There were two military operations that I remembered most vividly in 1995 in Jayapura, the capital of the restive province of Papua, the place where I was born and spent my youth.
On a Sunday in the then laid-back district of Abepura, our car moved
past a horrid sight of a local market engulfed in fire. On the way home
in the late afternoon, we met a road block by several military
personnel, ordering us to turn back.
They told my dad behind the
wheel that the fire a couple of hours ago was ignited by members of
Free Papua Movement (OPM), the infamous rebel group most vilified by the
government.
It was my first experience of martial law, a
military decision. But then I was young and couldn’t care less that I
lacked knowledge of the matter. I helplessly shed tears for fear of not
being able to go home, of not being able to have dinner and then
eventually dying of hunger.
My dad managed to find a place to
stay, after the only hotel in the area was temporarily closed. Men in
military uniforms stood guard on all corners, carrying black automatic
rifles on their shoulders with glares of suspicion and intimidation. We
stayed for a night at a friend’s place.
The second time was when
panic hit downtown Jayapura, but I could not exactly remember when it
happened. Stores immediately closed down that afternoon.
Government
offices were shut and people rushed to their cars, speeding away from
the city. Later it was revealed that the threat of rebels taking over
the city was just an overblown scenario. I did not know what triggered
it.
On Sunday, when the city was still empty and fear was still
in the air, we drove into the city just to get a glimpse of the
situation. A scene far from normality gripped me — I was 10 at the time.
We opened the car window. Armed policemen stood in groups on
street corners. We took time to greet them and brought them fruit, which
they accepted delightfully. None of them inquired too much about why we
were the only civilians outside the home amid this extraordinary
situation. The empty street was full of unpolluted air.
The wind
blew against my face as I sat on the back seat with window wound down,
and I felt refreshed. We all enjoyed a good time on that sunny day.
Purnadi Phan
Jakarta