.
Eight years of bloody sectarian unrest was reportedly triggered by an unremarkable street fight in December 1998 between two youths, one who happened to be Muslim and the other Christian. What appeared to be a common street incident flared into a gruesome episode of unrestrained bloodletting that claimed at least 1,000 lives and displaced 25,000 people.
Political scholar George Junus Aditjondro, who conducted research on the conflict said in an interview with Sinar Harapan newspaper in 2003 that the conflict became even more complex because the military allegedly had hoped to expand its presence in the area by playing both sides of the conflict against each other.
“Unidentified snipers regularly slipped into security posts during the Poso conflict, but none were caught,” Aditjondro said.
The scale of conflict dumbfounded locals, who later became convinced that it had been orchestrated by rival politicians who manipulated religion as their trump card to either provoke or co-opt corrupt local bureaucrats.
“Some individuals who make up the political elite still use religious issues as a means to divert public attention from their corrupt practices,” Lian said during a recent discussion facilitated by Wahana Visi Indonesia, a Christian NGO focused on local community development.
Local peace advocates from both the Muslim and Christian communities believe that political self-interests and corruption were the key drivers behind the manipulation of religious issues.
They believe conflict was fanned by elite local political figures who were frightened by the prospect of facing prosecution for allegedly stealing billions of rupiah from a farmers’ cooperative. Another suspected factor was fallout from the bitterly contested local elections in 1998.
Even today, the local administration in Poso is tarnished by corruption allegations surrounding the distribution of Rp 58 billion (US$6.63 million) in reconciliation funds disbursed by the central government.
The regency administration has yet to account for the Rp 58 billion, Institute for Civil Initiative Development (LPSM) advocate Budiman Maliki said.
Observers say that local politicians are willing to exploit religious sentiments when jockeying for positions. It is alleged that new rumors about further unrest usually begin to circulate whenever law enforcement officers begin to sniff corrupt activities of the political elite.
“This destabilizes the fragile peace in Poso because too many interest groups are at play,” says Lies Saino, a Tentena Christian University professor and a signatory of the historic 2001 Malino Peace Declaration initiated to end the conflict.
However, thanks to the strengthening networking among the Muslim and Christian communities in both the dominantly Christian south and the Muslim north, resilience has been growing stronger since the last violent incident in 2006.
Civil networking is relatively easy because Muslims and Christians in Poso largely come from the same ethnic groups, the Pamona. This strong networking foiled an attempt to start a fresh riot during the Idul Fitri season this September after anonymous text messages triggered fears of an imminent clash.
The rumors prompted Regent Piet Inkiriwang to call for an emergency meeting to plan a response, but eventually nothing happened.
Activists attributed the bungled attempt to ignite new animosity to a powerful local figure who faced a graft trial.
“The social networking has allowed ordinary people and former combatants from both religious communities to cross-check any irresponsible provocations,” Lies said.
“Now when we receive provocative SMS’s people immediately reply with positive responses, such as ‘no more war’,” she added.
For the casual visitor, there are no visible sign of tension in Poso, which now looks like any other town in Sulawesi. People on the street are not interested in talking about conflict, and instead prefer to discuss how they have rebuilt shattered lives.
Members of both communities exchange informal visits and jointly stage cultural events. NGOs actively promote peace and reconciliation while the government focuses on the economy and job creation.
Mosques, churches and property destroyed during the conflict have been rebuilt, and most displaced residents have returned to resume life, many beginning from square one. Only a few burned out buildings remain standing, and even for those, the government has given the owners until the end of the year to either rebuild or have the buildings destroyed for the sake of “erasing bitter memories”.
The grand mosque in the Christian enclave of Tentena, which had been left in a dilapidated state for more than a decade, has been brought back to life by a small but enthusiastic congregation.
Harmony in Poso can still be considered fragile because of a web of complex social, political and economic problems, Lian says.
“More and more locals feel marginalized by migrants who they perceive to be better off,” she said, adding that locals are losing economic competitiveness to migrants from South and North Sulawesi known for their trade ethic and business prowess.
“[In addition], widespread corruption leaves little for the locals,” she said.
The local government was yet to develop a comprehensive conflict resolution plan and has been depending heavily on central government initiatives, Budiman said.
