[Kabar-indonesia] 3 of 6: Lament of the Minorities [incl: Ahmadiyah Angst; Sunda Wiwitan]

[JoyoNews at aol.com]

4 Tempo Magazine Independence Day Reports (3 of 6): 

- Lament of the Minorities 

- Ahmadiyah Angst 

- The Plight of Sanghyang Kersa
  Followers of Sunda Wiwitan 
  struggle to gain civil rights.]

- Followers of Parmalim: Under Siege 

Tempo Magazine
No. 50/VI
August 15-21, 2006 

Cover Story 

Lament of the Minorities 

Religious intolerance is the root of all other types of intolerance. The 
state has 
failed to manage the problem as a basis for diversity-based development. 

INDONESIA is free. We are not.” These words were written in a letter sent to 
the office of the Regent of Toba Samosir, North Sumatra. It came from the 
followers of the Parmalim faith. 

Parmalim, which means “holy people,” is an old religion which has long been 
forgotten by the state. In Toba Samosir, the spiritual center of those 
believing in Mulajadi na Bolon (The One God), live about 1,000 families. Across 
Indonesia, the Parmalim number around 5,000 families. They eschew usury and 
consumption of various meats, including pork. They also take good care of the 
environment. When cutting down a tree, the falling tree must not hit any seedlings. 
When they dig up tubers and roots, they must avoid damaging any buds or 
sprouts. 

According to culture expert Sitor Situmorang, in his book Toba Na Sae, the 
Parmalim was founded by Guru Somalaing Pardede in the 1890s during the period of 
resistance against Dutch colonization. Guru Somalaing was an advisor and 
chief aide to Si Singamangaraja XII. In the eyes of the Parmalim, Sisingamaraja 
was a prophet who carried out theological opposition against the Protestant 
Christian missionaries, and who also fought against the Dutch colonial government 
in Batak land. 

Up until now, however, according to King Ihutan Marnangkok Naipospos, 57, 
leader of the Parmalim, their followers remain marginalized. It is difficult for 
them to get identity cards (KTP) because they are forced to have their 
religion printed or have it listed as “traditional belief system.” If they insist on 
excluding their religion, the process will drag on, and they might not 
receive their KTP at all. Not having this card means they will not receive any 
benefits for their wives or children, nor will they be able to obtain marriage 
licenses, or even travel to other countries because they will not have passports. 

With regards to worshipping, Naipospos has lodged a complaint. “Forget 
building a place of worship. Even our regular weekly worship has to be performed at 
home,” he told Tempo. 

Parmalim is not the only traditional faith that has been denied a place in 
the religion column of identity cards. In the Sundanese region, followers of the 
teachings of Prince Madrais from Cigugur receive a dash in parentheses on 
their KTPs. What is the name of their religion? 

The state has not been able to come up with a definition, even though about 
3,000 of the Madrais community call their belief Sunda Wiwitan. “This faith has 
been around before the big religions now prevalent in Indonesia arrived,” 
said Djatikusuma, 74, grandson of Prince Madrais, and now serving as kokolot (a 
kind of imam) of the Ancestral Folklore Association, an organization for 
followers of Sunda Wiwitan. According to Dewi Kanti, Djatikusuma’s daughter, who 
fervently advocates for her group’s civil rights, the problem facing the 
community is not only limited to birth certificates and marriages, but also includes 
taking care of drivers licenses and family cards. 

The Ahmadiyyah group has had similar troubles. The incident which took place 
in Parung on July 15, 2005 is still fresh in their memories, namely when 
locals surrounded and destroyed the Mubarak campus. At that time, they were holding 
their annual Jalsah Salanah gathering, which was being attended by 12,000 of 
their followers from all over Indonesia and from neighboring countries such as 
Singapore and Malaysia. 

According to Ahmad Hidayatullah, director of the Mubarak Campus and an 
Ahmadiyah leader in Indonesia, the instigation of mass attacks in the name of the 
Muslim Community Movement began when a number of leaders from an Islamic 
organization met with Hidayatullah and friends on July 7. “The asked that the meeting 
be called off and the campus shut down. If not, they said that they would 
attack in a week’s time,” said Hidayatullah. The Ahmadiyah leaders turned down 
the request because they already had permission from the police. The meeting 
ended without reaching any agreement. 

Two days later, about 200 people attacked the Mubarak school, tearing down 
the entrance. Stones and wood were thrown, but the Ahmadiyah followers, who 
numbered in the thousands, did not fight back. A larger conflict erupted on July 
15. After the Friday congregational prayer, a large crowd attacked the Mubarak 
campus, this time setting fire to the girl’s dormitory, located behind the 
campus. The flames rose, trapping about 20 women, who were finally rescued. 
Police have sealed off the campus ever since. The dusty yellow police line is a 
silent witness to the suffering which took place at the 3.5 hectare campus. 

In addition to Parung, Ahmadiyah followers in other areas, such as Lombok, 
have also come under pressure. According to Hidayatullah, the group has been put 
under extreme pressure eight times, leading him to understand why 137 
Ahmadiyah followers in Lombok have sought asylum in other countries. “We don’t have 
any desire to leave the country, unless we are forced to,” he said. 

According to Ichsan Malik, Director of the Peace Path Institute and a 
post-graduate level teacher at the University of Indonesia’s Faculty of Psychology, 
religious intolerance can be considered one of the oldest forms of intolerance 
which has dominated attitudes of intolerance throughout human history. 
“Basically, racial and ethnic intolerance follow the pattern of religious 
intolerance,” he said, quoting a study done by Burckhardt, an expert in political 
psychology. 

The proliferation of religious intolerance originates from claims on truth 
and salvation advanced by the key figures from each religion, which often leads 
to feelings of superiority over other groups. However, on the other hand, 
religious intolerance can also be used as camouflage for other conflicts which 
actually have nothing to do with religious differences. A team of researchers 
from the Bina Warga Foundation of Central Sulawesi, for instance, discovered that 
the roots of Muslim-Christian conflict in Poso had nothing to do with 
theological claims, but were caused by competition for the positions of regent and 
regional secretary, as well as the uneven distribution of public positions. The 
battling parties created a conflict cloaked in religious overtones in 
Tokorondo, a village on the coast of Poso, in May 2000. 

Intolerance towards minority groups has continued to spread beyond the 
boundaries of formal religions, inundating other aspects of life, including gender 
sensitivity and sexual orientation, as well as physical handicaps limiting the 
full range of normal human endeavor. A minor example of this is the verbal 
abuse or ridiculing of people with disabilities, while a more serious problem is 
their limited access to public facilities. In Indonesia, only a small number 
of companies employ people with disabilities. It is apparent that the state has 
not seriously dealt with the problem of intolerance, let alone used it as an 
asset for diversity-based development. 

In essence, the sentence written by the followers of Parmalim to the Regent 
of Toba Samosir is not the cry of a single group, but the voice of a distressed 
chorus which continues to resound: “Indonesia is free. We are not.” 
 
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Tempo Magazine
No. 50/VI
August 15-21, 2006 
 
Cover Story 

Ahmadiyah Angst 

After the big attack, Ahmadiyah followers are taking cover. 
Some of them are even seeking asylum in other countries. 

USTAD Ahmad Hidayatullah was searching for a photo of their imam, Hazrat 
Mirza Ghulam Ahmad. He wanted to take a photo with portraits of the imam and his 
succeeding caliphs in the background. He tried to make a phone call and send a 
message with his cellular phone. There was no reply. 

“Since the attack, all of the photos of our imam have been taken away.” The 
nail hole in the guestroom wall could be seen. The photo he was looking for 
was finally found in the storeroom. 

Hidayatullah, along with his wife and two foster children, live in a small 
type 21 home in the Mubarak Campus, which takes up a section of the 10 hectares 
of land owned by the Jemaat Ahmadiyah Indonesia in Parung, Bogor, West Java. 
“Since the beginning, I told the police that I wanted to live here. Unless [the 
police] provide a place to stay, I will leave.” 

The campus today looks like a ghost town. The yellow police line, attached to 
the barbed-wire fence, is dusty. There are only two security guards with 
walkie-talkies on duty. They stand watch. Life at the 3.5-hectare campus has died 
down since a mob attacked it on July 15 last year. 

The family of Hidayatullah lives there, along with scores of other people and 
several security guards. “Before the attack, this campus was full of students 
studying religion. The buildings here are starting to fall apart because no 
one is using them.” Hidayatullah pointed to a large structure, which houses 
offices and educational facilities, not far from his home. It is dilapidated and 
unkempt. Not far off, are tens of broken and grimy squat-toilet booths. 

For Hidayatullah, becoming an Ahmadi (Ahmadiyah follower) has not been easy. 
As an ustad, a teacher, he must propagate the faith from house to house. Under 
the prevailing mood, studying in public areas is not a good idea. In fact, 
all of the signs at the Ahmadiyah mosque and educational facilities had to be 
taken down in order to avoid provoking hostilities. 

Hidayatullah started learning about Ahmadiyah during the 12th grade in Garut, 
West Java, in 1971. “I found out about Ahmadiyah from my high-school 
classmates. In his presentation, my friend said that Imam Mahdi, a prophesied figure 
awaited by Muslims, had already arrived, and that he was a prophet. I was 
shocked. In my mind, how was it possible that there was another after Prophet 
Muhammad?” 

Another friend gave him some advice to stay away from that person. Why? 
“Because he is part of an exclusive group, and their members are not only here, but 
also in Europe and the United States,” said the friend. Instead of staying 
away, Hidayatullah became more interested. 

He was impressed by a group that was able to Islamize Europe and America. 
“They must be something special.” He underwent a six-month study, from reading 
books to performing prayers. At that time, Hidayatullah was still in a 
Muhammadiyah-run high school. 

Hidayatullah’s father was a follower of the Naqsabandiyah sect, and he asked 
his son to choose between leaving home or leaving the Ahmadiyah sect. Thrown 
out of his home, the recently graduated youth was taken in by his uncle. “My 
uncle had already pledged his loyalty to the group, and he invited me to stay 
with him at his house.” In 1973, there was an announcement calling for people to 
become Ahmadiyah preachers. Hidayatullah signed up and was trained for one 
year in Tasikmalaya, until 1974. After graduating from the Preachers Cadre 
Guidance Course, he was assigned to Bandung for two years. Later, in 2003, his 
father, who was 76 years old, joined the Ahmadiyah sect. 

After preaching door-to-door for two years in Bandung, he was sent to the 
Ahmadiyah center in Rabwah, Pakistan, in 1977. After returning home in 1987, he 
taught in Indonesia for two years. He was then assigned to teach in Singapore 
until 1993, when he moved on to Malaysia. In 2002, he returned to Indonesia to 
teach and became the director of the Mubarak Campus in Parung, until the 
attack on July 15, 2005. Hidayatullah now mostly teaches the sect’s followers in 
the area of Peninggilan, Tangerang. 

                                                    l l l

The disturbances began on Thursday, July 7, 2005. At that time, Ahmadiyah was 
holding a yearly gathering, the Jalsah Salanah, which was attended by about 
12,000 followers from all over Indonesia and neighboring countries. Head of the 
Islamic Research and Studies Body (LPPI), Amin Jamaluddin, Abdurahman Asegaf, 
and four other LPPI members arrived in the village of Pondok Udik, Parung, 
demanding to speak with the Ahmadiyah leadership. At this meeting Amin issued an 
ultimatum to shut down the campus and call off the annual gathering. If not, 
they would attack in a week’s time. The Ahmadiyah leaders refused, because 
they already had permission from the police to hold the meeting. 

Two days after the threat was made, 200 or so people attacked the Mubarak 
Campus. The entrance was torn down, and stones and wood were hurled in the 
direction of the Ahmadiyyah followers, injuring scores of them. They did not put up 
a fight. “If we fought back, they wouldn’t have had a chance. At that time we 
were 12,000 strong. But the order from our leader was clear: don’t fight 
violence with violence.” 

The next attack took place on July 15, led by Abdurahman Asegaf. After the 
Friday congregational prayer at the Alhidayah Mosque in Jampang, which is 
located about a kilometer from Kampung Mubarak, a wave of stones, wood and steel 
rained down on the Mubarak Campus. They also burned down the girls’ dormitory, 
which sits alone behind the campus. Twenty mothers were trapped inside. However, 
they were rescued and the police forced the Ahmadi off the premises. “The 
authorities didn’t take any firm action [to stop the attack]. If they had even 
fired warning shots, I am sure that the crowd would have broken up.” 

The events of the attack carried out on July 15 of last year by a group of 
people acting in the name of the Muslim Community Movement has made Hidayatullah 
reflect on how police protect citizens. “My wife, over in Singapore, was very 
mad by what the police did. Over there, those who are going to do something 
violent are arrested beforehand. Here, people who have already committed 
violent acts are not dealt with according to the law, and the police even side with 
the oppressors. It doesn’t make any sense. We, the ones who should be 
protected, are tyrannized.” 

Since the attack and evacuation of the Ahmadiyah followers, the campus has 
been sealed off by the police. No activities are allowed. Even though some of 
the attackers have been proven guilty, the owner has been chased off the 
premises, and they cannot be used for anything. “The strange thing is, we as the 
owners of this place, are not even allowed inside. It isn’t logical. We haven’t 
done anything.” 

Ahmadiyah first came to Indonesia in 1925. They took part in the struggle for 
independence. Some Ahmadiyah figures and preachers were even awarded medals 
during the Sukarno era. One of them was Sayid Syah Muhammad. In fact, at the 
start of the New Order, one of the victims of the violence was Arief Rahman 
Hakim, a student at the University of Indonesia, who was also an Ahmadiyah 
follower. 

Over time, the progress of Ahmadiyah in various parts of Indonesia made some 
groups envious. In Mataram, Lombok, the market was controlled by Ahmadiyah 
followers, who were known to be polite and honest. According to Hidayatullah, in 
Lombok they were attacked, killed and driven off, and their homes were burned 
down, because of jealousy and religious figures who incited a mob. “They have 
been treated like this eight times. It is only fitting that they don’t feel 
safe and seek political asylum. Political asylum is an Islamic tradition, just 
like when the Prophet of God (Muhammad) emigrated from Mecca to Medina.” 

The same things have happened to Ahmadiyah followers in Cianjur, Majalengka, 
Padang, Leuwisadeng, and Parung. “During the elections, I supported Pak SBY 
(Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono), I prayed for him and I hoped that he would make 
history, providing justice and prosperity for all Indonesians, not only to a 
handful of people.” 

According to Hidayatullah, asylum, as sought by 137 Ahmadiyah followers in 
Lombok, is a last resort. “We don’t have any desire to leave the country, 
unless we are forced to.” Hidayatullah, who has had enough experience living 
abroad, said that he still loves Indonesia. “Even though life in Malaysia and 
Singapore is better regulated, I always have longing and pride for these people.” 

Certainly, a country must protect its citizens well, whatever their religion 
and convictions. Up to now, Ahmadiyah followers are still being mistreated. 
 
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Tempo Magazine
No. 50/VI
August 15-21, 2006 

Cover Story 

The Plight of Sanghyang Kersa 

Followers of Sunda Wiwitan struggle to gain civil rights. 

FOR decades Rusman has been living like a pariah in his own country. 
Government agencies treat him as if he’s a traitor. Despite being married with three 
grown-up children, Rusman is listed as unmarried. 

As a result, the 57-year-old has never received the family benefits due to 
him while in employment with the tourism office in Kuningan, West Java. Now a 
retiree, his family will not be entitled to Rusman’s pension in the event of his 
death. “Even now, after retirement, they still consider me an unmarried 
person,” said Rusman. 

Rusman’s plight arose from the fact that he is a follower of Sunda Wiwitan, 
an ancient belief unrecognized by the government as a religion. The local 
registry office refused to issue him a marriage certificate, saying it had no 
authority to legalize Sunda Wiwitan marriages. 

In the identity card issued to Rusman, the space identifying a person’s 
religion is left blank, leading many to consider him during the New Order era 
either as either an atheist or a former member of the outlawed Indonesian Communist 
Party. 

Such discriminatory treatment was felt not only by Rusman, but by all 
followers of Sunda Wiwitan. Yet, nothing much changed, despite the end of the New 
Order. 

Recently, however, registry offices outside Kuningan have begun accepting 
Sunda Wiwitan marriages. “But that happened after we brought our case to the 
court,” said Dewi Kanti, a follower of Sunda Wiwitan, who vigorously campaigned 
for government recognition of the community. 

Sunda Wiwitan is one of the oldest aliran kepercayaan (religious sects) in 
Indonesia. Dewi’s father, Djatikusuma, a kolkolot or leader of the community, 
said Sunda Wiwitan had been in existence in West Java before the arrival of 
religions presently recognized by the government. According to Djatikusuma, Sunda 
Wiwitan is not a religion, but a wiwitan which in Sundanese means the first of 
beliefs. 

Djatikusuma said followers of Sunda Wiwitan originally worshipped the sun, 
stones and trees. Later it evolved into a belief in one Gusti (God) called by 
many names, including Sanghyang Kersa (the All-Powerful), Batara Tunggal (the 
One), Batara Jagat (Ruler of the Universe,) and Batara Seda Niskala (The 
Unseen). 

In the 1920s, Pangeran Madrais, a kiai who led a pesantren (Islamic boarding 
school) in the area, revived Sunda Wiwitan, calling it the Sunda-Javanese 
religion. It was Madrais who declared Suro, the first day of the first month in 
the Javanese calendar, a holiday called Seren Turen—a rice harvest feast banned 
during the New Order. 

After Madrais’ death in 1939 his teachings were carried on by his son Prince 
Tejabuana and his grandson Djatikusuma. On July 11, 1981, Djatikusuma set up 
the Paguyuban Adat Cara Karuhun Urang, a community organization with an avowed 
aim of preserving Sundanese ancestor beliefs. 

Today, an estimated 3,000 people are followers of Sunda Wiwitan, who are 
still denied their civil rights. They have administrative problems not only in 
marriages, but also in getting such ordinary documents as a driver’s license or 
family identification card. 

These problems arise because of the space for religion left blank in the 
identity card of a follower of Sunda Wiwitan. Sunda Wiwitan, they say, is not a 
religion. 

Faced with such a situation, many followers of the old beliefs seek an easy 
way out by identifying themselves as followers of a religion. But not Rusman 
and Dewi, who feel those who did so were not only deceiving the bureaucracy, but 
themselves. 

Still, many followers of Sunda Wiwitan have to spend months of waiting and 
convincing even to get an identity card. Dewi, for instance, was issued one in 
Jakarta only after three years of waiting. 

Although insisting on their civil rights and on being treated equally as 
other citizens, most followers of Sunda Wiwitan aren’t overly concerned with the 
government’s non-recognition of the community. “We are not seeking 
recognition,” said Djatikusuma. “What we want is only understanding so that followers of 
Sunda Wiwitan can live in peace with their beliefs.” 
 
---------------------------------------------
 
Tempo Magazine
No. 50/VI
August 15-21, 2006 

Cover Story 

Under Siege 

Followers of Parmalim find it hard to get marriage and 
birth certificates and build their own houses of worship. 

JAYA Damanik feels he is being unfairly treated by the government. Since he 
was still an elementary school student in his home village at Sidamanik in the 
North Sumatra district of Simalungun, Damanik has found difficulty with the 
authorities when it comes to religion. 

Most of Damanik’s classmates were Christian. So when religious lessons began, 
Damanik, who was not a Christian, was asked to leave along with students of 
the Muslim faith to another room for Islamic lessons of their own. 

But Damanik was not then and neither is he now, a Muslim nor a Christian. He 
is a follower of Parmalim, an ancient ancestors’ belief of the Batak in 
Tapanuli, North Sumatra. Parmalim was not taught in the school because it was not a 
state-recognized religion. 

Problems continued when Damanik married Herta Simanjuntak in 1999. The 
registry office in his hometown of Toba Samosir refused to issue the couple a 
marriage certificate. So did the registry office when Damanik requested birth 
certificates for his children. As a result Damanik could not claim his right to his 
children’s benefits from his salary at a junior high school in Medan, where he 
was a teacher. 

Followers of Parmalim believe in One God they call Mulajadi Nabolon. They are 
known for their deep concern for the environment. In cutting down a tree, for 
instance, they make sure that it will not fall on young trees growing around 
it. Neither will they completely cut off tuber roots in a garden, leaving the 
shoots to grow for future harvesting. 

Great wisdom is also shown in the way the followers of Parmalim exercise 
self-restraint. In their eyes a person’s maturity is measured by how strong he can 
exercise parsolamo (self-restraint). The followers of Parmalim don’t eat pigs 
and dogs or drink blood. 

Parmalim declined after Christian missionaries began proselytizing to the 
Bataks. According to Monang Naipospos, secretary of Penghayat Kepercayaan 
Parmalim, Si Singamangaraja, then Imam of Parmalim, called for a theological 
resistance against the missionaries and a political resistance against the Dutch rule 
in Tapanuli. 

The Dutch colonial government did everything it could to stamp out Parmalim, 
charging its followers with rebellion, paganism, and cannibalism. They were 
hunted down and their traditional rituals banned. Gradually their number 
decreased. Many turned to Christianity or Islam. 

But Parmalim was not completely defeated. Maruli Hamonangan Sirait, leader of 
the community in Medan, claims there are now about 5,000 Parmalim families 
across the country, including 1,000 at Toba Samosir, a Parmalim stronghold, and 
10 families at Huta Tinggi, a center of Parmalim rituals. 

The community continues to defend their beliefs despite discriminatory 
treatment by the authorities. “To date we are still finding difficulty getting 
marriage and birth certificates,” said Monang, who is grandson of Raja Mulia 
Naipospos, leader of Parmalim after the death of Si Singamangaraja. 

In Medan, followers of Parmalim were blocked from building Rumah Persaktian 
Parmalim, a house of worship of their own, in the Air Bersih area because of 
opposition by local residents. “We urgently need a place where we can gather 
because the one we now have is no longer adequate to meet our requirements,” said 
Maruli. 

A resident whose house is located next to the site where the house of worship 
was to be built, charged followers of Parmalim with ignoring the rules of 
Huria Kristen Batak Protestan, the umbrella organization of the Christian Bataks. 
He said he was afraid local residents would fall for the Parmalim beliefs. 

Mindo Tua Siagian, Deputy Regent of Toba Samosir, said he had tried to help. 
“But we are hampered by regulations from Jakarta.” 

In a letter to the Regent of Toba Samosir, Maruli and Monang wrote: 
“Indonesia may be free, but we are not free.” 
 
-End 3 of 6-

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Joyo Indonesia News Service
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