“Often, and for good reason, the criticism by these writers has been reserved for the military and the government, documenting such abuses of power by these two closely allied institutions as the kidnapping, detention, and torture of tens of thousands of political opponents. Indeed, the Suharto era was born on the deaths of an estimated one million people deemed to be political adversaries and on the detention—oftentimes without trial or even the filing of formal charges—of another seven hundred thousand. Though thirty-five years have passed since the fall of Sukarno and the rise of the New Order government, Indonesia has only just begun to reconcile itself with the events of 1965 — not only the massive social unrest and the loss of so many lives, but also the obliteration of so many personal histories, the very threads in the fabric from which a nation is made.”

—from “Silenced Voices, Muted Expressions:
Indonesian Literature Today” by John H. McGlynn

“A young activist who was murdered, presumably for demanding higher wages for her fellow workers, Marsinah has decided, against the objections of her graveyard companions, to return to Earth. At a performance to be held in conjunction with the launching of a book about her, she intends to remind the audience that, although a number of years have passed since her murder, the case has yet to be solved. As the play opens, she can be seen on a platform in a cemetery, curled in a fetal position. Anxious about her decision to return to Earth, she moans softly.

“If only, in this profound and spirit-filled silence, I could find true silence...
If only, in this silence, I could shut out the moans of hunger, the frightening screams, and unending pain...
If only, for a moment, I could feel that my body was still my own...”

—from “Marsinah Accuses” by Ratna Sarumpaet

“I’m not sure where the saying comes from, that prison is a school, even a university, but indeed I learned much from my detention and exile. And not just about humanistic values, which I discovered to be flexible after all. I learned that human beings, too, can learn to live by the deeper values that certain animals uphold: the loyalty of the dog, for instance, or the fearlessness of the wild boar. And I learned that truly everything across the expanse of the earth and under the curvature of the sky exists with an essential nature, and that each benefits the whole of life.”

—from “Between the Bars” by Hersri Setiawan

“For Mawa, waking in the morning was always a race with the sun. After azan (the call to prayer), the cells were unlocked and opened. This effectively changed the call to praise God for his greatness and beneficence to a command for the prisoners to transform themselves into oxen and targets of abuse. Every day the prisoners had to ready themselves for the anger of their keepers. Who could predict the frustrations that might be taken out on them—whether the source was a bedroom, a food stall, or a brothel? In the penal colony to which Mawa had been exiled, there were no rules or laws to protect those souls struggling to remain human.
     “For a week now, Mawa had been working in the rice fields. He was only too aware of what he had to endure as a member of this forced-labor crew: not only the toil and sweat, but the degradation, which cut his heart like a razor and brought tears to his eyes. Fully armed and wearing wide-brimmed cowboy hats, the guards towered above the prisoners from their positions on the bunds between the fields. Mawa avoided eye contact with them and kept his head bowed low as he planted rice seedlings in the mud. Every time he jabbed a seedling into the moist soil, he felt as if he himself were being pierced to the core.”

—from “Leftover Soul” by Putu Oka Sukanta

About the guest editor: John H. McGlynn is a longtime resident of Jakarta and cofounder and editor-in-chief of the Lontar Foundation, a not-for-profit organization devoted to the promotion of Indonesian literature and culture. He has edited and translated several dozen volumes.