And then, Silence …

My father runs a home-based tailor business. Many of the tailors who work for with my father were from Klaten and Solo. In the 80s, when I was in primary school, one day I found the back room – where the noise normally only came from the crowds of sewing machines –...

I Did Not Know His Name

I am opting to remain anonymous while sharing my story here. This is partly because my family has asked me not to pursue a project to learn about my maternal grandfather. A few years ago, I found out he was imprisoned following the events of 1965.My parents rarely...
1965 is About All of Us

1965 is About All of Us

On the 30th of September, Indonesia always meets its dark, unresolved history in the past that keeps haunting in the present. Although slow and often facing dead ends, memory workers and human rights activists keep the conversations and discourses about 1965 alive....

Jugs of Water and Mercurochrome

My mum’s family is traditionally Muhammadiyah, staunchly anti-PKI, the banned Indonesian Communist Party. Each year on Eid all through the 1980s and early 1990s, we used to gather in our hometown Bekonang, a small village on the border of Solo and Sukoharjo. Up until...
I Want Them To Be Here

I Want Them To Be Here

These two men are my grandfathers. Djauhar Arifin Santosa is my mother’s father, and Boentardjo Amaroen is my father’s father. They knew each other long before my parents got married – maybe since the Independence War. D. A. Santosa was a member of PETA...