Storytelling: 19 Years Ago We Were Silent (English)

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Author's Note: This is a story based on my real-life experience during the Jakarta riot in May 1998. The riot took place in the form of demonstration, violence and rape against the ethnic Chinese descendants before the fall of New Order under Soeharto's reign. For more information on the riot, you can further read the BBC Special Report (dated Dec 30 1998) or Wikipedia. 

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Where were you during the 1998 riot? --- image courtesy of http://www.rappler.com/indonesia/

I remember very clearly what happened on that day.

On this very day, very hour where this blog post is being written, which is around 1 pm, I was playing LEGO with my brother who was in the 6th grade. At that time, we frequented a shooter adventure gaming place named Planet Laser that was located in Pluit Village. We loved that game so much that we usually visited Planet Laser 2-3 times a week. 

So when my mother suddenly barged into the room with two house assistants bringing huge bags, somehow my brother and I thought that we were going to go out and play again.

My mom said that we were going to stay in a hotel for a few days. We were even more excited then. We thought, "Yay! Vacation time!" I remember that I was still thinking about my homework for the next week, so when we were packing, I put my papers inside the bag. 

At that time, I didn't know that it was going to be my last week in Jakarta.

We used to live in Latumenten Raya, Grogol Petamburan, in the West Jakarta region. We lived in a four storey home office building that was located just right beside the main streets. So when the riot broke out, our home became easy target because of our location.

Inside the house there were 2 female house assistants, 3 female employees, and a 4 person family: Mom, Dad, my brother and me. My father was the only adult male at that time. Our house was attacked. They threw stones at us. We peaked down below from the 3rd floor, and I witnessed a mass of people gathering just in front of our house door - banging at it, shouting at us. It was pure luck that our door on the first floor was a garage door where everything was made with metal, so they couldn't break easily into our house.

"Open up! Open up!" they yelled. Dad ran downstairs, reinforced the doors from inside and cut off the electricity. We stayed inside, praying to God that they would not burn our house down. Dad's employees were crying. Mom kept reciting rosary prayers. My brother and I could not understand it, why would they hate us like that? What have we ever done to these people? We don't recognize the people in front of our door. We don't know who they are. What we know is that they suddenly show up and they wanted to kill us.

We don't recognize the people in front of our door. We don't know who they are. What we know is that they suddenly show up and they want to kill us.

I don't know how long did it take for the mass to finally disperse, I don't even know why they decided to leave. Minutes seemed like hours. Time seemed to stop.

Then we heard another banging from the door, and this time it sounded like it came from one person. That person was the owner of a small stall in front of our house, he was a Javanese who considered my brother and I like his own children. "Quick! Run away sir, they are off to the main streets. I will help you look out for them, you run away now!"

Behind our house was a vacant lot. Pine trees and tall grass were growing on that piece of land. I'm sure that the land was not big at all, but through the eyes of a child, that land felt like a jungle to me. 

We escaped through broken walls that divided the lot with our house. We walked, holding hands. I almost fell into a well that's hidden with the tall grass, Mom pulled me over. Dad led the pack and stayed in front of us.

After we passed the "jungle", we reached the smaller streets. There were a lot of smaller houses that were hidden from the main streets. The streets were empty. A family of Chinese Indonesians opened their door for us and told us to come in, we didn't know who they were. We stayed in the stranger's house until the situation had cooled down.

Night came. Dad's employees were picked up by their families and came home safely. Most of them are Javanese and Sundanese, so they didn't attract too much unwanted attention.

​Our family left the stranger's house and walked to my Aunt's house - which was not too far from there. We stayed there and the adults discussed about what to do while assessing the situation. Me and my brother stayed very closely to Mom. The TV was turned on all the time, and there we found out that Grogol was one of the worst area where the riot happened - our home was featured in the TV. West and North Jakarta are mostly filled with Chinese Indonesians residents; and we have been living in the west area all our lives. It was so surrealistic to see the place you called home featured in TV, with the streets you know so well covered with vehicle carcasses; burnt down and desolate.

Then suddenly we heard that there was another group of mass that was heading towards our Aunt's neighborhood; their aim was to purge the Chinese Indonesians. All men were asked to go out and fight if such a thing happened. Dad joined the men to protect us; but before he left, he took a few sharp household objects and gave them to his family. He wanted us to protect ourselves.

I was 10 years old. In my small hands, I was holding a machete almost as big as my arm. Dad looked at me in the eyes and said, "if it comes down to it, you have to be prepared for a blood bath tonight."

Those words remain in my memory to this very day. I didn't think too much at that time, but I knew instinctively that from that day on, something had changed inside me. I couldn't be a child who was ignorant to the world anymore. They didn't care about our age nor our gender, what they cared about was only our skin and shape of our eyes. 

At that time, I stopped being a little child. Dad's words also meant that I had to be prepared to hurt people, I had to be prepared to bathe in someone's blood if I wanted to survive. Those words laid heavy on me. Too heavy.

I can't imagine how Dad felt when he had to leave his family with little children and wife holding sharp objects. I remember that Mom kept crying. She prayed and prayed so that nothing would happen to my dad.

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I was 10 years old. In my small hands, I was holding a machete almost as big as my arm. Dad looked at me in the eyes and said, "if it comes down to it, you have to be prepared for a blood bath tonight."

Fortunately, Dad came home safely that night. The mass threat didn't break out into another riot, and the men came home to their families. Dad paid several people to help guard us back home; we needed to get our things to be able to run away from the country.

Around 3:30 AM, we walked back to our home guarded by people. To avoid attention, we walked in smaller groups; I was walking with Mom, she held my hands very tightly as we walked. We kept our distance; hidden by the people around. 

When we arrived at home, I remember the thousand pieces of broken glass just in front of our house. Our windows on the 2nd floor were destroyed. We got into the house and took our bags. I still had my school's homework in that bag. We took the car, drove to the airport, and ran away to Singapore.

The last thing that I remember from that week filled with nightmares were carcasses of cars burnt down on the streets, debris and trash everywhere, and the airport completely packed with people. We waited in the airport for more than 12 hours before finally getting airplane tickets.

Since then, our life's took a complete turn.

My father was a successful ladies shoes' businessman. He had 10 shops in Jakarta and a few franchise outside the town. 9 of our shops were looted and burned down. His business went down the drain. We were almost bankrupt. We could survive until now because of my resilient mother who return to the working force and joined an insurance company to support her children until we were all grown up.

Our family is still considered lucky, because in the very least, there are still the four of us unharmed. But I know that not everyone is as lucky as us. 

I shared my story because I am concerned with the recent events happening in our country. I believe that the people in Indonesia right now is much smarter and tolerant towards all ethnicity and religion. And I am not mistaken, we are more mature and open-minded in critical thinking. But there are still a certain group of people, powerful people, who want to spread hate and conflict based on racism for their own political greed. They want to use the same strategy in 98, but we are not going to let that happen. 98 was a bloody tragedy in the Indonesian history that we could not let happen again. 

19 years ago we were silent. Now I have a voice. And so do you.

The passive attitude where we stay silent even when we don't agree on something is the kind of attitude that these group of bigoted people love. Evil does not happen only because of bad people, but also because the good people do nothing.

I hope that this writing will inspire all of us to be brave in voicing our opinions and thoughts. Maybe this is a futile attempt for a change. Maybe the change that we dream of is not going to happen until our grandchildren grow up. Maybe it is not time for Indonesia to move forward. But I refuse to be silent. 

I choose to fight and lose than to not fight at all. 

And I know this time, I'm not alone.


God bless us all,

Jakarta, 14 May 2017
Bernice Nikki

PS. God bless you, Pak Mamat - the owner of the stall in front of the house. Because of you, my family is safe and sound right now. You are what true Indonesians are all about: blind towards race, but your heart filled with love and kindness. I hope you rest in peace. You're my hero.