Life Threatening

  Celebrations: Volume 4

  By Peter Carlevaro

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Foreword

  1st

  2nd

  3rd

  Lastly

  Foreword

  Literature is a wonderful journey of the mind and imagination. Its enjoyment lies in the path of the journey and not in the destination itself. The reader gains many benefits through this journey.

  Reading a literary book cultivates the spiritual powers of man, memory, perception, imagination and sharpens his mind and judgment.

  The book contributes to his education because he spreads the knowledge, the ideas, the spiritual heritage of the past.

  Reading enriches our vocabulary and increases our mental function.

  Ignorance is fought and indestructible values ​​are projected. It gives impetus to the spiritual cultivation of the people and to the exchange of ideas.

  People who read are more civilized and have great social acceptance. When you do not have knowledge, you do not have the right to have an opinion. (Plato).

  New ways of thinking are created and new ways are charted.

  Through reading literary books, young children learn to recognize and accept their feelings and to unlock them.

  Forms moral characters with the standards it promotes and the moral principles.

  It is enjoyable to read literary books. It entertains the person, keeps him company in pleasant and difficult moments of his life, transports him to other countries, times and relieves him of stress.

  It cultivates the psychic powers of the individual, the will, the optimism, the hope, the love, the peaceful coexistence, the altruism.

  The virtues that are transmitted to man contribute to the progress of society as a whole and to the "flourishing" of social relations.

  It raises the cultural level of society and contributes to its prosperity. On the contrary, its absence leads to cultural backwardness and delay.

  The value of the literary book in man is maximum because it encourages, prevents, teaches and guides.

  Writing a book is like giving birth to a child. So, first of all, I enjoy the joy of creation. Then, with its publication, I am happy because some people who will read it, will share with me everything that my imagination or the experiences of my life gave birth to.

  1st

  1.

  Allan walked towards the front door with Stuart close behind, unexpectedly the door opened, which took the two men by complete surprise. ‘Mr Davidson and Mr McKennzie please come in’ said the young aid that spoke surprisingly good English which indicated he was western educated. ‘Ibu Megawati is busy at the moment but will be with you shortly. Please wait in here’ and led them into an anteroom then gestured towards a seat.

  The two Australians sat on a long cane lounge, which allowed Stuart to look around with his eyes settling on a large portrait of Sukarno. It was Megawati’s father the first President of Indonesia and was clearly one of those tasteless heroic depictions of a man, a leader at the height of his power.

  Allan saw Stuart’s interest in the painting and leant over to whisper after the aid had left the room. ‘It’s going to be a long wait. Megawati’s notorious for never being on time. I lucked out last year with an interview and had to wait for over five mind-numbing hours and spent the day drinking bladder-bursting cups of green tea.Be careful on how much you drink.’

  ‘What could she be doing that’s so important’ whispered Stuart.

  ‘Having her hair done or a bath, you know something of that nature.’

  Stuart disbelieved his last snide remark and returned him a sceptical glance.

  ‘I’m serious!’ replied the upbeat Australian journalist who knew every journalist at the Zigolini bar would be cursing his name after they heard he had landed an interview with Megawati.

  After the second hour when the small talk had finally dried up Stuart turned his thoughts to what made Megawati the leading opposition figure in Indonesian. Constantly dismissing many of his ideas as to what made a leader with most not applying to her. Finally he settled on the name. Family Asian names were political assets that had proven their worth time and time again. Pakistan’s Benazir Bhutto and India’s Indira Gandhi used their name to great advantage to sway the will of the people to follow them in their march to power. Megawati was clearly the country’s most popular opposition figure but why, what made her head and shoulders above the rest; from what Stuart had seen so far it had been an accident of birth that gave her the family name. Stuart shook his head and thought it has to be more than that, and hoped this interview would hopefully answer many of his questions. He glanced at Sukarno’s portrait again and thought Suharto miscalculated, he had let her live. Now she’s the rally point for every opposition party on this archipelago and probably the key to his demise. I bet the old man kicks himself every morning for that little oversight. Though the question is how long before he corrects that blunder.

  Stuart felt a nudge on his arm and stood with Allan as Madam Sukarnoputri entered the room closely followed by one of her aids. She was a matronly figure dressed in a simple frock with a face that was heavily powdered which seemed to accentuate the mole on her chin. Finally the aura of her stature seemed to sweep the room with Stuart feeling somewhat intimidated by her bearing. She reminded him very much of a patrician. This was indeed a woman who was the first president’s daughter who had grown up in the grounds of Jakarta’s presidential palace, a grand piece of Dutch colonial architecture set among the sprawling rainforest trees, palms and magnificent grounds. It was said she danced for such luminaries as Premier Khrushchuv and Marshal Tito at the glittering soirees that were often held by her father President Sukarno.

  Stuart scrutinised her closely and received the initial impression that this 49 year old woman’s aristocratic grace and confidence was slightly fraying at the edges obviously a result of the years of pressure and caution she needed; forced to suspect a trap at every turn.

  Allan was also scrutinising her reserve judging if this person born to privilege had changed since he had last spoken to her. Stuart could see Allan calculating his best approach before opening the interview after he finished his journalistic due diligence Allan began. His first question was to ask what she stood for which Stuart thought was an obvious question then he was completely taken back by the convoluted answer. She constantly referred to Indonesia’s constitution and its distinctive brand of Pancasila democracy.

  Stuart thought this is vague. Frightfully vague, was she being cautious or was she out of her depth. He thought about prodding Allan with a few questions only to see Allan turn his eyes towards him indicating he should back off.Stuart decided to sit back and see what unfolded before trying again.

  Allan quickly demonstrated his interview skill, constantly probing then backing off with a mix of humour when it seemed appropriate so Megawati never felt pressured. He skilfully stripped away her caution and allowed her to make a number of statements about Suharto and his cronies, which would have been dynamite if published in Indonesia. They both knew that would never happen the watchful Ministry for Information would never allow such a thing to occur. It was only to be the government’s view, Suharto’s views that would see the light of day in this country. After an hour she began to tier and indicated that the interview should finish which Allan quickly did.

  After they left her villa Stuart waited till they were in Allan’s car before he commented ‘She’s not exactly made of the right stuff. Is she?’

  Allan smiled before replying. ‘No she’s not. She’s a rally point for all the opposition parties. She might become president someday but she won’t hang onto the job. Come to think about it I can’t think of anyone who could.’

  Allan turned the ignition key and drove off for his office, which was a considerable distance, as Megawati’s villa was located on the outskirts of Jakarta.

  Stuart glance at his watch and saw it was 1pm and began toying with the idea of going back to the office then writing his report for Canberra after dinner until he heard Allan’s mobile phone ring distracting him from his thoughts.

  Not expecting a call Allan juggled everything while he tried to grasp his mobile before he answered. ‘Just finished Bob. What’s happening? I see. Really? Are you sure? Have you started filming? Good! We can add the commentary back at the office. I’m an hour at best. Just hold the fort until I get there’ then he slid his phone into his top pocket.

  ‘I’m going to the Indonesian’s Democratic Party’s Headquarters. Looks like Suharto’s going to rain on Megawati’s parade. You want me to drop you off somewhere?’ asked Allan.

  ‘No I think I need to see this. Just fill me in on the background’ asked Stuart.

  Allan didn’t mind he always liked talking shop and a captive audience in a car was always the best, they couldn’t get away. ‘I’ve been expecting this for some time, each day street marchers have been blocking the main traffic arteries and in this place that’s significant. No one has done anything like it in decades and the protests are gathering real momentum while Suharto’s security apparatus is getting just a little more than rattled.

  For days the streets outside the Indonesian’s Democratic Party’s Headquarters have been blocked by thousands of people to show their support for Megawati with curious spectators adding to the spectacle. Day after day they come, travelling from all over the country. I’ve even seen small markets appear selling food and drinks to these political pilgrims.

  Megawati rarely speaks to the crowd but many of her lieutenants do and loudly using a large bank of speakers cranked up to an ear-splitting pitch. On the fringes you can see artists, labours and students also having their say from their self-declared speaker’s corners, though most are still showing considerable caution, fearing arrest!’

  When they approached the Indonesian’s Democratic Party’s Headquarters Stuart noticed army trucks full of soldiers parked down the side streets. ‘See those trucks back there full of soldiers?’

  Allan snapped back ‘too busy watching the road. Bloody people everywhere if I’m not careful I’ll run someone over. We better park and hoof it. Have you had any experience with Indonesian protests?’

  ‘No! I usually go out of my way to avoid such things.’

  ‘Then you picked a bad time to start. My stomach is turning and my nose smells trouble. Believe me my nose is never wrong’ declared Allan who now showed a little nervousness, which quickly spread to Stuart.

  Allan parked the car down a side street then phoned his cameraman, while Stuart just watched the swirl of the crowd press towards the protests and started having second thoughts about being there. The looks in the people’s eyes said it all. Something was going to happen today. The tension in the air said it all it was so thick you could taste it.

  ‘Bob said the riot police and soldiers are near the building but are holding back which is quiet unusual. Not long ago he heard that a bunch of demonstrators tried to march on the presidential palace and were severely beaten back by soldiers. Come on we’re going inside the parties headquarters!’ yelled Allan over the noise of the crowd.

  Stuart grabbed his arm and demand ‘are you sure you want to do that?’

  ‘Come on. Don’t be a woos!’

  Stuart followed the defiant journalist and found himself being pulled aside by two demonstrators ‘Suharto is responsible for this. His greedy family has raped the country! He’s a dictator!’ then they started to look around obviously wanting to know if some unwanted person had overheard their words. Now satisfied they had informed what they thought was a western journalist, the two men just hoped he would tell of their plight back in the western hemisphere. They disappeared into the crowd only to be replaced by others who repeated similar words of contempt for Suharto.

  Stuart had lost sight of Allan and swore under his breath and decided to continue closer to the front gate of the Indonesian Democratic Party compound. He desperately prayed, hoped he would find him. As he approached Stuart spotted Allan arguing with an agitated captain. When he drew closer Stuart heard the words ‘Tidak bias masuk! Tidak bias masuk! (You can’t enter! You can’t enter!).

  ‘I’m a foreign journalist fully accredited by the Indonesian Department of Information. I’m covering this story. I’ve been covering these protests for weeks without any problems from other officers. It’s my job! Let me get on with it!’ bellowed Allan now showing the same bravado as the crowd.

  Stuart felt too exposed to the attention that was coming his way. He glanced around and saw to his relief that the other offices were too busy talking into their walkie-talkies and were paying little attention to the journalist’s tirade.

  Stuart then noticed some movement on his left and observed several soldiers moving away, which created a gap that exposed another officer who was coldly staring at Allan and clearly not interested in what was happening around him. Stuart throat became dry which forced him to swallow, as horror etched in his eyes. He recognised that this bloke was different from the others then he spotted the insignia, BAKIN.

  Stuart reached out and gripped Allan’s arm and pulled him back with a hard yank just as the frozen faced captain took a step towards them. Stuart recognised there imminent danger and dragged Allan back into the crowd then after ten metres he dared to glance back and saw that the BAKIN Captain had turned around losing interest in the pair.

  ‘Why in hell did you do that the little bastard was weakening in a few more minutes I would have been through’ yelled Allan who was so worked up about Stuart’s forced removal Stuart thought he might even swing one at him.

  Stuart grabbed both his arms and shook him violently trying to shake some sense into the man. ‘Now listen! You were about to be arrested and not by those soldiers. By BAKIN! A captain was moving in on you. Damn it! If those guys grab you, you’re fucked, big time!’

  Allan gasped ‘Really!’ with his agitated demeanour evaporating before Stuart’s eyes.

  ‘Really! Come on, let’s get out of here and find your cameraman.’

  They pushed through a dense group of noisy protesters then Stuart noticed a group of cameraman in the distance at the other end of the street.

  After a significant struggle through the crowd they eventually reached them and found Bob doing a long slow sweep of the area with his camera. He stopped and yelled at Allan ‘You took your bloody time!’

  Allan ignored the comment before demanding ‘what’s happened?’

  ‘We just heard a rumour that the military are preparing to move in. See that group of people dressed in red and black. The word is they’re hired thugs pretending to be members of the Indonesian Democratic Party (IDP). We’re watching them. They’re the key to all this.’

  Stuart watched the group of men wearing their red and black shirts, which indicated their allegiance to the IDP. It was just too well organised. Each shirt looked the same as though someone had just pulled them out of a box and handed them around. It was suddenly becoming all to obvious Megawati’s party’s HQ was just about to have its bottom smacked and smacked hard by the old man who lived in the presidential palace.

  The group, which Stuart had been watching came to life with rocks and Molotov cocktails being hurled into the compound. The spectacle was being watched by hundreds of soldiers with their officers who were still more concerned about talking into their walkie-talkies. No one lifted a finger to stop this assault. As time passed Stuart notice a few men joining the group with wooden crates who distributed more Molotov cocktails. The organisation and planning was magnificent by Indonesian standards but no one in this cluster of journalists was fooled for a second. It was an exercise in breathtaking cynicism, a crude attempt by western standards to convince the world at large that a pro-government faction of the Indonesian Democratic Party was reclaiming its head-quarters from the rebels backing Megawati Sukarnoputri.

  After nearly two hours the charade ended. The military stopped its play-acting and sent in the troops. Stuart noticed Allan was talking on his phone and paused for a moment as he yelled out so that all could hear.

  ‘Kostrad have just stormed the back of the building!’

  Stuart gasped as he thought those crazy bastards have brought in the army’s elite Strategic Reserve. If there was any lingering doubt about this being orcistrated it was now gone.

  The attack intensified as black smoke curled skywards with a number of explosions going off. Soldiers flooded the compound and stormed into the building. In what seemed like seconds it was over, slowly at first stretchers appeared bearing the injured. Stuart couldn’t remember hearing any gunfire and concluded that the injuries must have been caused by blows from rifle butts, knives or batons. Some of the wounded were being carried towards the military trucks and were uncomfortable still making him believe they were more dead than alive. Not far from the stretchers came a line of captured Megawati supporters who were both bruised and frightened at the thought of their unknown future. Sometimes the unlucky ones just disappeared in this country and from the expression on their faces that thought was clearly on their minds. Stuart counted and finally stopped at a little over two hundred then he saw an officer with several soldiers walking towards him. They didn’t stop but it sent a clear message to the cluster of journalists. Don’t hang around.

  Allan whispered to Stuart. ‘It’s going to be dark in a few hours and this place is going to erupt. We better get going.

  When the sunset it was like a signal, rioting broke out all around the Democratic Party’s Headquarters and clearly the worst rioting which had been seen in the city for decades. Incensed by the demolition of the Indonesian Democratic Party’s Headquarters waves of vengeful youths poured out of the kampungs and onto the streets. Shouting ‘Gantung Suharto’ (Hang Suharto!) and ‘Hidup Megawati’(Long live Megawati). Nothing was spared their wroth. The mob set fire to buses, banks and government offices. Glass fronted buildings had every windowpane smashed. The six-storey Department of Agriculture was burning with an intensity which was hard to believe.

 

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