Negotiating Post Conflict Communication

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NEGOTIATING POST-CONFLICT COMMUNICATION:

A CASE OF ETHNIC CONFLICT IN INDONESIA

A dissertation presented to

the faculty of the Scripps College of Communication of Ohio University

In partial fulfillment

of the requirements for the degree

Doctor of Philosophy

Rudi Sukandar

June 2007

This dissertation entitled

NEGOTIATING POST-CONFLICT COMMUNICATION:

A CASE OF ETHNIC CONFLICT IN INDONESIA

RUDI SUKANDAR

has been approved for

the School of Communication Studies

and the Scripps College of Communication by

______

Claudia L. Hale

Professor of Communication Studies

______

Gregory J. Shepherd

Dean, Scripps College of Communication

Abstract

SUKANDAR, RUDI, Ph.D., June 2007, Communication Studies

NEGOTIATING POST-CONFLICT COMMUNICATION: A CASE OF ETHNIC

CONFLICT IN INDONESIA (260 pp.)

Director of Dissertation: Claudia L. Hale

This research studied the dynamics of post-conflict communication between

Dayak and Madurese ethnic groups in Central Kalimantan Province, Indonesia after the violent conflict in 2001. This research uncovered four key issues—identity, roles of women during and after conflict, post-conflict communication, and post-conflict problems—which played significant roles in the post-conflict interaction between members of both groups. This research employed qualitative methods via an interpretative approach. The data were collected through observations, interviews, and document analysis in Sampit, Pangkalan Bun, and Palangka Raya, three major cities in the province.

The results of the research showed a change in self-perception due to the conflict.

The Madurese, as the losing party, tended to undermine their ethnic identity while the

Dayaks, as the victors, regained their ethnic identity with pride. Cases of identity detachment or distancing are identified as one group embraced a geographical or religious identity while the other evinced greater willingness to embrace an ethnic identity. Despite many identities that were embraced, members of both ethnic groups committed the act of reductionism and simplification in perceiving the others’ identity, resulting in unchanged perception toward the members of other ethnic groups.

Women from Dayak and Madurese ethnic groups also participated during and

after conflict. The roles they played include women as victims, women as combatants,

and women as peace activists. A new role identified in this study is women as informal

leaders during conflict.

Members of both ethnic groups created a social distance toward each other in

post-conflict interaction. The Madurese tended to apply the obliging strategy in their

interaction while the Dayaks tend to apply domination strategy. Power differences

between these two groups created an imbalanced negotiation process, forcing the

Madurese to accept conditions established by the Dayaks. Similarities between the two groups did not materialize to become forces of unity as differences were more highlighted.

Post-conflict problems include unchanged perception toward others,

unemployment and government budget drain, asset take-over, communication problems,

Dayaks’ reluctance to accept the returnees, and alleged aggressive Christian evangelism.

As the conflict was not resolved and problems were not addressed, Central Kalimantan is

still susceptible to future conflict, which might take the form of interethnic or religious

conflict.

Approved: ______

Claudia L. Hale

Professor of Communication Studies

To Erda: Thank you for waiting and letting it survive.

Acknowledgments

Praise be to God, the Almighty, for the completion of this dissertation. First, I would like to express my deepest gratitude to my adviser Dr. Claudia L. Hale. Without

her valuable knowledge, patience, and guidance, this dissertation would not have been

finished. My gratitude also goes to my dissertation committee: Dr. Devika Chawla, Dr.

Elizabeth F. Collins, and Dr. Lynn M. Harter for their input and help in shaping this

dissertation. In Sampit, I would like to thank Abdul Haris and Muhammad Ansyari for

transportation and accommodation and Muslih for the assistance. In Pangkalan Bun, I

would like to thank Ustad Burhanuddin and Tata Riyani for assisting my research. In

Banjarmasin, I must thank Ida Rusdiana and Muhammad Mahjuri and my interview

transcribers (Millynda Prahmarika, Isninah, Zainawati, Faridatul Ahyani, Rachmi

Mahdalena, Natalis, Arai Dieni, and Husna) for their help. I would also like to thank

Ayahanda Sukarni, Mama Bandiah, and Mama Nurhani for their prayers, my wife Erda

Handayani for her patience, and Endang, Jati, Ina, and Vivi for their support. Finally, I

would like to thank all of my respondents and everyone who assisted me during my

research in Central Kalimantan.

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Table of Contents

Page

Abstract ………………………………………………………………………………. iii

Acknowledgements ………………………………………………………………….… vi

Chapter 1: Problem Statement ……………………………………………………….. 1 Introduction: Living Among the Madurese and Local People in Sampit ………………………………………………………….. 1 Me and the Dayak-Madurese Conflict …………………………………… 7 Formulation of the Problem ……………………………………………… 11 Purpose of Study …………………………………………………………. 11 Definition of Terms ……………………………………………………… 12 Summary ………………………………………………………………… 14

Chapter 2: A Historical Review of Violent Conflict in Central Kalimantan ………… 16 Introduction ………………………………………………………………. 16 Violence in Indonesia: An Overview …………………………………….. 16 Historical Perspective ……………………………………………. 16 Identity Perspective ………………………………………………. 25 Dayak-Madurese Violent Conflict in Central Kalimantan ……………….. 29 Dayak and Borneo: People and Their Resourceful Land ………… 29 History of Madurese Migration to Kalimantan …………………... 32 The Dayaks and Their Culture of Violence (Headhunting) ……….. 33 The Madurese and Their Culture of Violence (Carok) ……………. 37 Dayak-Madurese Conflict: A Brief History ………………………. 40 Peace Negotiating Process ………………………………………………… 43 Conventions for Conflict Resolution ………………………………. 43 Issues of Refugee Return ………………………………………….. 46 Summary and Conclusion …………………………………………………. 48

Chapter 3: Theoretical Framework …………………………………………………… 50 Introduction ……………………………………………………………….. 50 Identity and Social Identity ……………………………………………….. 50 Ethnicity …………………………………………………………………… 53 Interethnic Relationships and Conflict Emergence ……………………….. 57 Women’s Role During and After Conflict ……………………………….. 60 Women as Victims …………………………………………………. 61 Women as Combatants ……………………………………………. 61

viii

Women as Peace Activists ………………………………………… 65 Post-conflict Reconstruction ……………………………………………… 67 Research Questions ……………………………………………………….. 73 Summary and Conclusion …………………………………………………. 73

Chapter 4: Methods …………………………………………………………………. 75 Introduction ……………………………………………………………… 75 Rationale for Choosing Qualitative Method and Interpretive Approach ………………………………………………………… 75 Preliminary Study ……………………………………………………….. 79 Situating the Identity and Self: An “Outsider Within” Perspective …….. 81 Reentering the Field …………………………………………………….. 85 Data Collection Methods ………………………………………………… 89 Participant Observation …………………………………………. 89 Interview …………………………………………………………. 92 Document Collection …………………………………………….. 101 Data Analysis …………………………………………………………….. 102 Summary and Conclusion ………………………………………………… 106

Chapter 5: Research Findings ……...………………………………………………… 107 Introduction ………………………………………………………………. 107 Observation ………………………………………………………………. 107 Demographic Change ………………………………………………….…. 112 Identity …………………………………………………………………… 113 Being a Madurese ………………………………………………… 114 Being a Dayak or a Native ……………………………………….. 118 Being Muslim, Christian, Kaharingan, and Indonesian…………... 130 The Role of Women During and After Conflict ………………………… 134 Nuraidah: A Warrior Wife ………………………………………... 135 Tari: A Brave Minister …………………………………………… 139 Madurese Women: Ambassadors of Peace ………………………... 143 Post-conflict Reconstruction .…………………………………………….. 147 Return of the Refugees and Local People’s Responses …………… 147 The Fate of Dayak Warriors ……………………………………… 151 The Fate of Madurese Organization IKAMA After Conflict ……… 152 The Role of NGOs and Civil Society’s Movement ………………… 155 Impacts of Conflict: Change in Behaviors and Interaction ……… 158 The Conflict Monument …………………………………………… 164 The Kaharingan Belief: Its Unexpected Rise and Role …………… 166 Post-conflict Remaining Problems ………………………………………... 168 Perception …………………………………………………………. 168 Unemployment and Government Budget Drain …………………… 169

Asset Take-over ……………………………………………………. 171 Interpersonal and Interethnic Problems …………………………... 172 Locals’ Reluctant Acceptance to the Madurese Returnees ………... 175 Issue of Aggressive Evangelism …………………………………… 176 Summary and Conclusion ………………………………………………… 177

Chapter 6: Analysis …………………………………………………………………… 181 Identity ……………………………………………………………………. 181 The Role of Women During and After Conflict ….……………………… 188 Post-conflict Reconstruction .…………………………………………….. 191 Post-conflict Remaining Problems ………………………………...... 196 Summary and Conclusion ………………………………………………… 203

Chapter 7: Conclusion ………………………………………………………………… 208 Introduction ……………………………………………………………….. 208 Contributions and Strengths of This Research ……………………………..208 Limitations of the Research ………………………………………………. 212 Directions for Future Research …………………………………………… 214 Recommendations ………………………………………………………… 215

References ……………………………………………………………………………. 220

Appendix A: Map of Indonesia ………………………………………………………. 242

Appendix B: Map of Central Kalimantan Province ………………………………….. 243

Appendix C: Map of Central Kalimantan After Pemekaran ………………………….. 244

Appendix D: Monumen Sanggaran …………………………………………………… 245

Appendix E: Oral Consent Statement and Protocol of Open Ended Interviews and

Observations …………………..…………………………………………..…….. 246

Appendix F: Institutional Review Board Approval…………………………………… 251

CHAPTER ONE: PROBLEM STATEMENT

Introduction: Living Among the Madurese and Local People in Sampit

I was born in Sampit, the capital of Kotawaringin Timur Regency, from a Muslim

Dayak father and Javanese mother. During my childhood, we lived in a kampung, or

neighborhood, near the city’s port where many people from different ethnicities, notably

Madurese and Banjarese, resided. Due to the ethnic mix in my neighborhood, my parents

never taught us to speak Ngaju Dayak or Javanese. Instead, we spoke Banjarese because

our next door neighbors were mostly Banjarese and they spoke that language all the time.

In addition, the language that we used in school when playing with other children was

Banjarese. Since I also played with my Madurese friends and heard Madurese parents

speak to their children and their children spoke the language among themselves, I caught

Madurese phrases here and there which enabled me to speak and understand the

Madurese language.

Our next door neighbors were the family of a Madurese merchant. They had a

small kiosk selling basic needs, such as food, cooking oil, kerosene, and candies. The

wife of the Madurese merchant was very nice to me, and she always gave me a handful of

uncooked rice, knowing that I loved to eat it. Whenever I needed something before going

to school (especially small things such as pencils, safety pins, etc.), they always

welcomed me banging at their door and willingly opened their kiosk even when it was

not their business hours. The memory of nice Madurese neighbors still remains in my mind, especially when my family gathers and recalls what we used to do when we were children.

My first impressions of the Madurese way of life were mixed because other

Madurese neighbors and children were not as nice to non-Madurese people, whom they called “Oreng Melaju” or the Malays. Even then, children played in their cliques. The

Madurese usually played among themselves because they could use the Madurese language while the Banjarese speaking children played separately. Only on very rare occasions did we play together, and these occasions usually did not last long because of the strong ethnic pride of the Madurese children that sometimes resulted in the playing session either being terminated prior to a fight or ending up in a physical fight.

Despite their exclusive way of life, the Madurese are known to be religious people. Once a year during the third month of the Islamic calendar, they opened their doors to neighbors. Rabi' al-Awwal is the month of Prophet Muhammad’s birthday.

During this month, people in the neighborhood were invited to gatherings in Madurese homes to celebrate the birthday of the Prophet. Although most of the Madurese were not wealthy, food and drink were abundant for all guests. The sense of ethnic division was temporarily forgotten because people who are Malay, Javanese, Madurese, or from another ethnic group considered themselves united, as Muslims who love and are devoted to the teachings of the Prophet. During this event, I used to accompany my father as he attended many such gatherings, and I happily ate all the exotic Madurese foods and snacks served to me.

When I turned 11 years old, we moved to a less crowded neighborhood several miles from our previous house. There were few other houses in the area, so I did not have as many (if any) peers nearby. However, there was a Madurese enclave that included a

few Javanese residents. My interactions with the Madurese people were so limited that I

met them only when I had to buy something at a kiosk owned by a Madurese or when we

were invited to Madurese gatherings to celebrate the birthday of Prophet Muhammad.

When my father was too busy to attend, my brother and I were sent to the gatherings in

his place. We joined other non-Madurese people (mostly Javanese) in the celebrations

and were warmly welcomed.

Since we had a vacant field next to our house, my father asked a Madurese man to

farm the field for him. This man was paid to plant cassava and water spinach. This was

such a new experience for me because I had not been previously involved with farming. I

learned a lot from our Madurese farmer, including how to plant cassava, water spinach,

and bananas as well as how to apply organic fertilizers to keep our plants healthy. Since

most of the Madurese neighbors were farmers, they usually had cattle whose dung was

used as fertilizer. They would burn the dung using a low fire. The unpleasant smell

spread throughout the neighborhood. This smell at some points has been identified as a

distinctive characteristic of Madurese neighborhoods whose residents are farmers.

That the Madurese were hard working was clearly evident because they utilized

any vacant land for agriculture, sometimes to the extreme. For instance, they had even

farmed the land on the Chinese cemetery near our house. I passed that cemetery everyday

on my way to school. They always tried to utilize available land and change it into productive land. Despite encountering their nice and polite manners, I admittedly experienced some misbehavior from the Madurese. I once found a Madurese woman

taking some of our jackfruits without asking our permission. When I confronted her, she

did not say much, but continued taking the fruits, then went away.

For me, moving to a new house also meant transferring to a new school. In sixth

grade, I was transferred to another elementary school near our house. At the new school, I

was introduced to a new reality. Here, the students were mostly Javanese, Madurese, and

Dayak with very few Banjarese descendants. I also found that one of the teachers was

Madurese, something I had never heard of or experienced in my old neighborhood and

previous school. The languages spoken represented the various ethnicities at the school,

i.e., Javanese, Madurese, and Ngaju (Dayak). Fortunately, the languages of Banjarese and

Indonesian were commonly used among students to communicate, so I did not encounter any communication difficulties when hanging out with other students. Sometimes, students spoke their ethnic language with friends from a similar ethnic background.

After graduating from elementary school, I continued on to junior high school in

Sampit. Here, I also made friends with students from different ethnicities, mostly

Javanese, Madurese, Banjarese, and Dayak. Along with my curricular activities, I continued my participation in the Boy Scouts of Indonesia, which I had joined in elementary school. The Boy Scouts had been established in my school with teachers as the counselors or scout masters. The main counselor was our physics teacher, Mr. Wakir

Saleh, who happened to be a Madurese. He was so good at organizing us. We learned a lot about scouting and communication skills under his supervision.

Mr. Saleh also established a pengajian remaja (a regular religious gathering for

Muslim teenagers) which was held once a week. The members of the pengajian were

teenagers from different junior high schools in Sampit, but most were from my school. In

the religious gathering, we had close interactions with Madurese youngsters and discussed religious matters. Initially, the interactions did not successfully bring about a close relationship among the Madurese and non-Madurese youths. I remember we (the non-Madurese) used to make fun of the way they recited the Koran. We would also deliberately pay no attention to the guest speakers if they were Madurese because of their heavily accented Madurese Indonesian. Nevertheless, we overcame this bias as well as other cultural obstacles as we learned from each other. Consequently, from this pengajian, I made many Madurese friends.

When I was in my third year of junior high school, my parents moved to

Pangkalan Bun (the capital of Kotawaringin Barat Regency), but I decided to remain in

Sampit to finish my education. During this time, I relied a lot on my close friends as a

support system because I had no family or relatives living in Sampit. Our house felt too

big for just my teenaged older brother and myself. My friends and I used to hang out in

my house to study and cook. During this time, one of my Madurese friends from the

pengajian and Boy Scouts, named Matsalim, entered our clique. Physically, he looked

tough, but he was actually very nice. We used to be invited to his house for lunch after

school. I always wholeheartedly accepted this invitation because it meant I did not have to bother cooking. I felt his hospitality was genuine, and we enjoyed the food his mother prepared for us. We remained friends even after I graduated from junior high school.

After graduating from school, Matsalim worked in a package delivery company.

Whenever my parents sent me a package from Pangkalan Bun, he would make sure that I

received the package promptly. His eagerness to help friends sometimes made me

thankful that I had such a wonderful friend. Later on when I studied at university in

Banjarmasin (South Kalimantan Province), he was transferred to his company’s office in

Pangkalan Bun where my parents lived. When I sent a letter to my parents, I just wrote on the envelope a request for him to deliver the letter as soon as possible. Eventually, my parents knew that he was one of my friends in Sampit.

In senior high school, I encountered an experience that suggested the Madurese were not a people to take lightly. We had a Dayak teacher who was very strict about tardiness and spent almost half an hour preaching to students who came late. The teacher’s attitude toward student tardiness was so famous that most students tried not to cross him. One of my Madurese classmates, Rohim, happened to come to class late several times and had to endure verbal torture from the teacher. Eventually, this student had enough. The day came when he was late once again, and the teacher was ready to release his famous verbal insults. My friend calmly opened his bag and showed it to the teacher. Seeing what was inside the bag, the teacher froze and magically did not scold

Rohim. We did not know what happened until recess. When we asked our friend how he managed to avoid the teacher’s traditional lecture, he just showed us what he had in his bag: it was a big, sharp sickle! No wonder the teacher chose not to confront and punish my friend as he feared that the latter might use the weapon on him. As for us, despite his

Madurese ethnicity, he was included in our clique and always hung out at my house. His

loyalty to his friends was unquestioned. He was always ready to defend his friends when

they were in trouble.

After high school, I moved to Banjarmasin in South Kalimantan province where I continued my college education. I lost contact with most of my high school friends and just heard news about them from mutual friends. Also, at the university, I did not make any new Madurese friends, only Javanese and Banjarese. Once I graduated from the university, I worked in Banjarmasin and did not maintain close contact with my friends in

Sampit. Instead, Sampit became a place I just passed through on my way to Pangkalan

Bun to visit my parents during holidays.

When the violent conflict erupted in 2001, what I heard were sad stories about my

Madurese friends and teachers who were among the victims. They were either dead or had to flee the region. One of the victims of this conflict was Mr. Wakir Saleh, my

Madurese physics teacher/Boy Scouts instructor/pengajian supervisor. He was reported in a national newspaper to cry and exclaim, “I have never killed any Dayaks. I even taught their children to be scholars. Now why did they have to kill my family? Why was I forced to leave the city? What did I do wrong?” (Pengungsi Sampit, 2001). Reading this newspaper article devastated me. I realized that violence does not choose victims.

Anybody—even this polite, warm-hearted and dedicated man—can become a nameless victim of such violence. Later I found out that he passed away in a refugee camp.

Me and the Dayak-Madurese Conflict

My research concerning the negotiation of post-conflict communication originated from my guilt over doing nothing when the conflict occurred. Although none of my family members was killed, my sister and her family were victims because they had to flee Sampit during the first days of the violence. They had a Madurese maid who

had worked with them for many years and practically raised my niece because my sister

and her husband worked all day. This, added to the fact that many Madurese victims were

people I knew from childhood, drove me to learn more about the current, post-conflict interethnic communication in the region.

Prior to the outbreak of violence, a conflict between the Dayak and Madurese

occurred in the small town of Kereng Pangi in Central Kalimantan Province in December

2000. Not long after that, my wife and I passed by Kereng Pangi on our way to visit my

parents in Pangkalan Bun for Eid Fitr (the end of Ramadan, the Islamic fasting month).

Tension was still in the air. We saw soldiers guarding the town border. They checked our

bus and the passengers. That was my second experience being in a post-conflict situation

after experiencing one myself during the Banjarmasin riot in 1997.

When the 2001 violent conflict—described more in Chapter 2—occurred, I was in

Banjarmasin. During the conflict, I followed the local news everyday and browsed the

internet to uncover more information. Here, I was exposed to graphic pictures of dead

victims. At that time, pictures of this sort were available on many internet websites. I also

read the news from international journalists and news agencies in an attempt to see the

violence from another perspective. I can recall clearly how I felt during the first days of violence. I was initially infuriated, as everyone else around me seemed to be, toward the

Madurese for their arrogance in attacking the Dayaks and marching all over Sampit openly challenging the Dayaks. I did not feel sympathy toward the Madurese victims.

However, this anger and insensitivity were completely washed away a week later when I saw a picture of the mutilated body of a little Madurese girl, an innocent victim of Dayak

vengeful brutality; that picture haunts me to this very day. I remember that I wept in front of the computer monitor because I felt responsible for the girl’s death. The anger that I had felt was transformed into guilt. That guilt has forever changed me and my perception of the conflict.

During the early days of the violence, I frequently called my sister in Sampit to ask about her and her family’s well being. They managed to stay in their home for awhile, but a few days after the first clash, my sister and her family safely left Sampit and headed for Banjarmasin. They stayed in my house for several days as refugees.

Meanwhile, I kept contacting my friends in Sampit for more updates about the situation.

Gruesome stories from my friends, far more shocking than the stories reported in newspapers, gave me a vivid picture of the conditions in the area. Similar to other people in Banjarmasin, we also took precautionary measures, fearing that the conflict might spread to South Kalimantan Province. Learning from our experiences during the riot in

Banjarmasin on 23 May 1997, in which Madurese were also involved, we intensified neighborhood watch efforts and exchanged information with neighbors.

In May 2001, three months after the conflict, I took a leave from my office to visit my parents to say goodbye as my departure date to study in the United States was approaching. I took the only available bus to Pangkalan Bun. This bus belonged to a

Dayak family. Other buses owned by a Madurese family were not available because they had been destroyed by the Dayaks. As the bus I was on neared Palangka Raya, the capital of Central Kalimantan Province, we were stopped several times by Dayak warriors who checked the identity of every passenger. Although I was born in Central Kalimantan,

being stopped and checked made me uncomfortable. After we passed Palangka Raya, we were again stopped and scrutinized by Dayak warriors prior to entering Kasongan in

Katingan (which, at that time, was administratively still under Kotawaringin Timur

Regency). Upon entering Sampit, the same thing happened. The scrutiny was not only conducted by Dayak warriors, but also by police and soldiers. We each had to produce an

ID card to prove that we were not Madurese. Here I saw the destruction that the conflict had brought to my hometown. Burned houses were everywhere, especially houses belonging to Madurese. Streets were empty and a deathly atmosphere was still present.

Finally, at the border of Kotawaringin Timur and Kotawaringin Barat Regencies, another checkpoint had been set up. This time, it was an army checkpoint. The purpose of this checkpoint was to guard the border to prevent any Dayak warriors from entering

Kotawaringin Barat Regency because its capital, Pangkalan Bun, was considered the last

“haven” for Madurese in the Central Kalimantan Province. As I entered Pangkalan Bun, I did not see as much destruction as I had seen in Sampit. The situation was relatively calm and seemed to be under control. This was my third opportunity to be in a post-conflict situation.

Naturally, this experience of witnessing a violent conflict and its aftermath has created something in me. I became deeply moved by a strong urge concerning how I—as a son of the region—might contribute to the prevention of similar violence in the future.

It is here that my interest in and desire to study the process of negotiating communication between the conflicting ethnic groups began.

Formulation of the Problem

This research project, entitled “Negotiating Post-conflict Communication: A Case

of Ethnic Conflict in Indonesia,” focused on uncovering the social and cultural

communication that currently exists between the Madurese and the Dayaks following the

violent conflict that occurred between the two ethnic groups in 2001 in Central

Kalimantan Province, Indonesia. The conflict has been called a “millennium ethnic tragedy” (Fakhri, 2001) because the extent and area of coverage of the conflict was so great. Hundreds of people died and thousands were involuntarily displaced. Four years after the conflict, the Madurese (the ethnic group that was ousted from the province) started to return to the region. The reestablishment of communication between the

Dayaks and the Madurese has become crucial because it will determine whether or not similar violent conflict will emerge again in the future.

This research required data collection that involved interviewing members of both conflicting parties concerning their efforts to reestablish dialogue following the 2001 violent conflict. In addition, the research involved a critical examination of local governmental policies in an attempt to determine which of those policies promoted and which inhibited communication between members of the conflicting groups.

Purpose of Study

As the communities in Central Kalimantan Province are struggling to heal and recover from the bloody conflicts that occurred in 2001, they have literally had to start from zero in establishing trust. Communication had to be reestablished among members

of both groups in order to maintain peace within the post-conflict situation. Given the

fragile and delicate nature of the situation, the purposes of this study were to examine:

1. how communication has been established between members of conflicting groups

at the interpersonal and intergroup levels in the cities of Sampit and Pangkalan

Bun which represent two regencies in Central Kalimantan;

2. the contributions of leaders of each ethnic group to efforts to promote peace and

understanding among the members of their group;

3. the measures taken by the local governments of the two regencies to promote

peace and provide a conducive environment for the reestablishment of

communication between the conflicting groups in the area; and

4. the role of civil organizations (political parties, NGOs, ethnic organizations) in

assisting the process of peace and communication reconstruction among the

conflicting parties.

Definition of Terms

Several concepts will be introduced and discussed throughout this dissertation.

The key terms identified in this section have significant roles in explaining the phenomenon of the reconstruction of communication in a post-conflict situation. The terms will be presented here. Each will be accompanied by a basic definition. Further elaboration and contextualization will be provided in later chapters.

Centrifugal forces: A term borrowed from Bakhtin (1984), centrifugal forces are the forces of difference. Centrifugal forces create—or contribute to—the dynamics of rejection.

Centripetal forces: Another term borrowed from Bakhtin (1984), centripetal forces are

the forces of unity. Centripetal forces create—or contribute to—the dynamics of unification.

Civil society: According to Varshney (2004), civil society encompasses “the non-state sphere of our collective life in which organizations relatively independent of the state exist and function” (p. 2). The collective life in civil society is non-political and non-state.

Collective violence: Generally speaking, collective violence is “violence perpetrated by a group on another group (as in riots), by a group on an individual (as in lynching), by an individual on a group (as in terrorist acts), by the state on a group, or by a group on organs or agencies of the state” (Varshney, Panggabean & Tadjoeddin, 2004, p. 7). For the purpose of this study, the first part of the definition is the most relevant.

Ethnic conflict: The focus of this dissertation is on ethnic conflict, i.e., conflict

(including violent conflict) that involves two different cultural-identity groups (Eller,

2006). This type of conflict occurs between peoples who perceive each other to have a different set of cultural values and ethnic identity.

IDPs: Internally Displaced Persons/People.

IKAMA: Ikatan Keluarga Madura (the Association of Madurese Families). This

association is established in places where many Madurese families live outside their

Madurese native island.

Local Government: The government of a regency.

Local people: The indigenous people who live in a region. In this study, the term “local people” refers to the Dayak and Malay groups of Kalimantan. A clear line is difficult to

draw between these two ethnicities because, in this context, identity is embedded in one’s

religious beliefs.

Migrants: Non-indigenous ethnic groups who move to a region and usually have

different cultural norms and values from those of the indigenous ethnic group(s). In this

study, the migrants are mostly Javanese and Madurese.

NGOs: Non-Governmental Organizations.

Post-conflict reconstruction: The rebuilding efforts that take place “in situations where conflict has subsided to a greater or lesser degree” (Brinkerhoff, 2005, p. 4). The goals of

post-conflict reconstruction in the perspective of the World Bank (Holtzman, Elwan &

Scott, 1998) are to assist the transition from conflict to peace and to provide assistance in

the reconstruction and development of economic and social conditions.

Regency (Kabupaten in the Indonesian language): A subdivision of a province in

Indonesia. A regency is headed by a bupati, whose position is between a mayor and a

governor in the United States.

Summary

This chapter has provided an overview of my personal perspective on living and

interacting with people from various ethnicities as well as my personal account of the

conflict. This is intended as background information concerning the ethnic diversity in

the Central Kalimantan Province. In addition, this chapter has addressed the significance

of this study with respect to the development of intercultural communication between

members of conflicting groups in the region and provided an introduction to key terms

that will be used throughout this dissertation. The next chapter will introduce the history

of violence in Indonesia and the history of the Dayak-Madurese violence which led to the

2001 violent ethnic conflict as well as the culture of violence embedded in each ethnic group’s cultural values.

CHAPTER TWO: A HISTORICAL REVIEW OF VIOLENT CONFLICT

IN CENTRAL KALIMANTAN

Introduction

This chapter provides an overview of the history of violent conflict that has plagued Indonesia. The discussion provides an important background as the violence in the past was inseparable from the process of being a nation and being Indonesian as a chosen identity. The violent conflict between the Madurese and Dayaks in 2001 will then be discussed to provide background for why this ethnic conflict was so large in scope.

Given culture as one of the driving forces behind conflict, this chapter examines the

Madurese and Dayak cultures of violence that contributed to the occurrence of the 2001 ethnic violence. Finally, this chapter also presents the peace reconstruction process sponsored by the central and local government.

Violence in Indonesia: An Overview

Historical Perspective

We begin with claims: “Indonesia is a violent country” (Colombijn & Lindblat,

2002, p. 1) and “Indonesians in general view the use of violence as legitimate under certain circumstances” (p. 15). Viewed from a historical perspective, the claim might be accepted that it is in the nature of Indonesians to be violent. However, as Varshney

(2001) has argued, social conflicts can be a means to channel people’s social demands; hence, peace in this regard should be civilly regarded as “an absence of violence, not an absence of conflict” (p. 366). Conflict, as a result of tension and friction among individuals, can emerge in day-to-day interactions. However, suppressed and unresolved

conflict might break out and produce violent behaviors and acts that claim the lives of

many individuals: participants and by-standers. In terms of violence that occurs in

Indonesia, Colombijn and Lindblat (2002) offer seven reasons or roots for violence in

Indonesia: (1) the general view among Indonesians that the use of violence is acceptable

under certain conditions; (2) the view that victims of violence are always “outsiders”; (3)

the view that the victims of violence are usually dehumanized in the face of hostility and

that their human nature should be destroyed; (4) the recurring idea that violence in

Indonesia is common among males and youth; (5) the use of preman (thugs) by politicians and government; (6) the existence of state-sponsored violence toward its own

citizens; and (7) too much violence among Indonesians (students, villagers), making

violence common in everyday lives.

Historically speaking, incidences of violence and conflict sporadically emerged

during the pre-Indonesian era between kingdoms and sultanates. The conflict intensified

when the archipelago—called the Dutch Indies—was still under the rule of Dutch

colonizers. Wars and violence directed toward the Dutch occurred in almost all regions of

the archipelago as indigenous residents demanded independence from the hegemonic

power of the Dutch. This rebellion was swiftly crushed by the Dutch using violence and,

thus, showed a regime of fear in order to establish the legitimacy for their presence

(Nordholt, 2002). As military resistance against the Dutch failed and many local people

of the Dutch Indies became more educated during the early twentieth century, the

struggle for independence shifted to a political struggle. The seed of nationalism started

to grow so that, in 1928, the youth and political leaders consciously chose the name of

“Indonesia” as their united identity in terms of homeland, nation, and language. This

created what Anderson (1991) has referred to as an imagined community where “the members of even the smallest nation never know their fellow-members, meet them, or even hear of them, yet in the minds of each lives the image of their communion” (p. 6).

The identity of “Indonesian” was consistently promoted without erasing an individual’s

ethnic origin. The identity of being an Indonesian was strengthened after the residents of

Dutch Indies witnessed that a small Asian country, Japan, could defeat the Dutch, which

had been viewed by the colonized people as an invincible European force at the

beginning of World War II. Under the Japanese occupation, residents of the Dutch Indies

were promised their independence by the Japanese and freedom from any European

power. However, as the promise was not to be realized, the residents rebelled against the

Japanese and found momentum for independence when the Japanese were defeated by

the Allied forces. On August 17, 1945, a new nation was born in the former Dutch Indies,

with that new nation called “Indonesia” and the new personal identity of Indonesian was

embraced and celebrated.

Since the establishment of the Indonesian nation, unfortunately it has not been

possible to eliminate conflicts and violence from the various regions of the archipelago.

As a matter of fact, violence has become a visible factor that characterizes this nation. In

the earliest years of the existence of the republic, during the presidency of Sukarno

(1945-1967), the violence that erupted was characteristically triggered by political forces.

The secessionist attempts of certain regions in Indonesia were intended to contest

Jakarta’s policies and the centrality of Jakarta as the sole power holder. In the 1950s, a

rebellion was led by the separatist Islamic Nation of Indonesia in West Sumatra, South

Sulawesi, West Java, and South Kalimantan. The motivation for that rebellion has been

credited to disagreements with the political and ideological stands held by leaders in

Jakarta. In short, during this period, the conflicts seemed to have been mainly vertical

(between the state and its citizens) because regions opposed the legitimacy of Jakarta as

the center of government. All these conflicts were resolved through military measures,

leaving very little room for civil negotiation and compromise. At the same time, the

vertical conflicts dragged local people in areas of conflict into horizontal conflicts

(between citizens) because the citizens felt compelled to choose a side and were divided into an “us versus them” ethos.

By the mid 1960s, secessionist movements were suppressed, but were neither

completely conquered nor resolved, especially in Aceh—the Easternmost Province of

Indonesia—and Papua (formerly called Irian Jaya)—the Westernmost province of

Indonesia, where the seeds of discontent still persisted among the local people. At the same time, the vertical conflicts seemed to fade in other regions. Then, the worst and biggest conflict erupted all over Indonesia following a failed so-called coup d’etat by the

Indonesian Communist Party (PKI) in 1965. Historians of Indonesia still debate whether

or not PKI orchestrated the coup as many unclassified documents have presented new

data and facts and as the previous regime’s “version of history is no longer credible”

(Nordholt, 2002, p. 53). Available data regarding this so-called coup d’etat point to other

parties that might have been involved in a political feud, including a rivalry between the

armed forces and PKI nurtured by President Sukarno for his advantage. Others believe

that foreign intelligence agencies played a role in creating the situation because of their

desire to overthrow Sukarno in favor of a regime that would not be as close in philosophy

and policy to communist doctrine.

The parties involved in the 1965-1966 conflict and sources of violence in the

politically and socially determined moment were so blurred that the vertical and

horizontal conflicts seemed to collide, resulting in the death and torture of half a million

people accused of being communists or communist supporters (Cribb, 2001). State

sponsored mobs, which included religious organizations, were encouraged to hunt and

kill individuals thought to be communists. The “failed coup” provided a window for the

military to rise to power under Suharto—the second president of Indonesia (1967-1998).

Suharto proclaimed “the New Order” so as to distinguish his presidency from the

previous regime. Since then, the conflicts occurring in Indonesia have had new

dimensions: violence by the state, violence between members of the community, and violence against the apparatus of the state (Munir, 2001).

As the new regime rose to power, the political rhetoric and government’s

ideological orientation completely changed. In the previous regime, the mantra had been

“the revolution is not finished,” providing a greater role for and emphasis on politics and

less focus on other aspects of the nation’s life. However, in the New Order era, it was a common belief shared among Indonesians that “development” had become the foundation for the government’s legitimacy. Further, with the introduction of the floating mass idea, people were expected to “devote themselves to the task of development, and to adopt the political docility that notion presupposed” (Elson, 2002, p. 184). Consequently,

greater emphasis was placed on the economic sector and less attention was devoted to other aspects of development, especially political freedom. Based on this new emphasis, or in the name of “development,” the New Order regime concentrated on Indonesia’s economy without paying attention to other possible consequences of their policies. A new form of elites was established during the New Order period, and conglomerates emerged as a result of nepotism and collusion. Conglomerates from the Chinese ethnic group and from other ethnicities, notably Javanese, that collaborated with government officials dominated the country’s economy. This new situation created resentment among other ethnic groups in Indonesia who were not given the same opportunities because they were not close to the power holders.

Conglomerates and family businesses were established all over Indonesia.

Concessions were granted by the central government to exploit local natural resources without any obligation to accommodate the needs of or display respect for the traditional rights of the local people. Ethnic groups from other, less economically promising regions voluntarily migrated to the newly opened and exploited regions or followed the central government’s transmigration program as they sought to “develop” underdeveloped regions that had economic potential. For instance, Kalimantan, a region rich in mining and forest resources, became the migration target of certain ethnic groups, notably

Javanese and Madurese. This migration effectively marginalized the native Dayaks (see

Heidhues, 2001). Papua, where New Orleans-based Freeport-McMoran Copper & Gold

Inc. mined its precious minerals, attracted many people from neighboring regions, such as Sulawesi, Maluku, and Nusa Tenggara. Like the native groups of Kalimantan, the

Papuan natives were marginalized and forced to become spectators of the so-called

development of their own homeland. What they witnessed was the destruction of their

land and way of life.

The development was fully supported by the government. The local people could

not voice their concerns due to the repressive measures that the government took whenever discontent was openly expressed. In Aceh and Papua, the local people responded with armed rebellion toward the government’s state-sponsored violence and repressive measures (see Ariffadhilah, 2001; and Giay, 2001), but in other parts of

Indonesia, the local people essentially yielded to government hegemony. Given their inability to vent their frustration, the native people started to find others to blame for their poor economic and social conditions. Resentment based on religion and ethnicity spread among the people, but could not be openly expressed due to government policies forbidding people from publicly discussing the issues of Suku, Agama, Ras, Antar- golongan (SARA, an acronym that means ethnic, religious, racial, and tribal issues)

(Bertrand, 2004). Any conflicts that occurred because of these four issues were swiftly crushed by the government through military and security measures. This caused discontent among the local people to be contained but not disappear. Conflicts that occurred between groups were not resolved, thus creating conditions for ongoing intractable conflict.

Although in Aceh and Papua the conflicts were mainly vertical, the seeds of conflicts in other regions tended to be multidimensional, but were always bound by the issues of justice and economy. Those who were close to the power holders were granted

the privilege to play major roles in economic and political realms while those who were not could only watch in frustration. The closure of channels to express political aspirations and economic frustrations of the marginalized people during the New Order laid a common ground for a bigger conflict when, in 1998, the regime was no longer able to maintain its power.

As the New Order regime ended in 1998, discontent erupted despite the promising democratization process that had started to roll in Indonesia. This situation was predicted by Rothchild (1997) who stated that “democratization cannot, in and of itself, guarantee ethnic harmony” (p. 6). Vertical and horizontal violence broke out and was intensified as illustrated, for example, by violence toward the Chinese in Jakarta, reenergized secessionist movements in Aceh and Papua, and Muslim-Christian conflicts in Maluku

(Munir, 2001). Included in this new emerging violence were ethnic conflicts in

Kalimantan and inter-village violence in Sumba. For all practical purposes, the downfall of the New Order regime and lack of credible and strong leaders provided opportunities for people to express their frustrations in the form of violence against one another.

During this period, many factors triggered conflict: ideological, political, economic, social, cultural, and religious. However, these factors were not always recognized as the cause of a conflict, often because several factors were involved while analysts were intent on identifying a single cause. For example, the conflict between the Dayaks and

Madurese in 1999-2001 is generally claimed to be a cultural conflict. According to

Steedly (1999), this claim is the product of “culturalist simplifications.” As a matter of fact, other factors, such as political representation, economic discrepancies, and social

structure, also played significant roles in triggering the conflict. In particular, the marginalization of the Dayaks, directly or indirectly, by the government’s policies and growing resentment toward the economic, social and political successes of Madurese migrants contributed to the emergence of the conflict. This feeling of resentment is common among indigenous ethnic groups. Bardhan (1997) argued that

the revolt and resistance of tribal and indigenous people in many parts of the

world against encroachments on their traditional rights to land, forests and

mineral resources may be mitigated by stopping bureaucratic or commercial

appropriation of the local commons and allowing the local communities to

coordinate their management. (p. 1395)

However, in the case of the Dayaks, their resistance was never voiced due to systematic silencing by an authoritarian government bent on oppressing any dissatisfaction against government policies that sometimes disrupt the ecosystem and ecology of the local people, in this case the Dayaks.

During the New Order era, facing the destruction of their environment and their systematically marginalized position, the Dayaks took the fatigue response, a term suggested by Tripp and Bies (1997). This is a form of response commonly taken by the oppressed in which they “do not forgive, forget, or otherwise, let go” (p. 150). Since the

Dayaks could not express their frustration toward the government, the only visible enemies that they could reach were the Madurese (see also Bertrand, 2004; International

Crisis Group Asia, 2001). The explosion response took its momentum when the New

Order’s repressive security force was no longer available to maintain the non-SARA

environment.

Another example can also be seen in the conflict between Muslims and Christians

in Maluku. On the surface, the conflict can be easily labeled as religious in nature.

However, when viewed closely, the same factors—economic, social, ethnic, cultural, and

political—served as the driving forces that caused the conflict. The only difference is probably the extent to which a factor contributed to the communal conflict that emerged

in a specific part of Indonesia. As for ethnic conflict, Varshney (2001) stated that “ethnic conflict may indeed have an economic basis, but that is not its core feature. Irrespective of internal class differentiation, race, language, sect, or religion tends to define the politics of an ethnic group” (p. 365). As in the case of ethnic conflict in Indonesia, I believe the triggering factors are so intertwined with one another that an effort to simplify the triggers will be fruitless.

Identity Perspective

Besides the factors that have contributed to the emergence of conflict in

Indonesia, Bertrand (2004) has argued that Indonesians have a multi-dimensional problematic identity. Depite Sen’s (2006) assertion that competing identities are natural,

Bertrand (2004) believed that the ambiguous concept of “nation” and “national identity” embraced by Indonesians and the Indonesian government as well as the role of religion in nation building and identity building contribute to identity competition between, for example, being Indonesian, being Muslim (or a member of Buddhist community in

Indonesia), and being Javanese (or Dayak or Madurese, etc.). This condition eventually

leads to unstable intergroup and interethnic relationships because one identity is

sometimes more prominent than the others, as seen, for example, in the existence of

enclaves based on ethnicity in many parts of Indonesia, such as Kampung Jawa (Javanese

neighborhood), Kampung Melayu (Malay neighborhood), Pecinan (Chinatown), and so on (Chang, 2002). Steele (2005) has further asserted that “[a]side from the shared history of Dutch colonialism and the lingua franca of bahasa Indonesia [Indonesian language], there was little to hold together the fragile unity of the archipelago” (p. 146). Despite her reference to the past, I believe that Steele’s conviction is still true today. This unclear conception of national, cultural, and religious identity as well as the roles of those identities for Indonesians puts them in a difficult situation with respect to defining a unified umbrella for their identity. This situation has made them vulnerable to both vertical and horizontal conflict.

Bertrand (2004) has asserted that the unfinished process of nationalism among

Indonesians was one of the driving forces behind the emergence of conflict.

Coincidentally, I had been convinced and had previously argued in classes and discussion with friends that Indonesian identity exists only when one is abroad or when Indonesia is in competition with other countries, such as in sports or in other kinds of competitions.

However, two instances showed me that my argument, if once valid, is no longer true.

First was the Indonesians’ response to the tsunami disaster that hit the Aceh Province in

December 2004. Despite the common knowledge that some elements of Acehnese people have fought for independence from Indonesia, the call to help the Acehnese was instantly responded to by Indonesians who sent aid and volunteered to help the tsunami victims. It

was the same disaster that brought the government and the rebels back to the negotiation

table, producing a widely-welcomed peace agreement to end the vertical conflict between

the Acehnese and the central government in August 2005. The second instance is

embodied in how Indonesians responded to the border dispute between Malaysia and

Indonesia over an island in the northeast of Kalimantan Island. The response, that was a little xenophobic and anti-Malaysia, was reminiscent of a confrontation with Malaysia in the 1960s. These two examples show that a person’s identity as Indonesian still exists despite the skepticism held by scholars, such as Bertrand. Furthermore, as pointed out by

Widjanarko (2002), “despite the never-ending and boring political conflict and rivalry

among the elites, and the threat of disintegration, it seems that Indonesian banal

nationalism still prevails” (p. 19). As long as the discord is a result of horizontal conflict,

the idea of being Indonesian still exists although someone’s identity as an Indonesian

might not be as important as other elements of his/her identity, such as his/her religious affiliation, ethnic group, and/or geographic heritage.

The question of what it means to be an Indonesian remains unsolved and

unfinished. However, one can argue that Indonesian nationalism has become banal (i.e.,

common) and needs not be questioned. Billig (1995) argued that “banal nationalism

operates with prosaic, routine words, which take nations for granted, and which, in so

doing, inhabit them” (p. 93). Indonesians have a kind of banal nationalism. They do not

have to openly show or express to their fellow citizens that they are Indonesian.

Nonetheless, ethnic and religious identities in Indonesia are still strong (Pähler, 2002).

At the conceptual level, the identity of “Indonesian” is, to some extent, accepted by all ethnic groups. Admittedly, some are still suspicious and underestimate the degree of nationalism among the migrant ethnic groups, especially the Chinese. The Chinese ethnic groups, unlike migrants of Arabic descent, do not have the advantage of sharing the same religious faith with the majority of Indonesians. Simultaneously, at a practical level, ethnicity and place of origin serve as the main components of identity that people reference when interacting with other Indonesians. In other words, everyone is recognized by their ethnicity and place of origin as well as their religion.

In the mean time, each ethnic group argues that they have a rightful claim over their native land. This claim emphasizes their right to develop and exploit the resources as well as their right to determine the leadership of their region. The issues of putra daerah (local figures) and hak adat (traditional rights) have always been common issues raised to determine the leaders and interests for a region. Given the fact that ethnic identity is given more weight than is national identity, conflicts are inevitable, especially when the situation is native ethnic group(s) versus migrant ethnic group(s). Nevertheless, in this situation, it is not the question of a person’s identity as Indonesian that creates a problem but, rather, the struggle between elements of society, each attempting to gain power. Furthermore, the issues have become more crystallized and apparent in the current era of regional autonomy, in which each region is given more power to manage its local political and economic sectors and determine its own policies without very much interference from the central government.

In sum, conflict in Indonesia is multidimensional, with at least some elements

varying from one place to another. The most common triggering factors are competition

to control resources, economic stresses, issues of governance, and to some extent, issues

of culture. Considering the complexity of the conflict roots, one can argue that a conflict that occurs in Indonesia has never been caused by one single factor. There has always

been a combination of factors leading to the conflict and, in some cases, ultimately

transforming the conflict into a cycle of violence. The historical analysis suggests that the

degree of violence varies from one period to another and varies according to the type of

conflict—vertical or horizontal. To complicate matters, ethnic identities are so strongly

held that identity as an Indonesian takes a back seat and is relevant only when dire

circumstances are present, such as when one region is hit by a natural disaster.

Dayak-Madurese Violent Conflict in Central Kalimantan

Dayak and Borneo: People and Their Resourceful Land

There are many ethnic groups living in Borneo that not only differ linguistically

from each other but whose traditions and ways of life greatly differ from one another.

However, for the sake of simplification, the label Dayak was introduced by the Dutch in

the eighteenth century to refer to “inland” or “interior” people (Pringle as quoted in King,

1993) despite the fact that some of the groups being labeled Dayak had, at the time, little

in common. Later on, Dayaks were considered to be the native inhabitants of Borneo

Island who occupied Malaysian and Indonesian Borneo (Kalimantan), and to be

comprised of inland Dayak and sea Dayak (Geddes, 1957). There are many sub-

ethnicities of Dayak, among them Bidayuh and Iban in North and West Borneo; Ngaju,

Ot Danum, and Punan in Central and South Borneo; and Kenyah and Kutai in East

Borneo (King, 1993).

Based on their economic systems, according to King (1993), Dayaks are divided into two groups, with each sub-ethnic group having developed its own characteristics not only with respect to way of life but also social, cultural, and belief system. The first group is those who live in the rainforests and interior of Borneo. They practice hunting- gathering and, in higher population density areas, have become farmer cultivators who employ slash-and-burn agricultural or shifting cultivation methods. The rich resources provided by the forests have made them respect the environment and exploit that environment in a nature-friendly way. This attitude is one of the problems leading to conflict when they encounter other parties who have abused the environment, especially the forests where they have been living for centuries and forged a way of life. The second group is the coastal people who are primarily involved in producing sago, fishing, and collecting strand. They are typically the first to have contact with other ethnic groups who usually migrate initially to the coastal areas before moving to the interior land.

The coming of new teachings of Christianity and Islam has changed the Dayak socially and culturally. Their traditional beliefs were considered pagan in nature and had to be abandoned because those beliefs were “wrong.” An interesting fact about this is that there was a tendency for those who converted to Islam to not be called “Dayak” anymore because that term usually referred to a “savage” and a “non-believer.” People felt embarrassed if they were called Dayak; instead, the preferred term was “Malay.” The phrase “becoming Malay” was commonly employed for those who converted to Islam.

Today, Dayaks are mostly Muslim. According to Muller (as cited in Mahin, 2005), “[o]f

Borneo’s total population of 12 million, only about one fourth are classified as Dayaks— the rest are Malays. Ninety percent of the so-called Malays, all of the Muslim faith, are

Islamized Dayaks” (p. 1). Those who converted to Christianity still accept the label

“Dayak” as their identity in spite of the new religion they embraced. As a result, a common misunderstanding inevitably has occurred that the Christian/pagan natives are

Dayak, and Muslims—or Muslim residents—are Malay despite the fact they all share the same repertoires in terms of origins and myth (see Bertrand, 2004; Petebang & Sutrisno,

2000). However, for the sake of simplicity, the term “local” is usually used to refer to the natives of the region, regardless of their religious beliefs.

As the Dayak struggled to maintain their identity, new cultural values were introduced as people from other islands in Indonesia migrated to Kalimantan. Vast natural resources are available for the migrants, with forests providing logs, rattan, and other forest products as well as areas rich in many kinds of minerals and mined substances, such as oil, coal, gold, and valuable gems. Unsurprisingly, logging and mining industries started to flourish. The influx of new peoples, technology, and industries has marginalized the Dayaks, forcing them to adjust and even completely alter their way of life as a result of competition within various economic sectors, loss of land, and the spread of new teachings of Christianity and Islam. Competition has become, some say, the source of conflict. In both West Kalimantan and Central Kalimantan, the aggressive and hard-working Madurese happened to be the rival.

International Crisis Group Asia (2001) reported that the conflicts were caused by friction with other ethnic groups migrating to Kalimantan, loss of land either because of government policies or the expansion of other ethnic groups, low rate of employment and education compared to the migrants, implementation of government policies and politics,

Dayak treatment by the police and military, and friction because of cultural and religious differences. However, the Dayaks were not brave enough to challenge this condition since the industries were backed by the government (especially during the New Order

Regime) that opened the opportunities to exploit the resources to the maximum extent.

History of Madurese Migration to Kalimantan

The first Madurese migration to the western part of what is now Central

Kalimantan (Kotawaringin Barat Regency), according to Syamsu (2003), occurred in

1830 when the region was still under the Kotawaringin Sultanate. The migration was sponsored by the Sultanate because the Madurese were needed to cultivate the vast, unproductive land and to look after livestock. The first eight families were distributed to villages within the Sultanate territory to do their assigned jobs. Maulani (2001) noted that a surge of Madurese migration to Kalimantan began in 1901. This migration was sponsored through a colonization program of the Dutch government. The Madurese migrants were mostly recruited to work on rubber plantations or in gold mines

During the revolution to establish the Republic of Indonesia, the Madurese group participated in the struggle against the Japanese and Dutch occupation in Central

Kalimantan. Many were killed during the war and buried in unmarked graves. An

exception exists in the case of one Madurese freedom fighter who was honored and buried in the heroes’ cemetery.

Since the independence of Indonesia in 1945, many Madurese from Madura

Island and East Java have migrated to the Kotawaringin Sultanate (now called

Kotawaringin Barat Regency) which then was an integral part of the Central Kalimantan

Province. Since 1960, great waves of Madurese have continued to migrate to the regency.

In 2000, the recorded population of the ethnic group was approximately 40,000, spread among the villages and subdistricts of the regency (Syamsu, 2003). Due to its growing number, the community, like other Madurese communities in other parts of Indonesia, decided to establish an organization called Ikatan Keluarga Madura (IKAMA—

Association of Madurese Family) to organize themselves, help new Madurese migrants to find shelters and new jobs, and preserve the Madurese cultural heritage.

The Dayaks and Their Culture of Violence (Headhunting)

The jungle law among the Dayaks in Kalimantan, according to Tingang and

Rajali (2002), consists of four elements: hakayau (headhunting), hasang (attacking one

another), habunu (killing each other), and hajipen (enslavement). Of these four elements,

headhunting has always been highlighted. Although the headhunting tradition was carried

out in many parts of Indonesia, including Kalimantan, Sulawesi, Sumba, Timor and other

Eastern regions (Colombijn, 2001), the practice is commonly associated with the Dayak

ethnic group who, in media reports, have always been described as “cannibal, savage,

primitive, backward and wild people” (Bamba, 2001, p. 1). Their practice of headhunting

was so well known that, whenever other Indonesian ethnic groups, especially Javanese,

heard about the Dayak, they were frightened. This situation can be illustrated by a story

about the former Chief of the Indonesian Coordinating Agency of Intelligence, Z. A.

Maulani. As a cadet of the Armed Force Academy, he was introduced to some Javanese

people as a Dayak cadet from Kalimantan. The people were surprised and asked, “How did you catch him?” (Salim Said, a lecture in “Indonesian Military” Course, Winter

2001).

When one compares traditional headhunting done in the old days with the

headhunting conducted during the communal conflicts in West Kalimantan and Central

Kalimantan from 1996 to 2001, important differences are found. In the pre-independence

era, headhunting was committed according to socially constructed values. The practice of

headhunting was supported in two ways: religious beliefs and socio-cultural values.

Religious beliefs, according to Krohn (1991) and Schärer (1963), justified the practice as more than a tradition. According to King (1993), headhunting involves “a complex of beliefs and practices about the soul, life and death, and fertility” (p. 237), thus comprising the three factors that shaped the Dayak system of beliefs. King further stated that headhunting was considered to be an effort to maintain contact with the spiritual world which required an act of sacrifice. To maintain a harmonious relationship between this world and the spiritual world, fresh heads were constantly required. As Ivanoff

(1958) stated, headhunting is a way of sacrifice to placate evil spirits and put them on the

side of the Dayaks during times of need.

According to the belief system of Dayak Ngaju of Central Kalimantan called

Kaharingan, the number of heads taken signified the number of servants a dying parent

would have in the hereafter. Therefore, regardless of the difficulties they would face, a

Dayak family had to go headhunting in order to fulfill the wishes of and their promises to

their deceased parents (Sargent, 1974). Finally, the Dayaks believe that heads contain

power which could affect the fertility of their lands and farming. Headhunting represents

the concept of male potency while agriculture represents that of female; and these

concepts must be blended to bring fertility to the land.

King (1993) stated that headhunting was originally “[a] part of inter-group feuding and warfare, territorial expansion and competition for resources” (p. 237).

Although the Dayaks were considered a headhunting group, not all of the sub-ethnic segments of this group practiced the act of headhunting. As they relied heavily on the resources of the forest and competed with one another to secure their property, some clashes were inevitable, especially when the different sub-ethnic segments were in the process of defending their territory and claiming a new area as their own. Their way of farming—shifting cultivation—also contributed to this conflict. Inevitably, wars between one sub-group and another took place and, finally, created a new tradition—headhunting

—as a way of claiming victories.

Another socio-cultural motive to justify the headhunting practice is that fresh heads were needed as a dowry to marry a girl. This act had to be done to show a prospective groom was entitled to be called a “real” man whose bravery and determination were not to be questioned (Krohn, 1991; Sargent, 1974; Schärer, 1963).

Women also influenced their husbands, fathers, lovers, and sons to prove that they were really men of valor by perpetrating headhunting. Therefore, head taking was a sign of

male superiority, a symbol of masculinity and achievement. Schärer explained what made headhunting flourish even more was that the headhunting tradition was taught during and after puberty, and the initiation to be an adult was by taking part for the first time in human sacrifice and headhunting. Finally, fresh heads were required in formal ceremonies (e.g., death ceremonies) and feasts (celebrations of the birth of male children). These ceremonies sometimes included human sacrifice rituals of slaves who were taken from the losing groups in intergroup wars.

Headhunting became a deep-rooted tradition among the Dayaks until its demise on October 6, 1894 when representatives of the Dayak people, sponsored by the Dutch

Colonial Government, gathered in Tumbang Anoi, Central Kalimantan (Kusni, 1994;

Tingang & Rajali, 2002). The gathering was the first major forum for the Dayaks to discuss several issues, one of which was the headhunting issue. According to Kusni

(1994), the representatives of the various Dayak subgroups agreed to stop the practice.

Since then, headhunting practices have been almost unheard of, and when there were any occurrences, the perpetrators were treated as common criminals, tried and sentenced by the colonial and Indonesian formal legal system. Krohn (1991) reported five Dayak headhunters who were sentenced to imprisonment for committing headhunting. Another instance occurred in the mid 1980s when I was still a high school student in Sampit; people were shocked when a Dayak was prosecuted for committing a murder and taking the victim’s head. The judges did not recognize it as a ritual practice, but simply as a common crime. They sentenced the accused to imprisonment although I cannot recall how many years he had to stay behind bars.

The Madurese and Their Culture of Violence (Carok)

As an ethnic group coming from a tiny island—Madura—with harsh

environmental conditions, the Madurese are known to be hard-working, determined, and

goal-oriented people. Wiyata (2002) described Madura Island as barren and infertile due to its hot climate and limestone land. It is not surprising that the island does not have abundant greenery because its forest comprises only 6% of the entire region. It is also not surprising that this hard natural condition presumably contributes to forging the people’s character to be hard and uncompromising, at least as seen by other ethnic groups in

Indonesia. Since it is not feasible to farm or engage in agricultural activities on Madura, most Madurese have chosen to migrate to other islands in Indonesia. One of the islands they migrated to is Kalimantan (Indonesian Borneo).

As is probably true of almost any migrant group, the Madurese bring with them their values and customs. One well-known custom, which is especially associated with the Madurese, is carok (duel). Carok is the Madurese tradition in which one can kill those who have insulted the killer’s self-esteem, honor and/or pride. According to 1990-1994 statistics from the Police Department in Bangkalan Regency (as cited in Wiyata, 2002), carok is mostly caused by disturbing another person’s wife (60.4%), followed by debts

(9.2%), violation of social norms (6.8%), and inheritance issues (6.7%). In general, the main reason for perpetrating carok is to protect one’s self-esteem, dignity, and pride from an insult that might affect an individual’s social status in the community.

The latest example of this culture of violence is well illustrated in stories of a carok that became headlines in national newspapers in Indonesia. On July 12, 2006, a

mass carok occurred between two groups in a village in Pamekasan, Madura. The violence was triggered by a dispute over 4-hectare village property land between the current and former village chiefs. The showdown of self-esteem, dignity, and pride between the current and former chiefs led hundreds of supporters to a violent fight. This violence resulted in the death of seven people and the wounding of others (Ghozi, 2006;

Pertarungan harga diri, 2006). Another example was a group carok in Surabaya on July

20, 2006. This fight was triggered by a gambling debt and caused six people to be

seriously wounded (Taselan, 2006).

The principle underlying this culture of violence is the creed mutually shared by

the Madurese, namely, to die is better than to be humiliated as illustrated in the carok cases above. This kind of individual justice, according to Smith (as cited in Wiyata,

2002), cannot be separated from the settlement structure of Madurese families in Madura.

Those settlements tend to be spread out as opposed to Javanese settlements which tend to be clustered. This spreading pattern produces much looser social control which allows the existence of carok. Furthermore, although the law regards carok as a crime, from the

Madurese point of view, the carok perpetrator is not considered a criminal but, instead, is respected as someone whose obligation is to regain his honor after being abused by others or to defend himself from other people’s acts of violence. Wiyata (2002) affirmed that aphorisms such as “honor of one’s self or family must be upheld at any stake,” “it is better to die than be ashamed,” “an eye is for an eye,” “men die of carok, women die of giving birth,” and “don’t call yourself a Madurese if you are afraid of doing carok” are well established within Madurese society. The values represented by such statements,

according to Smith (2004), were glorified in Madurese contemporary literature and

among Madurese women who question the masculinity of men who do not act when

insulted.

Since most Madurese are Muslims, they should be aware of Islamic teaching that

forbids the murder of human beings, especially the murder of a fellow Muslim. Unlike

headhunting in the Dayak tradition which had religious significance, the carok

phenomenon is exclusively a product of social cultural values and history (Smith, 2004).

The nature of carok culture among the Madurese is so well-known that, in Indonesia, the

Madurese are considered to be “carok people” because of their way of solving problems via short-cuts and individual justice. Despite Smith’s claim that acts of carok have diminished in Madura Island due to better education for the younger generation, recent violence and carok acts among the Madurese (see Ghozi, 2006; Pertarungan harga diri,

2006; Taselan, 2006) provide a strong refutation for such a claim and show that the violent culture is very well alive among the Madurese.

Given media exposure and other people’s perceptions of this culture of violence,

Madurese are feared and tend to not be accepted in the larger communities where they have migrated. Consequently, Madurese tend to live in their own community or in an enclave instead of assimilating with local people or with other ethnic groups in the region. This “exclusivism” and the carok tradition have created stereotypes and prejudices that other ethnic groups accept as describing the true characteristics of the

Madurese.

Dayak-Madurese Conflict: A Brief History

Violent conflict between the Dayak and the Madurese in Central Kalimantan

Province has occurred seventeen times since the 1950s (Kaukus Kalimantan, 2001). After another conflict in the early 1980s, an agreement was established in 1983 between the

Dayak and the Madurese groups and signed by their leaders in a place called Bukit Batu

Kasongan, in East Kotawaringin Regency of Central Kalimantan Province. The 1983 agreement stated that, if the Madurese people committed new acts of violence or started a new conflict that resulted in the shedding of Dayak blood, the Madurese people would voluntarily leave the province (Katingan People of Central Kalimantan, 2001). However, according to Smith (2005), the written form of such an agreement has never been proven to exist. As a matter of fact, the agreement was only known by the Dayak and not by the

Madurese. Nevertheless, since 1983, there have been four instances of violence, culminating in the eruption of violence in Sampit (the capital of Kotawaringin Timur

Regency) as the fourth and the most violent conflict in the province. During and after the last conflict, the 1983 agreement was mentioned again as a foundation for the expulsion of the Madurese from the province.

The violent ethnic conflict between the Dayak and the Madurese ethnic groups in

Sampit started on the night of February 17, 2001. A group of Dayak warriors attacked

Madurese families living in the outskirts of Sampit, killing four people and wounding two persons (Pemerintah Kabupaten Kotawaringin Timur, 2001). A few hours later, the

Madurese retaliated, killing and burning a Dayak family in their house. After that, the

Madurese took over the city for two days, barricading the roads to and from Sampit and

parading through the streets of the city, challenging the Dayaks (Lembaga Musyawarah

Masyarakat Dayak dan Daerah Kalimantan Tengah, 2001; Usop, 2003). More than 5,000

Dayaks had to leave the conflict area (SATKORLAK PBP Propinsi Kalimantan Tengah,

2001) to avoid Madurese attacks. However, two days later the tide of the fighting changed drastically. Dayak warriors from the hinterland were able to penetrate the road blockades by using river transportation and started a counterattack.

Assisted by locals and other non-Madurese, these warriors were able to defeat the

Madurese and started slaughtering Madurese as they fled to the forests, living in remote

places outside Sampit with no chance to take refuge in the House of Representatives

office, office of the Regent of Kotawaringin Timur, or nearby buildings. The official

number of dead was 391, consisting of 375 Madurese and 16 local/non-Madurese

(Pemerintah Kabupaten Kotawaringin Timur, 2001). According to SATKORLAK PBP

Propinsi Kalimantan Tengah (2001), the overall number of victims of the violence in

Central Kalimantan Province was 408, consisting of 364 Madurese and 20 non-Madurese

and locals. My interviewees, however, placed the unofficial death count in the thousands,

mostly from the Madurese ethnic group.

Following the outbreak of violence, more than 50,000 Madurese living in Sampit

and in the nearby area were forced to leave the city (Pemerintah Kabupaten Kotawaringin

Timur, 2001) and flee to nearby cities in Central Kalimantan Province or to East Java

Province. This was despite the existence of a reinforcement of 1,500 soldiers and police officers and assurances of safety from the government. The rage of the Dayaks did not

stop at the killing and expulsion of the Madurese from Sampit. Following the movement

of the refugees, the conflict then spread to the eastern parts of the province, namely the

cities of Palangka Raya (the capital of Central Kalimantan Province) and Kuala Kapuas

(the capital of Kapuas Regency in the province), where the Madurese were chased and

finally forced to leave those cities and flee to South Kalimantan Province. The overall

number of Madurese refugees who left the province was 78,152 via land and sea

transportation (SATKORLAK PBP Propinsi Kalimantan Tengah, 2001)

Having wiped out the Madurese from the three cities and the neighboring areas,

the Dayaks shifted their target to the western part of the province, especially the city of

Pangkalan Bun, the capital of Kotawaringin Barat Regency, where many Madurese still

lived and were protected by the local government and military/security forces. The Dayak

campaign was motivated by the goal of ridding the province of all Madurese. This goal

was proclaimed by the Dayak leaders. Since the Dayak warriors had successfully forced

the Madurese out of other regencies, they considered that the only way to reach that goal was to continue their action in the Kotawaringin Barat regency where the Madurese still maintained residences or had chosen to take refuge. As a result, the Dayak warriors started to stealthily come to Pangkalan Bun in the beginning of April 2001 (Kerusuhan di

Pangkalan Bun, 2001)—one and a half months after the first conflict erupted—to complete their mission.

Although thousands of Madurese had fled to the Central and East Java provinces,

many others chose to remain in Pangkalan Bun in the hope that the scope of the conflict in the area would not escalate any further. The security forces were assigned to protect the Madurese enclaves from the Dayak warriors who came from outside the regency. The

Chief of the Provincial Police Department ordered the security officers “to be polite,

well-mannered and flexible. However, if the mob carry weapons, and refuse to be put in

order, I instruct the officers to act firmly” (Kerusuhan di Pangkalan Bun, 2001). This firm

stance finally produced a positive result. Ten days after the violent conflict reached the

Pangkalan Bun area, the situation in Pangkalan Bun was reported to be under control and more conducive for daily business activities. Things began to return to normal as shops started to open and students returned to school (Pangkalan Bun sudah terkendali, 2001;

Pengungsi Pangkalan Bun, 2001).

With conditions gradually improving and everything returning to normalcy, the

security forces were gradually withdrawn from the area, leaving only the local security

forces to handle any conflicts that might occur. The Madurese who fled to several

provinces in Java and Kalimantan started to return to their homes in the Pangkalan Bun

area, the only place where they were still welcomed. With respect to other areas of the

province, however, the negotiating process employed as part of returning the refugees

and the peace reconstruction process, which will be described in the section that follows,

took longer and were more complicated.

Peace Negotiating Process

Conventions for Conflict Resolution

In search for reconciliation and a peaceful solution to the 2001 ethnic conflict,

several local, regional, and national conferences were conducted. The first was called

Tekad Damai Anak Bangsa di Bumi Kalimantan (Peace Determination of Nation’s

Children in Kalimantan), held in NAM Jakarta Center on March 20-23 March 2001.

Sponsored by the central government, this conference of Dayak and Madurese leaders

was held in the midst of violence that was still raging in the conflict area in Central

Kalimantan. Although the conference was interrupted by an event in which an emotional

Madurese leader threatened to shoot one of the Dayak leaders, the meeting’s participants were able to come to an agreement (Rekonsiliasi tak menentu, 2001). The issues

addressed and agreed on in this conference related to the conflicting parties’ willingness

to cooperate to solve the conflict, uncovering and solving the roots of their

disagreements, establishing the meeting as a starting point for further peace

reconstruction processes as reported by the Banjarmasin Post newspaper (Damai dulu,

2001). The Banjarmasin Post newspaper also reported the roots of the conflict as

acknowledged by the meeting participants. According to the Banjarmasin Post report,

both parties acknowledged the roots of the conflict to be past governmental policies that

had created problems in the area, unsuccessful human empowerment, lack of effective

security, cultural clashes, injustice, poverty, and lack of law enforcement.

Following the national conference, a regency-level conference, called

Musyawarah Masyarakat Kotawaringin Timur (the Conference of the Kotawaringin

Timur People), was held May 10-20, 2001 in Sampit. The highlight of this conference

was that the Madurese had to apologize for their past mistakes and could return gradually

by following the requirements set by the local people (Demi damai, 2006). A similar

conference was held in Kotawaringin Barat Regency called Musyawarah Rakyat

Kabupaten Kotawaringin Barat (the Conference of Kotawaringin Barat People), on May

14-15, 2001 in Pangkalan Bun. The Kotawaringin Barat conference resulted in an

agreement among the regency’s ethnic groups to live peacefully within the regency.

Solutions were proposed for reconstruction from economic, legal, and agricultural perspectives. The conference members also agreed to accept the Madurese people in the

Kotawaringin Barat Regency if several conditions were met. Among the conditions was an explicit acceptance of Madurese who had lived for generations within the regency and/or who had a marriage relationship with a local person or person from another ethnicity or who promised to abandon any traditions or behaviors which contradicted the religious values and culture of Kotawaringin Barat (Hasil Musyawarah Rakyat, 2001).

A provincial congress to solve the ethnic conflict was conducted in Palangka

Raya, the capital of Central Kalimantan Province, June 4-7, 2001. The congress issued an agreement that Madurese refugees could gradually return to the province. Following the results of the above conferences, the refugees in Madura Island gathered for a big conference among themselves. The conference, called Musyawarah Besar Pengungsi

Kalimantan Tengah (the Conference of Central Kalimantan Refugees), was held August

22-23, 2001. The conference issued plans for the gradual return of refugees starting in

2004 (Demi damai, 2006). Later, a joint Madurese-Dayak conference was held in

Malang, East Java Province, on February 3, 2002. This conference was called

Musyawarah Tekad Mufakat Rakyat Kalimantan (the Conference for Harmony of the

Kalimantan People). This conference followed up the results of the previous conferences to bring peace and facilitate reconciliation between conflicting parties. The above conferences and additional conferences during the years that followed provided a

foundation for peace and reconstruction as well as the return of refugees to the Central

Kalimantan Province.

Issues of Refugee Return

During the course of the first five years after the conflict, of 7000 refugees in

Jember, East Java Province, 3000 returned to their homes in Central Kalimantan

Province. At the time this research was conducted, the remaining 4,000 refugees still lived in refugee settlements in Jember (4000 pengungsi tertahan, 2006). According to the

Banjarmasin Post report, some of the remaining refugees still felt too traumatized to

return to Sampit while others did not have the financial ability to return to their homes in

Central Kalimantan.

The return of the refugees was partly triggered by two decrees issued by the

Provincial Government of Central Kalimantan and the Local Government of

Kotawaringin Timur Regency. The Provincial Government of Central Kalimantan issued

Decree No. 9 in 2001 that outlined a method for handling the victims of ethnic conflict on

November 6, 2001 (Pemerintah Propinsi Kalimantan Tengah, 2001). The decree laid a

legal foundation for the return of refugees to their homes in the province. The decree

required that “the residents returning shall be conducted after the condition of the region

was conducive and its implementation was arranged gradually” (Pemerintah Propinsi

Kalimantan Tengah, 2001, p. 8). The Decree contained clauses that established grounds

for reconciliation, rehabilitation, refugee return, societal safety, and control efforts.

This particular decree was greeted with wide spread resistance on the part of local

people in the province. Some elements of the communities in Central Kalimantan openly

rejected the return of the refugees, wanting the province to be free of Madurese (see

Lembaga Musyawarah Masyarakat Dayak dan Daerah Kalimantan Tengah, 2001). Given this hard resistance, returning the refugees shortly after the issuance of the decree might have been counterproductive to the process of calming down the local people’s anger toward the Madurese. Overtime, the resistance was less evident, causing local government officials, notably those of the Kotawaringin Timur Regency, to consider that the time was ripe to issue a decree concerning the return of refugees to the area.

On July 8, 2004, the administration of Kotawaringin Timur Regency issued Local

Government Decree No. 5, 2004. That decree specified legal and social efforts to handle the former residents of the regency who had become victims of the 2001 conflict

(Pemerintah Kabupaten Kotawaringin Timur, 2005). Similar to Decree No. 9, 2001 issued by Provincial Government of Central Kalimantan, this decree sought to outline a legal foundation for peace reconstruction. This decree adopted several clauses from the

2001 Provincial Government Decree No. 9. According to this latest decree, reconciliation involves “efforts and measures to recreate peace between conflicting parties using social and cultural approaches, human rights, and legal aspects” (p. 68). Although the wording of the decree did not explicitly target the Madurese, Chapter II, Article 2 of the decree states that (1) conflict victims are obligated to uphold the equality principle as citizens [of

Indonesia] to live side by side peacefully in Kotawaringin Timur Regency; and, (2) conflict victims are obligated to uphold Belom Bahadat principle (“When in Rome, do as

Romans do”). As clearly seen in this article, the weight of the hard work for reconciliation rests on the shoulders of the Madurese and not on the Dayaks.

Responses to the latest decree varied among the members of the conflicting parties. The local people gave a cold shoulder toward the decree. Many local people chose to ignore

the existence of the decree, demonstrating their resistance at different points in time.

They argued that, even though the post-conflict conditions were becoming more positive,

a hasty return of refugees would disrupt the peace. The decree, however, was good news

for the Madurese who had lived for several years in the refugee settlements. The refugees

perceived this decree as a welcome sign for their return and prepared themselves to return

home.

Summary and Conclusion

This chapter described the background conditions in Indonesia and Kalimantan which led to the emergence of violent conflict between the Dayaks and Madurese. After the success of armed struggle directed toward the Dutch and the Japanese, vertical conflict continued to exist as the provinces rebelled against Jakarta’s domination over the local political and economic forces. This pattern continued until the establishment of the

New Order regime (1967-1998) during which central government policies created an imbalanced yield from the distribution of natural resources. The percentage of return on resources received by rich provinces was not considered sufficient compensation given the level of environmental destruction and marginalization of local people. Chronic corruption, collusion, and nepotism created a rich class that relied on their closeness to the regime.

After the demise of the New Order, the conflict shifted from mainly vertical

(between the state and its citizens) to more horizontal (between citizens) with the

exclusion of two provinces: Aceh and Papua. Communal violence also became dominant,

including ongoing religious conflicts in Maluku and Poso as well as ethnic conflict

between the Dayaks and the Madurese in Kalimantan in 1998-2001. This chapter also

examined the culture of violence that is inherent in each of those ethnic groups. The

tradition of headhunting for the Dayaks and carok (duel) for the Madurese has shaped violent norms that are traditional for each of these ethnic groups.

The Dayak versus Madurese ethnic conflict that started in 2001 in Sampit spread sporadically to the entire province with various degree of violence in evidence. As the conflict subsided, the peace reconstruction process began sponsored by both the central and the local government. Elites of both ethnic groups participated in the process. After several meetings and conferences, recommendations for conflict resolution were proposed which led the local government to issue decrees as legal foundations for peace reconstruction and refugee return. Despite resistance from the local people toward the decree, the refugees gradually could return to the Central Kalimantan Province.

In order to gain insight into concepts being problematized in this dissertation, the

next chapter describes the theoretical foundation employed in examining the Dayak-

Madurese conflict. The discussion examines the works of scholars on identity and

violence, conflict, women’s roles during and after conflict, and post-conflict

reconstruction.

CHAPTER THREE: THEORETICAL FRAMEWORK

Introduction

The main objective of this chapter is to provide theories that serve as a framework

for understanding issues related to interethnic communication and peace reconstruction.

The research and theories discussed come from scholars who work in a variety of

disciplines and who have conducted their work in many parts of the world where

conflicts have occurred.

The chapter is divided into five sections. The first section discusses concepts

related to personal identity and social identity. The second section examines ethnicity

from several perspectives. The third section focuses on interethnic relationships and

conflict emergence between (ethnic) groups. The fourth section discussed the roles of

women before and after conflict. The fifth section explores the peace reconstruction

process from the perspective of the communication discipline. Finally, the sixth section

provides questions that underlie my research.

Identity and Social Identity

As a center of self-consciousness, the issue of identity has remained at the heart of

debates in terms of one’s involvement in his/her interaction with others. Weinreich

(1989) defined identity as “the totality of one’s self-construal” (p. 72). This self-

construal, according to Weinreich, is embraced as an expression of present identity which

is developed through the understanding of self in the past and aspirations for self in the

future. As a continuous process of identification, identity develops through time as individuals view themselves in connection with others, especially their family and

reference groups. Individuals need to take measures to adjust to different challenges

while preserving core values and remaining faithful to their identity.

In contemporary studies, the concept of identity is generally viewed from three

perspectives: social psychology, communication, and critical studies (Martin &

Nakayama, 2004). For the purpose of this study, I only focus on the first two. According

to social psychologists, identity is created by self and through interaction with others. In

this definition, self consists of multiple identities which are connected by culture.

Conflicts and crises also contribute to the formation of one’s identity (Erikson, 1968). In

searching for their identity, individuals “have to refight many of the battles of earlier

years, even though to do so they must artificially appoint perfectly well-meaning people

to play the roles of adversaries; and they are ever ready to install lasting idols and ideals

as guardians of a final identity” (Erikson, 1963, p. 261). From a social psychological perspective, identity is developed especially through cross-cultural perspectives which

comprise the three elements of identity, namely: individualized identity, familial identity,

and spiritual identity (Roland, 1998).

The communication perspective views identity as a process which is formed

through the act of communication with others as this act creates meanings (Mead, 1934).

This process, according to Martin and Nakayama (2004), stresses the importance of

avowal (how an individual portrays himself/herself) and ascription (how others describe

the attributes of an individual). Since identity is developed through the communication

process, the elements of our identity—such as our core symbols, labels, and norms—are

negotiated and interpreted in our interactions with others. This, according to Blumer

(1969), implies

that human society is made up of individuals who have selves (that is make

indications to themselves); that individual action is a construction and not a

release, being built up by the individual through noting and interpreting features

of the situations in which he acts; that group or collective action consists of the

aligning of individual actions, brought about by the individuals’ interpreting or

taking into account each other’s action. (p. 82)

Based on this contention, symbolic interactionists argued that three types of identity exist: situational, social, and personal (Vryan, Adler, & Adler; 2003; see also Blumer,

2001). The first refers to an identity which emerges from meaning-making acts during interactions with others as dictated by ones’ roles in a situation; the second refers to an identity which results from the perception of self and others within socially constructed groups or based on our position in the groups; the third refers to the construction of one’s unique self as differing from others (Vryan, Adler & Adler). Despite the importance of identity in our self-perception, Sen (2006) warned that uniqueness in identity can create a divisive circumstance which obstructs our view.

As members of a society, individuals in their search for an identity rely heavily on their interactions and dialogues within the society to which they belong (Charon, 2001).

Based on this dialogical process, they develop their social identification as they define themselves through their social interactions. Turner (1982) defined social identification as “the process of locating oneself or another person, within a system of social

categorizations or, as a noun, to any social categorization used by a person to define him-

or herself and others” (pp. 17-18). In defining identity within the context of the social

setting, Tajfel (1982) argued that an individual’s self concept is developed through

his/her personal learning process and draws from the social groups to which that person belongs (see also Fisher, 1990). As a subsystem of the self-concept, social identity plays a major role in the development of one’s self image. That self image is built upon the social categories existing within the society where the individual belongs. Being a member of the society, according to Fisher (1990), an individual can learn the importance of emotions and values that are upheld by the society. As societies can consist of many different ethnicities, the following is a discussion of ethnicity as a way of identification and ascribed identity.

Ethnicity

One approach for elucidating the development of cultural identity is social

identity theory (SIT). Negy, Shreve, Jensen, and Uddin (2003) defined ethnic identity as

“a complex construct reflecting various aspects of identification with, and membership

in, an ethnic group” (p. 334). The various aspects of identification comprise a person’s

realization of his/her position as a member of a group. This realization is appended with

other sets of values, such as “self-identification as a group member; attitudes and

evaluations relative to one’s group; attitudes about oneself as a group member; extent of

ethnic knowledge and commitment; and ethnic behaviors and practices” (Phinney, 1991,

p. 194). From a sociological perspective, ethnic identity is defined as “the learned cultural

heritage shared by a category of people” (Newman, 2000, p. 119). Williams (as cited in

Newman, 2000) further asserted that this identity is more than the color of one’s skin and

anatomical features. Rather, identity comprises all aspects of one’s embodied values and

norms, derived at least in part from group history, values, language, and tastes. Regarding

these claims, Horowitz (1985) voiced his skepticism that “ethnicity is based on a myth of

collective ancestry, which usually carries with it traits believed to innate” (p. 52).

Nevertheless, the power of the concept of ethnicity as a means for defining one’s identity

should not be undermined.

As mentioned earlier, ethnicity plays a major role in determining one’s identity.

From an intercultural communication perspective, Martin and Nakayama (2004) defined

ethnic identity as “a set of ideas about one’s own ethnic group membership” (p. 160).

This set of ideas usually comprises self-identification, knowledge about a given culture,

and feelings of belongingness. Nash (1989) further suggested that the building blocks of

ethnicity exist within individuals. Those building blocks are the body (biological

components), language, shared history and origins, religion and sometimes nationality.

Furthermore, ethnic boundary markers, which Nash called the trinity of boundary

markers, also exist in any system of ethnic differentiation, namely: kinship (unique biological traits), commensality (closeness in interpersonal interactions), and a common cult (shared religious or spiritual values). These markers differentiate ethnic groupings from other kinds of social groupings. Wilpert (1989) also suggested that many factors come into play in the development of one’s ethnic identity (see Fig. 1).

Phinney (1996) stated that the development of one’s identity is highly influenced

by his/her experiences with family, community, society. Phinney further asserted that an

THE IDENTITY PROCESS WITH REGARD TO ETHNIC IDENTITY

DEFINED/PERCEIVED BY OTHERS SELF-DEFINED/PERCEIVED

PUBLIC ETHNIC (PUBLIC PERSONAL INTRA-GROUP INTRA-INDIVIDUAL IDENTITY IDENTITY) (shared ethnic stereotype)

Categorization/ Identification of perception of a the individual by ETHNIC COLLECTIVE ETHNIC ETHNIC person in terms of others as a GROUP ETHNIC EGO-IDENTITY SELFCONCEPT his memb ership i n unique person: IDENTITY IDENTITY an ethnic group name, birth Partly (ethnic groups). number, other- Ethnic self- The specific subconscious Ethnic perceived categorization content of the ethnic core shared by the ethnic auto- heterostereotypes personal identity. Locus biography, members of the stereotype of agency idiosyncratic ethnic ingroup shared by attributes. Level ingroup of members. deindividuation Shared influenced by emotional ethnic group involvement membership in SUBJECTIVE SUBJECTIVE REFLECTED varying degrees. ETHNIC PERSONAL SELF IDENTITY IDENTITY Psychological Sense of How the group personal person believes membership, distinctiveness, others see him past and past and (his ethnicity) Fig. 1. The Identity Process with regard to Ethnic Identity (Wilpert, present, actual present, actual 1989, p. 27) and ideal and ideal 56

individual has to go through three stages of ethnic identity development. During the first stage (diffusion), ethnicity is not realized and is even irrelevant to an individual’s identity. This stage occurs when the individuals are still at a very young age. Second, during the immersion stage, the individual starts to recognize a set of values underlying the way people around him/her live. He/she begins to pay attention to that set of values and to absorb those values in order to be accepted as part of the group. Third, during the internalization stage, the individual develops a positive sense of his/her group values as he/she matures, and this is simultaneously accompanied by acceptance from other members of the group.

All factors outlined above that are related to ethnic identity are subject to the process of negotiation. This negotiation usually occurs when structural and cultural constraints emerge (Nash, 1989). Consequently, as Nash asserted, “ethnic identity involves the use of ‘strategies’ at the level of interpersonal interaction as well as at the structural level and at the symbolic level” (p. 115). In addition to the defining force of ethnicity, Volkan (1997) asserted that the most powerful sources of a group’s identity are called chosen trauma and chosen glory. The first refers to events which cause the members of a group to feel humiliated, victimized, and/or marginalized. The second refers to certain events that have elevated a group’s feelings of success and have always been remembered as the group’s glory over other groups. These shared pains and glories—preserved through communal memories—produce solidarity among the members of the group because these experiences contribute to the feeling that the

members of the group are one entity and, thus, create a basis for ethnic identity which consists of the stereotypical similarities shared among the group’s members (see also

Turner, 1982).

Interethnic Relationships and Conflict Emergence

Since aspects of ethnic identity are related to factors such as an ethnic group’s politics, class, economics, culture, and ethos, relationships between ethnic groups require strategies at the interpersonal, structural and symbolic levels where individuals or interactants can negotiate structural and cultural constraints (Nash, 1989). These negotiations gradually result in the development the concepts of allies and enemies between the interacting groups. Volkan (1988) stated that “the concepts of enemy and ally and the senses of ethnicity and nationality are largely bound up with the individual’s sense of self, and individuals within an ethnic or national group” (p. 262). Based on this concept, members of a group are inclined to view themselves as what Erikson (1968) called a privileged “pseudospecies,” while viewing others as “subhuman.” This condition, according to Sen (2006), exists because “a strong—and exclusive—sense of belonging to one group can in many cases carry with it the perception of distance and divergence from other groups. Within-group solidarity can help to feed between-group discord” (pp. 1-2). The important concepts of “ally” and “enemy”—as a result of distance, divergence, blind solidarity within the group—help explain tensions that occur between groups, especially the face off between ethnic groups that uphold different cultural values and norms.

Nash (1989) asserted that “cooperation, accommodation, and confrontation among the communal groups and the individuals who compose these categories take place at three analytically distinct levels: the political, the economic, and the world of ordinary, daily interaction” (p. 30). As differences are usually highlighted more than similarities, interethnic relationships are heavily influenced by the mentality that others are different from us. Jaspars and Warnaen (1982) suggested that

(evaluative) judgments about one’s own (ethnic) and other (ethnic) groups may

reflect the combined effect of a shared representation of the social structure and

the group members’ social comparison level which is itself a function of the

position of the group in the social structure. (p. 362)

These structural differences and an “us versus them” perspective are maintained through identity preservation processes, for example a glorification of one’s own ethnic group values and/or an underestimation of another group’s values and way of life. In the

Indonesian setting, Jaspars and Warnaen (1982) stated that “the perception of intergroup differences was overall […] remarkably similar, indicating a strongly shared social representation” (p. 363). The structural differences to some extent are caused by a human tendency to simplify things through the act of reductionism. According to Sen (2006), this act of reductionism in identity can be in the form of identity disregard and singular affiliation. The first refers to “the form of ignoring, or neglecting altogether, the influence of any sense of identity with others, on what we value and how we behave” (p. 20). In the second, individuals assume that “any person preeminently belongs, for all practical

purposes, to one collectivity only—no more and no less” (p. 20). By applying singular affiliation to others, individuals deny the fact that other people might belong to “many different groups, through birth, associations, and alliances” (p. 20). In the act of identity reduction lies a danger: the emergence of conflict.

During a peaceful period, this attitude of highlighting differences is usually dormant and does not come to the surface in terms of interethnic relationships because people tend to “manage” their stereotypes of others as a means of maintaining harmony in their relationship. This tolerance follows the concept of “front stage” (Goffman, 1959) in which behaviors are ruled by a certain standard/decorum which dictates how an individual should behave in the presence of others and in public as opposed to in the

“back stage” where individuals present themselves as their own self without the interference of externally patronizing rules.

In times of conflict, however, the normal interaction protocol cannot be followed because, during these periods, conflicting (ethnic) groups will openly emphasize those facts that differentiate them from other groups. At this point, the concept of “enemy” is highlighted:

[A]s each side struggles to maintain the integrity and cohesion of its group self, it

rushes to fill the psychological gap separating it from its enemy with increasingly

pathological material. […]The enemy is stereotyped further when the leader is

more interested in remaining in power than in preventing a war; this is usually an

unconscious priority rationalized in conscious terms. (Volkan, 1988, p. 119)

However, this psychological tendency does not operate alone as cultural tendencies also need to be taken into consideration. Anderson and Richards (2004) asserted that the violence labeled phenomena in certain cultures is “culture-specific at each of their conjunctions in space and time” (p. 2).

Women’s Role During and After Conflict

Women’s position during and after conflict has increasingly changed. Sault

(2004) mentioned that “when anthropologists have looked at these issues [of violence and conflict resolution], the focus is usually men engaged in intergroup violence such as feuding and warfare. In these descriptions women are usually onlookers or victims, either silent or weeping” (p. 93). Current scholars, notably using feminist approaches, however, have uncovered more roles occupied by women during and after conflict. Bouta and

Frerks (2002) list seven major roles that women play in conflict:

a) women as victims of sexual abuse, b) women as combatants, c) women for

peace in the non-governmental sector, d) women in formal peace politics, e)

women as coping and surviving actors, f) women as household heads, and g)

women and (in)formal employment opportunities. (p. 29)

Of these seven roles, three have been highlighted by most studies (see, for example,

Pankhurst, 2000) and reports (see, for example, the United Nations, 2002 & 2005), namely women as victims, women as combatants, and women as peace activists. These studies and reports clearly exemplified situations where women not only played passive

roles, but also strived to participate actively during conflict in violent or nonviolent ways

as a product of their free will or through manipulation.

Women as Victims

Indeed, women around the world have been systematically victimized in the form

of sexual abuses during armed conflicts, see Turshen (2001) for examples in Africa,

Zakov (2001) in Yugoslavia, Sharoni (2001) in Israel, Palestine, and North of Ireland,

Butalia (2001) in India, and Jimeno (2004) in Colombia. The portrayal of women as victims of violence in Indonesia has also been a focus of research among scholars.

Systematic violence against women in Indonesia usually occurs in areas that have

experienced military oppression over armed rebellion, for example in Aceh, East Timor,

and Papua (see Klute, 2001; and Carey, 2001). Klute asserted that “women are seen as

the weakest; attacking them hurts male pride and male duty to protect their spouses and

daughters and at the same time dishonours and demoralizes the community as a whole”

(p. 219). Based on reports on violence against women in Indonesia, abusing women in

the past has apparently seemed to be a common method employed by the military to

subdue and weaken rebellion.

Women as Combatants

Many studies have focused on the issues of women as victims and women as

agents of peace. In recent years, a growing body of literature has also attempted to

uncover another role that women play during conflict—that of combatants or agents of

violent conflict (see, for example, Ramchanda, 2001). The United Nations (2002 & 2005)

reported that many women in the world chose or were manipulated to participate into acts of violence. This involvement, according to the United Nations (2002), was because

“they are committed to the political, religious or economic goals of the parties to the conflict” (p. 3). Sørensen (1998) asserted that the conversation about women’s roles in post-conflict society should include their roles before and during armed conflict. This inclusion is important because women’s active involvement in violence and wars has been seen throughout the history of the armed conflict around the world (Mazurana,

McKay, Carlson, & Kasper, 2002). Further, Mazurana et al. mentioned that

between 1990 and 2002, girl soldiers were present in fighting forces and groups in

54 countries… Of those 54 countries, girl soldiers were involved in armed

conflicts in 36 of these countries between 1990 and 2002 …. In all 36 countries

where girl soldiers were involved in armed conflicts, the conflicts were internal

wars. In other words, girl soldiers were engaged in armed conflict within a

country’s borders. In addition, girl soldiers were participants in international

armed conflicts (fighting between or among nations) in several of these 36

countries, including Lebanon, Macedonia. (p. 103)

The data presented here suggests that women’s active involvement in armed conflict is a common phenomenon around the world especially in the 20th century.

Women’s involvement in armed conflict comes from voluntary and involuntary recruitment. The motives of women’s participation in armed conflict, according to

Sørensen (1998), are not any different than those of men’s. The motives, among others,

include defending the group’s religious or ideological beliefs and seeking out political and socioeconomic gains. Women also participate because they want their voices to be heard, as in the case of women in El Salvador who joined guerilla forces (Ibáñez, 2001).

Furthermore, Mazurana et al. (2002) stated that, in addition to falling in love with guerilla male fighters,

girls may enter fighting forces and groups because they provide food, shelter, and

a sense of security, as in Colombia, the Democratic Republic of Congo, and Sri

Lanka. In Cambodia, the Khmer Rouge deprived villages of food supplies to force

girls and boys to join. At times, girls may join to obtain an income or to further

their employment options, including government, political, or military careers. In

some countries, girls face compulsory military service, as in Cuba and the

Philippines. (p. 106)

Considering the advantages of being in armed groups, women in many parts of the world voluntarily joined the groups. However, Mazurana et al. also mentioned that many women were forced into such armed groups through abduction, giving these women no other choices but to join.

In the case of women combatants in Indonesia, women also joined armed rebellion voluntarily and involuntarily. Involuntary recruitment, according to Agustiana

(2005), occurred as many Acehnese women were abducted and forced to join Gerakan

Aceh Merdeka (GAM or Aceh Independence Movement) that demanded independence from Indonesia. Voluntary recruitment, however, was also common among the Acehnese

women during the vertical conflict between Acehnese and the central government.

Agustiana further stated that these women joined GAM for revenge motives because they

had been raped or because their husbands and children were killed by members of the

Indonesian military. Given the history of Aceh, women’s active involvement in armed

conflict is not surprising because it has precedence in history. One of the rebel leaders was a famous woman warrior named Tjoet Nyak Dien who led a group of men to rebel against the Dutch partly to avenge her husband’s death by the Dutch. Another famous female fighter beside Dien during the 19th and 20th century’s rebellion against the Dutch was Tjoet Meutiah. Four hundred years earlier, Acehnese Sultanate Navy Admiral

Keumala Hayati and her Inong Balee, a battalion consisting exclusively of widows, waged a war against the Portuguese that wanted to conquer the Malaccan Sultanate.

GAM later adopted this concept of female-only fighters and established a “widows' battalion” consisting of female victims of Indonesian military during the DOM (“Daerah

Operasi Militer’ or Military Operational Zone) in Aceh (Marshal, 2002).

In the areas of horizontal conflict in Indonesia, women also participated in armed conflict. However, this involvement was reported to be in nonviolent ways such as transporting women and children to safe places, providing food and medicines for male combatants, and offering moral supports for combatants. For example, the women’s group Laskar Mujahidah actively supported Muslim group Laskar Mujahidin in

Christian-Muslim armed conflict in North Maluku (Agustiana & Pakpahan, 2004).

Women as Peace Activists

Women’s involvement in peacekeeping operations and peacebuilding has provided a different perspective in negotiating peace in a war-torn society (Mazurana,

Raven-Roberts, & Parpart, 2005). The United Nations (2002) reported that many women have participated in grassroots efforts to rebuild “the economic, political, social and cultural fabric of their societies” (p. 3). Despite their active role in peacebuilding processes, women receive less recognition than do men due to gender issues and their unconventional approaches to peacemaking processes (Pankhurst, 2000; see also

Strickland & Duvvury, 2002). This condition might result from one’s overlooking women’s activities in peace activism which are usually labeled voluntarism, charity work, and/or social activities (Sørensen, 1998). If only one looked carefully, he/she might find that “women seem to learn faster and to manage conflicts better than their male partners” (Klute, 2001, p.221). In addition, women tend to use verbal approaches rather than physical approaches when engaged in conflict and are trained from childhood to take the role of peacemaker (Mazurana & McKay, 1999; Sault, 2004). Many cultures around the world put women in a higher position as those who can bring peace in their community. For example, in a Zapotec village of Oaxaca, Mexico, the role of a godmother in the community is highly respected as a mediator of conflict between members of the community (Sault, 2004).

According to Strickland and Duvvury (2002), women participate actively in two peace processes, namely informal activities and formal activities. In the first, women are

actively involved in activities, such as “peace marches, intergroup dialogue, and the promotion on inter-cultural tolerance and understanding” (p. 7). The scope of these activities ranges from local, national, regional, and global institutions to grassroots organizations. In the second, women participate in activities that include “conflict resolution, peace negotiations, reconciliation, infrastructure reconstruction, and provision of humanitarian aid” (p. 7). These activities are usually conducted by formal leaders and institutions, such as political leaders and governmental and non-governmental organizations. In the first type of peace processes, women’s activities are widely reported

while, in the second, their activities are not well exposed. This situation, according to

Strickland and Duvvury, indicates that women “are not usually represented among

decisionmakers and military leaders” (p. 7).

In Indonesia, women have been involved in movements against violence through

many female-led institutions (see Klute, 2001). These activities, however, are directed

more on the protection of women from violence and abuses rather than providing spaces

for women to participate actively in peacebuilding processes in vertical and horizontal

conflicts. However, according to Rampak Naong, the publication of the Madurese

Refugee Association (FK4), after the Dayak and Madurese conflict in Central Kalimantan

Province, Madurese women took an active role in the peacemaking process with informal

Dayak leaders in villages and in negotiating the returning of refugees to their homes in

the province. The use of Madurese women to negotiate peace was partly prompted by

conditions in the field. Specifically, Madurese men were still viewed with suspicion,

making it difficult for them to play roles as peace activists. This example indicates that

Indonesian women have joined the global movement to participate in peacebuilding process.

Post-conflict Reconstruction

Once a violent conflict comes to an end, either by way of mediation or mutual agreement to a cease fire, measures for reconstruction are initiated by members of the conflicting parties or by a third party. Holtzman, Elwan and Scott (1998) mentioned that this process usually commences

by supporting the transition from conflict to peace in an affected country through

the rebuilding of the country’s socioeconomic framework. Given the nature of

intrastate conflict, the formal cessation of hostilities does not necessarily signify

that the process of transition is complete, although it does represent a critical point

along this path. (p. 2)

Although the use of the term “post-conflict” is still in debate (see Barnes, 2002), the term is nonetheless relevant to my research. The goals of post-conflict reconstruction, according to the perspective of the World Bank (Holtzman, Elwan & Scott, 1998), are to assist the transition from conflict to peace and to provide assistance in the reconstruction and development of economic and social conditions. In cases where the government, societies, and economic conditions are weak, the World Bank’s post-reconstruction program is to establish “a reconstruction of the enabling conditions for a functioning

peacetime society in the economy and society and in the framework of governance and

rule of law” (p. 14).

Reconciliation efforts between the conflicting groups in Central Kalimantan

Province have been initiated by several agencies, namely the local government, the elites,

and the communities through policies, internal community reconciliation, intergroup reconciliation, and the establishment of individual mediators (Smith, 2005). Smith further recommended interventions from the World Bank to encourage the reconciliation process. These interventions are conducted through the utilization of the Kecamatan

(Subdistrict) Development Program (KDP), a program which is financed by the World

Bank. Recommended actions include the recruitment of facilitators to mediate conflict, development of intergroup projects, funding of local development projects beyond the economic and infrastructural perspectives, and efforts to protect the World Bank project staff.

Despite its comprehensive coverage of reconstruction efforts, I believe the scope of the efforts set by the World Bank is too large when applied to this study. Considering that the conflict that is the focus of this study is domestic and horizontal in nature and did not cause major disruption in national politics and stability, I preferred to approach the reconstruction efforts from a more micro perspective. I believe that, in situations of intercultural and interethnic conflict, we need to first recognize the forces that can contribute to the unity and disunity of conflicting parties. The first kind of forces are centripetal forces, a term borrowed from Bakhtin (1984) which means the forces of unity.

Centripetal forces create—or contribute to—the dynamics of unification. The second

kind of forces are centrifugal forces, a term also borrowed from Bakhtin, which refers to

the forces of difference. Centrifugal forces create—or contribute to—the dynamics of rejection. According to Bakhtin, these two forces are not equal in power. Centrifugal forces are more powerful because they reflect “the reality of actual articulation” (p. xix).

In the context of post-conflict reconstruction, centrifugal forces have more divisive power because of people’s tendency to see differences between groups.

Centripetal forces can take many forms. From an Indonesian perspective, they can be in the forms of shared identity as Indonesians, shared beliefs, and shared places of origin. Given their multicultural backgrounds, Indonesians adopt several identities simultaneously, for example as a Javanese who is a Muslim and comes from the central part of the island (or, to be specific, the city of origin). This multi-identity tendency can be exploited to establish common ground where conflicting parties can cooperate to achieve peace.

Centrifugal forces which focus on the differences between ethnic groups are far easier to identify because of the stereotypes that have built around certain ethnic groups.

However, the first phenomenon that can be used to identify these forces are what Volkan

(1988) called minor differences. According to Volkan, this phenomenon is commonly referred to in psychoanalysis as the narcism of minor differences, which operates

as a prototype of preoccupations involving two principles of sameness and

distancing in respect to enemies and allies. First, although two groups may seem

alike, they have minor differences. Second, rituals to maintain these minor

differences keep a psychological gulf between the opposing groups that absorbs

the flow of aggression, and at least in time of peace, keeps opposing groups from

killing each other. (p. 103)

The second phenomenon that I believe belongs to centrifugal forces is a concept

called trained incapacity. Trained incapacity—a concept introduced by Veblen (Tilman,

1997)—according to Burke (1935) is a “state of affairs whereby one’s very abilities can function as blindnesses” (p. 14). This concept has become one of human strengths as well as weaknesses. The production of deep knowledge in a certain thing paradoxically results in blindness when it comes to seeing other possibilities outside of traditional ways of

thinking or systems being used to generate solutions to a problem. Rosa and Machlis

(2002) stated that trained incapacity “creates unwise constraints to an enriched

understanding of people, nature, and the relationship between them” (p. 260). This

concept, among other concepts introduced and discussed in Burke’s works, plays an

important role as a tool to analyze not only different perspectives in viewing human

behaviors, but also misunderstandings that often happen between individuals or groups.

As mentioned, the concept of trained incapacity “has the great advantage of

avoiding the contemporary tendency to discuss matters of orientation by reference to

‘avoidance’ and ‘escape’” (Burke, 1935, p. 15). This concept is also helpful in analyzing

the syndrome of the stagecoach horse (whose eyes are manipulated via blinders to only

see ahead) and the emergence of conflict, be it cultural, religious, social or political. As

human beings tend to be avoiding and escapist, the discussion of the concept of trained

incapacity might be fruitful in enriching our understanding of how human beings

approach sensitive issues such as their existence, co-existence with others, and problems

surrounding them as a result of day-to-day encounters with others.

Reflecting on the concept, one can see the potential paradox associated with

knowing something. On the one hand, an individual might be well trained in analyzing a

phenomenon from a certain perspective, but ironically, he/she might also be well trained

not to see that phenomenon from other perspectives. Blinding oneself to another

possibility in approaching a problem or phenomenon has long been criticized by scholars.

Hideki Yukawa, a prominent physicist, labeled this kind of thinking “digital thinking,”

which only acknowledges “yes” and “no” as the possible outcomes of such an analysis

(Nataatmadja, 1982). De Bono’s (1970) concept of lateral thinking can be employed to

fight the tendency toward trained incapacity. The contemporary label of “thinking outside

the box” might also be considered to work in the same mode as lateral thinking.

Trained incapacity can lead to pre-determined notions about something or someone which can produce the act of stereotyping. By labeling something as negative because of misconception, one directs himself/herself to engage in avoidance and escape.

Refusing to see things or persons via another lens can make individuals resist any innovation or new ideas that might bring betterment to a society (Rogers, 2003). In addition, trained incapacity, if viewed from a cultural perspective, can result in resistance toward other cultures that also exist within a person’s social system.

The tremendous implication of trained incapacity to human social interaction and

development of ideas cannot be ignored because it also relates to how we view our world

and how our interests determine our reality. This is in accordance with Burke (1935) who

asserted that “our thoughts and acts are affected by our interests” (p. 336). Eventually

Burke’s assertion speaks out and resonates with our struggle to holistically understand the

phenomena of human communication and interaction. This, in turn, helps us build a connection between various concepts mentioned in his works through an integral

approach, especially when we relate the concept of trained incapacity to Burke’s (1969)

four master tropes—metaphor (perspective of seeing something through the lens of

something else), metonymy (reduction of complex human relationships into the simpler

realm of being), synecdoche (representation or identification), and irony (dialectic, which

covers the law and justice realms). It is argued that our ability to develop the tropes is

highly influenced by how we view the world around us. In other words, our trained

incapacity will determine how we produce perspectives, reductions, representations, and

dialectics in our efforts to make sense of the reality surrounding us. In creating a

metaphor, for example, we are subject to the cultural values that set the boundary around

which a metaphor can be grasped, spread and used by members who share similar

cultural values. Thus, people are limited by their view of the world and how they interact

with other members of their community.

Research Questions

Reflecting on the theories and literature review mentioned earlier, my research is guided by the general research question of how members of society previously in conflict negotiate their post-conflict communication. I hope to be able to formulate the answers to the research question by asking and answering the following detailed questions:

1. How do members of conflicting parties perceive the members of other ethnic

groups in a post-violent conflict situation?

2. How do members of conflicting ethnic groups negotiate the rules and conventions

underlying their post-conflict interethnic communication?

3. How are the centripetal forces (forces of unity) or centrifugal forces (forces of

difference) revealed in post-conflict interethnic communication?

4. How do the local government and lawmakers as well as ethnic organizations

promote openness in newly established communication processes and provide a

venue to solve problems that occur between members of a community? How

effective are their efforts?

5. What are the roles of non-governmental organizations in assisting the members of

the community to build trust across ethnic groups?

Summary and Conclusion

The purpose of this chapter has been to establish a theoretical framework for the research questions which were posed. The chapter began with a discussion of concepts related to personal identity and social identity. Then, the discussion focused on an

examination of the concept of ethnicity. The third section of this chapter focused on interethnic relationships and conflict emergence between (ethnic) groups. The fourth section discussed the roles of women during and after conflict as victims, combatants, and peace activists. The fifth section examined peace reconstruction processes from the perspective of the communication discipline. Finally the chapter concluded with the research questions that will guide the direction of and serve as foundation for the research that is proposed.

The next chapter describes the approach and methodology taken regarding data collection. Elaborated in the chapter are the circumstances that have led me as a researcher to choose a particular method to conduct this study, including my position as a researcher in the field. Also discussed in the chapter is the method of data analysis.

CHAPTER FOUR: METHODS

Introduction

This chapter describes the methods employed in this study. The discussion is divided into three parts. I begin with why a qualitative method and interpretive approach were appropriate for this project followed by a discussion of my position as a researcher who comes from the conflict area and the conflicting interests that I faced as both a researcher and a resident during the research. This background is crucial because it affected the design of my study and the data collection process. Finally, I describe the approach employed in the process of data analysis.

Rationale for Choosing Qualitative Method and Interpretive Approach

Qualitative methods were employed in this research. Three data collection methods commonly used in qualitative research were selected, namely interviewing, participant observation, and document analysis. Utilizing these three data collection methods provides an opportunity for triangulation of the three types of data. This triangulation offers the potential for a holistic analytical process that produces more insightful findings. The decision to employ these qualitative methods to collect data was consciously informed by several factors. First, I am heavily influenced by the philosophy of an interpretive approach to inquiry which, according to Deetz (2001), consists of ethnographic and hermeneutic methods that help to reveal how particular realities are socially produced and maintained through talk, stories, rituals, and rites. Discussing the assumptions that serve to ground this approach, Glesne (1999) stated succinctly that

Qualitative methods are generally supported by the interpretivist (also referred to

as constructivist) paradigm, which portrays a world in which reality is socially

constructed, complex and ever changing. The ontological belief for interpretivists,

therefore, is that social realities are constructed by the participants in those social

settings. To understand the nature of constructed realities, qualitative researchers

interact and talk with participants about their perceptions. The researchers seek

out the variety of perspectives; they do not try to reduce the multiple

interpretations to a norm. (p. 5)

This approach further resonates with a conviction that I share with Martin and Nakayama

(2004) that human experience is subjective, and human behavior is creative and not easily predicted.

Second, qualitative inquiry produces rich data. Rich data that I collected during the field trip allowed me to analyze and explain new phenomena that occurred in the researched area. Rich data collected through qualitative methods also enabled me to go beyond the surface much more effectively than would quantitative methods. During the field trip, I experienced that the respondents were able to express and elaborate their opinions, concerns, and hopes through the interview method. Additionally, qualitative methods provide a channel for the underprivileged to voice their silenced opinions and stances. This is especially true among the Madurese respondents who considered themselves to be in sensitive situations. Given their fragile position in the post-conflict society, some of the Madurese respondent saw me as a channel to voice their suffering as

refugees and returnees. This was further strengthened by the fact that the “true” sources of a problem (in this case, a violent conflict in Central Kalimantan Province) could not be openly expressed because, I believe, (1) universal agreement as to the source of the problem did not exist; (2) identification of any possible source involved pointing a finger

of blame at a person, group, or entity that might not share in that interpretation of the

situation; (3) acts of this nature (i.e., identification of blameworthiness) had the potential

of being viewed as attempts to re-enflame the conflict and, thus, were defined as counter-

productive to the establishment of the community; and, (4) framing of the conflict as

merely an interethnic conflict undermined the voice of others that the conflict was driven

by political and economic factors.

Third, qualitative methods allowed me as a researcher to utilize my reflexivity,

which could enrich both my personal life and my research. Reflexivity, according to

Cheney (2000), helps researchers understand the phenomenon of social life. By consciously following the research process, from the formulation of research questions to drawing conclusions, I was made aware of the whole process of interpreting social data.

In this way, I was at liberty to provide commentary concerning how I strived to understand crucial moments in the development of my relationships with the research

participants.

Fourth, my selection of qualitative methods was driven by a desire for flexibility

in understanding communication. Qualitative researchers are given enough space to adapt data collection to the situation as long as they continue to operate within the design and

scope of their research questions. Patton (2002) argued that flexibility allows the

researcher to be “open to whatever is salient to pursue” (p. 194). In other words, I could

formulate questions as I sought what made sense in my inquiry. In addition, flexibility

enabled me as a researcher to have a localized and emergent research design, which I

believed to have produced, what Deetz (2001) called as, more insightful knowledge

concerning the communication phenomena under investigation.

Fifth, in using qualitative methods, I was encouraged to utilize myself as tools.

Being born in and familiar with the situation and condition of the areas and people under

investigation, I had access to the communities because I am “one of them” to a certain

extent. Based on this, I believe that the notion of “researchers as tools” brought the consequence of self-reflection. While scholars operating from a more positivistic frame

would consider subjectivity or personal bias to be a “negative” characteristic of

qualitative inquiry, by embracing interpretive methods I would argue for the value that

exists in situated knowledge and reflexivity. I embraced Cheney’s (2000) stance that it is

important for qualitative scholars to maintain a commitment to consistent measures of

reflexivity. Glesne (1999) suggested that researchers should monitor their subjectivity.

This monitoring includes attempts not only to “increase your awareness of the ways

[subjectivity] might distort, but you also increase your awareness of its virtuous capacity”

(p. 109). This means that researchers should be aware of and utilize their own values,

attitudes, beliefs and other personal traits because all personal traits determine the

researcher’s actions. Despite Glesne’s suggestion, during the field research, I found that

monitoring my subjectivity did not come easy. Often times I was so “absorbed” in my

respondents’ narratives that I shared the pains that they had experienced, causing me to

be unable to monitor my subjectivity and to have to reject any pretenses of subjectivity.

This situation happened mostly when I talked to people whom I knew personally. In such

situations, I shared many things with them during our encounters.

Preliminary Study

Preliminary data collection occurred in December 2003-January 2004. I went to

Pangkalan Bun to conduct interviews, engage in participant observations, and conduct

document analyses. Interviews were conducted with a government official (Bupati, the regent), members of the local House of Representatives from both Dayak and Madurese ethnicities, and the chairperson of IKAMA (Ikatan Keluarga Madura, the Association of

Madurese Family). The results of the interviews with those participants varied. The

Bupati openly narrated his experience as a leader of a region during the conflict. He not

only mentioned about the interethnic conflict, but also internal frictions among the

governmental and security officials. In my interviews with the Dayak members of the

local parliament, the respondents answered all my questions openly and eagerly because

they wanted to make sure that migrants coming to Kalimantan know their place and

acknowledge the behaviors to be expected from them as “guests” in the region. A

requested interview with the Madurese member and chairperson of IKAMA, however,

did not take place. He just gave me a written speech that he presented during a peace

ceremony in Pangkalan Bun and refused to grant me an interview on the current

condition of Dayak-Madurese post-conflict communication.

During this preliminary phase of my research, I also conducted observations. I

mostly observed how the local people (Dayaks) and Madurese interacted in public places.

I was not able to engage in close observation of family life and interpersonal interactions

between Dayaks and Madurese given the limited time that I had in the field.

Nevertheless, I managed to observe the surface behaviors and interaction patterns among people from these different ethnicities and recorded as much as I could in a journal that I kept.

I also retrieved documents addressing the history of Madurese migration to the region, and official reports and position statements that were issued by the leaders of

Dayak groups in Jakarta as well as in Central Kalimantan and South Kalimantan

Provinces about the 2001 violent conflict. The documents collected included letters to the newspaper editors and seminar papers written by the leaders of the Dayak group in

Jakarta and local Madurese leaders in Pangkalan Bun.

After collecting data in Pangkalan Bun, I engaged in telephone interviews and text message conversations with several respondents in Sampit about the current situation in Sampit and the surrounding area. Participant observation could not be conducted due to time constraints. However, information from the respondents revealed the current pattern of interaction between the Dayaks and Madurese.

Situating the Identity and Self: An “Outsider Within” Perspective

As a researcher, I have a unique position within the communities being studied.

Although I share values as an Indonesian, I am different in many ways from the members

of the community. First, being a person of mixed ethnicities (Dayak and Javanese), I have

always had a problem in defining my self-identity. From elementary school until high

school, I was not certain how to complete forms or reports that asked about my ethnicity.

I do not remember what my parents told me, but I ended up writing “Banjarese” as my

ethnicity because I spoke the language and I identified myself at that time with my peers

who were Banjarese. When I moved to another neighborhood and school, I was unable to position myself within the various ethnicities of my new environment. I felt that I was

excluded by my friends when they spoke Ngaju Dayak, Madurese, or Javanese among

themselves because I did not speak those languages very well.

Second, when I moved to Banjarmasin, I became more detached from my

previous ethno-social interaction. My college friends always labeled me as a Dayak

because, in their view, I had different attitudes and values from them, most of whom were

Banjarese. Claiming Banjarmasin as my new home resulted in my viewing Sampit (my

true hometown) as a remote place that I only passed through during school breaks as I

traveled to Pangkalan Bun to visit my parents. Gradually, I lost contact with my high

school friends, except for those few who were extremely close to me. Therefore, I slowly

developed a sense of identity difference or detachment from residents of Sampit as well

as residents of Pangkalan Bun, the latter being a place where I had few memories of growing up.

Third, when the conflict occurred between the Madurese and Dayaks in the late

1990s and early 2000s, my identity as a Dayak rose, and I positioned myself as one of them. However, when I saw pictures of beheaded Madurese victims, I retreated to the detached position of my earlier identity as I questioned the acts of brutal killings perpetrated by my fellow Dayak people. Being away for so many years from Sampit and

Pangkalan Bun helped me to situate myself as an outsider and created a distance from the conflict that involved the ethnic groups that I had interacted with during my formative years.

Another difference creating a gap between my old communities and me is my experience as someone who has traveled internationally. Living and studying in the

United States has enriched my perspectives in viewing social and political phenomena in

Indonesia. I believe I have become an individual at the margin, a person who is living on the borders of several identities. I have learned to be more tolerant and to view differences as normative as well as to stop positioning my original cultural values as the best of all. All of these differences have added dimensions to my identities over time, a circumstance that supports Horowitz’s (1986) assertion that “identities are not fixed, but affirmed or changed continually” (p. 420). Furthermore, as Young (2005) succinctly put it, “time and public development/creation of a persona have had an impact on […] personal description of [one’s identity]” (p. 153). As I reflected on my own identity, I

believe experience, intercultural encounters and time have enriched my self-identity, from a rigid to tolerant person.

Considering my personal background and experiences, one can argue that I can identify with the communities being studied while, at the same time, I possess qualities that are not shared with each of those communities, especially my perspectives on self, family, and society. Nevertheless, entering the field and situating myself as an insider, according to Horowitz (1986), could be impractical and disadvantageous to the research process. I have been detached from the community for so long which might have made me lose a close perspective on the community. Instead, I chose to situate myself as an outsider (Horowitz, 1986) or, to be exact, an outsider within (Collins, 1986). The

“outsider within” research stance is a concept that originates from the Black feminist perspective. According to Collins, “outsiders within occupy a special place—they become different people, and their differences sensitize them to patterns that may be difficult for established sociological insiders to see” (p. S29). This stance, as Yoder and

Aniakudo (1997) argued, presents “a unique perspective on the events occurring within a setting because [outsiders within] perceive activities from the vantages of both nearness

(being within) and detachment (being outsiders)” (p. 326). In retrospect, I believe that, by putting myself in an outsider-within perspective, I could arguably have a distinctive characteristic due to my encounters with other people that made me different from those who came from Dayak or Madurese groups.

My stance of employing the outsider within perspective has precedence in previous studies. The outsider within perspective has been utilized in research related to a researcher’s position in marginalized or disempowered groups or between groups with unequal power (Collins, 1986 & 1999; Orbe, 1998; Washington & Harris, 2001) as reflected by the scholarly works on disempowered and marginalized people (for example, see Yoder and Aniakudo’s [1997] and Martin’s [1994] works on Black women as well as

Horowitz [1986] on Chicano gang members). Furthermore, Collins (1986) asserted that

the approach suggested by the experience of outsiders within is one where

intellectuals learn to trust their own personal and cultural biographies as

significant sources of knowledge. […]. At its best, outsider within status seems to

offer its occupants a powerful balance between the strengths of their sociological

training and the offerings of their personal and cultural experiences. (p. S29)

Although, arguably, there are advantages to the outsider position with its supposed absence of preconceptions concerning the target culture, Bridges (2001) warned that researchers who operate exclusively from an outsider position can be disempowering in their relationships with the researched, especially when they are “exploitative and disrespectful” (p. 371). Given that the ethnic conflict that occurred in Central Kalimantan

Province was between two ethnic groups of unequal power so that—at least one of them—had been marginalized, I believe the outsider within perspective was more beneficial as it could bridge the chasm due to my absence of living and interacting with the society being studied for a long time. In addition, I utilized my ethno-social

background, education, and life experience as a vessel to enter the field and to conduct

the research.

Reentering the Field

Given my advantage as a person born in Central Kalimantan, I expected that I

would not have difficulty approaching the Dayaks for interviews and other sources of

information based on a previous experience in 2003 when I interviewed several Dayaks.

However, I predicted that it would take more effort to gain access to the Madurese

because they were still suspicious of people asking about the 2001 conflict. I had this

experience when I conducted my preliminary study in Pangkalan Bun in 2003. A

Madurese leader whom I wanted to interview politely rejected my request, instead

providing me with a copy of a speech that he had delivered at a peace making ceremony in Pangkalan Bun the previous year. He indicated that all the information I needed was

addressed within his speech.

I specifically targeted my research in three cities—Sampit, Palangka Raya, and

Pangkalan Bun—because these three cities represented three unique situations during and after the conflict. Sampit as the epicenter of the conflict was completely devastated and had been predicted by many to be resistant to recovery. The coming of the Madurese returnees to this city provided very rich opportunities to study how members of Dayak and Madurese groups initiated their interaction. Palangka Raya was chosen because I wanted to see how political struggle and community’s perceptions affected the initiated interaction between members of both groups in the center of local politics and

government. Finally, I chose Pangkalan Bun because of its role as the last safe haven for

Madurese in the Central Kalimantan Province during the conflict. As the Madurese were

not completely expelled from Pangkalan Bun, I found it interesting to see if the

interaction patterns between members of both ethnic groups in Pangkalan Bun differed

from those in the other two cities.

When I arrived in Pangkalan Bun, I had to face the reality that a Madurese would not speak unless they had a kind of guarantee that I would not jeopardize their delicate

position in the region. My mother, who is a member of the local parliament, had a

colleague who was able to connect me with the Madurese. This colleague of hers, named

Mr. Burhan, is a local MP from Partai Keadilan Sejahtera (PKS) and a respected young

ulama (Islamic religious leader). Through his connections with his Madurese acquaintances and members of his Islamic congregation, I could obtain a pass to meet and talk to them. This pass worked very well. When calling Madurese participants for interviews, I just told them that I obtained their names and numbers from the MP, and based on his recommendation, I would like to talk to them. Reassured that I was safe to talk to, they opened up and provided me crucial information about their well being and problems that they still faced during the post-conflict situation.

One time I diverged from this method of meeting a participant. I asked a relative

of mine to connect me with a Madurese friend of his. He persuaded his friend to talk to

me. However, when the interview took place, I was surrounded by the participant’s male

family members and neighbors. It was no longer a one-on-one interview but a group

interview. Several times during the course of the interview, a member of the group would raise a question as to the purpose of the interview. I had to pause several times to reassure everyone present that the interview was for my doctoral dissertation only and that others would not have access to the content of the interview. Despite all my efforts, the interview did not go very well because most of my questions were either answered in only a few words or deliberately ignored. In retrospect, I believe this group interview reflected the dynamics of the society where suspicion was still intact. I completely understand their inconvenience. Positioned as lower class of the society, hard labor workers whose voices were considered by many as insignificant, the interview might have frightened them. In addition, although not verbally expressed, they might have viewed the interview session as threatening to their wellbeing in the fragile post-conflict situation as members of an ethnic group that just started to live again in a once-hostile environment.

Prior to coming to Sampit, I contacted my high school friends, telling them that I would be in town for several weeks. Upon arrival in Sampit, I contacted a potential

Dayak participant based on a recommendation from my contact in Pangkalan Bun. With his help, I contacted a Dayak youth leader who happened to be my senior in high school.

After intensive contact, he invited me to a meeting of Dayak people to prepare the resolution and political measures to establish a new province called Kotawaringin Raya, separated from Central Kalimantan Province. At this meeting, I asked several meeting participants to be respondents for my research. They agreed to my request, and we then

scheduled interview times and places. From these first respondents, I gained information about other people who might be approached about participating in my research.

As with the Madurese respondents, based on information from one of my high school friends, I managed to locate Rohim, a Madurese friend of mine whom I mentioned in Chapter 1. We had thought that he had died during the bloody conflict. Meeting him brought joy to me and my other friends who had lost contact with him. Given his position as a Madurese youth leader, I asked him to help me interview the prominent leader of

Madurese community. With his help, I was able to interview the leader. Given the suspicious nature of newly returned Madurese refugees, I recruited Rohim as my research assistant and asked him to interview Madurese respondents. This measure was inevitable because many Madurese in Sampit would not talk openly when a non-Madurese was present during an Interview.

After completing the research in Sampit which included interview, observation, and interviews, I traveled to Palangka Raya, the capital of Central Kalimantan Province, to meet a respondent whom I had contacted earlier based on the recommendation of a

Dayak respondent in Pangkalan Bun. Having interviewed the respondent, I traveled to

Banjarmasin, the capital of South Kalimantan Province, to interview a Dayak scholar.

However, I was not able to meet him due to his busy schedule of traveling. Then I returned to Pangkalan Bun to continue my incomplete effort of document collection. For the Madurese respondents in Pangkalan Bun, I initially did not prepare financial compensation for the interviews. However, after all interviews were conducted, I was

requested by Mr. Burhan, the contact who connected me with the Madurese respondents,

to provide such financial compensation to the respondents. Not all of the Madurese

respondents accepted the money because they told me that they were glad to help me

reveal their voices. In Sampit, I provided financial compensation for the Madurese

respondents that my research assistant interviewed. In terms of the amount, the money

was insignificant. This financial compensation was called “uang rokok” (money to buy cigarettes) as a customary form of appreciation in Indonesia for those who offer help. For the Dayak respondents in Pangkalan Bun and Sampit, I did not provide any compensation at all, except “uang rokok” for one Dayak respondent in Palangka Raya.

Data Collection Methods

Participant Observation

As a method of collecting data in qualitative inquiry, observation plays a major role in ethnography, especially in uncovering the behaviors of the individuals of interest

(Wiseman & Aaron, 2001a). This type of data collection is also crucial in capturing the reality perceived by observers or researchers. One method in recording the observed phenomena is thick description, a term introduced by Gilbert Riley and revived by Geertz

(1973). The Geertzian approach to this method provides a way to analyze an anthropological context using detailed description. This painstaking effort to focus on meanings and interpretations, according to Spillman (2002), highlights Geertz’s claim about the distinctive and difficult nature of studying culture. In addition, this method

“requires not only breadth of culture but an eye for juxtaposition and a gift of daring

synthesis” (Blackburn, 1997, p. 137). Coming back for research to places where I grew up, I found no cultural inhibition in employing this method and in trying to make sense of the respondents’ behaviors.

Patton (2002) defined thick description as a way to understand and interpret the meanings and significance of the phenomenon being studied through “rich, detailed and concrete description of people” (p. 438). The characteristics of thick description as detailed and rich are also emphasized by Levine (1998) who asserted that thick description attempts to describe captured realities by placing them in the context where they occur. This act of thickening, according to Levine, also gives the descriptions ethical content. Further, using the lens of interpretive studies, Denzin (1989) defined thick description as “deep, dense, and detailed accounts of problematic experiences” (p. 83) which capture meanings and experiences of the problematic lives. As not all descriptions can be labeled thick, a set boundary is established to classify whether or not a description is thick. Denzin (1989) asserted that a description is thick when it possesses the following four characteristics: (1) provides contextual background of act; (2) elaborates the

“intentions and meanings” which set the act; (3) maps out the “evolution and development of the act”; and (4) presents the action as interpretable texts (p. 33).

In terms of its observational perspective, utilizing Patton’s (2002) dimensions of perspective (p. 277), my research fell into the following variation: (1) my role was as an onlooker observer (spectator); (2) the outsider (etic) perspective was dominant; (3) I became a solo researcher; (4) my observation was covert (no disclosure) to the observed

people; (5) I did a short, single observation; and (6) the focus of observation was narrow,

only on single elements of interaction behaviors. In terms of types, using Denzin’s (1989)

typology of thick description, the participant observation employed in this research

comprised two types of thick description: situational and interactional. I used the first to

observe the act of depicting objects in their physical situation and the second to focus on

the interactions between people under observation.

Given the potential for rich data collection, the participant observation method

allowed me to observe the behaviors of research participants in their natural settings. In

addition, this method also enabled me to look beyond the participants by observing the

behaviors of common people in public settings. Combining these two types of

observation, I was able to compare whether the participants’ behaviors reflected the

general behavior of the society, in this case each ethnic group. I hardly found any challenges or problems in observing both the participants and public because it was

covert. I intentionally chose not to disclose my observation because I sought to see how

the observed acted in their everyday life. The observation took place in the local markets

where many ethnic groups met, in places where I was with groups containing sole or

mixed ethnicities, and participants’ residential areas where they interacted with their

neighbors during the interviews. Given the cross-sectional nature of my research, it was not possible for me to observe the participants and societies in a longitudinal manner as time did not permit me to do so.

Interview

Dealing with people’s behaviors, observation has its limitation in revealing what

is inside the human mind, especially investigating the psychological states of the subjects

of study and recalling behaviors in certain times and spaces. Due to the limitation, the

interview became a handy tool in collecting more in-depth data about subjects of research

in order to “find out from them those things that we cannot directly observe” (Patton,

2002, p. 340). Through interviews, according to Patton, researchers can see things from

other people’s perspectives. Using in-depth interviewing, researchers employ “an

egalitarian approach to interviewing which develops research relationships and rapport

with participants by focusing on the participant’s experiences from their own

perspective” (Beale, Cole, Hillege, McMaster, & Nagy, 2004, p. 141). The two assertions

were true when I was doing the fieldwork. As suggested by several scholars, I also paid

attention to factors, which influenced the interview process such as culture, place and

means of interview, age of interviewees, and tools for interview.

Glesne (1999) defined interviews as oral exchanges that occur “between at least

two persons, but other possibilities include one or more interviewers and one or more interviewees” (p. 67). She further explicated that a good interview should be anticipatory, alert to establish rapport, naïve, analytic, non-directive and therapeutic, aware of status differences, and patiently probing. Further, Denzin (2001) stated that the interview can function as a narrative device which enables participants in a research project to tell

stories about themselves and to share their experiences (see also Wiseman & Aaron,

2001b). In other words, he asserted that the interview is “a way of writing the world, a

way of bringing the world into play” (p. 25). Retrospectively, this positioning enabled me

as a researcher to provide opportunities for the participants to tell their stories in their

own words.

Before interviewers start collecting data through interviews, Schamberger (1997) claimed that they need to possess certain skills that are related to the objectivity, validity and reliability of the interview. He mentioned that objectivity emphasizes the attitude of

the interviewer toward fairness and honesty when conducting an interview. Reliability,

according to Schamberger, deals with “the procedures (such as measuring instruments or

the methods or techniques used in a study) or the results of research studies” (p. 7).

Finally, in addressing validity, researchers should attempt to produce accurate findings or

meet their purpose of study. Given my training in qualitative methodology, in retrospect,

I was made aware of the objectivity, validity, and reliability of the interview.

Nevertheless, during the interview I decided not to imprison my liberty and flexibility in

gaining information from my respondent with these issues in mind. I feared that I would

miss crucial information from my respondents and undermined the importance of my

respondents’ personal narratives due to my conscious efforts to have an objective, valid,

and reliable interview.

In terms of the application approach toward interviews, I followed Patton’s (2002)

three types of qualitative interviewing, namely the informal conversational interview, the

general interview guide approach, and the standardized open-ended interview. I had

prepared an interview protocol that was structured around five broad domains. Because my study focused on aspects that lent to post-conflict communication, I chose to concentrate on the domains of family, identity expressions, cultural practices, religious practices and issues, and social interaction before, during, and after conflict (see

Appendix E). This interview protocol was designed to be as flexible as possible to allow emergent findings and created fluidity during the conversation.

In conducting interviews, Hiller and DiLuzio (2004) described three different

approaches which result in different perspectives on utilizing interviews. The first is the

traditional perspective in which the interviewer functions as the main instrument in the

research. I employed this perspective with participants who tended to provide short

answers to my interview questions. I had to be active in order to acquire further

information. Second is the constructivist perspective which highlights “the dialogic

nature of the interview and the mutuality of the research experience” (Hiller & DiLuzio,

p. 3). This perspective positions the interview as a conversational process between the

interviewer and his/her interviewees. This perspective was employed when I interviewed

scholar participants. The interview usually became much more dialogic because the participants provided scholarly insights to the questions being asked. The third is the

activist perspective which provides a channel for the interviewees to voice their silence

born of marginalization processes, oppression measures, and other factors. I utilized this perspective with participants who had undergone traumatizing experiences because of the

conflict and had become marginalized during the post-conflict time. I situated myself as a

channel for them to voice their feelings and concerns about the frustration that they still felt.

Given the possibility of conducting research in a culturally different setting, scholars suggest that researchers acknowledge the locally existing culture. Kapborg and

Berterö (2002) warned that “cultural factors affect the interview situation” (p. 53). Not only is the cultural understanding crucial, but it also smoothes the way for researchers to interact and communicate with the interviewees. Being a person familiar with Madurese and local cultures, I had an advantage to approach the participants according to their cultural values. In addition, by recruiting a Madurese research assistant, I could gain access to information that might not be available had I tried to conduct all interviews myself.

Another factor that should be taken into consideration is the place of the interview. Elwood and Martin (2000) assert the importance of location as a factor that influences whether an interview can be conducted in a smooth manner. They further explicated that recognizing the significance of interview sites is crucial in the research process “as part of creating a feasible and effective research plan, understanding power relations between researchers and research subjects, addressing ethical considerations and dilemmas that may arise, and gaining insights into fundamental questions of the research”

(p. 656). Based on this caution, I conducted the interviews in participants’ residences to put them a familiar setting where they felt safe to express their opinion.

The final factor to consider is that of the tools for interview and data analysis.

Murray (2003) stated that researchers should make field notes, personal reflections and transcripts of all interviews to ensure the data is analyzed systematically and smoothly.

As researchers sometimes have to deal with the emotional and physical impact from interviewing people, deriving from other scholars, Beale et al. (2004) suggested that researchers have “field notes and reflexive journals or diaries […] to reflect on their own feelings and values, detect transference and counter transference and to stimulate critical

thinking” (p. 143). During the time of research, I maintained a research journal. The

journal contained my reflections after an interview was concluded. This research journal

also included my daily activities during the field trip, my observation on the life quality

of the respondents, my participant observation data as well as notations concerning non-

verbal behaviors expressed by the participants. Every evening, I added a new entry to my

journal by transferring all information in my notebook to my computer. I finally managed

to produce twenty-five single-spaced pages of journal containing additional information

to complement my interview data.

In finding interviewees, I used different approaches for Madurese and Dayaks in

Pangkalan Bun, Sampit, and Palangka Raya. To approach the Madurese potential

interviewees in Pangkalan Bun and Sampit, I approached the leaders of the ethnic group

first to gain access to the community. Being the new returnees from the refugee camps in

Java, the Madurese tended to be suspicious to anyone asking questions about the conflict.

Therefore, given the circumstance, I first contacted and interviewed the leaders who later

could tell their people that it was safe to talk to me. Despite the fact that Pangkalan Bun is not my hometown nor did I have any close friends in this community, I had the privilege to have a mother who is a member of local parliament. Despite her connection with the local government apparatus, I deliberately chose not to include the officials as my sources. I held to this position because I wished to hear the voice of common people in Pangkalan Bun (as well as in Sampit and Palangka Raya) and to avoid “high status” rhetoric which only produced low reality (Reed, 2000) that did not reflect real situations faced by common people.

Since my mother has been working for the people of Kotawaringin Barat

Regency, she knew a person who might become an entry point for me to interview the

Madurese. Therefore, I asked my mother to help me identify an individual who worked with the Madurese. This person happened to be my mother’s colleague in the local parliament, Mr. Burhan. My mother introduced me to him. After explaining the focus of my research, he agreed to introduce me to several potential Madurese respondents. I was also given a list of potential Madurese candidates that I could contact on my own. Using my connection with him and utilizing his status among the Madurese community, I successfully contacted other Madurese to be my respondents. Only once did I violate this approach by directly interviewing a group of three Madurese who were my uncle’s friends. The interview admittedly did not run well because of their insecurity over my intention despite my explanation that I had interviewed several Madurese leaders before.

In finding Dayak respondents in Pangkalan Bun, I was also greatly helped by my

mother. I was introduced to several Dayaks who were willing to participate in my

research. As I did not need any clearance to talk to them, contacting and interviewing the

Dayaks was less difficult. After concluding an interview, I usually asked a Dayak

respondent about any acquaintances who might be willing to participate in my research.

The respondent usually provided me with names and telephone numbers of other potential respondents that I could contact on my own. When calling the potential respondents, I introduced myself and mentioned from whom I obtained their names and phone numbers. Then I would ask if they were willing to be an informant. As they knew the person who gave their phone numbers, most of them agreed to participate.

Finding Madurese to be respondents for this research in Sampit, however, was difficult. I was unable to personally contact them because they were more closed than those in Pangkalan Bun were. Instead, I recruited a Madurese friend of mine as a “key informant” and as a person to conduct the interviews for me. Due to his Madurese ethnicity, he could easily gain access to other Madurese, who mostly worked in informal sectors, for interviewing purposes. Using him as an assistant, I could personally interview a Madurese leader who was in charge of the Madurese refugees in the refugee camps.

This person was also responsible for returning the refugees to Central Kalimantan. As it was not possible for me to talk directly to other Madurese, I let my assistant interview respondents who represented the Madurese community in Sampit based on age, education, occupation, and their whereabouts during the conflict. This strategy was

employed to allow the respondents to voice their concerns as honestly as possible with a fellow Madurese. I believed my presence during the interview would discourage productive and open interviews.

As with the Dayaks in Pangkalan Bun, Sampit, and Palangka Raya, I utilized

“snowball” or “network” techniques for “locating information-rich informants or critical cases” (Patton, 2002, p. 237). Given the network that interviewees had, I could contact and interview other participants based on their recommendation. This technique proved to be useful because I believed I could talk to the right people. Only one participant was not in this sampling because I met him accidentally. This participant happened to be my high school friend who was a former Dayak warrior and witnessed the massacre of the

Madurese as he lived near the execution place. Although the information he provided was invaluable, I decided later that I would not be able to present all of his account in my findings. His vivid descriptions of gruesome situations during the conflict made me uncomfortable and created a disturbing experience for me as a researcher. Upon returning to my hotel, I immediately transferred the interview notes to my computer. During this process, I was shaken and kept imagining the terror that the Madurese victims must have felt during their execution. I was physically and emotionally drained because of this interview, an experience that I had never had before nor would be repeated with other respondents. Given the content of this interview and its effect on me, I decided that his account of the violence was not to be included in the findings because of the degree of brutality described in his personal narrative. Instead, I focused my attention only on his

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views regarding post-conflict interaction and his experience during post conflict period.

Being a former Dayak warrior, he had a unique personal view on and interesting

experience with the issue because he changed drastically during and after conflict, from

being an enemy to being a protector of Madurese people.

As with other Dayak participants, I found them to be more varied than the

Madurese in terms of their occupation and educational backgrounds. Many of them were college graduates and worked as government officials and in private sectors. Apart from their professions, several of the participants held positions in the community as religious leaders, political figures, activists, scholars, and youth leaders. This information was found later during the interview. I had not realized the occupational and educational backgrounds of my Dayak participants until demographic information was revealed in the initial part of the interview.

All of the interviews were mostly conducted individually except for one case

when I interviewed a Madurese who was accompanied by his friends. With the exception

of two respondents (1 Dayak and 1 Madurese) during my preliminary study in December

2003, during the course of ten weeks of research in summer 2006, I managed to interview

a total of 47 respondents (28 Madurese and 19 Dayaks). The total respondents consisted

of 41 men and 6 women. All the Madurese respondents were Muslims. The Dayak

respondents consisted of 12 Muslims, 6 Christians, and 1 adherent of Kaharingan belief.

The interviews in this study lasted between 45 and 90 minutes. Most of them were tape- recorded; however, several respondents did ask that the interview not be tape-recorded

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for the sake of their security. Before the interview, I asked the respondents whether they

would like to use their real names or pseudonyms. The majority of the respondents chose

to use pseudonyms to protect their real identity for security reasons.

Document Collection

Given the need to have access to legal documents, reports, and publications

related to conflict and post-conflict reconstruction, I collected as many written sources as

possible. I realized the importance of document analysis because, as Patton (2002) clearly

stated, “documents prove valuable not only because of what can be learned directly from

them but also as stimulus for paths of inquiry that can be pursued only through direct

observation and interviewing” (p. 295). Altheide (2000) further asserted that document analysis is aimed at focusing on discovering and describing events with the intention of finding “meanings, patterns, and processes” (p. 290). With the availability of document, I could further smooth the process of data collection and data triangulation. In addition,

data in the collected documents helped me formulate additional questions during the

interviews as I found out that the questions that I had prepared were not sufficient to dig

for more information from my respondents. Being well informed due to the documents, I

was able to pursue details on certain issues. In other words, equipping myself with

information from written sources, I was able to ask the participants about issues not

covered in my prepared interview questions.

Locating documents after five years of conflict was initially a difficult task in

order to seek out “how and why the documents were produced” (Patton, 2002, p. 499).

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However, I was fortunate because several of the respondents kept documents and reports

produced by leaders of both conflicting ethnic groups. Some of these documents were

rare because they were produced for limited circulation and not for public consumption.

Through a participant who was a high government official, I was granted access to

photocopy legal documents produced by the government during and after the conflict. As

a result, I could collected thousands pages of reports, legal documents, statements,

conference minutes, newspaper clippings, and statistics. Although not all written documents were relevant to my research, several documents were meaningful for me, especially those that contained statistics, a group’s position statement, newspaper clippings about the conflict in chronological order, reports from investigating teams, and analyses by Indonesian scholars and political leaders.

Data Analysis

Data analysis in qualitative research, according to Bryman and Burgess (1994), is

“continuous in that it interweaves with other aspects of the research process” (p. 218).

This further emphasized what Knafl and Webster (1988) stated, that “qualitative data are important as a means to an end” (p. 18). Despite these assertions, after returning from the field, I was overwhelmed by the amount of data that I collected. I deliberately took a distance from my data, letting my experiences sink in for a while as I strived to work on the revisions of the beginning chapters of this dissertation and the chapters that focused on data analysis. Distancing myself eventually brought a positive effect. I realized that I could finally approach the data with a fresh mind in order to determine the rigor of the

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research by constant reflection on the rich data. I could finally manage the data appropriately to obtain a holistic view of the issues being studied. In addition, while distancing from the data, I could find tools to analyze that data. In the application of the

theoretical perspective, the interview data of this research was analyzed by following

Miles and Huberman’s (1984) three stages of analysis method: data reduction, data

display, and conclusion drawing (see also Appleton, 1995).

In data reduction or sensitization (Knafl & Howard, 1984; Knafl & Webster,

1988; see also Riessman, 1993), the data was selected, simplified, abstracted and

transformed to be manageable and meaningful based on the respondents’ narratives. My

non tape-recorded data was transferred to word processor after each interview was

concluded. Several times when recording was not possible due to circumstances and

respondents’ reluctance to have their words apprehended in that way, I went directly

home after the interview and recalled all information based on my memory and notes

until all memorized data were exhaustedly recorded into my computer. The tape-recorded

interview data, on the other hand, was transcribed in Banjarmasin with the help of eight

undergraduate students of PGRI School of Education that I recruited to work on 18

interview tapes. I deliberately chose to have the data transcribed because I believed I could save time and could directly work on the data analysis upon my return to the

United States. Prior to the transcribing process, I provided a short training for the transcribers. During the training, I asked them to not only transcribe the verbal exchanges, but also note the nonverbal expressions, for examples intonation, emphasis,

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and laughter. During the transcribing process, the transcribers consistently contacted me

via telephone to consult when they had problems and/or to report their progress. The final product of the transcribing process was admittedly far from perfect, but at least most of the verbal exchanges had been transcribed.

As “analysis cannot be easily distinguished from transcription” (Riessman, 1993, p. 60), I then checked the accuracy of the transcription by listening to the tape while taking notes on changes of respondents’ intonation. After listening to the tapes several

times, checking the transcription, and making necessary corrections, I compared the

transcribed data with the information that I had in my research journal. This measure was

taken to familiarize myself with the data and with the interpretive practice as well as to

produce more comprehensive and complete data.

The next step in the data reduction or sensitization was to analyze the grouped

data critically by coding them, which “comes to constitute an important part of the

analysis” (Weston et al., 2001, p. 397). The aim of this step is to produce systematic

themes and issues from the interview data (Burnard, 1991). Following strategies provided

by Nelson (1989), I started the process by reading through each transcript independently

to obtain a sense of emerging themes. Then I arranged a tentative list of thematic topics

based on the topic of questions being asked and a respondent’ replies which needed to be

categorized into separate thematic topics. After establishing the thematic topics for each

respondent’s interview transcript, I continued with a correlating process, namely crosschecking and examining overlapping themes thematic topics found in all

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respondents’ interview transcripts. Then, I treated these thematic topics as subthemes. As

I analyzed many of the subthemes, several major themes emerged. These correlative major themes functioned as umbrellas under which subthemes could be meaningfully categorized. Based on the analysis, four correlative major themes emerged. The major themes are: (1) identity, (2) the role of women during and after conflict, (3) post-conflict remaining problems, and (4) post-conflict communication. Each theme had several subthemes to provide more detail information.

Since the interviews were conducted in Indonesian and local languages, in the data display the transcribed data were translated into English. The translated narratives were presented in a form similar to that of the original (Indonesian) and discussed by following specific categorization. Knafl and Howard (1984) state that “presenting and discussing specific results in the context of their theoretical relevance demonstrates how conceptual formulations are grounded in the data” (p. 23). Therefore, by referring to theories, the data were displayed by presenting the four major emerging themes, each had subthemes to provide details. By providing subthemes, I hoped the presentation of data would be more organized. Finally, in conclusion drawing, I drew the gist of the presented narratives by rechecking the accuracy of conclusion based on the themes and presented data.

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Summary and Conclusion

The purpose of this chapter has been to describe the methods and approach employed in the data collection process. I have explicated my position as an outsider- within and mentioned challenges that I faced while conducting the research. I have also justified the use of qualitative methods and an interpretive approach in this study and the use of three qualitative data collection methods: interviewing, participant observation, and document analysis. This chapter concluded with the methods and techniques of data analysis.

In the next chapter, I will present the results of my research efforts. As mentioned before, many of the respondents used pseudonyms for security purposes while the others chose to use their real names. The narratives presented are the English translation of the original accounts in Indonesian and local languages. Gentzler (1993) warned that “all rewritings, whatever their intention, reflect a certain ideology and a poetics and as such manipulate literature to function in a given society in a given way” (p. ix). Given the importance of the respondents’ voice, I have consciously put the warning in mind and worked to find the closest expression in English translation to match the original narratives.

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CHAPTER FIVE: RESEARCH FINDINGS

Introduction

This chapter presents the findings of the research. The results of the participant

observation are presented first, followed by the demographic changes in the Central

Kalimantan region, especially that of Kotawaringin Timur and Kotawaringin Barat

Regencies as the epicenters of the 2001 interethnic conflict. Then, I present the results of

the interviews, divided into four themes: identity, the role of women during and after the

conflict, post-conflict remaining problems, and post-conflict communication in

Kalimantan.

Observation

Upon arriving in Central Kalimantan, the first things I noticed were the changes

apparent in many parts of the province. The surface observation revealed that the region

had changed a lot in terms of administration and infrastructure, and its people have moved forward despite the scars of the conflict, such as remains of burned buildings, quite visible everywhere. One of the administrative changes was the administrative fragmentation (pemekaran) of the province. This occurred especially in several regencies

in the province that were deemed to be administratively too wide so that, based on

people’s demands and political moves, the regencies underwent pemekaran. For example,

Kotawaringin Barat regency was divided into three regencies: new Lamandau and

Sukamara regencies, and the existing Kotawaringin Barat. At the borders between the

regencies, new administrative regions proudly showed their regencies’ welcome signs on

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the entry and exit road gates as well as billboards displaying slogans and giant photographs of their regents (Bupati).

Besides the visual images everywhere, other changes resulting from the

pemekaran were the development of the infrastructure with respect, for example, to roads

and telecommunication facilities. As I traveled throughout the province by bus, especially

along the road that connects many parts of the province, I readily experienced the drastic

change. New regencies, being autonomous in managing their increased portion of

developmental funds, have developed their regions in order to keep pace with the old,

established regencies and compete with other regencies so as to attract investors.

Consequently, development in roads and the telecommunication sector has become a

must. Three years ago, road conditions were terrible but, now, are a lot better. While it

was almost impossible to call anyone anywhere when you were in the heart of the

province three years ago, now I could text message my wife in Athens, Ohio from a car

that was traveling through remote places in the province.

I began my research in Pangkalan Bun, the capital of Kotawaringin Barat

Regency, which five years ago became one of the exit ports for transporting Madurese

refugees out from the province. Given the harsh measures taken by the security forces

and the government in this regency to manage the conflict in 2001, the destruction of

physical and social structures was minimal. Therefore, the social recovery process in this

regency was faster than that in other regencies. Interethnic communication between the

conflicting parties was no different than the communication that had existed before the

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conflict. In the market, for example, people from different ethnicities leisurely engaged in

transactions in their native languages.

The freedom to express one’s cultural background through language was also

visible in Pangkalan Bun. Everywhere I went, Madurese openly conversed in their native

language just like other ethnic groups, such as Javanese and Banjarese, living in the

regency did. Several motorcycle taxi drivers who happened to be Madurese formed a

distinctive group in which they could be identified as Madurese without having to

disguise their ethnic physical appearance or linguistic characteristics in public places.

The economic situation looked as if the conflict had not occurred. The Madurese vendors, who have always been the driving force in the economic sector, participated fully in helping to develop the regency’s healthy economic condition. Nevertheless, blue

collar occupations which used to be the typical jobs of the Madurese were no longer

theirs because they had to compete for those jobs with workers from other ethnicities,

including Dayaks (who used to be reluctant to take such jobs) and Banjarese migrants.

This situation, I believe, was driven by economic decline that forced non-Madurese to take these jobs. In addition, employment opportunities in other economic sectors had become scarcer.

In terms of social and political conditions, the situation fluctuated across time,

especially during the first direct election of Bupati (Regent) for the Kotawaringin Barat

Regency. When the political tension subsided, the situation began to return to normal as the new regent initiated his administrative work. Unlike other ethnic groups (such as

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Dayak, Javanese, and Banjarese) who were active in local politics, the Madurese seemed

to be invisible in the political arena. The only Madurese political figure I saw was

someone I had met three years previously during my preliminary research in 2003. No

new prominent figures were in evidence.

As I continued my research, I traveled to Sampit, the capital of Kotawaringin

Timur Regency where the first major violence erupted in 2001. I reunited with high

school friends; one of them was a Madurese who, as I noted earlier, my other friends and

I thought had been killed during the first major Dayak attack in the early days of conflict

in February 2001. It was a wonderful opportunity for me to listen to my friends’ stories

concerning their experiences during and after the conflict. In my observation, on the

surface Sampit had changed a lot and had begun to recover from the bloody conflict as

compared with the conditions I had witnessed during my previous visits following the

conflict. The economic wheel appeared to be running normally and the economy was

healthier than the last time I was there. The people had recently conducted their first

direct election for Bupati (Regent) of Kotawaringin Timur. The political situation could not yet be characterized as “normal.” The previous regent had been reelected for a second term. Political hostility could be felt in the air but had begun to fade by the time I left

Indonesia as the competing local political leaders made a public display of peace.

Having a strategic location, Sampit was chosen as the center of the struggle to

establish a new province called “Kotawaringin Raya.” I was lucky to be invited to one of

the meetings held by local leaders to pursue this political objective. At that meeting, I met

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several individuals who played a major role during and after the conflict. They would

later grant me interviews about their views concerning the current state of interethnic

relationships between the Dayaks and the Madurese.

In contrast with the open interethnic relationships in Pangkalan Bun, interethnic

relationships in Sampit appeared to still be strained. In public places, as I observed, the

Madurese did not converse in their native language. Many of the Dayaks and Madurese

seemed to maintain a social distance from each other. This indicated that the wounds

from the violent conflict have not yet been healed although five years have passed since the eruption of violence in 2001. Observing the current situation in Sampit helped me

formulate additional questions for my interviews as I started to travel around the city to

meet research participants.

One day, I was taking shelter in a hotel veranda from a pouring rain storm on my

way home from an interview. The hotel, called Hotel Rama, was famous during the

conflict because it functioned as the Dayaks’ headquarters and execution place for the

Madurese in Sampit. There, I accidentally met a high school friend of mine. Through his

narrative, I obtained a first hand account of what happened in the hotel area. As one of

the Dayak warriors, he witnessed much of the killing of Madurese. He showed me around

and invited me to stay in the hotel so he and I could talk more about the violence. I

politely rejected his invitation because I did not feel comfortable staying at what used to

be a killing zone.

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After concluding my research in Sampit, I traveled to Palangka Raya, the capital

of Central Kalimantan Province. Here I met an academician whose research was in line

with mine but who was operating from a different perspective in explaining the post-

conflict phenomenon in the province. Despite my previous observation that no Madurese

was to be seen in town, I was told that Madurese were slowly and quietly returning to the

capital city of the province. They had started to resume the jobs that they had left,

particularly in informal sectors, such as farming. However, the only Madurese who were visible were women in the market who engaged in vegetable trading and other vending activities.

Demographic Changes

The conflict changed the demography of central Kalimantan Province, especially

Kotawaringin Timur and Kotawaringin Barat regencies. In Kotawaringin Timur, the

population in 2000 was 521,287 while the population projection in the regency in 2005

was 600,800 in 2005 (Badan Pusat Statistik Kabupaten Kotawaringin Timur & Badan

Perencana Pembangunan Daerah Kabupaten Kotawaringin Timur, 2000). Calculating

only the districts still under the regency after pemekaran, the 2000 population was

308,532 (Badan Pusat Statistik Kabupaten Kotawaringin Timur & Badan Perencana

Pembangunan Daerah Kabupaten Kotawaringin Timur). The population in July 2005 was

300,463 and in December 2005 was 305,067 (Badan Pusat Statistik, 2005b). As this data

shows, the population decreased for a while after the conflict but has increased as time

has passed although the 2005 population was still short of the number present in 2000

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and is less than had been projected (which was partly due to the administrative fragmentation/pemekaran).

In Kotawaringin Barat, however, the population did not change as radically as

was true in Kotawaringin Barat. In 2000, the population of this Regency (calculating only

the districts that are in its administrative coverage) was 170,577. In 2001, the population

decreased to 166,488 but gradually increased to 170,094 in 2002, 188,514 in 2003, and

198,367 in 2004 (Badan Pusat Statistik, 2005a). These statistics show that the population

of this regency did not fluctuate despite the 2001 conflict.

The following section discusses the results of interview data collection. Based on

an analysis of the data, four topics or themes were identified as useful in organizing the discussion. Those topics are: (1) identity, (2) the role of women during and after the violent conflict, (3) post-conflict remaining problems, and (4) post-conflict communication in Kalimantan.

Identity

Questions about identity played a fundamental role in capturing the respondents’

perceptions of their sense of self before, during, and after the eruption of violence. Sen

(2006) has argued that, in situations marked by violence, identity needs to be treated in a much more complex manner than is traditionally true. He noted that there is an unfortunate tendency to adopt a “solitarist” approach to human identity that results in our reducing identity to a single dimension, often based on either religion or ethnicity. In the

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prologue to his book, Sen exclaimed “a solitarist approach can be a good way of

misunderstanding nearly everyone in the world” (p. xii).

In this research, questions concerning identity in general and membership in an

ethnic group, in particular, at times surprised respondents, apparently because this was

not an issue they had previously considered. Many respondents appeared to take their

identity for granted, never asking themselves how it felt to be a member of a particular

ethnic or religious group or an Indonesian. In the following section, respondents’ senses

of their identity are explored, beginning with Madurese respondents then moving to

Dayaks interviewees.

Being a Madurese

During the course of the interviews, I realized that questions regarding identity

were considered by several Madurese respondents to be among the most difficult

questions to address. I assumed that the respondents felt this way because they did not

normally think about the concept of identity. Siti, a 34-year businesswoman who was a

food vendor, mentioned that she was confused about her identity, especially because of

differences in what she versus others perceived. She openly claimed that she was a

Madurese born in Kalimantan. However, when she was in Madura, she was called a

Dayak by others, an identity that she feared would cause her harm in the refugee settlement.

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The confusion about identity is not exclusively felt by Siti. Thirty-five year old

Ismail, a Madurese who was not born in Madura, also gave voice to this confusion in the following:

R: If anyone asked you who you are, how would you answer that

question?

Ismail: I would openly say that I am a resident of Sampit. We don’t know

anything about the conflict related to Madurese as we never know

Madura Island. Those who come from Madura are migrants. I am not

because I was born in Sampit, and so I would tell people that I am a

Sampitese. It doesn’t mean I don’t recognize my origin, but more on

the fact that I was born and raised in Sampit.

R: If people still saw you as a Madurese descendant, is there anything

meaningful at all in that recognition?

Ismail: I’m not really sure I am a Madurese because the idea of Madurese

ethnicity had never occurred to me before the conflict. Because of

the conflict, people divided everyone based on ethnicities—this is a

Madurese and that is a Dayak. Although I graduated from high

school, I was never taught about the existence of Madurese ethnic

group.

Instead of embracing an ethnic identity, Ismail chose to use a geographical identity to fit his condition. The feeling of not being a Madurese was shared by many

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respondents even though their family heritage could be traced to Madura. Some,

however, maintained a dual identity although not openly admitting to that dual identity.

This is exemplified by Agus, a university professor who has not been able to return to

teach at the University of Palangka Raya because of the unstable condition. During the

interview in his big and well-decorated house, he mentioned that he was a third generation member of a Madurese family in Pangkalan Bun. As he admitted, none of his

siblings, including him, married a Madurese. He implicitly referenced his dual identity in

his heavily Madurese-accented Indonesian language:

R: Okay, this one is about your identity expression. If anyone asked

who you are, how would you respond to this question?

Agus: If it were addressed to me…especially in the current situation...like

when I visited the hinterland area, [when asked “are you] native

Pangkalan Bun?” I answered “yes.”

R: Okay, as you felt more like a native, do you still have the Madurese

identity?

Agus: Well, I feel to have attachment with and adopted the local identity

because I no longer have a family in Madura. Everyone was born

here [in Pangkalan Bun].

Rudi: Then, at home what language do you use?

Agus: At home, we speak mixed languages. With my wife, I speak

Indonesian. With my father and mother, I speak Madurese, but the

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Madurese language that we speak has been influenced by local

language. Many local expressions have been adopted in the

Madurese language. So our Madurese language is not really original.

When someone speaks the original Madurese language, I don’t

understand it.

Apparently, one way to overcome the confusion in terms ethnic identity is by

referencing a geographical identity instead. To some extent, adopting a geographical

identity was safer because respondents did not have to reveal information about their

upbringing and could hide their ethnicity. Unfortunately, the respondents’ intention to

hide their ethnicity was usually betrayed by their heavily accented Indonesian and local

language because those who were familiar with how Madurese speak could point out that

they were Madurese.

Others, however, referenced their ethnicity with ease. For example, Abu Imam, a

38-year old man, expressed that he always honestly described himself as a Madurese. He had no difficulties identifying his ethnicity because he was born in Bangkalan, Madura and has lived in Kalimantan for sixteen years. He further stated that he has never bragged about his ethnicity. Partly, according to him, this is because he was raised in a community of white collar workers. His parents were government employees, so he never experienced anything related to the violence which is a commonly perceived characteristic of a Madurese.

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Being a Dayak or a Native

Native people have changed a lot since the conflict, especially in expressing their

ethnicity. Decades ago, Kalimantan natives would have felt embarrassed to tell people

that they are Dayaks because this ethnicity was synonymous with savagery and wildness.

This was not entirely their fault. The description of a Dayak provided to an outsider

would typically not go far beyond the stereotype. Some Indonesian dialects, notably

Javanese, have adopted the word dayak to mean unruly and wild when describing a game

or a situation. “To Dayak” has come to mean becoming wild and uncontrollable. In addition, the phrase Orang Dayak (a Dayak person) is used to frighten children when

they behave uncontrollably. This image still lives in the minds of people and was

reinforced by the brutality of Dayaks during the interethnic conflict with the Madurese in

the West and Central Kalimantan provinces.

Nevertheless, after the conflict, pride in being a Dayak/local can now be openly

expressed. The Dayaks no longer feel that they are weak and backward because they have

shown, through the conflict, that Dayaks can no longer be underestimated. The rise in

pride associated with being a Dayak was apparent, especially when the participants were

asked to describe their ethnic identity. Joni, a Dayak academician working in the capital

of Central Kalimantan, Palangka Raya, mentioned it during an interview in his humble

rented room in the outskirt of the city, as follows:

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R: Now, if anyone asked you who you are, how would you answer it?

Joni: If it is in my capacity, I’d answer that I am a Dayak because that’s

the way I am.

R: Is there any meaning of being a Dayak?

J: For me the meaning does exist as I have been molded in a Dayak

community. I am entitled to have a Dayak characteristics and Dayak

culture. I guess that’s the meaning for me. I understand myself as a

Dayak because of the culture. It’d be different to people from other

ethnicities. Take for example a Batak who lives among the Dayak.

Even if he/she is married with a Dayak, he/she is still a Batak

because of his/her characteristics.

R: And does the pride still exist?

Joni: I think so. I feel proud of being a Dayak. It is a live pride that fits

with existence as a Dayak. I guess that’s the pride.

R: Has the pride changed before and after conflict?

Joni: Not really. I think it’s just the same.

Joni’s position did apparently not waver against all negative images of the Dayaks perceived and expressed by others. Being a scholar in a local Christian school, he was familiar with the Dayak culture in order to approach native people. His work on Dayaks’ traditional Kaharingan belief as the thesis for his master’s degree speaks volume as to

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how much he loves his culture and identity. For some young people, their identity as and

pride in being a Dayak was embraced only during the conflict.

Before many young people rediscovered the pride of being a Dayak during the

2001 conflict, the idea of being a Dayak was disregarded and, to some extent, discarded.

This circumstance resulted from negative stereotypes attached to the ethnic group. As younger generations started to embrace the Dayak ethnic identity, respondents from older generations still maintained their pride in being a Dayak. During an interview in his well built and well-decorated house, Desta, a prominent Kaharingan religious leader

(Demang) in Kotawaringin Timur Regency, stated:

Desta: I’d say I am a Dayak. I’ve always said that I am a Dayak because I

think it suits with what other Indonesians would say [when they were

asked about their ethnicity]. Similar with Chinese Indonesians who

don’t feel they are Chinese. [In my case] only my mother still has a

Chinese Surname, and I don’t have it. Chinese surnames are

inherited from a father’s line, which makes me have none because he

is a Dayak.

R: Then, what does it mean to be a Dayak? Is there a special meaning to

be a Dayak?

Desta: As a member of native people in this region, I feel I belong because,

in Indonesian communities, we have ethnic identities. We have to

proudly mention our ethnicity without ignoring the facts that many

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will take advantage of the ethnicity for bad cause. To be honest,

there are still many Dayaks who think clearly. It’s just because of

many factors they have acted and thought out of line.

Desta’s pride in being a Dayak was common as it was also embraced by Dayaks from different religious beliefs. Adding to this picture is Nelson, an informal leader of the

Dayak Christian community in Sampit. Besides mentioning his identity, he also mentioned the stigma that is still attached to the Dayak ethnic group.

R: How would you describe yourself when someone asks you who you

are?

Nelson: I’d say a Dayak.

R: Okay, but is there any meaning of being one?

Nelson: I translate a Dayak as the native people of Kalimantan. [...]. That’s

our assumption.

R: Do you make any distinction when some say they are inland or

coastal Dayak?

Nelson: I don’t think so. The distinction is new. It’s always Dayak despite

their origin, be it coastal or inland.

R: What is something you are proud of in being a Dayak?

Nelson: I don’t think that I am different with other people. So, I’m proud to

be a Dayak although others think that we are inferior. We are not

like that, we are equal with other [ethnic] groups.

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Nelson’s last statement implies that many still think that the Dayaks are uneducated and

ignore the fact that many Dayaks have become prominent figures at the national level as

well as other Dayak achievements in the local political and economic sectors. In the

following, Uncum, a village head of Pasir Panjang about 2 miles outside of Pangkalan

Bun, also mentioned how others perceived Dayak as backward people.

Uncum: I am still a Dayak, but I usually add from “Pasir Panjang.”

R: In your opinion, what does it mean to be a Dayak?

Uncum: For me, Dayak is an identity and tradition that we inherit for

generations from our ancestors. Since we don’t have any other

alternatives regarding our ethnicity, that’s how we describe

ourselves. I guess it sort of reminds us that we are Dayak.

R: Is there any pride of being a Dayak?

Uncum: Well, this is partly the specific characteristic of our national culture.

I feel proud of being a Dayak although other people still see us as

uncivilized and backward people whose civilization is far behind the

others. However, the fact is that, although being hillbillies, we have

made some progress.

Here, Uncum mentioned his ethnic identity and geographical identity to provide complete

information. Other Dayak respondents, however, preferred their geographical identity to their ethnic identity as noted previously.

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Another young Dayak who was interviewed in Sampit shared the same position about his Dayak ethnicity. He mentioned responding differently to questions about his ethnicity depending on where he was.

R: If anyone asked you who you are, how would answer such a

question?

Jam’an: I’d always say that I’m a Dayak.

R: Is that so?

Jam’an: Yes. If it is about ethnicity, I’d say a Dayak. However, when talking

about ethnicity, the issue is about conflict. So, if the question were

asked outside Kalimantan, I’d just say that I am from Kalimantan.

R: Really? Okay, what does being a Dayak mean to you?

Jam’an: I think I’m quite proud to be one; however it’s just a matter of

identity which emphasizes our origin. It’s inevitable that I’m a

Dayak because I was born so. Calling myself a Javanese is also

impossible because I’m not one. I think it’s only an identity to say

where we are from.

Here Jam’an mentioned one particular concern over the term “ethnicity.” According to him, this term is usually referenced to the Dayak-Madurese conflict in Kalimantan, especially by those living in other regions of Indonesia. Given the implied meaning of ethnicity, he preferred to mention his identity to people from other regions as a person from Kalimantan.

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While responses varied among the respondents, some emphasized the negative characteristics attached to the Dayak label. Tari, a young female Christian minister, had her own take on this matter as she shared her concern that other ethnic groups still have negative perceptions of Dayaks.

R: If anyone asked you who you are, how would you respond to the

question?

Tari: I’d just say that I’m a Dayak born in Pangkalan Bun.

R: What does it mean to be one?

Tari: I think it has a special meaning for me because, first, it states our

identity from an ethnic group and where we were born. Others think

it matters, but not for me. However, after answering the question, a

second question pops up, “Which Dayak?” [Laugh]

R: So, how would you answer it?

Tari: This is an ethnicity issue that has been discussed in history that

mentioned, if I’m not mistaken, three major groups of Dayaks.

Dayak Danum is one of them. However, I’d just say that I’m a Ngaju

Dayak because my parents are from Kapuas [where Ngaju Dayak is

from] even though I was born here. [Laugh]

R: Does this question arise among Dayak friends?

Tari: For sure, it is uncommon among us, but it’s always asked by others

from different ethnic groups.

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When responding to negative stereotypes about Dayaks, Tari mentioned the following:

R: We have heard Dayaks are always associated with negative

stereotypes, such as……

Tari: [Interrupt]. Being primitive people. [Laugh]

R: Or savages who like headhunting.

Tari: [Laugh]. Who like hunting.

R: How do you view this stigma?

Tari: If people had the view, they would surely ask, wouldn’t they? And I

have to explain why it is so and why it happened and how the

Dayaks are now. The differences between past and present Dayaks

should be explained. Headhunting is a part of our history and why it

happened before needs to be explained.

The discussion of the negative labeling of the Dayaks also came up during my interview with Joko, a young leader and chairman of a youth organization in Sampit. He narrated his experience of studying and living in Java, one of the ethnic groups that apparently harbors misperceptions about Dayaks.

R: How would you describe yourself?

Joko: I’d say that I am firstly a Dayak, but when we talk about nationality,

I am an Indonesian. However, it should be noted that it is inevitable

that being Dayak is in my blood.

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R: So, does being a Dayak mean anything?

Joko: Very much. It has a lot of meaning for me because I happened to

have an interesting experience living in Java and saw what their

perception on the Dayaks was. Based on that, I am challenged to

change the image that Dayaks are … primitive. Dayaks are

perceived to live as nomads who move from one forest to another,

have no desire for progress, are arrogant fools, like to brawl, like

drinking, and so on. This perception must be changed to show how

diverse we are in terms of culture. Each ethnic group has their own

strengths and weaknesses. So, we need to underline the positive

images. In fact, my motivation to study in Java was partly driven by

the urge to present a good image that a Dayak can and is willing to

advance, socialize with other people, learn new knowledge and is

looking forward to have a change for better future.

Many respondents openly described their ethnicity as Dayaks or at least partially

mentioned their geographical identity. Others, however, preferred to mention their

geographical identity rather than their Dayak identity. In mentioning a geographical

identity, the term “local” or “native” person was apparently preferred. This was pointed out by Leriansyah, a young professor at a university and a law practitioner in Pangkalan

Bun. When asked about his identity, he said he is from KOBAR (Kotawaringin Barat

Regency). He further expressed the importance of being a local:

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Leriansyah: I am a KOBAR native who isn’t narrow minded, so I never see my

ethnic background as a Dayak or other ethnic groups. Even if I had

an ethnic attachment, it wouldn’t blind me. The way I see it, we live

in an environment where everybody is equal. I guess it’s similar to

the situation in America. Despite our differences, the egalitarian

spirit and equality are upheld. I tend to see the similarities, not the

differences.

R: Is there any meaning at all of being a KOBAR native?

Leriansyah: From the cultural perspective, there is a special meaning. I feel proud

to be a KOBAR native because KOBAR is different from other

regions in Central Kalimantan province. In this region, there was a

sultanate called Kotawaringin Sultanate. This historical fact makes

us different from the others [in the province].

I believe Leriansyah’s preference for a geographical identity is heavily influenced by religion. Kotawaringin Barat Regency is a Muslim-majority regency where, before

Indonesian Independence, a sultanate existed for hundreds of years. I believe his choice of identity was intended to distinguish himself from Dayaks. This identity detachment/ distancing was consciously done because, for him, the word “Dayak” has negative connotations. Leriansyah’s embrace of a geographical identity was also shared by Rajali, a lawyer/activist who provided legal assistance for Dayak warriors in the 2001 conflict in

Sampit and is currently a member of the local House of Representatives of the newly

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established Seruyan Regency (an area that is a fraction of the old Kotawaringin Timur

Regency due to pemekaran).

R: If anyone asked you who you are, how would you respond?

Rajali: I was originally born and raised in Kuala Pembuang [about 100

kilometers south of Sampit]. I went to schools in Sampit before

continuing my education in Java. So, that’s my ethnicity. However,

nationally speaking, I’m an Indonesian.

R: Is there a special meaning to be someone from Kuala Pembuang, the

local person of Central Kalimantan?

Rajali: Generally speaking, it does have a meaning. We feel that we own

this region, so more on the sense of belonging to be specific.

The reference to geographical identity was common, especially among

respondents who considered themselves to be “local.” These people believe that their

ethnic traits do not belong to the Dayak ethnic group. They openly claimed that they were

not part of that ethnic group although they share many genetic and cultural features with the Dayaks as they were born in the Dayaks’ land. Nuraidah, a 35-year-old local woman, is an example of this group of people. She told me about this identity detachment/distancing:

R: If anyone asked you who you are, how would you answer such a

question?

Nuraidah: I’d say I’m a Banjarese.

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R: Why not a Dayak?

Nuraidah: Because my father is a Banjarese. As we follow the father’s line, I’d

have to answer it like that. I can’t say I’m a Dayak because of my

father’s Banjarese ethnicity

R: But you can speak Dayak language?

Nuraidah: Yes, a little.

R: Does being a Banjarese mean anything to you?

Nuraidah: Not really, because that’s the way it is from our ancestors. It’s

inevitable because it has been determined long ago

The idea of ethnic detachment/distancing from the Dayak was further elaborated by Fuadi, one of the youth leaders in Sampit. He, too, distanced himself from the Dayak identity because he felt that he did not belong to that group culturally or religiously. He said that the question about ethnicity was difficult to answer although his father was a

Dayak and his mother was a Dayak Malay. He preferred to be called an Indonesian being raised in a Dayak environment in Kapuas. In addition, according to him, he claimed he was not a Dayak because he spoke Banjarese every day. Fuadi was one of several respondents who chose not to be associated with any ethnic group. Being a local seemed to be sufficient for him. The choice to not have a certain ethnic identity was also influenced by religion and culture. Being a Dayak has always been identical to being either a Christian or a Kaharingan adherent.

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As adopting an identity is one’s own choice, the preference to detach/distance

from or attach to an ethnic identity varied among the local people. Despite these

differences, they share one thing in common, namely a love of their land and origin. The

perception that they are the rightful owners of the land, I believe, was one of the driving

forces that united them during the conflict and when facing what they perceived to be a common enemy. This unifying narrative set their differences in religion and culture to

one side and helped them see themselves as one entity: people of Kalimantan.

Being Muslim, Christian, Kaharingan, and Indonesian

Another aspect of identity that I explored was whether or not my research

participants consider national and religious identity as important. A majority of the

Madurese participants unanimously answered that being a Muslim mattered more than

ethnicity or national identity. They all agreed that being a Muslim identified who they

were as a human being. The choice of being a Muslim as the foremost identity among the

Madurese is not surprising because it fits a generalization that many Indonesians have of

the Madurese. The Madurese are known to be a religious ethnic group, although some

might argue about the extent to which the definition of religiosity is held by this ethnic

group. In general, however, the identity of being a Muslim is important to them because

they claim their religious affiliation determines their way of life and has implications for

the hereafter. Dahlawi, a middle-aged Madurese respondent, described the importance of being a Muslim in the following:

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As a matter of fact, the identity of the Madurese is Muslim. Even though they

don’t pray [or practice Islamic teachings], they are still, themselves, Muslims.

Dahlawi’s acknowledgement of Muslim as an identity lends validity to the generalization

that other people have of the Madurese as a devoted Muslim ethnic group.

Following religious identity, a majority of the Madurese respondents expressed

that being an Indonesian was second in importance. Although national identity is largely

taken for granted, the Madurese respondents felt that the idea of being Indonesian was still important. According to them, being Indonesian defines their place among

Indonesians from other ethnic groups. They believe embracing an identity as Indonesian contributes to national pride and feeling that they are a part of the Indonesian nation.

Being Indonesian also meant that they were accepted as a member of the whole nation, sharing the same history, pains under colonization, and ancestral based fight for independence.

In terms of ethnic identity, a majority of the Madurese respondents mentioned that

ethnicity was not as important as either religion or nationality. Several of the respondents

were even confused because, in refugee settlements, they and the rest of the refugees

were not considered to be Madurese because they were not born on Madura Island.

Ahmad, a third generation Madurese who had been a teacher and a member of local

parliament in Kotawaringin Timur Regency, expressed this problem and his dilemma as a

refugee. He mentioned that, in the refugee settlements, he and the rest of the refugees

were not considered to be Madurese because they were not born in Madura and could not

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speak Madurese properly while, in Central Kalimantan, they were labeled by others as

Madurese. In addition, he said that the native Madurese and the Madurese refugees from

Central Kalimantan Province had no shared identity because the latter were considered strangers who had a different set of cultural values and characteristics or, at the very least, were not pure Madurese.

Most of the Madurese respondents asserted that they had abandoned several

Madurese traditions. These traditions were viewed as negative because they contradicted

Islamic teachings. Examples of these traditions were ronggeng and sandur, social

gatherings that involve dancing with paid female dancers and drinking alcoholic

beverages. The Madurese respondents criticized these traditions and claimed that they

had never involved in such activities.

The Dayak and native respondents offered a different view. Several respondents

admitted that they were unable to rank the importance of being Muslim/Christian/

Kaharingan, Indonesian, and Dayak without having a specific context to consider. Those

who did provide a rank order, however, expressed a variety of opinions about the

importance of each identity. Half of the respondents believed that being Indonesian was

the most important identity while the other half viewed the identity as less important than

being a Muslim or a Dayak/native.

Tindan, a 56-year-old Christian minister and former official of a local

administration office in Pangkalan Bun, said that he was Indonesian, and then added that he was orang Kalimantan (a person from Kalimantan). He never mentioned Dayak as an

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identity because he did not like to brag about or highlight his ethnicity, although he said

he felt proud to be a Dayak. Similarly, Fadlansyah shared Tindan’s stance that ethnic

identity is not important. About identity, this 65-year-old former judge in Sampit stated:

Fadlan: If I were asked that question, well I’d just say that, legally speaking,

I am an Indonesian, but if asked about my ethnicity, I’d say I’m a

Dayak.

R: Is there a special meaning to being a Dayak?

Fadlan: Well, not really. It’s just because from my father’s line I’m a Dayak.

We still follow the patrilineal line, don’t we? So, automatically our

father’s ethnicity is highlighted.

This fact was interesting because both Christian and Muslim natives agreed that their

Indonesian identity was more important than their religious and/or ethnic identity, a

phenomenon which was unthinkable among the Madurese. Their religious identity came

second according to the Dayak respondents. Despite the importance of their beliefs, many felt that religion is more of a personal dimension than part of the public domain. Sapri, a

Muslim who had a strategic position in the local government office as one of three assistants to the Kotawaringin Timur Bupati, asserted this with much reference to his

Islamic beliefs:

R: And then if someone asked you who you are, how would you

respond?

Sapri: Well, my nationality is Indonesian and my ethnicity is Dayak.

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R: Is there any meaning of being a Dayak?

Sapri: Well, for me it is one of our identities. I feel proud because it is

one of the ethnic groups in Indonesia. Besides, it’s already a fate,

right? Whatever our fate is, we have to be thankful to God about

anything. If I had been born in Arabic countries, I would be called

an Arab, wouldn’t I? So I am proud and thankful to God the

Almighty because of what He decreed on me.

This stance was also shared by Leriansyah, who previously mentioned that he was an Indonesian born and raised in Kotawaringin Barat. Apparently, according to these people, identity determines their position in the frame of national, regional, and personal existence.

The Role of Women During and After Conflict

The role of women during conflict has been discussed by many scholars (see, for example, Bouta & Frerks, 2002; Mazurana, Raven-Roberts, & Parpart, 2005; Pankhurst,

2000; and Sault, 2004). Similar to other women in communal conflicts around the world, women from both the Dayak and Madurese ethnic groups were caught in the middle of the 2001 conflict in Central Kalimantan Province. Many of the women, mostly Madurese, were killed during the violence. No report on rapes and other sexual violence, however, was found from the conflict.

Other than being victims, many women participated actively during and after the conflict. During the conflict, local women in many neighborhoods took part in nonviolent

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ways, such as establishing a dapur umum (literally means “public kitchen”) to feed the

Dayak warriors. The food that was prepared was obtained by men through plundering and

pillaging abandoned stores in the local market. Besides communally working to take care

of the logistics, several women actively participated in protecting their families and

communities. The Madurese women, however, were forced to flee during the conflict and

had to be combatants to protect themselves and their families. The following are stories

of several brave women from both ethnic groups, whose roles to some extent were unique

compared to those previously studied.

Nuraidah: A Warrior Wife

When I met my long-lost Madurese friend, Rohim, who had been thought to be

killed during the conflict, I was introduced to his wife, Nuraidah, a slender and beautiful

woman in her mid thirties. During my first meeting with them, Rohim told me about his

experience during the conflict. While listening to his story, I noticed that Nuraidah did

not really want to take part in our conversation. When I asked her for an interview, she

politely refused and said that the interview with her husband was enough. Several times I

came to their house and talked. She was always hesitant to grant me an interview.

However, after being persuaded by her husband, she finally agreed.

She narrated her story with such powerful emotion that her voice was shaky and

her body trembled. I asked her about her experience when the first Dayak warriors

attacked her neighborhood, which was known to be a Madurese neighborhood. She

recalled that:

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Situation was okay when I worked on Monday and Tuesday. But on Wednesday I

was approached by the Madurese warriors near my office. One of them asked me

whether I was a Dayak. I replied, “You can call me a Dayak and a Madurese.”

Then I challenged them, “So what do you want?” Then he said, “Nothing, just

asking.”

Nuraidah then went home because the situation was getting more uncomfortable. She

explained that

When I got home, I heard a lot of rumors that we would be attacked. So I told my

husband to stay home and not go out of the house. I told him that he and our

family were my responsibility [to protect]. My next door neighbors begged me to

protect them also, but I rejected their plea by stating that my daughter at home had

nobody to protect her if I had to stay with them.

By stating that her husband and her daughter were her responsibility, Nuraidah was ready to pay the highest price: her life. However, as she mentioned several times, she relied a lot on her faith that God would protect them. The expressions “It was up to God,” and “When we were still allowed to live,” were uttered several times during the interview as she described going face-to-face with attackers. Despite her initial refusal to harbor her

neighbors, she finally relented. She let several of her close neighbors stay in her house

and provided as much protection as she could before they moved to a temporary refugee

settlement in Sampit.

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Once she returned home, she was taken by the Dayak warriors away from her

house for several hours. She begged to be returned to her home, reminding them that she

and they were from a similar ethnic group. She just wanted to make sure that her husband

and her daughter were okay because she had seen the Madurese in the neighborhood

taken to the Hotel Rama, the headquarters of the Dayak warriors. Hotel Rama, as I

mentioned earlier, was a place where kidnapped Madurese were executed. When she got

home, she discovered that her husband and her daughter were not in danger. They finally

decided to take refuge in the regent’s office where thousands of Madurese had already

found shelter and protection from the Dayak warriors. She and her family were then taken to Java as refugees, but she could stay for only eight days, four days in Java and four days in Madura. Then she and her daughter returned to Central Kalimantan, leaving her Madurese husband in a refugee shelter in Madura.

Upon arriving in Sampit, she took her daughter to Samuda, about 40 kilometers

from Sampit, where her parents lived. Along the way, she saw Dayak warriors carrying

Madurese heads. She admitted that she still shivers when she remembers seeing this

horrible sight. However, she steeled herself and greeted the warriors using the local

language and safely reached her parents’ house. Contacting her husband was difficult.

She had to go to a telecommunication kiosk to place a phone call to her husband in

Madura. A Dayak warrior interrogated her as to who she wanted to call and whether her husband was a Madurese. She said:

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I told them, “Yes, my husband is a Madurese. So what? Why should I hide the

fact that he is a Madurese? You people are idiots attacking Madurese like that.

You are uncivilized. Look at what you do. Is that good?” Then I decided to cancel

calling my husband. After that, I was terrorized because people knew that my

husband was a Madurese. Of course, I had to defend my husband. I told them,

“Everybody has a right to live anywhere, be he/she a Madurese, Dayak, Chinese

or Javanese, because they are Indonesians. What do you want from me?”

Being known to have a Madurese husband did not make things easy for her.

Several times Dayak warriors came to see her, asking for money. When she was still with

Rohim in Sampit, a Dayak warrior stopped her husband and asked what he was doing.

Rohim replied that he was waiting for his wife. The man then asked for money, but

Rohim said he did not bring any money. The man said that he would be waiting in a nearby telecommunication kiosk for Rohim to give him money. Having heard about this encounter from Rohim, Nuraidah went to see the man. She said:

I had twenty thousand rupiahs left in my wallet, so I talked to the man. I said,

“What do you want? You want money? You are so shameless, calling Madurese

bad, but your own behavior is even worse. You’re lazy and envious. Everybody

works days and nights to get money. When they get money, you’re angry and

envious. What you’re doing now is even more shameful. If you want forty

thousand rupiahs, I have only twenty thousand. You take ten and I take ten.” But

the man did not take the money. Then I said to him, “If I hear one more time that

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you ask for money from people, I will report you to the police. Here’s the

money.” Instead of taking the money, the man just ran away.

Even after her husband was finally able to return to Sampit, she and her family were still terrorized by Dayak warriors who acted as thugs and came to her house for money. To face these people, she recalled

Sometimes some warriors came to my house after the conflict, but the number

was less than compared to when the conflict was going on. I really intended to

slash the people with my machete. I am not kidding! One Dayak man claimed

that he was bulletproof and weapon proof. Then I stabbed my machete to the

earth and challenged the man, “Let me slash you with my machete.” But the man

just leaped back and ran away. I told the rest of the gang not to play around with

me. I was serious and full of intention to slash anybody who disturbed me and my

family.

Nuraidah demonstrated an uncommon amount of courage during and after the conflict. Her determination to protect her family was unwavering despite the difficult situations she faced and the terrible consequences that could have befallen her had her challenges to others not worked.

Tari: A Brave Minister

One morning in Pangkalan Bun, I went to the home of a prospective respondent.

When we arrived at his house, we were received by his daughter, Tari, who told us that her father, Mr. Tindan, had already left. After talking and exchanging phone numbers

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with her, I found out that she had graduated from Banjarmasin College of Theology,

where I had studied German language with one of the professors in the late 1980s. I

promised to be back in the afternoon to conduct the interview with her father.

That afternoon, I called Tari to ask if I could have an interview with her father.

She said she would check and promised to text-message me later. When she text-

messaged me to say that her father was willing to be interviewed, I went directly to her residence and was led to the living room. His house is made of wood, typical of an old house. After the interview was concluded, I asked Tari if she was willing to participate in the research. She agreed to participate and let me know later when the best time to do the interview was. She also revealed that she worked for an NGO in Banjarmasin under the direction of Marko Mahin, a well known Dayak scholar who specializes in identity issues

among the Dayaks and natives of Kalimantan. Unfortunately, I was unable to interview

him despite my continuous efforts to contact him.

A few days later, I received a text message from Tari that she would like to meet

me the next morning. I went to her house and waited for a couple of minutes before she

arrived. I noticed that her house is surrounded by plants and trees that must be as old as

the house. Before we started the interview, we engaged in small talk. She is a very

intelligent woman who revealed a deep analysis of current events and ability to provide a

vivid description of her role during the conflict. It was very enlightening to speak with

her. Her critical analysis of the society before, during, and after the conflict was

refreshing. Recalling what she was doing during the conflict, Tari explained that

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I was an apprentice vicar when the conflict occurred. I worked in a resettlement

area where a majority of the people were Javanese and only 10% Madurese. Upon

hearing what happened in Sampit, everybody panicked and looked for something

to survive. ….. My focus at that time was to calm people in my congregation so

that they were not worried about anything reckless, and were able to digest the

conflict problem wisely. Some wanted to take refuge. However, the biggest

problem was to prevent my congregation from looking for nonreligious means to

survive by embracing magic. It was hard because what the [traditional Dayak

people] offered to my congregation attracted them.

During that time, Tari experienced an internal conflict. She had to protect her congregation who faced big temptations from outsiders who offered a non-Christian way to stay alive in the midst of violence. She further explained that

That time, I had to struggle to provide enlightenment so my congregation would

not be influenced by the current condition so that they could live normally

according to their daily routine. We needed to face the problem together. It was

hard because, at that time, everybody forgot [about their faith]. There was only

one purpose that they saw, namely war. In order to survive and not be killed, they

returned to their primal instincts. They carried machetes and wore red headbands

[as a symbol of Dayaks] everywhere they went. When there was a rumor that the

Madurese would attack, everybody panicked. Women and children ran away to

the forest for shelter while the men guarded their neighborhood. I suggested that

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they gather in one place because women and children were weak parties and

because forests were killing zones. Then I looked for confirmation about the

rumor, which turned out to be false.

She then vented her frustration about a situation that was out of hand. She felt that she failed to do her job as a religious leader in the community. The people in her congregation left their faith and embraced non-Christian traditional beliefs for survival purposes.

I tried to restrain my congregation, but I could not do it by myself. It seemed that

fear had overcome them. They left their wives and children taking two boats to

Palangka Raya to obtain this magical power. I could not stop them. They looked

for weapon-proof power. Even some outsiders came to our neighborhoods to offer

their services so that the men could gain this so called magical power…. Although

they had been warned that it was against their Christian beliefs, they did not care.

A religious faith that had been nurtured for years became nothing. This

extraordinary situation brought an extraordinary impact [to my religious

community].

After the conflict, Tari was involved in non-governmental organizations focusing on the empowerment of Dayak people and women. She said that their activities included expanding networks, reviewing books and monitoring general elections. She admitted that she did not know of any organizations whose work focused on bridging communication between the conflicting parties. In terms of empowering women, she said

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that she and her colleagues provided training for local women in leaderships and women’s modern roles in society. Recently, she was asked to participate in research to study women working in a timber company.

Madurese Women: Ambassadors of Peace

One of the measures launched by Forum Komunikasi Korban Kerusuhan

Kalimantan Tengah (FK 4 or the Communication Forum for Victims of Central

Kalimantan Riots), an organization established by the refugees and victims of the 2001 conflict in Central Kalimantan Province in their settlements in Madura, was to send ambassadors of peace to negotiate the possibilities of refugee return to their hometowns in the province. During my research, I tried to locate the ambassadors but failed because their whereabouts were unknown. Instead, the leader of the Madurese community in

Sampit, who also became a respondent in this research, gave me a magazine called

Rampak Naong, which was also the name of the negotiating team that was sent for peace negotiations in Central Kalimantan Province. This magazine was published by the FK 4 to give voice the refugees’ current conditions and their cries to return. In this magazine, a narrative about the ambassadors’ struggle to “sneak” undetected by the authorities into

Central Kalimantan Province, notably into Sampit, was revealed along with interviews with the ambassadors.

The Madurese negotiating team sent to Sampit faced several obstacles as they sought to accomplish their assignment. First, the security checkpoint in the Sampit port was heavily guarded. Every passenger getting off at the port had to go through security

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checks. They each needed to present an ID card. When an ID card mentioned that someone was Madurese, he/she was not allowed to get off. Instead, that person was instantly escorted back to the ship and sent back to Surabaya, the port in East Java

Province that had served as their point of departure. This happened several times to members of the team. One day, however, several team members were able to sneak in because the crowd of passengers had made individual checks of passengers impossible

(Srikandi, 2006). Once they had successfully landed, a second obstacle materialized: resistance from people in their target areas. According to the Rampak Naong article, the team members were constantly threatened by local people and were forced to return to

Surabaya.

Facing these obstacles, FK 4 changed their strategy. They sent women as a negotiating team instead of men (Srikandi, 2006). This strategy worked because these women were not considered by the local people to be threats. In addition, female charms seemed to soften the local hardliners so that the women were able to commence the negotiation process to return the refugees. They talked to local leaders of the community and the government. According Summah, a Madurese woman negotiator who was cited in Rampak Naong (Srikandi, 2006), initially she was not sure. She said that

When I was chosen to be one of the ambassadors of peace, I was honestly not sure

to be able to do the assignment put on my shoulder. However, with the full

confidence and relying on God’s help, I was able to do it. Initially, I felt doubtful,

scared and so forth because, in my opinion, what I was about to do would not be

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easy. Moreover, killing spree [in Central Kalimantan] was still going on. At that

time, the condition in several districts was not conducive. It took patience and

carefulness in explaining the meaning of peace to the local people. By using this

method, they would understand what the meaning of peace was. (p. 30)

Summah admitted that being an ambassador of peace was extremely difficult to

do. She further stated that

It was not easy for us to approach the people. They were still vulnerable of even

small problems, which was an understandable thing because it was only a few

months during the post-conflict. However, we toughened ourselves to do the job

because we thought it was the only way for us to return. And we would definitely

try. (p. 30)

The dream to return to her hometown in Central Kalimantan that motivated

Summah was also the main theme of Rampak Naong. The publication portrayed the conditions of the refugees, describing their lives as internally displaced people through

refugees’ personal narratives and interviews by the Rampak Naong staff. One of the

interviews presented Yulianti, a female representative who was sent to negotiate with the

local people in her hometown, several kilometers outside Sampit. When the interviewer

from the magazine asked why she volunteered for in the assignment, Yulianti said

because we all want to return to our hometowns in Central Kalimantan. Joining

Rampak Naong team is one effort to realize the objective. If you were me, you’d

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do the same thing. Eventually whatever I do will benefit other people if

succeeded. And I think I will succeed. (Yulianti, 2006, p. 36)

Yulianti further mentioned that she approached village heads, elders, and persons that others looked up to, trying to convince them that the Madurese wanted to return with good will. According to her, the response among the people varied. Some accepted the idea of Madurese return while others rejected the idea. The people who rejected the idea thought that the returned Madurese would retaliate for their losses in the conflict. She confirmed that any efforts to retaliate would be wrong. The Madurese wanted to return because they wanted to live harmoniously with the local people as was true prior to the outbreak of violence (Yulianti, 2006).

When asked why it was not her husband who was sent as a Madurese representative, Yulianti replied

because, at that time, [Madurese] men were not welcomed. In the field we had to

deal with men. If a man faced another man, it would be difficult to have self

control because men tend to be violent. Consequently, we, the women, had to do

this task by ourselves to socialize with the local people. It was proved that women

were well accepted and well treated. This is the thing that only women can do.

(Yulianti, 2006, p. 37)

Apparently, the strategy to send women as peace negotiation ambassadors produced fruitful results. Many Madurese have returned to their hometowns in Central

Kalimantan. The reconciliation process conducted at the higher levels was supported by

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these women’s efforts to provide opportunities for the refugees to return and prepare the local people for the return of internally displaced Madurese.

Post-conflict Reconstruction

Return of the Refugees and Local People’s Responses

As previously noted in Chapter 2, the government of Central Kalimantan Province and Kotawaringin Timur Regency separately issued decrees to handle the conflict and post conflict condition in the region. These decrees include the handling of refugee return to the previous conflict areas in the province. Despite the existence of those formal regulations that offer legal protection for the Madurese refugees to return, several respondents admitted that the decrees, especially the one issued by the government of

Kotawaringin Timur Regency, were not legally correct. First, according to them, the decree issued by the government of Kotawaringin Timur Regency did not identify any legal consequences to those involved in the violence, especially the intellectual provocateurs who ignited the conflict. Second, the decree was legally ineffective because it was not followed by technical guidelines, which usually follow the issuance of a decree. Desta, a local member of parliament voiced his frustration:

What makes me wonder is why the local government cannot produce technical

guidelines. If they were made, the process of managing people who come and go

would be easier. At least, they can become an anticipating measure in the future

[to prevent this kind of violence from happening again]. Presently, I have the

impression that the process of returning refugees seems to be direct and without

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being regulated. Now is like saying, “Welcome, please come back” whereas the

refugees must be managed to prevent the coming of refugees who will become a

source of conflict in the future…… This is a problem despite the fact that we have

the decree because the technical guidelines to receive and reject refugees have

never been published

This absence of implementation regulations for the decree and hesitancy to enforce it

through legally-binding measures created an impression among the local respondents and

people that the local government hastily produced the decree to satisfy demands from

central government officials and national politicians as well as to ease tensions as the

local government was under the watchful eyes of national and international agencies.

Therefore, the decree was perceived as a piece of paper without any binding power.

Given the lack of enforcement of the decree, the process of returning the refugees to the conflict areas was greatly affected. With no technical guidelines to follow, the process of refugee return was mostly done by the refugees themselves, facilitated by FK4 in cooperation with local security forces and local communities. FK4 first selected those who would be returned. This selection, according to Ahmad, one of the Madurese leaders of FK4, included training the refugees as to how to behave and approach the local people.

Then a list of names was sent to the security offices in Sampit, which then distributed the list to the community leader where a refugee formerly resided. This procedure was not mandated by the decree; rather, this was an invention to accommodate the need for a procedure for refugee return.

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Several local respondents mentioned this process as a “natural” (i.e. not

governmentally coordinated) way of returning the refugees. Joko, a leader of local

youths, explained the logic behind the procedure:

I was against a coordinated and mass return of the refugees. I did not agree with

this forceful method [of returning refugees]. The return should be done naturally

because there is a selection behind this natural method. […]. Then, since there

were many good Madurese out there, we expected that these people would return

to our region and could be accepted. One of the filters was local people’s

acceptance or rejection.

Joko was not the only who opposed the mass return of the refugees. Many local leaders

shared a similar stance. Many voiced the same concern about a mass return of refugees,

believing that the post-conflict peace would be disrupted.

Since no standard operating procedure existed for the return of refugees, many

opted for shortcuts to accelerate the process of their return. This accelerated process was

both espoused by the Madurese and by the local people because it provided an easier and

less complicated procedure. Desta asserted that many people took advantage of this absence of enforced regulation:

Both the locals and the refugees took advantage of this situation. For example, a

group of Madurese came to see a leader of a neighborhood. They offered the

leader some money and asked him to be quiet about their return to the

neighborhood and to protect them. This can cause inter-neighbor conflict because

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the refugees did not live in this neighborhood. If this situation is allowed to

always happen, I’m afraid it’ll be a potential source of an open conflict.

Samsudin, a former Dayak warrior who witnessed the Madurese massacre in the

Hotel Rama, also shared Desta’s conviction that money talked in the process of returning

refugees. He claimed he had seen people from FK4 distribute money to the leaders of the

community in his neighborhood to “smooth” the process of Madurese return. However,

he was not aware of the consequences or effectiveness of this money distribution for the

process of refugee return because he thought that the process of checking a refugee’s

background was quite strict. He mentioned that the fate of a refugee was discussed by all

members of the community where the refugee had lived. If a Madurese refugee was found to be involved in the violent conflict, he/she was not allowed to return. Samsudin remembered meeting an old Madurese friend of his in Java who had wanted to return.

Knowing that the person was actively involved in the violence against the Dayaks,

Samsudin suggested that his friend not return for his own safety. Samsudin said that his friend complied with this suggestion and cancelled his intention of returning to his home in Sampit.

Once a Madurese refugee was considered cleared of any involvement in the conflict, Samsudin stated that the person was picked up at a harbor that was heavily guarded by Dayak warriors. He asserted that he and his friends were assigned to pick up

Madurese people at the harbor who were considered clean to return to Samsudin’s neighborhood. Despite receiving resistance from the Dayak warriors, he and his friends

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were able to pass the warriors’ checkpoint at the harbor and escort the Madurese to their

homes in Samsudin’s neighborhood. Picking up and escorting the incoming refugees,

according to Samsudin, was not without physical showdowns with the Dayak warriors,

who tended to prevent any Madurese from landing in Sampit at any cost. Samsudin

admitted that his involvement with protecting the Madurese was partly driven by feeling

fed up with the behaviors of Dayak warriors.

The Fate of Dayak Warriors

After their victory during the conflict, the Dayak warriors demonstrated their

euphoria by drinking excessively and acting arrogantly. These acts later created another

conflict between the local people, as at least some came not to be regarded as warriors but merely as Dayak thugs. These warrior-thugs collected “security fees” (i.e.,

“protection money”) from the vendors at the local market. These acts were initially

tolerated by the local people. However, overtime these behaviors seemed to be out of

control, causing many who had previously supported the warriors to loath them. On one

occasion, Samsudin joined other local people to beat up and drive out a ferocious Dayak

warrior commander because this person always created a disturbance in the neighborhood

when he was drunk.

The loss of sympathy from the local people contributed to efforts to drive the

warriors out of the city or, or at the very least, disband them. Clashes between the

warrior-thugs and local people occurred several times, including as a by-product of

measures to wipe out the warrior-thugs from the market. Rajali, a local respondent,

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mentioned that, three to four months after the conflict, a resistance movement among

locals grew to neutralize the Dayak warrior-thugs. Samsudin admitted that he was also

involved in this measure, especially after joining an Islamic youth organization. This

organization provided a method to cure the effects of a “self-protection” potion

commonly taken by Dayak warriors during the violence. Former warriors who voluntarily

chose to be treated went to fight their former allies. Eventually, the post-conflict

condition returned to normal when the latter dispersed and went back to their home towns

outside the Sampit area. As for the warriors who were not treated, Samsudin said that

most of his fellow warriors became mentally ill after the effects of the potion wore off.

As they came to their senses, they were unable to overcome the psychological burdens

created by their actions in taking so many Madurese lives.

The Fate of Madurese Organization IKAMA After Conflict

As a result of the conflict in 2001, Ikatan Keluarga Madura (IKAMA or the

Association of Madurese Families), an organization that had long been established in

Central Kalimantan, was put into a spotlight. As many of its officers were accused of being provocateurs, this organization was disbanded in Sampit and Pangkalan Bun. This measure, according to a Madurese respondent named Abu Rizal, was not fair because many Dayak organizations were allowed to emerge and flourish. Despite the existence of

IKAMA, many Madurese respondents, including Abu Imam, said that they had not been active in the organization because they thought it had been too exclusive and brought no

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benefits to the Madurese community in general. Instead, they chose to use religion-based organizations to channel their aspirations.

From the perspective of local people, the existence of IKAMA had long been a source of suspicion. Joko, a local youth leader openly stated that:

To tell you the truth, the existence of IKAMA, in my view, triggered all the

problems that we had. Its prominent officers had a strong position in business so

that they used IKAMA for their advantage and to protect their business.

Joko’s opinion was also shared by many local people. Therefore, it was not surprising that, during the peak of the violence, the officers of IKAMA were primary targets of the Dayak warriors. The list of IKAMA’s officers was distributed during the conflict among the Madurese as a “guide” for the Dayak warriors to find their victims.

The targeting of IKAMA’s officers was so blindly conducted that several local people who served as officers in the organizations were also targeted. However, several

Madurese respondents claimed that the officers on IKAMA’s board of committee were assigned to the positions in the organization without the persons’ acknowledgement. This situation happened to Rohim, my Madurese friend, who did not know that he had been put on the list of IKAMA’s board of committee. During the conflict, he was a wanted man, and after the conflict, Rohim became one of those who was forbidden to return to

Sampit because of his alleged association with IKAMA. As Rohim was able to explain this misunderstanding to people, he was finally able to return to Sampit.

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Learning from their past mistakes, the Madurese leaders in Sampit and Pangkalan

Bun decided that they would not establish any organization similar to IKAMA. Ahmad, a

Madurese leader, firmly stated that IKAMA had been manipulated in the past for the

benefit of its elder officers. As he reflected on past mistakes, Ahmad affirmed that the

Madurese community would not use the old paradigm of choosing elders as the leaders of such an organization. Instead, he asked elders only to pray and let the younger generation

of Madurese take over. As many Madurese youths were more educated, according to

Ahmad, they could present a positive image of Madurese people to counter the old

stereotypes that the Madurese are uneducated and uncivilized.

In pursuit of this goal, Ahmad—in cooperation with other young Madurese—

established an Islamic school in Sampit. Although it was not an IKAMA-like

organization, Ahmad admitted that many were still suspicious about this school. He

wanted to show local people that Madurese could indeed change and strive to be more

educated. As I visited the school and talked to many Madurese youths in Sampit, I could

see that many young Madurese were eager to work together to wipe out the old stigma

about their people and ethnic group. Many of them were university graduates and had

participated in the process of returning refugees to Central Kalimantan Province. In terms

of communication, many would frequently switch to Indonesian language or the

Banjarese language when speaking to one another whenever any non-Madurese person

was present among them. I found this phenomenon interesting because I had seldom

witnessed this happen in the past.

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The Role of NGOs and Civil Society’s Movement

After the conflict many local and international institutions and non-governmental organizations (NGOs) worked to help the refugees in their settlements in Madura.

According to Ahmad, one of the leaders of the Madurese refugees, he has met representatives from United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR), United

Nations Development Programme (UNDP), Common Ground, Oxfam, and Mercy. These institutions provided help that the refugees needed during their initial settlement in the refugees’ camps. Despite the help that these organizations provided for the refugees,

Ahmad suspected that some of these organizations used the refugees for their own agenda. In addition, some programs proposed by these organizations did not work due to their failure to approach the refugees for their input and assistance in implementing their programs. In one instance, Ahmad mentioned that Common Ground planned to empower people at the grassroots level. This plan failed miserably because the wrong strategy was used in executing the program.

Many NGOs also worked in the conflict areas, especially in Sampit. Joko, a local youth leader in Sampit, provided his assessment on how the NGOs worked:

R: Do you think the NGOs helped create a more harmonious condition

after the conflict?

Joko: First, we need to divide the NGOs into two: local and non-local.

Non-local NGOs have played a significant role in the process of

reconciliation and the creation of harmony in our region, especially

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after conflict. Now about local NGOs, we cannot expect much from

them because their understanding about their role as NGOs is still

weak. These local NGOs are still being used for certain people’s

benefits. So to think about [creating a harmonious condition] is still

difficult for them. So far we have been grateful to non-local NGOs

which were willing to work together to solve the problem that we

have. They even brought funds to help us without depending on the

government. Local NGOs, on the other hand, still depend too much

on the government when doing their activities.

Offering a slightly different view, Tra—a Dayak youth—stated that local NGOs

have contributed to the post-conflict development of the Kotawaringin Timur region.

During post-conflict reconstruction, the NGO where he worked voiced concerns to the local government about and helped to uncover instances of collusion, corruption, and nepotism which had plagued the region and Indonesia, in general, for decades. He claimed that his NGO also exposed illegal logging and mining activities in the region, in that helping combat the destruction of the environment. Tra also mentioned his own and his NGO’s involvement in forming a government watch program to critique the local government’s policies, especially those policies that harmed people’s well-being. By critiquing the policies, he claimed he had helped the government set a priority in their policies. Based on his activities, he believed that the NGOs’ job was not to place blame but to help find solutions for chronic problems in the region, such as unemployment and

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land disputes. In terms of land disputes, his NGO was involved in an advocacy program

that supported local people who were trying to defend their aboriginal titles over the land

against claims of the government or companies. This dispute used to be addressed

through oppressive measures, with companies using the apparatus of the government, military, and/or private security forces. However, with a change in regime in the country, political and social transformation, and NGOs occupying a better position, disputes of this sort could be solved through negotiations.

Despite the positive work of NGOs in the region and in the refugees’ settlements,

many of the informants were suspicious of the NGO activities, notably the activities of

non-local NGOs. One of the suspicions focused on the issue of evangelism. Ahmad, the

Madurese leader, was one of those who believed that this covert activity was conducted

by some NGOs. Joko, a Muslim local youth leader, however, mentioned that this was a

matter of misunderstanding. He recalled one time when this issue was spread among local

people while an NGO was working in the conflict area. He mentioned that:

One year or two years during the reconciliation process, I became a contact

person for a non-local NGO. I also joined a Catholic NGO and worked with the

Indonesian Democratic Party in a temporary position. I did not see any hidden

evangelism in their programs. They mostly talked about general matters,

especially the humanitarian program, education, people’s wealth, and so on. If

there is [a hidden agenda], I was never able to uncover it. There was a

misunderstanding when the England-based Oxfam came here. They happened to

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work with a local Christian NGO to build sanitary facilities. However, this

cooperation was not disclosed to the people, who believed it was a Christian

mission. After the agenda was disseminated, local people realized the NGO’s

[good] intention.

People’s suspicions about NGOs were, to some extent, understandable because

many NGOs were established or revived during the post-conflict period as money was

poured into the area. Several of the new or the revived NGOs proudly declared their

association with the Dayaks and native people as they gained momentum after the

conflict subsided. The use of a local cultural property as the name of an NGO became a

common phenomenon in several cities of Central Kalimantan Province. For example,

several different NGOs shared the name of “Mandau Telabang” (Machete and Shield), a

specific reference to Dayak identity.

Impacts of Conflict: Change in Behaviors and Interaction

As the conflict subsided, many Madurese started to return to their homes. Several

respondents admitted that many changes had occurred in terms of behaviors and

interaction. Abdul Jalil, a Madurese respondent, mentioned bad characteristics of

Madurese, such as ethnic chauvinism, high self esteem, and ignorance of the possible consequences of an act. He affirmed that the Madurese had learned their lessons and were no longer arrogant. This was a change that he hoped would also occur among the Dayaks.

However, this change, according to Niwar, another Madurese respondent whom I consider to represent the Madurese who did not have enough schooling experience,

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varied among the Madurese because recently migrated Madurese had displayed different characteristics than the Madurese who had lived in the Kalimantan region for years.

Firm measures against criminals, including the Madurese, according to Abu

Imam, were a key to building trust between the Madurese and the locals. Before the

conflict, many local people believed Madurese criminal perpetrators tended to be

protected by their communities and leaders due to their power and influence. As a

Madurese, Abu Imam asserted that

Economic factors actually triggered the violent conflict. Difficulties in earning

money made people easily offended when tough competition occurred. If

economic improvement did not occur, I believe current problems would be

difficult to solve. In addition, law must be enforced fully. Whoever is guilty must

be punished regardless of their ethnic group. Even the Madurese must not be

protected if he/she is guilty.

This plea to enforce the law with everyone, including Madurese, was a significant

change. Given their strong economic, political, and social power, many Madurese had

believed that they had been above the law because there had been always Madurese

elders who could bargain on their behalf with those who were supposed to enforce the

laws on all.

This change in behaviors and attitudes was also observed by local people. Uncum, a Dayak respondent, addressed this change:

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There is indeed a change in behaviors and attitudes among the Madurese after the

conflict. I say this not because I want to please the Madurese or other people. The

conflict brought a positive effect for us. The Madurese who used to be hard

headed and rude are now very polite. When we bargained for merchandise and

decided not to buy, the Madurese vendors used to be mad at us. Now, there has

been a change. They have become very polite and have started to strive for

positive behaviors.

Other local respondents in Sampit and Pangkalan Bun agreed that the arrogant character of Madurese no longer existed after conflict. The Madurese had started to respect and uphold local norms and values. Nelson, another Dayak respondent, stated that now the

Madurese maintain a more low-profile attitude and are more polite as compared to their attitudes and behaviors before the conflict. The Madurese, however, expressed the feeling that the local people had changed to be more negative toward the Madurese. Abdul Rizal, a Madurese respondent, mentioned that the Dayaks used to be helpful but now tend to look down on the Madurese.

As the change of behavior and attitudes seemed to go in the opposite direction, both Madurese and local people admitted that they have become more careful in interethnic interaction and now maintain a social distance. Abdul Syukur, a Madurese respondent, stated that now he is very careful in speaking with and keeps a distance from local people. He said the Madurese and local people are not as close as before and are afraid of what will happen if another conflict occurs. He hoped that the Madurese held no

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grudge over what happened to them because they were traders and migrants who should

respect other people to be able to live safely.

The same attitude was also adopted by the local people. Nelson, a Dayak leader in

Sampit, said that he has now become more careful when talking with a Madurese. He

also said that he still worries that a conflict will erupt again if both ethnic groups are not careful and do not have positive attitudes. He admitted that several Madurese people have talked with him and said that they would yield if a disagreement occurred between them and a local person. An example of this yielding situation was described by Joko, a local respondent:

There was a Madurese who worked for me and lived here. Some people still did

not like the Madurese living here. When he went home from work, he was beaten

up by the people. After the incident, he was so frightened that the next day he

returned to Madura.

This new pattern of interaction was also observed by other local respondents.

Najmi, a local respondent, said that the Madurese are now very careful when speaking.

He also admitted to a tendency on the part of local people to look down on the Madurese.

However, he said that this attitude was temporary because they had just recovered from violent conflict. He expressed the belief that the local people’s attitudes would change in the future once they realized and accepted the fact that the Madurese were also

Indonesians who share the same national identity with them.

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As the Madurese changed their behaviors and attitudes in interaction and work-

related activities, the local people had also transformed their perspectives, notably their

work ethics. The Dayaks’ previous passive and easily contented attitudes had changed

after the conflict. Tra, a Dayak respondent, offered an analogy equating Dayak attitudes

with a snake that felt contented after eating but would hunt again when it was hungry. As a result, they overlooked the changes that occurred around them as their forests were

gone, and they failed to see the importance of technological and knowledge transfers. The

government’s transmigration program as a way to transfer knowledge from the migrants

to the Dayaks had failed in the past. Tra claimed this condition and weak work ethics

contributed to Dayak inability to compete with migrants who are more aggressive in

changing their life. Joni, another Dayak respondent, saw this phenomenon from a

different perspective. He asserted that

[The weak work ethics] was closely related to the mistakes in the [government’s]

development program which did not accommodate their long-formed and existing

way of life. In the development program, the government let them live the way

they were without any effort to make significant improvements for the local

people. As a result Dayak people were unable to understand the changes that

occurred around them. In addition, an old habit dies hard. Therefore, they were

labeled as lazy people [because they maintained they old way of life]. The Dayaks

would definitely want to work as hard as other people if given a chance.

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Nevertheless, local respondents admitted that part of the problem existed in the

Dayaks’ limited world view. Nelson indicated that there was an internal and psychological problem among the Dayaks. They had long been spoiled by the rich natural environments making them resistant to change. The lack of ability to adapt, according to

Nelson, was caused by the absence of a wide horizon and ability to make sense of the world changes. This condition, according to another Dayak respondent, Joko, was common among the inland Dayaks. According to him, the coastal Dayaks were far more sensitive to changes due to their interaction with people from other ethnic groups. In addition, since many had converted to Islam, they had abandoned their tradition of wasting money on traditional parties. The inland Dayaks, however, would spend their entire income without hesitation because they believed there was always something for them tomorrow. This attitude contributed to a lack of awareness that their way of life was becoming extinct as resources were becoming more difficult to find.

The conflict, however, changed the Dayaks dramatically. Uncum, a Dayak respondent, saw that many local people had changed in their perspectives toward work and, thus, their work ethic. He said that:

A long time ago, the local people tended to be picky in terms of jobs and did not

want to do blue collar work. They thought that line of job was too low for them.

As a result, many migrants took the jobs. We used to be spoiled by the lumber

products from the forests, but not anymore now. Presently, many local people no

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longer looked down on blue collar jobs; some have already become manual

laborers, a kind of job that they would never do in the past.

The changes in their ecosystem and the scarcity of natural resources forced local

people to be more pragmatic. After the conflict, they saw that many blue collar jobs,

which had been dominated by the Madurese, could provide opportunities for them to earn

an income. The expulsion of the Madurese from the province created a competition-free

situation where they did not have to worry about being harassed and abused by the

Madurese who used to control jobs. After the conflict, the Dayaks, in turn, dominated the

blue collar sectors. According to Niwar, an uneducated Madurese laborer, the local

people took control of these jobs and tried hard to prevent the Madurese from seeking the same the line of work. This situation was confirmed by Abu Imam whose family member was constantly disturbed when working. He said that the local people tried to provoke his family members to act violently by reminding him about the violent conflict in 2001.

Despite this gloomy portrayal of job competition, the change in work ethics seemed to spread among the local people after the conflict. Many Dayaks have realized that they, too, needed to change in order to become the master of their own region.

According to Najmi, this change of ethics accelerated the development in the region.

The Conflict Monument

As a remembrance of the violent conflict that occurred in Sampit, a monument was built on the road that connects Sampit and Pangkalan Bun. This monument, called

“Monumen Sanggaran” (see Appendix D), was located on the outskirt of Sampit, about

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two miles from the city. Pedlik Asser, the initiator of the monument construction, was the client of a Dayak respondent in Sampit, Rajali. Asser reportedly mentioned that the monument symbolized the civilization of the Dayaks, who for generations, had been friendly, open, and avoided hurting other people (Tingang & Rajali, 2002). The monument was impressively made of a single log of ulin wood, a long-lasting iron wood native of Kalimantan, with a diameter of 60 centimeters (23.5 inches) and 18 meters (59 feet) in length. The log was carved with Dayak motifs containing many symbols that represent the Dayaks and their philosophy of life.

Among symbols carved into the log were a machete and shield representing protection from and Dayak resistance of injustice; a cooking pot representing the wealth and victory of the Dayaks; and an eagle with gold tongue at the top of the monument representing the Dayaks’ relationship with the nature, which served as the guidance in life (Tingang & Rajali, 2002). On the bottom of the monument were carved two dates:

February 18, 2001 and June 16, 2002. The former was the date of the beginning of violent conflict while the latter was the date the monument was finished.

Exposed to any passersby heading to Sampit from the west direction, the monument seemed to remind people not to forget about the bloody conflict. However, one of the respondents commented that the monument is no more than the symbol of and commemoration of Dayaks’ victory over the Madurese during the violent conflict. When

I came to visit the small monument, I could not help but sense an eerie atmosphere and feeling of grief. When inspecting and taking photographs of the monument, I was unable

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to find any reminders of the deaths of many Madurese during the conflict, which affirmed

the respondent’s conviction. Further, I had the impression that the monument was

sending a message to all migrants coming to the region: “Welcome to the land of the

Dayaks, but behave yourselves.”

The Kaharingan Belief: Its Unexpected Rise and Role

One surprising finding during my research was the role of the Kaharingan leaders

during and after the conflict. The leaders of this traditional belief played a central role

and became a unifying force for all local people regardless of their beliefs. In the heat of

the violence, Dayak warriors from both religious beliefs turned to traditional beliefs and

Kaharingan medicine men to seek protection and supernatural power. Tari, a female

Christian minister, described this situation as a desperate measure taken by the warriors

for survival reasons. Samsudin, a former Dayak warrior who is a Muslim, followed the

ritual to supposedly gain this supernatural power. He admitted that he possessed supernatural power and was possessed by the urge to kill Madurese. This kind of supernatural power, according to Desta, a Kaharingan adherent and leader in Sampit, was granted because the Dayaks believed their ancestors would protect and grant them power to fight their enemies by possessing the warriors. Indeed, Samsudin confirmed that, after following the ritual, he and some of his friends felt they were possessed by certain powers which made them weapon-proof and fearless. This condition, according to Desta, was normal when the spirits of ancestors were invited to join the fight.

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Weeks after the killing of the Madurese, according to several respondents, Sampit

was engulfed by an aura of death. Although many dead victims had been buried, the

atmosphere was eerie, especially at night as dogs howled all night long. According to

Desta, this happened because the spirits that had helped Dayak warriors fight the

Madurese had not returned to their world. Then, Kaharingan leaders and shamans in

Central Kalimantan, especially Sampit, conducted a home cleansing rituals. Many people

asserted that, after the rituals had been conducted, the aura of death was gone and dogs no

longer howled. According to local respondents, the conditions started to get better, as

people were no longer afraid to go out at night. Regarding rituals to neutralize the bad

effects of the running-amok spirits, Desta, stated that:

[We call] these rituals as menggantung sahur, memapas lewu, menyanggar …

These rituals are crucial to neutralize [the spirits]. If these rituals had not been

performed, they would still be around and create disturbance. Therefore, the

rituals were performed throughout Central Kalimantan Province in order to return

them to their own world. We told them that their “services” were no longer

needed because we had peace.

Given the central role that the Kaharingan beliefs and its leaders played during and after the conflict, this traditional belief, which had long been dormant, found momentum. As the Kaharingan adherents gained recognition from the local people and the government, the region’s leaders now had voice in both the local government and the

House of Representatives. In addition, when I traveled around the city, I saw a worship

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temple built for the Kaharingan believers. The building looked new and was probably built after the conflict, giving the impression that the existence of this traditional belief was no longer shadowed by the Islamic and Christian beliefs.

Post-conflict Remaining Problems

Perception

After the conflict, negative perceptions were still held towards the Madurese. It seemed that the Madurese reserved their perceptions of the Dayaks and kept those perceptions private. When asked about his interaction with local people, Abu Imam stated that

I still feel sad because many people were still hostile to the Madurese. Many still

perceive us as untrustworthy. I heard that high government officials said that the

Madurese must not be given important positions in the government.

This statement, not allowing Madurese important posts, according to Abu Rizal, was signed many local leaders. This attitude, according to him, inhibited the development of the region because many infrastructures had been built by the Madurese. In addition, the

Madurese participated in defending the region during the revolution time.

Abu Rizal further mentioned that the conflict brought an inevitable impact to the region in terms of interpersonal and familial relationships. Many local people now were reluctant to enter into an interethnic marriage with the Madurese because they feared for their well-being should a similar conflict occur in the future.

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Siti, a local woman married to a Madurese, felt that she and her husband were

sometimes ignored by the local people. She said when there was a small problem

between them, people tended to make it a bigger issue. She admitted that her husband’s

friends, who had been nice to them, now kept a distance and had become indifferent.

Despite observed changes in behaviors among the Madurese, they unfortunately were still

perceived negatively by the local people.

Unemployment and Government Budget Drain

The Governor of Central Kalimantan Province, A. Teras Narang, mentioned that

the labor force in the province is 863,135 with open unemployment as high as 70,539

comprising those in the age range of 15-24. This unemployment becomes a source of

frustration among the residents of the province (Pengangguran biang frustrasi, 2006).

This condition, I believe, was partly caused by the conflict, which destroyed many

business facilities and scared businesspeople away from rebuilding or starting new

businesses in the region.

In addition, the government funds were drained to cover the expenses of security

forces. In an interview with the then-Regent of Kotawaringin Barat Regency during my

preliminary research, this condition was addressed. Mr. Razak, the Regent, utilized the

local government’s funds to minimize conflict at any cost and prevent destruction of economic facilities from happening. He stated that:

In my calculation, all money that we spent to prevent the conflict from spreading

and escalating was far better than having the damaging situation in Sampit.

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Spending 7 billion, 10 billion and 20 billion rupiahs1 is nothing. The trauma in

Sampit will not be healed in years… The trauma that people felt in Sampit cannot

be eliminated and valued with money.

The data from the Government of Kotawaringin Timur Regency regarding the funds spent for security measures and refugee handling, unfortunately, were not available. However, reflecting on the amount spent by its counterpart in Kotawaringin

Barat Regency and the extent of destruction of properties and infrastructures, the amount spent by the Government of Kotawaringin Timur must have been doubled, or even tripled. Considering the funds spent during and after conflict, it was not surprising if the local governments had financial difficulties to finance their developmental plans.

The central government, however, flushed some funding to help the victims of conflict in Central Kalimantan Province. Three billion rupiahs (about $335,000) was granted in 2002 for the victim families. Each received about 1.5 million rupiahs (about

$167). The amount was supposedly sufficient to help the victims of the conflict in the province with their basic needs for at least two months. However, the fund was distributed erroneously as many non-victims received the fund illegitimately. In addition,

the amount allocated for each family was corrupted by the fund distributors ((Tingang &

Rajali, 2002). With the rampant corruption in the distribution of funding granted the

central government, the conflict victims were victimized twice: loss of family members

and loss of financial aid.

1 $780,000; $1.2 million; $2.2 million respectively

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Asset Take-over

Another problem related to post-conflict reconstruction was returning Madurese

property to its owners. After the violent conflict, many local people took over the

property of the Madurese who fled the area for contemporary settlements in East Java

province. The property included houses and lands (farmed fields and plantations). The

local government sought to assume inventory of the property even though the central

government put pressure on locals that the Madurese properties should be protected and

asserted that their ownership rights were guaranteed. This action apparently did not work because of the difficulties that the local officials had in terms of collecting legal

documents of ownerships.

In reality, however, the assets of the Madurese were taken over by the local

people. Rohim, one of the Madurese respondents and my research assistant,

acknowledged this problem. The process of claiming assets for the returning Madurese

proved to be difficult. Samsudin described many cases in his neighborhood where the

returning Madurese found their houses had been taken over by local individuals. The

local individuals usually charged the Madurese a certain amount of money, claiming that

the former had spent that amount to take care of the latter’s house. In one instance,

according to Samsudin, a local individual asked the returning Madurese to pay for the

expenses he had spent to restore the house and install water and electricity.

In other cases, according to Nelson, a Dayak leader, the Madurese did not use

hostile-takeover methods to reclaim their properties. Instead, they let local people decide

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when they could resume possession of the property. Negotiations as to the price to be

paid for the assets and properties were common between returnees and locals. When the price was deemed to be too high, the Madurese could not do anything but let their properties be taken by the local people. This exemplifies a condition in which the

Madurese were powerless when negotiating with local people about their own property despite having rightful ownership of a piece of land, field, or buildings. Some Madurese were lucky because their previously taken-over property was abandoned by the local people. According to Abdul Jalil, a Madurese returnee, the property, especially productive property, was abandoned because the local people did not have the patience and determination that the Madurese had in managing and tilling the lands.

Government officials were unable to prevent local take over of Madurese

property. This situation was created, at least in part, because of Madurese reluctance to

basis in a variety of factors, at least one being a belief that the authorities would be

reluctant to act in ways that would be seen as supporting the Madurese. According to

Rohim, many Madurese were comfortable asking local people to negotiate on their behalf

as they believed that this approach was more likely to be successful (and result in a

peaceful resolution to the situation) than was seeking the intervention of the authorities.

Interpersonal and Interethnic Problems

One of the problems that, at the time of this research still lingered between the

Madurese and Dayak groups who had been active participants in violence was that of the

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grudge. Grudges materialized as a result of long time hatreds and conflicts. Most of my informants admitted, though reluctantly, to believing that this problem exists. However, members of the two ethnic groups viewed this problem differently.

Most Madurese respondents averred that they held no grudges toward the Dayaks

despite the fact that thousands of them were victims, in one sense or another, of the

violence. They all wished to begin their interethnic relationships anew, leaving all

previous feuds behind. All of them admitted that they had learned a lesson from the

violent conflict and claimed that they had learned their “place” as migrants in

Kalimantan. Rina, a 26-year old Madurese homemaker, diplomatically answered the

question about grudges:

R: Do you think any grudges created by the conflict can be buried in the

future?

Rina: I don’t know. As for me, nobody in my family became victims. I

don’t have any grudges. Similar with my husband and my family; we

hold no grudges. I’m not sure, though, about others whose family

members were killed in the violence. Some might hold grudges

[against the Dayaks] for losing family members.

Several of the Dayak and local respondents seemed unable to let go of their deep

resentment toward the Madurese. One of the Dayak respondents mentioned his own

grudge against the Madurese. He mentioned the word dendam (grudge) several times

during the interview. His facial expression and intensity of voice suggested that he meant

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what he said. It looked as though he called on the Dayaks not to forget the brutality of

Madurese acts against the Dayaks in the first days of the conflict. In emphasizing his reasoning for maintaining a grudge, he mentioned several Dayaks who were burned alive in their house during the first raid of the Madurese in Sampit. When describing this, his anger was visible through his body language.

Another local respondent, however, answered impersonally about the grudges.

Rajali, a member of the local parliament who became a lawyer for the Dayaks during the

conflict, stated that:

R: Do you think old wounds and grudges because of the conflict will be

gone in the future?

Rajali: It depends on the situation. As I said, the conflict was started by a

certain party and supported by other parties that had been feeling

marginalized. These parties took the opportunity to create chaos.

In terms of their day-to-day interactions, Nelson, one of the Dayak respondents

openly said that he maintains his distance from the Madurese. He claimed that any

relationship he has with a Madurese is strictly business. Many Madurese in Sampit are

blue-collar workers. When Nelson needs the services provided by a Madurese, he hires

one on an hourly basis. Nelson admitted that this was as far as he could go in terms of

building a relationship with a Madurese. Keeping his distance from them, according to

him, was necessary in order to remain safe. When asked about his Madurese

acquaintances, Nelson mentioned he and his Madurese acquaintances had also developed

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a distance in their relationship. He seldom talks to them except at gatherings where they

are present. He acknowledged that the pattern of his relationship with Madurese friends

dramatically changed after the conflict. He said everybody now knows his or her place,

but nobody tries to bridge the deep chasm produced by the conflict.

Locals’ Reluctant Acceptance to the Madurese Returnees

Amidst the wave of Madurese return to Central Kalimantan Province, enmity was

still felt by the returnees. A hostile attitude, not verbally expressed but nonverbally

present, was felt by the Madurese. Ahmad, a third generation Madurese who had been a

teacher and a member of the local parliament mentioned this problem. He said that it was

understandable if the locals were not fully able to accept the Madurese for the time being

because the wounds from the conflict were still healing.

One thing, however, that he could not understand was that other migrants from

other ethnic groups follow suit. From what the Madurese children in school told him,

everybody, including Javanese children and adults, looked down on them and contemptuously used the Madurese label in reference to them: “That’s Madurese!”

According to him, this situation hurt the Madurese a lot, especially when it was done by

those who were also migrants, such as the Javanese. He resented the fact that other

migrant groups elevated their position as higher than that of the Madurese.

Ahmad also suspected that, in the post-conflict time, the Madurese were

continuously portrayed as bad apples in a basket. According to him, the portrayal was

deliberately done by those who wanted to take advantage of the post-conflict situation for

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personal gains. For example, some local politicians still used the issue of Madurese return

to Central Kalimantan for their own political gain.

Issue of Aggressive Evangelism

One of the issues that still lingered in Central Kalimantan Province was the

aggressive evangelism by Christian ministers to convert poor local people to Christianity.

This issue has its origin at a point in time long before the Dayak-Madurese conflict but was more highlighted during and after the conflict, especially when the majority of the

Madurese victims were Muslims. Many believed Christian missionaries took advantage of the situation created by the conflict. Ani, a local Muslim woman whose husband and brother were kidnapped by Dayak warriors and forced to drive wounded warriors to churches for medical treatment, reported that her husband and brother saw many foreign missionaries working to take care of the wounded. She further mentioned that many new churches were built in places where Madurese had dwelled. Ahmad, a Madurese leader, suspected that Christian evangelists were maneuvering with several non-governmental organizations to use aid programs to convert Muslims.

Christian leaders did not deny engaging in aggressive evangelism activities.

Nelson, a Dayak Christian, was once accused of evangelism. He mentioned that his

church never participated in such activities. He further mentioned that the aggressive

evangelists came from newly established churches funded by American churches. Nelson

was also aware of the potential of this issue to be a source of conflict in the future. About

the evangelists’ activities, Nelson stated that:

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I personally don’t know them because the number is too many. This [aggressive

evangelism] was our internal problem among the Christians. Sometimes we all

had to take the responsibility. When there was a conflict, we, the Christians, were

not worried. However, non-Christians believed that we were all the same. This is

really disturbing because we want to live side by side in peace and respect each

other. But the activities of people from other denominations fit the description

made by other non-Christians. As a result, we were all perceived negatively.

Another local Christian, Tra, did not really answer the question when asked about

aggressive evangelism. Instead, he merely mentioned that several evangelist groups had

competed with each other to attract new converts. He firmly stated that heretic Christian teachings now plagued the region.

Interestingly enough, one of the reasons for some elites in the coastal regencies of the Central Kalimantan Province, such as the Kotawaringin Timur and Kotawaringin

Barat regencies, to propose the establishment of a new province, Kotawaringin Raya, separate from Central Kalimantan, was the religious issue. Some of them argued that a separate province was needed so as to have separate Christian and Muslim regions. They reasoned that the potential for religious conflict would be bigger in the future as current political competition based on one’s religious beliefs was no longer healthy.

Summary and Conclusion

This chapter described the research findings from my observations, interviews, and document collection during my field trip. Changes were visible throughout the

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province as new regencies were established based on a regional administrative fragmentation (pemekaran) process. Given full power to manage and funds to develop

their regencies, much improvement in infrastructure had occurred, especially in

telecommunication and road construction/maintenance. Another change was the

demography of the region. The population growth forecast before the conflict did not

materialize because of the large number of Madurese migrants who were displaced

outside Central Kalimantan, notably to the East Java Province and because of the

establishment of the new regencies.

Identity seemed to be a complicated issue among the respondents as they needed

to sort out their main identity apart from other identities that they embraced. Cases where

respondents prefer a geographical identity to an ethnic identity were found. Many felt,

especially among the Madurese, that their ethnic identity could become a hindrance in

their interactions with others. However, one consistency in terms of the importance of an

identity is that Muslims (regardless of their ethnicity) tended to put their identity as a

Muslim as the most important component of who they are.

Findings concerning the roles of women during and after the conflict revealed

women’s courage and strong determination as they struggled to protect their family,

guide the panicked flock, and work as peace ambassadors. They stood tall and did their

jobs impressively although they were constantly in life-threatening situations. While men

seemed to be barred from doing their jobs, women—in the case being ambassadors of

peace—seemed to have an advantage as they were not viewed as a threat. This advantage

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allowed the women to approach local people to negotiate the return of Madurese refugees to their homes in the conflict areas.

The conflict brought several changes to the region. First, change of behaviors occurred between people in dispute. Post-conflict Madurese are described (by self and others) as more polite and more respectful to the local culture and people than was true pre-conflict. They have adopted a low-profile stance and tend to yield when an encounter with a local person threatens to develop into conflict. The Dayaks report realizing to realize that they have to work hard and change their work ethic in order to be able to compete with migrants for jobs. They are no longer picky in terms of jobs, and the elites seem to realize that they need to change to develop the region. Second, a monument was built that is intended as a reminder to people about the bloody conflict in 2001. However, the message of the monument seems to represent the position of the Dayaks rather than all people who were victims in the conflict. Third, the most unexpected effect of the conflict was the rise of the traditional Kaharingan belief. This belief played a role as a unifying agent for those Muslim and Christian Dayaks who were desperate to protect themselves during the heydays of the violence. Kaharingan belief also played a key role in returning the situation back to normal as rituals were performed to cleanse the region of the atmosphere of death.

Even as peace and reconstruction started to bloom, several post-conflict problems remained unsolved. First, negative perceptions toward each other were still in evidence, especially negative perceptions of the Madurese returnees. Second, the post-conflict

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unemployment rate was still high due to the slow recovery of the economic sector. Third,

the take-over of Madurese property and assets that occurred during the conflict had not

yet been resolved. Interpersonal approaches were chosen to negotiate the return of assets.

Fourth, people in many areas still rejected the returnees, despite the existence of a legal decree that allowed them to return to their homes. Finally, a problem offered the potential of becoming another source of conflict in the future was that of aggressive evangelism by

Christians. Many expressed their belief that, if this problem was not addressed, a bigger

conflict would erupt someday.

The next chapter discusses and analyzes the findings described in this chapter.

The discussion and analysis includes the effort to make sense of the phenomena that

occurred in the field after the conflict. The chapter also discusses the answers to research

questions posed in Chapter 3.

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CHAPTER SIX: ANALYSIS

This chapter presents an analysis of the data presented in Chapter 5. The topic of

identity is addressed first, followed by the role of women during and after the conflict,

continuing problems, and post-conflict communication. The research questions posed in

Chapter 3 are answered.

Identity

Discussion of the issue of identity relates to what constitutes an identity.

Questions concerning identity surprised many respondents because they had never

thought about it before. Many respondents had to think hard to come up with a single

identity. This difficulty, I believe, was caused by the respondents’ assumption that

everything related to identity should be taken for granted and by a belief that one could

determine others’ ethnicity (and, thus, identity) by observing their way of life, language,

values, and religious beliefs. People usually ask where an individual is from and assume that information establishes the ethnic group to which the individual belongs. They can

also guess the geographical origin of an individual by observing his/her accent. Several

ethnic groups in Indonesia have a distinctive accent when speaking Indonesian. In

addition, physical features can reveal one’s ethnicity, especially those from Eastern

Indonesia.

From a general perspective, respondents’ difficulties in stating their ethnicity

were partly caused by their understanding of what constitutes an ethnic identity,

respondents’ denial of their identity, and respondents’ preferences for embracing a

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geographical identity instead of an ethnic identity. These three phenomena were apparent in the case of respondents’ acts of detachment or distancing from their perceived-by- others ethnic identity. As ethnic and religious identities were stained with a negative image associated with bloody conflicts, many chose to adopt a much more neutral identity, namely a geographical identity.

In discussing ethnic identity, I need to refer to the concept of the trinity of ethnic boundary markers suggested by Nash (1989), namely kinship, commensality, and a common cult as previously noted in Chapter 3. To some extent, Nash’s suggestion was true, especially when these ethnic markers were applied to the Madurese. Ethnically speaking, they shared unique biological traits (kinship) that made them quite distinguishable from other ethnic groups in Indonesia. With darker complexion and hardened facial expression (generally due to their hard labor jobs), the Madurese are usually easily recognized. Especially true in Central Kalimantan province, with their preference for colorful dress and colorful house paint, people can usually guess correctly that a person is a Madurese by looking at these physical features. The Madurese also share a close interpersonal interaction with each other (commensality) as they tend to live in enclaves. Given this close proximity, the extent of their interpersonal interactions with other members of the ethnic group is high. The use of the Madurese language in the enclaves always sends a message to passersby that they are entering a Madurese territory.

In addition, Islam is a common belief that the Madurese embrace (a common cult). Being

Muslim was the first and foremost identity that Madurese would acknowledge when

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speaking with others. They share a similar Islamic tradition, which might be different

from that of other Muslims in the region. As they come from a traditional Islamic culture,

Madurese people trust their religious leaders and follow—without question—anything the leaders prescribe. The close attachment to the religious leaders from their ethnic group always gives the impression that the Madurese are an insular people who do not want to assimilate with the local people. In the case of the conflict that afflicted Central

Kalimantan, this attachment eventually contributed to the resentment that the local people had against the Madurese.

The Dayaks and locals also demonstrated Nash’s (1989) markers, but in a quite different manner from the Madurese. The loose connection of kinship did not prevent the

Dayaks and locals from uniting in a fight with the Madurese due to the belief that they share ethnic biological traits. An interesting phenomenon occurred in the commensality marker because many of the Dayaks, warriors and supporters, shared very little closeness in terms of interpersonal interaction. The Dayaks are spread across the vast region of

Central Kalimantan province making close interaction limited, especially among those who live in separate villages in remote areas. A similar phenomenon occurred with respect to Nash’s common cult marker. A majority of the Dayaks embrace either Islam or

Christianity while a small number still maintain their traditional Kaharingan beliefs. The differences in beliefs appear to prevent the Dayaks from sharing similar religious and spiritual experiences during normal times. However, the data revealed that, during the violence that gripped Central Kalimantan, the Muslim and Christian Dayaks reverted to

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the old traditional beliefs. I believe, as many other local people do, that this move was

triggered by the survival instinct. The “alien” religions did not seem to provide enough

spiritual and magical protection when compared to that offered by the traditional beliefs.

As a result, many temporarily forsook their present-day religion in order to gain

supernatural power in the fight with the Madurese. Despite their loose attachment to each

other, the Dayaks had one thing that united them, namely a communal hatred that had

been ingrained in collective consciousness.

As described above, I believe we deal with two different types of ethnic groups: a

close group versus a loose group. Apparently, Nash’s (1989) markers do not work to

explain ethnic identity, especially for a loose group, such as the Dayaks. However, during

the conflict, the concept of “blood is thicker than water” gained momentum as members of the conflicting groups chose to revert to their ethnic identity and put aside their differences in beliefs. This dynamic differentiates the conflict in Central Kalimantan from conflicts in other parts of Indonesia. As ethnic identity was highlighted, other identities embraced by members of the conflicting parties were overlooked. Sen’s (2006) assertion

that people tend to engage in reductionism of identity as part of profiling others seems to

be true.

One negative aspect of the reductionism found in the Dayak and Madurese

perceptions of each other is singular affiliation (Sen, 2006). This act resulted in

simplifying an individual’s identity to merely that of Dayak or Madurese without any

effort to see different identities that others embrace, such as being a Muslim or Christian

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or Indonesian. The second act of reductionism, according to Sen, is identity disregard, which leads members of the Dayak and Madurese groups to be unable—or more precisely, unwilling/reluctant—to find common ground and/or similarities between them and members of the other ethnic group. Members of each group view their own group as a single entity while disregarding those who fall in other groups. To some extent, this can also be categorized as a chronic trained incapacity (Burke, 1935; Tilman, 1997) which is far more difficult to change. The acts of singular affiliation and identity disregard have been so deeply rooted within members of both groups that not even post-conflict peace can change this dynamic.

During the conflict, the act of identity reductionism varied between the Dayaks and the Madurese. In general, the Dayaks overlooked their similarities with the

Madurese, such as possessing similar religious and national identities. The Madurese, however, attempted to highlight similarities by pleading with fellow Muslims among the

Dayaks that they shared similar religious beliefs. Despite all efforts, the Madurese failed miserably. Apparently, the Dayaks did not consider religious similarity to be of sufficient importance to warrant any reduction in their acts of vengeance.

Given their failure to persuade the Dayaks, the Madurese pleaded for the involvement of Muslims from other ethnic groups and other regions to help them.

Although national Islamic organizations responded to their call, these organizations were not able to effectively intervene. National and local elites, as quoted in major national and local newspapers, directed their efforts, such as they were, toward preventing the conflict

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from being labeled as religious in nature. Had the conflict been labeled as religious, the

fear was that the level of violence would escalate and spread even further, as occurred in

Ambon, Maluku, and Poso. Therefore, Muslims from other parts of Indonesia did not

become engage in the Dayak-Madurese conflict, preferring that the conflicting groups solve their own problems.

During the post-conflict period, I witnessed the fact that geographical and religious identities were highlighted for political reasons. Currently, the solidarity within the Dayak group has started to diminish. Many people living in the coastal regions of

Central Kalimantan Province believe that the development of their region has been inhibited by unbalanced development fund allocations from the provincial government.

During a meeting that I followed, the participants of the meeting used their geographical identity to justify a plan to break away from the province and establish a new province called “Kotawaringin Raya.” Along with geographical identity, this plan to establish a separate province was motivated by differences in religion. They argued that the inland province is mostly inhabited by Christian Dayaks while the coastal area is dominated by the Muslim Dayaks. Several respondents went even farther when they told me during an interview that the creation of a new, separate province is crucial to distinguish “where the pigpen [representing a Christian region] is and where the chicken coop [representing a

Muslim region] is.”

The respondents further argued that a religious intragroup conflict, such as the

Christian-Muslim conflict in Ambon, might occur between Christian and Muslim Dayaks

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in the future. They claimed that Central Kalimantan might go the direction of intragroup

conflict if the seeds of conflict between the local Muslims and Christians are not

addressed and managed in an appropriate manner. One of the seeds of conflict, I believe,

is the issue of aggressive evangelism and the domination of Christian Dayaks in strategic

positions at the provincial level. Many arguments can be offered to counter their claims.

Among those arguments is the fact that the labeling of the inland region as Christian is

not true because, statistically speaking, Muslims still outnumber Christians. Additionally,

the aggressive evangelism that was referenced was engaged in by a very small number of

Christians. Nevertheless, the view that Christians dominate the province and the image of those Christians as aggressive evangelists have been widely spread among residents of the coastal region, sowing seeds of a new conflict, this time among the Dayaks.

From my personal perspective, I tend to sympathize with the call for a new province but for a different reason. Central Kalimantan is very wide to manage with a poor infrastructure connecting one place to another. The allocation of development funds granted by the central Indonesian government has to be divided among the regencies. To some extent, the regencies with the greatest income-generating capacity are granted less funds. As shown by the fast development of new regencies from pemekaran, establishing

a new province might generate more development funds from the central government

which, in turn, could help to accelerate the development of the regions. In addition, a

lesser number of regencies in a province will offer easier management in terms of finance

and administration so that development programs can be more focused.

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The Role of Women During and After Conflict

Several roles that women played during and after conflict in Central are represented in Bouta and Frerks’ (2002) seven major roles of women (see Chapter 3), with some modifications. One of the roles identified by Bouta and Frerks is that of women as victims, including the targeting of women for sexual abuse. However, evidence that women were sexually abused did not emerge at least in my research concerning the violence that occurred in Central Kalimantan. Most of the female victims, notably the Madurese, who were killed were targeted in an indiscriminate manner. A respondent who had been a Dayak warrior admitted that, during the conflict, the Dayak warriors killed any Madurese they encountered, regardless of sex, age, or physical condition. Cases of beheaded women and children became headlines in national and local newspapers. This act of brutality against women did not fit into Bouta and Frerks’ category of women as victims of sexual abuse. This further lends to an opinion held by many that the conflict in Central Kalimantan was completely different from that in many regions of Indonesia where women usually became the victims of sexual abuses.

The second role that fits into a Bouta and Frerks’ (2002) category is women as combatants. This role was played by Madurese women as a means for protecting their own life and the lives of family members. As many of the Madurese men were killed during the violence, the Madurese women had to defend themselves from Dayak attackers. This condition was reported in a newspaper that depicted a Madurese woman with a weapon ready to fight the Dayak warriors. The Dayak women, on the other hand,

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did not become combatants. Instead, they participated in nonviolent ways by providing

food for the Dayak warriors. Circumstances contributed to the fact that women from the two ethnic groups played different roles during the conflict.

The third role from Bouta and Frerks’ (2002) categories that emerged during and

after the conflict was women as household heads. This is exemplified by a local female

respondent, Nuraidah, when she had to step up to protect her family when her husband

could not perform this function due to his Madurese ethnicity. Nuraidah’s role was, by no

means, exclusively hers as many Madurese women played the same role when their

husbands were killed during the violence. After the conflict, the Madurese women still

played this role when they returned from refugee camps. Many became the backbone of

the family by being farmers and vendors in the markets in order to support their family.

Although this job had been common among Madurese women before the conflict, in the

post-conflict period this job became more important and apparent because the Madurese

men had to struggle to earn trust when attempting to work for others.

The fourth role played by women has been that of peace activists in the non-

governmental sector. The Dayak women did not seem to participate in this role despite

their potential to bring peace faster. Instead, this role was mainly played by the Madurese

women who were strategically chosen by Madurese leaders and members of the

Madurese community in the refugee camps to negotiate peace at the grassroots level. The

challenges that women, as described by Yulianti and Summah, faced during the

negotiation process indicates that women had advantages that contributed to their ability

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to serve as agents of peace. The Madurese men were still considered to be threats during

the post-conflict period so they could not negotiate with the local people. The Madurese women who were sent as ambassadors of peace, however, could gracefully persuade the local leaders to allow the refugees to return. As is true in many conflict areas in the world, women are not considered to be threats and, thus, more doors are open to them as

they seek to bring peace to their communities. This further reaffirms Klute’s (2001) claim

that women tend to “manage conflicts better than their male partners” (p. 221). Given the

success of the Madurese women’s negotiation efforts with the local people, I believe

people should respect the role that these women played during the post-conflict peace

reconstruction process. Their success also provides precedence for Indonesian women to

participate more in the peace reconstruction process in the communal conflict areas.

The last role that women played during and after the conflict in Central

Kalimantan does not fit into any of Bouta and Frerks’ (2002) seven major roles. I call this

additional role women as informal leaders. This role is exemplified by Tari, a Dayak

minister, who took charge and assumed the leadership role when all members of her

community panicked during the conflict. Being a church leader, Tari was equipped with leadership skills needed by the community. Although she admitted that she did not fully succeed in convincing members of her community that they were safe, Tari took a major role as many men in her community left the community to seek magical powers that they believed would protect them during the conflict. This role was crucial because women and children left in the community were vulnerable and could have become victims if

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nobody had stepped up to organize them. Tari’s initiative to lead her abandoned

community was a brave move because she could have become the main target of a

Madurese attack. However, with a deep conviction in her beliefs, Tari believed that she

was under God’s protection, which lent her an additional strength to do this job. In the

scope of Indonesia, Tari’s role as an informal leader was also played by many women in

conflict areas in Indonesia. For example, Mama Dorkas (Agustiana, 2005) was a victim

who played this role after violent conflict subsided in Poso, Central Sulawesi Province.

Another example is Mama Yosepha who fought for human rights issues, especially the rights of people living around Freeport Indonesia, an American mining company operating in Papua Province (Yosepha Alomang, 2007).

Post-conflict Reconstruction

In analyzing the post-conflict reconstruction process in the Central Kalimantan

Province, one must first understand that the peace that was achieved falls under the heading of negative peace (Galtung, 1985). This category of peace, as opposed to positive peace, refers to a condition where open violence has been eliminated but the causes of

conflict have not been addressed or removed. As I observed, the superficial peace in

Central Kalimantan will take a long time to evolve into Galtung’s positive peace

condition where harmony, cooperation, and integration exist. To some extent, the peace

in Central Kalimantan depicts Pankhurst’s (2000) observation that “negative peace may

even be achieved by people accepting a worse state of affairs than that which motivated

them to fight in the first place, for the sake of the removal of prevalent organized

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violence” (p. 2). Pankhurst’s statement best describes the conditions under which the

Madurese currently live. Being the losing party in the conflict, they have had to adopt (or at least reflect) an obliging strategy (Rahim, 2002), letting the winning party (the Dayaks) dictate all the conditions that the Madurese have had to meet in order to return to Central

Kalimantan. These conditions have included the need for any Madurese who wishes to return to prove that, prior to the conflict, he/she was a “good” community member, and the IKAMA (the Madurese family organization) was dissolved.

Peace was possible because the Madurese used the obliging strategy. Another factor that contributed to the creation of peace was an internal struggle within the Dayak community. This can be seen in the act to disband of Dayak warriors by the Dayak community due to the warriors’ worsening thuggish behaviors. This act provided a wider window for the peace process and the return of the refugees. The absence of the Dayak warriors created a condition that helped the security forces to restore order. In addition, the port, which had been controlled by the warriors, was open to returnees because the warriors no longer controlled that area. The act by the Dayak community to disband the behaviorally disruptive warriors, I believe, was an advanced measure given the fact that these warriors played a major role in forcing Madurese out of the province, thus providing protection for the Dayaks from Madurese initiated acts of violence.

Non-governmental organizations and the civil society movement also contributed to the reconstruction process during the post-conflict period. The degree of effectiveness of their contribution was unverifiable as reports of their activities were unavailable. In

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addition, resistance was also found in the grassroots level to the implementation of at

least some peace programs due to people’s suspicion of the credibility of different NGOs.

Many NGOs are suspected of having an ulterior motive, such as Christian evangelism.

As mandated by the decree on conflict resolution and refugee handling, issued by

the local government, the refugees gradually returned to their homes. Although it was

feared that the return would create new frictions, the negative peace could be maintained

by the security forces and local government. As the members of the Dayak and Madurese

groups have gradually begun to interact with each other again, a different strategy has

been employed by members of these two groups. In their front stage (Goffman, 1959),

the Madurese are tending to lay low and are striving to not attract attention. This strategy,

I believe, has been chosen to show the host community that they have changed. I speculate that this attitude partly results from the training that FK4 provided for those who were returning to Central Kalimantan. The Dayaks, on the other hand, seem be constantly suspicious of the Madurese and, at least during my time in the field, seemed to be on the alert for evidence that the Madurese were returning to old behavior patterns. In

some cases, local people tested the new behavior patterns by joking and making

statements about the conflict when talking to a Madurese. Several Madurese respondents

noted having experienced situations of this nature and claimed to have responded by

ignoring the jokes/statements.

After returning several times to the conflict areas, I became more aware of

behaviors that suggested that the local people had adopted the attitude of a victor of a

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conflict and, to some extent, used the conflict as their chosen glory (Volkan, 1997). This change in behavior and attitude is reflected in instances where the Dayaks directly or indirectly reminded other people that the Dayaks were (are) the hosts while all others were (are) guests/migrants. The Dayaks also constantly reminded the latter of the need to know their place in this host-guest relationship. This echoed the same attitude symbolized in the Monument Sanggaran of 2001 Conflict. Surprisingly, members of non-Madurese migrant groups also adopted this attitude and looked down on the Madurese despite the fact they are also migrants. I read this situation as a form of retribution by the other migrant groups as they had felt dominated by the Madurese before the conflict.

Despite its negativity, I believe the conflict has brought positive consequences.

Changes in behaviors and attitudes were demonstrated by members of both ethnic groups to imply that they had learned something from the conflict. The Madurese changed their attitudes and are now trying to respect the local norms and values. They are no longer trying to force their will. The Madurese elders had relinquished their leadership roles in the community to Madurese youths who brought with them a new paradigm of leadership.

The Dayaks, too, revisited their way of life and changed their behaviors. For example, they now look for other jobs besides government employment and environmentally based occupations (such as working in the forest to collect wildly grown rattans and woods). The Dayaks now compete for jobs which used to be dominated by migrants. Although small frictions were apparent in the competition for jobs due to

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limited job availability, the frictions were not exposed openly to the public. These instances of behavioral and psychological changes indicate that, with work, trained incapacity (Burke, 1935; Tilman, 1997) can be eliminated. The elimination of trained incapacity created a new mindset among members of both ethnic groups to face challenges in the future.

Another positive effect of the conflict was the rise and revival of the Dayaks’ traditional Kaharingan beliefs. The revival of this traditional belief was unexpected amidst the domination of Christianity and Islam in the province. I believe the momentum for the rise of the Kaharingan belief started during the conflict when members of the

Christian and Muslim Dayak communities sought magical protection that was commonly thought to be inherent in the teaching and practices of the traditional belief. Also, during the post-conflict period, Kaharingan shamans performed rituals of “village cleansing” to get rid of evil spirits. Many of the Dayak respondents expressed their appreciation to the

Kaharingan adherents and shamans because they were considered saviors of the Dayaks during the violence. To express their gratitude over the Kaharingan leaders and adherents' contribution during and after conflict, a Kaharingan temple was established in

Sampit, a building that I had not seen during my previous visits. The phenomenon surrounding the rise of this traditional belief in the Christian and Muslim communities has two implications. First, a dormant belief could be revived due to an extreme condition; and second, out of desperation members of an ethnic group would revert to their aboriginal belief for the sake of their own survival.

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Post-conflict Remaining Problems

In the meantime, a dramatic change occurring during the post-conflict period involved the self-perception among members of the conflicting ethnic groups. Members of both groups, as evidenced by their attitudes during interviews and in public places, experienced the need to revisit their ethnic identity. However, each group took a different path reflecting their position within the conflict. Being the losing party in the conflict, the

Madurese viewed the conflict as their chosen trauma (Volkan, 1997) and had to endure humiliation. Consequently, their self-perception was not as strong as it had been prior to the outbreak of the conflict. Instead, they tended to position their identities as Muslims

first and other elements of their identity, including their ethnic identity, were less

significant or even nonexistent. The Dayaks, on the other hand, viewed the conflict as

their chosen glory (Volkan). Many demonstrated this by openly expressing their ethnic

identity. They were no longer afraid to be labeled “Dayak” although negative

connotations are still attached to that ethnic label.

Despite changes in behaviors and attitudes, the perceptions that Dayaks and

Madurese had of each other remained largely the same, namely they are members of two

different ethnic groups that share no cultural similarities. This can create problems in the

future because no common ground exists on which they can rest their interethnic

relationship. Similarities between, them such as religious and national identity, were not seen as centripetal forces (Bakhtin, 1984) binding the two groups together. Instead, the

supposed centripetal forces were dismissed during the conflict because only the

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differences that function as centrifugal forces (the forces that create dynamics of rejection) were highlighted. Reflecting on the conflict and post-conflict dynamics, the

centripetal forces, such as similarities in religion and national identity, were not revealed

at all. Instead, the centrifugal forces in the forms of differences in cultural norms and way

of life, including differences in economic condition, social class, and political

advantages, were emphasized. Although Bakhtin (2004) claimed that centrifugal forces

are more powerful than centripetal ones, the condition in the field showed that Bakhtin’s

claim is context-bound. Centrifugal forces are more powerful in between-group

interaction and intergroup conflict while centripetal forces are more powerful in within-

group interaction during conflict. However, during post conflict period, centrifugal forces became more powerful in within-group interaction as shown in the fragmentation of

Dayak community into subgroups, mainly based on religion. Among the Dayaks, the centripetal forces of ethnic unity as a single entity has started to diminish as common enemies (the Madurese) no longer exist or are not considered a threat.

The absence of a venue or a forum for both groups to solve problems that occur

between members of their communities has developed into a major problem during post-

conflict period. The unavailability of such a venue or forum was partly caused by the inability of the local government to function as a facilitator for interethnic conflict. This

should not be surprising considering that they failed to provide any concrete measures to address important issues, such as producing an implementation guide for the enforcement of the Decree of Conflict Resolution and Refugee handling. Apparently, the expectation

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that the local government could (should) help bridge the communication gaps between

members of the Dayak and Madurese groups seemed to be unrealistic due to their priority

in policymaking.

Besides the government reluctance to get involved in bridging interethnic

relationships, ethnic organizations, especially contemporary Dayak NGOs, made the

chasm between these two ethnic groups even wider. These organizations openly

expressed their Dayak ethnic identity, making them exclusive. The Madurese, on the

other hand, are not allowed to establish such organizations because it is feared that

organizations of this sort might trigger another conflict. However, as I observed, the

Madurese were successful in circumventing this prohibition. They established an Islamic school whose students are mostly Madurese. Although still suspected, the establishment of a school presents an image to the local community that the Madurese are harmless.

Another problem in the post-conflict period is unemployment and drains on budget of the local government as it strives to reconstruct damaged infrastructures and finance security operations. In addition, during the post-conflict period the region was hit by economic problems due to efforts to eliminate illegal logging activities sponsored by the central government. As a result, many business activities related to logging collapsed.

The number of unemployed increased as logging has been the backbone of economic activities of the region. I witnessed the effect of this problem on, at least, one of my

respondents who lost his job. He was forced to be a motorcycle taxi driver, the only job

available in the area. The people in the region had to endure this hardship longer because,

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as the reconstruction efforts were not finished, economic crises have caused new problems.

Another bit of unfinished business between the Dayaks and Madurese involved

asset take-over. Although some cases could be solved through interpersonal approaches, I believe firm legal measures should be implemented because the Madurese were put in a disadvantaged position despite the fact that the assets were legally theirs. Given their weaker position, the Madurese had to yield to the conditions set by the local people who

controlled the assets. Although the inevitable yielding action contributed, to some extent,

to the preservation of peace and did not result in new a conflict, the government should

take an active role to ensure that the issue of asset take-over is resolved peacefully and

legally.

Besides the asset take-over problem, the rules and conventions underlying post- conflict interethnic communication were not equally negotiated. The products of legal measures taken by the local government as well as other elements of society, such as local organizations, seemed to impose the Dayaks/local cultural values on the Madurese migrants/returnees. The adage of “when in Rome, do as the Romans do” put the burden of adjustment and value adaptation on the migrants. While it was true that the Dayaks and locals held no communal grudges against other ethnic groups, the repeatedly mentioned motto positions the Dayaks as the host, or the masters of the land, whose prerogative rights must be respected. I suspect that this strategy was used by the Dayaks to discourage migrants from trying to assume a dominant voice in the region.

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Another value that was a recurring theme was that the Dayaks and the locals were

peace lovers. This value was emphasized by the message implied in the conflict

monument. Although no reference was made to the Madurese, the monument, as noted in

Chapter 5, was built to highlight the local values that migrants should uphold. This effort

was somewhat futile because the value was overshadowed by and was completely the

opposite of their acts of brutality during the conflict. As many of the Dayaks share the

attitude of the victor among themselves, the Madurese returnees had to embrace the fact

that they were the losers. This makes their bargaining position so weak that they have had

to accept whatever requirements have been imposed on them. In addition to fulfilling

specific requirements in order to be able to return to Central Kalimantan Province,

Madurese have had to adopt a passive role in the society in order not to attract people’s attention due to the rising chauvinism on the part of the Dayaks.

The choice to play the role of a losing party and insignificant group was not

without resistance among the Madurese. However, given the very real potential for

negative consequences associated with displays of resistance, the Madurese have had to

swallow their pride and play within the rules of the game as outlined by the locals.

Borrowing from Goffman’s (1959) front stage and back stage, the Madurese presented their front stage behaviors as requested and required by the local people while, in their

private back stage, grievances and humiliation by the Dayaks and other migrants were

openly discussed. Despite this hardship, the Madurese worked tirelessly to change their

image. The agreement among the Madurese returnees to let members of a younger

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generation (as opposed to the elders of the community) assume control of their community was a bold move because, traditionally, their elders hold the dominant positions within their culture. Learning from their experiences before, during, and after conflict, the Madurese had to let other people know that young, educated, idealistic

Madurese now lead the community. These young leaders would also decide the course

for the Madurese to take in their efforts to be received again by the locals and peacefully

coexisted with other ethnic groups in the region.

My interviews with the Madurese respondents revealed that the Madurese

experienced injustices in social treatment. They claimed that they were unable to

acknowledge/defend their own values while they asserted that the Dayaks’ values were

not without flaw. Again, their weak position in the relationship would not allow them to

voice their discontent openly. The pressure on Madurese to monitor behavior came not

only from the Dayaks but also from fellow Madurese as they cautioned each other about

engaging in actions that might bring negative consequences to the whole Madurese

community. This condition implies that yielding (other scholars call it obliging, see

Rahim 2002; Rahim & Bonoma, 1979) was forcefully imposed by on Madurese so as to

avoid the emergence of new conflicts with the local people. This strategy (i.e., low

concern for self combined with high concern for others) is “useful when a party is willing

to give up something in exchange for getting something from the other party in the

future” (Rahim & Bonoma, 1979, p. 1327). The Madurese had to endure the

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consequences of adopting the strategy, namely humiliation, in order to obtain acceptance

and a second chance to live again in the society.

Finally, a thorny issue that has potentially become a source of conflict for the

future is that of aggressive Christian evangelism activities. As noted earlier, several

leaders of the coastal regions of the Central Kalimantan Province have used this issue to

argue that a separate province should be established. Although the issue of religion was

not publicly mentioned, my respondents said that the establishment of the separate

province was justified. Many expressed the belief that the potential for frictions between

the Christians and Muslims will be great in the future. In addition to Christian evangelism

activities, resentment over domination of strategic positions at the province by Christians

apparently contributes to fears about the potential for future friction. Several respondents

predicted that, if this problem is not addressed in an appropriate manner, a bigger conflict will occur in Central Kalimantan in the form of a religious conflict. As occurred in

Maluku, Ambon, and Poso, religious conflicts will overshadow ethnic identity and ethnic solidarity, replacing them with an emphasis on religious identity. The consequences of a conflict based on religious divisions would be devastating because such a conflict would

force members of several ethnic groups in the region to choose sides. Given the current

management of the Dayak-Madurese conflict, where peace is superficial and the roots of

the conflict have not been addressed, I tend to agree with my respondents that Central

Kalimantan can potentially become an arena of religious conflict. If a conflict seated in religious divisions were to erupt, ethnic differences would not be relevant anymore

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because religious identity would become the source of both the centrifugal and centripetal

forces.

One of the reasons why those problems partly persisted during the post-conflict

period was the framing of the conflict. The government, political and community leaders

labeled the conflict in Central Kalimantan as merely an interethnic conflict. This framing

undermined the most important roots of the problems, namely incorrect government

policies in the past, economic marginalization of the local people, and issues of justice.

The government’s stance in viewing conflicts in contemporary Indonesia as communal,

rather than being driven by—among other reasons—economic strife, did not falter.

Recently, Indonesian President Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono, as reported by Gatra

magazine, mentioned that conflict in Indonesia has been caused by identity clashes

(Yudhoyono, 2007). When I read the news, I could not find any reference regarding the

real roots of the problems mentioned. This assertion (of identity clashes as the sole source

of violence) will continue to result in incorrect strategies for addressing on-going

conflicts and a failure to put in place those measures that might prevent potential future

conflict.

Summary and Conclusion

The self-perceptions of members of the Dayak and Madurese ethnic groups changed dramatically during the conflict. The Dayaks, as the “victors,” regained their

self-confidence as an ethnic group. This newly revived self-confidence affects the way

the Dayaks perceive other ethnic groups within the region, notably the Madurese. At the

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same time, there were Dayaks who, at least in my conversations with them, chose to distance themselves from their ethnic identity, adopting instead a geographical identity.

One potential benefit of a geographical identity is its apparent neutrality. Such an identity would seemingly open more of a door to inter-ethnic communication and community building.

In comparison to the Dayaks, the Madurese, as the losing party, were confronted with the message that their cultural values and norms to were no longer advantageous.

Their traditional ways of expressing their ethnic identity were deemed (at least by the

Dayak majority) to be incompatible with the local culture.

The perceptions each group had of the other, however, remained largely the same, even through the process of reconstruction. Despite the efforts that have been made at peacebuilding and/or at altering personal (public) ways of interacting, many Dayaks and

Madurese remain wary of the other group. As a result, evidence was present (via statements made by interviewees) of conscious social distancing in interethnic relationships.

In general, the conflict taught members of both ethnic groups to address the barriers of their trained incapacity. They realized that the old way of life must be revised in order to survive amidst changes. The Dayaks are more flexible now in terms of job hunting. They no longer depend on the natural resources of the region. Instead, they have entered into competition with other ethnic groups for jobs. As for the Madurese, their approach to interpersonal and intergroup interaction also drastically changed. The old

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mindset to use violence and physical power to solve a problem can no longer be

compatible in post-conflict Central Kalimantan. Therefore, more verbally persuasive

strategies have been employed to compensate for their loss in physical power advantage

that they might have enjoyed prior to the outbreak of violence.

Given the imbalanced position in power between the Dayaks and Madurese during the post-conflict period, rules and conventions underlying their post-conflict

interethnic communication were not negotiated according to equality. The Dayaks tended

to dictate the conditions and gave the Madurese no other choice but to accept those

conditions. In addition, the host-guest kind of relationship was reemphasized in the

interaction between locals and migrants. This type of relationship is not only shown in

intergroup interaction, but also symbolized in the Monument of Peace.

The centripetal forces (forces of unity) or centrifugal forces (forces of

separation/disintegration) were revealed in post-conflict interethnic communication.

While similarities could be drawn between the Dayak and Madurese groups, such as in

religious and national identity, these similarities could not materialize as centripetal

forces. Instead, differences in terms of ethnicity, culture, and social structures still

dominated their interethnic interactions. During the post-conflict period, centrifugal

forces seemed to be highlighted in their interaction, negatively affecting their ability to

build trust, the most important factor in reconstructing post-conflict interaction and

communication.

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I believe, as Bakhtin (1984) claimed, the centrifugal forces outrank the centripetal

because of people’s tendency to see differences more so than similarities. This tendency

is used to justify the “us vs. them” perspective. However, the differences in power

between these two kinds of forces depend on the contexts and circumstances. During

conflict, forces of differences are more powerful between groups and forces of unity are

more powerful within a group. However, as intergroup conflict subsides, centrifugal

forces emerge to become more powerful in within-group interaction as members of a

group begin to divide themselves based on, for example the religious identity.

The local government and lawmakers as well as ethnic organizations did not seem

to provide venues in order to promote openness in the newly established communication.

The laws and regulations issued by the local government and lawmakers tended to be powerless as the enactment of such laws and regulations was not accompanied by implementation guidelines nor was a strong political will in evidence. Ethnic organizations also did not contribute much to the promotion of openness in interethnic communication. With the dissolution of IKAMA, the Madurese family organization, the

Madurese were left with no organized voice. The Dayak ethnic organizations, however, flourished after the conflict. Their pride as victors in the conflict led them to an enhanced ethnic pride that is reflected in the names that have been adopted for their organizations.

The Dayak ethnic organizations have not, to date, directed their efforts toward bridging

the communication gap that exists between Dayaks and Madurese because their focus has

been more on empowering the Dayaks.

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When in evidence, the roles that non-governmental organizations played in

assisting members of the community to build trust across ethnic groups did not seem to

be effective. The problem seems to rest within the NGOs themselves as many of my

respondents perceived these organizations as lacking credibility and as having ulterior

motives in helping people in conflict. Despite the negative perception, several local

NGOs have worked to empower the local people by providing legal assistance in a fight

for their aboriginal titles over their land against take-over efforts by companies and the

local government. Non-local and international NGOs have also worked to provide the

basic necessities for (former) residents of the region, especially the refugees.

Despite all the efforts in the reconstruction process, problems persist. The presence of these problems can be attributed, at least in part, to incorrect framing of the conflict by government and civil society leaders. Dismissing government’s bad policies, economic and justice issues as the roots of the problem lent to unimproved situation during the post-conflict reconstruction process. Unless there is a political will to address the roots of the conflict, these problems will remain unsolved.

In the next chapter, I provide the conclusion to this dissertation. I address the

contributions, strengths, and limitations of this research. Finally, I propose

recommendations to facilitate the reconstruction of interethnic communication in Central

Kalimantan Province and to minimize the chances for the emergence of violent conflict

in the future.

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CHAPTER SEVEN: CONCLUSION

Introduction

This chapter presents the conclusion of this research. Given the qualitative data collection methods, I describe the implication of this study and address its strengths and limitations. Also included in this chapter are directions for future research. Finally, I provide recommendations for the local government, NGOs, and educators in terms of measures to improve the interethnic relationships between local people and migrants as one means of reducing the potential for the emergence of violent conflict in the future.

Contributions and Strengths of This Research

In general, the present study represents a systematic effort to understand how ethnic groups previously in conflict negotiate their post-conflict interaction. Further investigations suggest that, given the nature of the conflict, power differences still play a major factor in the post-conflict negotiation process. Those power differences result in imbalanced negotiations between members of the conflicting ethnic groups. This research reveals a situation where a conflict is not entirely resolved and peace must be considered fragile because the roots of the conflict have not been addressed and many problems remain. Nevertheless, this research provides a space for members of conflicting ethnic groups to voice their concerns, fears, and hopes. With the emergence of new conflict and post-conflict phenomena in Indonesia, I hope this research can contribute to the body of literature concerning conflict management and conflict resolution.

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From a theoretical perspective, this research provided findings that confirm previous studies and offered new insights concerning post-conflict society. In terms of identity, theories of ethnic group identity offered by a number of scholars, for example

Nash’s (1989) trinity of boundary markers, apply only to close-knit groups because loose groups seem to possess a different set of markers, such as emotional connection and interest commonalities. In a time of conflict, members of an ethnic group can choose to detach or distance themselves from their ethnic referent. Many cases of identity detachment and distancing were found in this study. Due to problems that either led to or emerged during the conflict, many of the participants with whom I spoke claimed that they no longer view their ethnic identity as important or as a source of pride.

Nevertheless, the perceptions that members of one ethnic group had of the other ethnic group appeared to remain much the same in post-conflict Central Kalimantan as had been true in pre-conflict Central Kalimantan. Sen’s (2006) indication of identity reductionism seems to apply in this situation. Despite the many identities that any individual can embrace, people in the region (especially Dayaks) seemed more likely to use an ethnic identity to label individuals (self and/or other).

In terms of women’s roles during and after conflict in Central Kalimantan, this study found that they fulfilled several roles suggested by scholars (see Bouta & Frerks,

2002), although they did so in their own distinctive manner due to setting and circumstances. I also identified a new role in which women were forced to assume informal leadership roles while men were occupied with security issues. Of particular

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note is the significant role that women from the Madurese community played as

peacebuilders and liaisons in effecting the return of Madurese refugees to the region.

Their ability (and willingness) to be seen as “honest brokers” of peace and non-

threatening members of the community is all the more impressive given their own

vulnerability during the conflict.

As true in many other conflicts, the 2001 interethnic conflict in Central

Kalimantan brought with it death, trauma, and destruction of the infrastructures of the region. Another negative effect of the conflict is reflected in the ethnic chauvinism that has emerged (or been reaffirmed) on the part of at least some members of the Dayak

community. As the “winning party” of the conflict, many Dayaks feel superior and look

down on migrants from other ethnic groups. The Dayaks also keep reminding the

migrants that, no matter how many generations those migrants have lived in Central

Kalimantan, they are still “guests” in their (the Dayaks’) land. As guests, they are

expected to uphold local norms and values. This finding suggests that revival of an

identity is not always a positive phenomenon because identity revivals can produce in-

group chauvinism and reify the “us versus them” phenomenon that is so much a part of

destructive conflicts.

Despite its negativity, the 2001 conflict has brought positive effects to the

Madurese and the Dayaks. First, the Madurese, who used to be portrayed as a selfish and

violent ethnic group, have become more polite and more considerate of others. This

change in behavior and attitude cannot be separated from the unfortunate fact that they

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were the losing party in the conflict. Analysis also suggests that this change in behavior

and attitude might also be caused by training that internally displaced Madurese had to

complete prior to returning to Central Kalimantan. Another explanation of this

phenomenon is that only “civilized” Madurese were allowed to return, leaving hard-core

Madurese as internally displaced people (IDP) in the refugee settlements.

The Dayaks also changed their attitudes in terms of their attitudes toward jobs and

job competition. Now many Dayaks work in jobs, especially blue-collar jobs, that used to

be dominated by migrants. Dayaks are no longer reluctant to compete with other migrants

for these jobs, a phenomenon which was unheard of before.

These findings suggest that the trained incapacity that limits one’s perspective can change because of extreme circumstances, in this case, violent conflict. In addition, using the framework of trained incapacity, one can seek to achieve a breakthrough that will help people emerge from a cul-de-sac situation.

Centripetal forces (forces of unity) and centrifugal forces (forces of separation/

disintegration) were also identified during and after the conflict period. Similarities in

religious beliefs and nationality between the Dayaks and Madurese did not serve as

forces of unity because other differences, in this case ethnicity, were highlighted. This

suggests that similarities in identity do not always become a unifying force. We must

look to the perceived hierarchy of identities present within a situation. To identify

centripetal forces, one needs to look at a community more closely to identify the

overarching elements that can bind people together. Forces to disintegrated, on the other

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hand, are easier to identify during and after a conflict. Communication gaps, social and cultural differences, economic imbalances, government indifference, biased treatment by

security forces, and justice issues can contribute to the creation of centrifugal forces.

These forces of separation/disintegration can cause future conflict if not addressed in an

appropriate (i.e., constructive) manner. This research further suggests that Bakhtin’s

(1984) rhetorical framework of narrative analysis can be used to analyze social

phenomena present in a society.

Limitations of the Research

Despite its contributions and strengths, this study has limitations. The research

relied heavily on qualitative data collection: observations, interviews, and document

analysis. First, in terms of observations, this research is limited by my own perspective,

worldview, and subjectivity when observing phenomena that exist in the society being

studied. Despite my experience of living with the Dayak and Madurese communities,

distances in time and space have affected me in capturing, describing, and analyzing the

phenomena.

Second, data from the interviews that were conducted were influenced by the

number of respondents that I interviewed and the physical locations of those interviews.

While I certainly made every effort to uncover and was open to differing views from

members of the Dayak and Madurese communities, I cannot pretend to have exhausted

all available perspectives concerning this conflict. Of note concerning this issue, I limited

data collection and observation to the capital cities of two regencies and the capital city

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of Central Kalimantan Province. This restricted my opportunities to hear the voices of

those (Dayak and Madurese) living in remote areas as well as neglecting the voices of

those (Madurese) still living in refugee camps.

Decisions concerning where and who to interview were the products of a combination of factors, including the challenges of transportation and my assessment of the willingness of individuals to participate in an interview. While it would certainly be nice to be able to claim that I had exhausted all perspectives concerning this conflict, to have sought that as a goal would have been to establish expectations that would be impossible to meet. What is presented, instead, is a representation of the views of those individuals who were willing to speak with me (or, via the documents analyzed, to speak

“on the record” in one manner or another).

With respect to the document analysis portion of this research, some of the

documents that I collected offer information based primarily on the publishers’

perspectives with their biases and subjectivities in evidence. Many of the publications I

examined provided one-sided accounts and did not even pretend to offer balanced

coverage of and/or a balanced discussion of certain issues. These publications also did

not provide space for parties against whom claims are made to offer refutations of those

claims.

Finally, I readily acknowledge the wish that I had enjoyed more time in the field.

One month in 2001 and three months in 2006 in the field provided limited opportunity for

me to capture the dynamics of social interactions between members of the Dayak and

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Madurese ethnic groups. During data organization and analysis, as often occurs in

research of this sort, I found pieces of data that needed more elaboration. Considering

distance and communication difficulties, it was not always possible to ask for

clarifications, although I did manage to contact several respondents using long-distance

telephone calls. This lack of necessary details might have affected the results of this study.

Directions for Future Research

With the foregoing strengths and limitations in mind, I now offer directions for future research. First, conducting the same research with a wider range of respondents would certainly produce a more comprehensive picture. As noted, missing from the current effort is attention to the perspectives of the more remote village dwellers and of individuals who are still living in refugee camps. Arguably, people who live in remote areas might offer a very different perspective not only concerning the conflict but concerning what is needed in order to rebuild civil society. As residents in remote areas tend to have a closer social and physical proximity, I believe more authentic interaction patterns could be observed in those areas. Quite possibly, city living permits a more superficial contact between members of different ethnic groups than is possible within villages.

A longer period of time in the field would certainly enable a researcher to have a larger number of respondents and as well as more time for observation. Since cross- sectional studies might not be sufficient to capture the dynamics of interpersonal and

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intergroup interactions, longitudinal studies might provide for a richer understanding of how individuals conduct mundane, everyday interactions with others. This type of research offers the potential for more detailed results which, in turn, could contribute to a more nuanced understanding of the phenomenon of inter-ethnic relationships and communication.

Finally, a comparative study should also be conducted in other areas of Indonesia.

As a country susceptible to conflicts, a similar condition can be found anywhere in

Indonesia where natives and migrants have a strained relationship. One might look, for example, at how the Madurese in other regions of Indonesia interact with local people.

Such a study might provide a better picture of how the Madurese present themselves in interethnic interaction in a social and cultural environment that is different from that in

Central Kalimantan Province.

Recommendations

Based on the findings and analysis of this study, I propose several recommendations to overcome the seeds of future conflict in Central Kalimantan

Province.

1. Local government should attend to the implementation of the laws and regulations

they issue. Current complaints among residents of Central Kalimantan include

viewing the government as lacking the political will needed to enforce the laws

that are supposed to provide legal protections and justice for both local people and

migrants. Issues of aboriginal land rights for the locals and property take-over for

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the Madurese are crucial to peace as the failure to address these issues can mean

that they become sources of conflict in the future. Social and economic problems

that remain unsolved merit further intervention from the government because the

government has the power and funds to tackle these problems. Job creation should be an immediate priority as unemployment in the region brings its own set of strains between “local” and “migrant” groups. Value-added industries should be encouraged to provide job opportunities, especially with the export of forest

products, such as rattans and woods. In addition, the government should be firm

about the current business of exploiting the natural resources. Such exploitation

has caused environmental destruction in many parts of the region. Irresponsible

mining and logging practices should be eliminated because they will affect the

lives of the locals who have nowhere to go when their environment is damaged.

In general, social, cultural, educational, and economic development as well as

environmental protection can be the keys to improve the residents’ quality of life.

Finally, government-sponsored forums that facilitate interethnic communication

should be maintained and not limited only to times of conflict. Present practice is

to bring such efforts to a halt once the conflict has subsided. The government’s

active involvement in maintaining peace and upholding justice can contribute to

the creation of a better society—but only if these efforts are ongoing and

constantly nurtured.

217

2. Although NGOs and local civil society movements exist in the conflict areas,

their activities are not viewed as effective at the grassroots level. Additionally,

these agencies lack the supports of the informal leaders of the different ethnic

groups. NGOs need take immediate action to do bridge the communication gaps

that exist between members of the various ethnic groups of the region. For

example, an NGO might assume responsibility for creating informal forums for

community leaders to discuss problems related interethnic relationships. Conflict

management training for the leaders can also be included in and become an

integral part of the forum, helping the leaders to become positive resources and

constructive conflict management practitioners/consultants for members of their

community.

3. Security forces (police and military) can play an active role in maintaining peace.

Through personal approaches to ethnic group leaders, the security forces can

provide a sense of security for both ethnic groups. Firm law enforcement with

criminals, regardless of their ethnicity, will help to establish this sense of security.

The practice of protecting members of a certain ethnic group who are involved in

crimes must be eliminated. Many documents reveal that local people resent this

practice because they believe that security officers should be neutral in solving

crimes that affect interpersonal and intergroup relationships.

4. Multicultural education should be introduced to students in Central Kalimantan

from elementary school to high school. Given the cultural diversity in Indonesia,

218

multicultural education is necessary as a means to introduce students to diversity

and teach them to be more tolerant of cultural differences. The main purpose of

multicultural education, according to Banks (1999), is “to provide all students

with skills, attitudes, and knowledge needed to function within their ethnic

culture, the mainstream culture, and within and across other ethnic cultures (p. 2).

With these goals in mind, schools that incorporate multicultural education can

produce more tolerant citizens. In terms of the Indonesian context, Asy’arie

(2004) stated that multicultural education is a process that involves learning to

respect and be tolerant of cultural diversity in Indonesia. Asy’arie further asserted

that, through this educational process, Indonesians can be more flexible when

social conflict occurs, and national unity can be strengthened (see, also, Buchori,

2007). This course can be embedded all subjects, especially social sciences and

history. As a new course does not necessarily need to be created, the currently

overloaded teachers and students are not further burdened.

5. A conflict prevention and management course should also be introduced to and

initiated among students living in conflict areas. Reflecting on how students in the

United States learn about conflict prevention and management (see Jones &

Compton, 2003; Lantieri & Patti, 1996), Indonesian students can also benefit from

the integration of this course in the school curriculum. Training in conflict

prevention and management can be provided in two ways. The first is by

integrating such training into the current civics subject, and the second is by

219

embedding the course into the local content subject. Integrating the course into

either one of the subjects can avoid the creation of a new subject that might

burden both teachers and students.

The course of action to implement all recommendations above is admittedly not easy and demands commitment from all elements of the society in the Central

Kalimantan Province, such as the government, leaders, people, and NGOs. However, given the potential of the region for future conflict, I strongly believe that immediate actions should be initiated. If the status quo is maintained without any efforts to create changes, the people of the region will lose the momentum to create a better, peaceful society in the future.

220

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APPENDIX A

MAP OF INDONESIA

Source: http://www.lib.utexas.edu/maps/middle_east_and_asia/indonesia_adm_2002.jpg

243

APPENDIX B

MAP OF CENTRAL KALIMANTAN PROVINCE

Source: www.kalteng.go.id/INDO/IMAGES/PETA/PETAJALAN/lintasselatan.gif

244

APPENDIX C

MAP OF CENTRAL KALIMANTAN PROVINCE AFTER PEMEKARAN

Source: www.baritoutarakab.go.id/wp-content/uploads/2006/06/peta-kalteng.jpg

245 APPENDI X D

MONUMEN SANGGARAN

Source: Personal file

246

APPENDIX E

ORAL CONSENT STATEMENT AND

PROTOCOL OF OPEN ENDED INTERVIEWS AND OBSERVATIONS

Introductory Statement

My name is Rudi Sukandar, a doctoral student of Ohio University. I am doing research for my dissertation on the reconstruction of interethnic communication after the 2001 conflict. I would like to interview you and do some observations on how you communicate with people coming from different ethnicities than yours.

Oral Consent Statement

If you agree to participate, I need to inform you of your rights during the research. First of all, your participation is entirely voluntary. If you want to cancel your participation at anytime during the research, you can do so. If you don’t want to answer some of my questions or if you want the answers off the record, just let me know. Also, if you want me to stop observing you, just let me know. Okay?

(If the respondent says yes, continue with what follows).

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While you are not personally identified, unless permitted, there will be time when I need to quote. When I do that, I need to give the person a name. What name would you like to use?

Also, if you think you raise sensitive topics and want them to be off the record, please let me know. I won’t use the off the record remarks in my dissertation, although such information definitely is useful for me to give a broader understanding on this topic.

Interview Protocol

Demography

Name:

Sex:

Family ethnic background:

Family ethnic background of spouse:

Place of origin (town, province) in Indonesia:

Birthplace:

Occupations:

Education:

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Protocol of Interviews and Observations

General areas to be covered:

1. Family

2. Identity expressions (ethnic origin, Indonesia, Muslims).

3. Cultural practices (food, entertainment, leisure, rituals, marriage preferences, etc.).

4. Religious practices and issues.

5. Social interactions before, during, and after conflict with friends as well as other daily

interactions with migrants from different ethnicities.

Possible questions for each general area to start conversations:

1. Familial background:

• Tell me about your family? Where are you from?

• If you’re not from here, how long have you been living here?

2. Identity expression

• If somebody asks you a question “Who are you?” How do you answer that

question? What does being ………… (Madurese or Dayak) mean for you?

• When 2001 violent conflict occurred, where were you? What kind of feeling did

you have at that time and what did you do?

• Tell me about other tense situations in which you are not comfortable being a

……… (Madurese or Dayak)?

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• How do you think other ethnic groups see you as a member of a certain ethnic

group?

• If you have to rank these three identities (being an Indonesian, a Dayak/Madurese,

and a Muslim/Christian/Kaharingan), which one is the first, second, or third in

importance?

3. Cultural practices

• What language do you speak at home with other family members? Why?

• Did you ever do or attend traditional ceremonies (weddings, circumcisions, baby

showers, etc) conducted by people from other ethnicities before and after the

conflict? Please describe!

4. Religious practices and issues

• Are you involved in the religious activities? What kind of involvements?

• Are you comfortable with the group diversity in terms of religions? What do you

think about others from different ethnicities with different religion?

5. Social interaction and conflict

• I’d like you to think. When you have conversation, what would you talk about

with someone from similar ethnic groups and others?

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• During the conflict, did you maintain communication with persons from other

ethnic groups?

• After the conflict, what do you think about your interaction with people from

different ethnicities? Do you think you act differently than before the conflict? If

so, how?

• What do you fear the most after the conflict? Is there any way the local people

and the migrants can get along well? Do you think the grudges can be buried in

the future?

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APPENDIX F

INSTITUTIONAL REVIEW BOARD APPROVAL