W

hy is it so difficult for Indonesians to remember the conflict that surrounded the transfer of Papua from the Dutch to Indonesia that culminated in the Act of Free Choice referendum (Pepera) in 1969?

The same difficulties are also evident in the “Bersiap”, or “Get Ready”, period in the early days of Indonesian independence and in the nation’s communist purge in 1965. Most Indonesians will admit that they are uninterested or clueless about the issues, if they do not avoid these topics altogether.

Obviously, nation-building is a violent and bloody process. Indonesia is no exception. The blood that was shed in the formative years of the Indonesian nation has usually been romanticized into heroic stories that were sometimes inhumane and violent in nature — and not much different from other forms of political violence.

These blind spots in our national history cannot be separated from our national identity. The omissions reflect a collective attempt to define what constitutes the Indonesian “nation”. The Indonesian nation was built on political violence, or course, and also on the process of selectively remembering and forgetting such violence.

Ernest Renan, an expert on nationalism and national identity, said that this has always been the case for any nation. To be French, to use Renan’s example, means to have a selective recall of the reasons behind the Saint Bartholomew’s Day massacre.

Among those who study Indonesia, two explanations stand out among those offered to explain why some things have been remembered and why others have been forgotten.

The first and most common explanation of this phenomenon is the “old dog” argument, which notes that the military and political leaders associated with the events are still in power or retain influence over domestic politics.

Nevertheless, their failure to discuss these events in Indonesian politics has not exclusively been motivated by personal political interests, but rather has most likely been shaped by concerns that full disclosure might disintegrate the nation and delegitimize state authority, which remains in a process of reconciliation.

A sense of servitude and undivided loyalty to the Indonesian nation is what compels the military-political elite to serve the people by “protecting them from the hard truths”. However, this argument fails to explain why the issue also receives little interest from the media and academics, where direct elite interventions are rare and politically costly.

The second explanation is the “non-truth” argument, which notes that the omission of truths or outright lying, when required, is the Indonesian way of reconciling its post-conflict societies.

At the national level, the phenomenon represents a deliberate collective amnesia and is not the result of mere political pressure, a lack of democratic freedom or a scarcity of information. Often times, reconciliation does not necessarily require the disclosure of truth.

 In some cases, remembrance might potentially retraumatize victims undergoing a process of healing and reconciliation.

In fact, Western-educated intellectuals and international NGOs advocating for the establishment of a truth commission can rarely substantiate their claims that full disclosure will have a positive effect in Indonesia’s many post-conflict areas. They might also argue that disclosure — or non-disclosure — should be the prerogative of the persecuted.

However, there is an even greater need to acknowledge that such events were never simply a conflict between the persecutors and the persecuted.

The public gazed into the abyss and was traumatized, which means that public interest should also be considered when making decisions on these issues.

Slobodan Milosevic’s trial for war crimes committed in Bosnia-Herzegovina did little to reconcile that already-divided society. It even made him a national hero to radical Serb nationalists.

Different and conflicting versions of history are taught in segregated schools for predominantly Muslim Bosnians, Catholic Croats and Orthodox Serbs that constitute the three “nations” of Bosnia-Herzegovina. Entire sections of history textbooks have been literally blacked out, further segregating a divided society.

“Historical truths” are reproduced and politicized by Bosnian, Croat and Serb nationalist politicians in everyday debates and rhetoric to the extent that the public somewhat feels that the conflict had only happened a few days ago.

So, is the history of Papua really stuck between “old dogs” and “non-truths”? In my opinion, there is no such thing as a historical truth, which is the version of truth often sought after by hard-line independence-minded Papuans.

Sorting through 43 years worth of documents to determine the legality and inadequacy of the 1969 Act of Free Choice would be a waste of time, money and effort. It might create jobs and funding opportunities for Western consultants and intellectuals, but it will not contribute anything meaningful to achieving a sustainable peace in Papua.

However, this does not mean that we should settle for the New Order’s Soviet-style-propaganda version of history.

Conflicting interpretations of history can be reconciled once historical truths are treated simply as interpretations that can gain acceptance through dialogue and compromise to benefit the wider public, instead of being dominated exclusively by one party alone.

It will soon be 50 years since the temporary transfer of Papua from the United Nations Transitional Executive Authority (UNTEA) to Indonesia in 1963.

The generation of fighters born bloodied in the formative nation-building process is soon to give way to a younger generation born in a democratic atmosphere of reconciliation who are eager to redefine and strengthen their nation.

Unfortunately, without any innovative breakthroughs in the push towards dialogue, it is most likely that we will miss yet another opportunity for reconciliation.

The writer is program director for the Papua Center at the University of Indonesia.