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1 the peaCe brokers Women of Aceh and Ambon syaʿ afat un alMi r z an ah It is beyond dispute that a child, even before it begins to write the alphabet and gathers worldly knowledge, should know what the soul is, what truth is, what love is and what forces are hidden in the soul. It should be the essence of true education that every child learns this and in the struggle of life be able more readily to overcome hatred by love, falsehood by truth and violence by taking on suffering itself. —Mohandas k. gandhi This chapter explores the role of women during the conflict and postconflict eras in Indonesia’s Aceh province and in Ambon, the capital city of Maluku.1 Moreover, it examines the peacemaking roles of Christian and Muslim women who have promoted harmony and worked to eliminate existing prejudice in their communities. It also concentrates on the wide range of obstacles women have faced—socially, economically, and politically—over the thirty years of civil conflict and the survival strategies they have had to adopt. MusliMs and Christians: a tradition of Pela Since the fall of President Suharto in May 1998, Indonesia has faced political, economic, and social crises. Racial and religious clashes, resulting in riots throughout the country, proved daily events. This was a horizontal rather than a vertical struggle, in that communities from widely different religious backgrounds were involved and the conflict was aggravated by constantly shifting demographics. It would seem that above all other factors religion played the most crucial role in the sectarian strife. Richard Fox, observing the media treatment of the violence in Maluku, i n d o n e si a 24 syaʿafatun alMirzanah noted that early “sensational” reports on the role of religion in the violence were eventually replaced by more formal analyses of structural interests organizing against the order of the nation-state. This, in Fox’s view, provides evidence of “an implicit theory of human action according to which people do not really act on the basis of ‘religious’ motivation.”2 Academic observers, too, have tended to downplay the role of religion in the conflict, insisting that what appears to be a religious war is on closer analysis actually a struggle motivated by socioeconomic, political, and territorial grievances.3 For example, while most of the world’s press depicts the conflict in Aceh as one of militant Islam against a largely secular government, the war is as much about political self-determination and control over the province’s vast natural gas reserves as it is about religious ideology. In many cases, what appears to be religious strife more often has its roots in ethnic conflict. For example, when migrants who are followers of one religion move to a region that is predominantly a different religion, tensions run high, especially when the migrant community acquires a strong position in the local economy or becomes sufficiently numerous to challenge the indigenous community’s grip on local politics.This dynamic has featured prominently in both of Indonesia’s “religious wars.” In Maluku, the conflict between Muslim migrants and indigenous Christians was the relevant trigger, much more than any disagreement involving indigenous Muslims.4 The common perception in the West that this conflict was the result of a Muslim campaign to eliminate Christians is incorrect. In fact, Christians were no less involved in killing Muslims than Muslims were in killing Christians. In the Indonesian media, Maluku was portrayed as a region in which relations between Christians and Muslims had always been harmonious. This interfaith tranquility was largely the effect of a centuries-old alliance system called pela. According to pela, a village of one faith is matched with a sister village of another faith so that, for example, Christians helped build mosques and Muslims helped build churches. On a recent visit to Ambon, I found this dynamic still present. For example , I attended a festival known as panas pela and panas gandong—between a Muslim community and a Christian community.5 Panas is translated as “hot” and in this case refers to the “warming up” of relations between the two communities. Pela may be translated as “family relationship built between two villages for mutual support in the event of any attack.” Gandong means “family relationship between Muslims and Christians based on blood oath.” The celebration of panas pela or panas gandong is meant to reconnect, strengthen, and vivify the feelings of familial relations. Indeed, the city of Ambon and...

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