Jan. 18, 2005

EDITORIAL
On the Ground In Indonesia

By Janet Steele

JAKARTA — On the morning of Sunday, December 26, I was sitting on the balcony of my apartment in Jakarta. I was reading the newspaper, and – with some kind of weird ESP – thinking about earthquakes. But I didn’t feel anything that morning, nor did anyone else in Jakarta. A few hours later I read on the Internet that there had been a quake – and then later in the day that there had been a tsunami. The first reports were from Thailand, where it appeared that dozens of Western tourists had been killed in Phuket. But there was only an ominous silence from the Indonesian island of Sumatra, an island that in some places was only about 90 miles from the epicenter. Now we know that the quake measured 9.0 on the Richter scale, and killed upwards of 90,000 people in Indonesia alone.

I am in Jakarta over the semester break to teach a short course on narrative journalism, and to finalize the details of a book contract. I speak Indonesian, and because I have been doing research on Tempo magazine for several years, I have many friends who are journalists. Like everyone else I know, I spent the first 24 hours after the quake in a kind of paralysis. When I went to Tempo’s planning meeting on Monday, no one yet knew the extent of the damage. But by the time of the editorial meeting on Thursday, it was clear that the scale of the disaster was almost unimaginable. The images on Indonesian television were heartbreaking. Rows and rows of little dead children, their faces showing, lined up by the side of the road, wrapped loosely in sarongs and orange plastic. Now we know that somewhere between 30 and 50 percent of the victims were children, their bodies too small and weak to fight the force of the water. When Tempo came out on Monday, one week after the disaster, its cover photo showed the corpse of a tiny child in a mud-smeared pink plastic basin. The headline reads “S.O.S.”

The only possible good that might come from this is a cease-fire in Aceh, in the protracted war between the Indonesian military and the Free Aceh Movement, or GAM. And it is moving to see the great energy and enthusiasm with which ordinary Indonesians have raised money and collected clothes and supplies for “our brothers and sisters” in Aceh. Nearly everyone knows someone who has died. A Tempo friend told me that she'd heard from one of their stringers in Aceh. He was fine, she said, but his grandparents and all of his cousins were gone.

Indonesian television is full of prayers and tears. Jakarta's leading station, Metro TV, has learned how to do the music, the titles, and even the "newsticker" from CNN, but there was also no denying the appropriateness of the title Indonesia Menangis, or “Indonesia Weeps.” A few days after the quake, one of Metro TV’s reporters in Aceh herself broke down in tears. “It’s been five days,” she said, “and there’s still no aid.” Metro TV’s owner, Surya Paloh, is from Aceh, and in true Pulitzerian fashion has sent a ship full of 250 volunteers and supplies to aid in the relief effort. In the early days of the disaster Surya was on television constantly – mostly blasting the Indonesian government and military for their lack of coordination, and for the bureaucratic obstacles that were blocking the aid.

The worst thing about being here right now is the feeling of helplessness. I am lucky in that one of the journalism list serves I’m on asked for volunteers to translate news stories out of Aceh. As I told my friend who is organizing the effort, my Indonesian may be limited, but my English is great! Several journalists’ organizations have banded together to get stories translated and made available to an international audience. (Go to http://pena.homelinux.org:88/aceh , and click on “English.”) Last night I was happy to receive an E-mail from one of the former participants in the Indonesian version of my narrative journalism course. Rizanul is a journalist from Medan, North Sumatra, and he is now covering Aceh. He was very surprised and pleased to see my name appear as one of the translators. I think the fact that their stories are being translated makes people feel as if the world is noticing their plight.

Everybody knows someone who has lost friends and family, and in truth all of us are only a degree or two of separation away from unspeakable horror. Tonight the newspaper Kompas will be holding a special ceremony in memory of the many journalists who perished in the quake and tsunami. Harian Serambi, Aceh’s only independent newspaper, lost perhaps 60 percent of its 250 employees. No one knows for sure. But somehow the loss of several hundred journalists is easier to wrap your mind around than the deaths of the tens of thousands of others who are also gone. As I heard one young man say on Indonesian television, “we’ve stopped counting.”

Jakarta cancelled all of its New Year's Eve celebrations, and, like many of my Indonesian friends, I simply stayed home. Despite the official call for prayers and introspection, at midnight there were nevertheless the sounds of fireworks, small local displays that I could see from my balcony.

Maybe the human spirit refuses to give up hope, or maybe kids just like fireworks no matter what. Or perhaps it's the same thing. 

Janet Steele, associate professor of media and public affairs, is working in Indonesia during the semester break teaching a course on narrative journalism. Steele wrote this article from Jakarta for the GW community with her perspective about the tsunami, local journalism coverage and how she is helping translate news stories to the Aceh province.

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