Category: Sigur Center Summer Research & Language Fellows

Figure 1. Tranquility in Takengon, Aceh.

There is a prevailing notion that violence is always a bad thing. Even when resistance to the state is justified, resistance should ideally be non-violent. However, political theorists are divided as to whether violence is ever justified, and if so, the conditions under which violence can be justified. For example, violence is typically understood to be justified under the condition of self-defense. However, what is included in the “self” of “self-defense” is typically up for debate: “the self” could be extended to include one’s family, community, political community, or others who are defenseless against tyranny. Moreover, there are often worse things than dying. Nevertheless, the non-violent bias motivates much empirical research on civil conflict.

One way the non-violent bias motivates empirical research is in the following research question: why do some people choose violent resistance as opposed to non-violent resistance? This was indeed my own research question going to Aceh, Indonesia. I asked: why did some Acehnese, given similar grievances, choose to become combatants, whereas others chose to become activists? The implicit normative assumption in this question was: why did some Acehnese choose “more moral” forms of resistance than others? The answer to this question of violent vs non-violent pathways, detailed in my previous blogpost, seemed rather banal: Acehnese who had access to GAM networks (Gerakan Aceh Mederka, the Free Aceh Movement) were more likely to join GAM; Acehnese who had access to student activist groups were more likely to become student activists. Many student activists, despite their adoption of non-violent tactics, were also likely to support GAM’s resort to armed resistance as necessary, and sometimes, even coordinating actions with GAM. One activist even described GAM combatants as like “heroes” (pelawan). For several activists, there was very little in their response that suggested a moral commitment to non-violence. This does not mean that the Acehnese I interviewed did not have some idea of what kinds of resistance was “moral,” but their idea of “moral resistance” did not hinge on whether one used violence or not.

So how can we understand moral resistance in Aceh? For many respondents I interviewed, there was a clear distinction between combatants who used violence as an act of revenge – an end in itself – and combatants who used violence instrumentally towards the protection of other Acehnese. I call the former “practices of revenge” and the latter “practices of pity.” No doubt many combatants used violence to seek out revenge, but many also used violence because they pitied victims of the conflict. Likewise, many Acehnese turned to activism because of the pity they felt towards victims of the conflict, but many were also looking for revenge through their activism. So what made resistance “moral” was not just the use of violence or non-violence, but how violence or non-violent activism was practiced – for revenge or for pity. Let me explain what this looks like, starting with combatants, then activists.

Table 1. A Typology of Moral Practices of Resistance

In the case of violent practice of revenge, some combatants were clearly motivated by the desire for revenge – taking pleasure in killing as many Indonesian soldiers as possible. They were angry, even if they hadn’t themselves directly experienced any abuses by the Indonesian military. Notably, combatants looking for revenge were not interested in the preservation of life, especially civilian life. One ex-combatant I interviewed told me about how he missed his home village and was angry that there were seven military posts around his village, and then boasted how he had entered his village with his rifle anyways, which ended up with him getting shot at in the village. While he escaped unhurt, he had put his village at risk. Likewise, another ex-combatant I interviewed described how his unit had captured a local town for 14 hours – an important symbolic victory for his unit. The intention was not to hold territory, but to show their ability to drive out the Indonesian military from the town. When I interviewed civilians at the battle, many were terrified of being caught in the crossfire. Moreover, fourteen hours later, on Eid, the Indonesian military recaptured the town and subjected the civilians to intense security checks in case there might be GAM combatants hiding among them. These combatant practices of revenge prioritized winning battles or achieving symbolic victories over civilian life.

On the other hand, violent practices of pity look rather different. It may seem counter-intuitive that combatants may be interested in the preservation of life. Nevertheless, violence is not infrequently used instrumentally to minimize human costs. For one, such combatants emphasize the importance of keeping the fighting away from villages – which sometimes meant that they would forgo being able to go home. Another example, one ex-combatant explained how the most important role as a senior commander was to discipline his soldiers – including executing two of his men for raping a villager. Another ex-combatant explained to me that since the objective of guerrilla warfare is to demonstrate their presence to the Indonesian military, they would either choose non-human targets or shoot to injure, not to kill. In contrast to practices of revenge, the disposition of these combatants was always calmer, less angry, and more concerned about the suffering of others.

Figure 2. I would ask respondents what the definition of “peace” meant to them.

If there can be both moral and immoral uses of violence, there certainly can be both moral and immoral uses of non-violent activism. During my interviews, it was stark to me how different combatants could be from each other, and how different activists could be from each other. I found a similar pattern among activists – some were also motivated by revenge or anger and wanted nothing but to hold Jakarta accountable for past human rights abuses in Aceh. For example, one human rights activist explained how many activists would be so focused on extracting testimonies from victims in the pursuit of justice without realizing how the very act of sharing a testimony may cause victims to relive their trauma. Other activists were more practical and focused on what was best for victims. In Aceh, the term “humanitarian activists” was bestowed on those who were engaged in providing relief to internally displaced populations while also staying out of politics.

So, what counts as moral resistance need not necessarily be non-violent; and what counts as immoral resistance need not necessarily be violent. One can use violence and non-violence in moral and immoral ways. Just because the conflict is over does not mean that Aceh has attained lasting “peace.” Our lack of understanding of what motivates individuals to practice politics an all-or-nothing (revenge) as opposed to an open-ended dialogue undermines our ability to find solutions to both violence and non-violent forms of conflict. Understanding Aceh’s prospects for peace – not just the absence of violence, but the ability to negotiate and settle differences – requires an understanding of the (emotional) motivations (such as revenge or pity) how Acehnese practice violence or non-violent activism.

By Amoz JY Hor, Sigur Center Summer 2019 Field Research Grant Fellow. Amoz is a Political Science Ph.D. student at George Washington University. He researches on the emotional practices of violence and humanitarianism in Indonesia.

The causes of civil conflict requires understanding why people would join an armed rebel group in the first place. I explore this in the case of Aceh, where an armed separatist group, GAM (Gerakan Aceh Mederka), waged war against the Indonesian state for 30 years until Aceh was granted special autonomy status in 2005. How was GAM able to recruit Acehnese to join its cause? If GAM were not successful, GAM would simply not survive as an organization. This is especially the case for GAM, a separatist organization that depended on its popular legitimacy for resources, recruits, and civilian support to function. Part of GAM’s success was its ability to naturalize the idea that Acehnese is a distinct nation that deserves independence from Indonesia. Yet, not everyone who supported Acehnese independence decided to join GAM. While some picked up arms to resist the Indonesian state, others chose to use non-violence methods as activists. Why did some Acehnese choose to become combatants, yet others become activists?

There are several prevailing theories as to why some people might join a rebel group, or not. These theories do not work well in the case of Aceh. In this blog post, I provide some evidence that suggest that existing theories do not work. Instead, my fieldwork suggests a much simpler explanation: Acehnese chose to become activists or combatants based on the networks they had access to and the skill sets they could offer.

Figure 1. 90 Interviews were conducted over local coffee and snacks

The first common theory is that: joining an armed group is a natural response to relative depravation or because they had experienced abuses by the state. This might seem intuitive: if one is poor enough or has suffered enough, the opportunity cost of risking one’s life in armed conflict is relatively low. One may also seek out violence in order to reclaim a sense of agency. However, many ex-combatants I interviewed were from well-to-do families, educated, and had never experienced violence personally. At the same time, I also had interviewed Acehnese who were poor, lived in highly unequal areas, and who had experienced violence firsthand, and still chose to become activists rather than pick up weapons. Something else must be going on.

A second common political science argument is that: people are persuaded to join a rebel group when political entrepreneurs are able to use propaganda to blame people’s seemingly trivial and petty grievances on the state. Since everyone has petty grievances, we should expect that those who participate in violence to be those who were exposed to propaganda that directed their grievances towards an enemy. In Aceh, it was true that support for Acehnese independence was higher in areas where GAM’s networks were stronger. However, on its own, this theory cannot explain why is it that some pro-independence Acehnese chose to become combatants, whereas other pro-independence Acehnese chose to become activists.

Figure 2. Perks of fieldwork in Aceh: the aroma of pandan/coconut of this snack (butai/buleukat silei in Acehnese) was ARRESTING.

So why would some Acehnese choose to become combatants rather than activists? First, contrary to the way political scientists (and myself) have understood the question of rebel recruitment, many of the respondents I interviewed did not think that the decision to become a combatant or activist were mutually exclusive choices. Many activists supported GAM, and some even wanted to become combatants, describing them as heroes (pelawan). Some activists eventually became combatants, and some combatants eventually became activists (though this change was considerably rarer if one was already black-marked by the Indonesian state). Many interviewees explained to me that violent resistance and non-violent activism were two paths to the same goal. Violence and non-violence were complements, not substitutes. For example, several respondents explained to me how both student activists and GAM combatants would work together to mobilize Acehnese to demonstrate and demand a referendum on Acehnese independence. This not only involved explaining the importance (mensosialisasikan) of the referendum to villages across Aceh, but also included cooperation on smuggling in weapons past military checkpoints into Banda Aceh, where the demonstrations occurred. Some activists also boasted how their campaign against the British sale of Scorpion tanks to Indonesia succeeded because they were able to show they were being used not for external defense, but internally against the people of Aceh. They told me that this was how they supported GAM’s military efforts. Some activists also told me that their activism was only effective because there was an armed struggle to begin with.

So if becoming a combatant and activist were complementary to the cause of Acehnese independence, why did different Acehnese choose different paths? In my estimation, the single two biggest factors that explains why some people chose to become activists and others chose to become combatants were the networks one has access to, and the skills one had.

First, on skills. As mentioned, several activists indeed told me that they were inspired to join GAM. They described to me secret coordination meetings they had with the chief commander, Abdullah Syafi’i, who told them that, given their status as university students (mahasiswa), they would better serve the dream of independence through their activism rather than as combatants. GAM understood that an essential aspect of their struggle was to gain international recognition that Aceh was a sovereign people that had suffered under abuses of the Indonesian state, and the student activism leant GAM’s efforts legitimacy. Because of this, university students were more likely to become activists. Here, education or the status of being educated was a useful skillset for activism. By contrast, it is popularly understood that GAM recruited less educated Acehnese. I was frequently told that this is because GAM would find it difficult ordering university students like soldiers. Nevertheless, even though GAM’s members were disproportionately less educated on average, many of GAM’s high-ranking combatants and early members were significantly over-educated. There were also important roles for educated GAM members. One GAM member described his role as a spokesperson – who provided GAM statements to the press, many of which sounded like the statements put out by student activists, but under the name of GAM. Not all activists were university students either, especially those who were not based in Banda Aceh, but working directly with affected and displaced communities. So skills (or education) can go some way in explaining why some Acehnese joined GAM and others became activists, but there is still some variation left to be explained.

Figure 3. Nira espresso: espresso with water from the branch a species of coconut, ijuk. Incredibly refreshing.

From my interviews, what explains the variation between joining GAM as opposed to joining a student activist group are the net–works one had access to. If one was based in a village along the Northeast coast (GAM strongholds), it would be difficult to access the student activist networks based in the city. But one could easily access or may even have been actively recruited by GAM networks. Likewise, if one was a university student in Banda Aceh, one would naturally have been exposed to or recruited by the student activist networks in the universities. As a stronghold of the Indonesian military, it would also mean that one would have less access to GAM networks. Thus, some ex-combatants told me that they might have joined an activist group had they had the opportunity. Likewise, activists hence would tell me that while they had wanted to join GAM, many simply did not have the opportunity, at least initially. Instead, they were recruited by student activist groups. In fact, many student activists did not start out campaigning independence. Rather, they were part of an Indonesian-wide student network who were rallying to oppose Suharto, Indonesia’s strongman president for 31 years. Almost all these student activists told me that in the years following after Suharto’s fall, the full extent of human rights abuses in Aceh came to light. This prompted many of them to read up on Aceh’s history (typically written by Hassan di Tiro, GAM’s founder), and conclude that independence was the only way to right these wrongs and prevent further abuses. Many of them only considered joining GAM after this point. Some did. But it was typically easier to continue with activism given their education levels, experience doing activism, and networks with other activists.

What are we to learn from this? For scholars of civil conflict, it is important to not think of rebel recruitment primarily as a decision about the use of violence vs non-violence. Many activists who employed non-violent methods understood their actions to be inline with and supportive of combatants who used violence, and many combatants thought likewise of activists. Many activists and combatants understood themselves as Acehnese freedom fighters and part of the same team. These vocational choices were complements, not substitutes.

For aid, human rights, and peace-keeping practitioners, I hope the lesson is not to be suspicious of local activists just because they may be supportive of violent resistance, or that the best way to ameliorate civil conflict is to make it more difficult for potential combatants to network. The Indonesian state attempted this by setting up road blocks all around Aceh (called sweeping operations). This may have been somewhat effective, but occurred at the expense of the civilian population. Such an approach prioritizes the reduction of violence at all costs (zoe), but ends up securitizing civilian life to point that life becomes meaningless as well (bios).

In my next blogpost, I suggest that questions concerning violence vs non-violence is based on a normative bias that requires unpacking.

By Amoz JY Hor, Sigur Center Summer 2019 Field Research Grant Fellow. Amoz is a Political Science Ph.D. student at George Washington University. He researches on the emotional practices of violence and humanitarianism in Indonesia.

“Lalon-Palon” is a Bangla term for nurturing young children. This term sums up my main area of interest for my capstone project: how do mothers and grandmothers perceive the experiences, priorities, challenges, and goals they have in raising children in West Bengal in their early years? While I have only begun to look at the data in terms of general trends, my primary goal is to conduct analysis to see where there are generational differences, and how that may impact the way that service providers may work with families. As early childhood gains more recognition globally as a keystone for local and and national development, understanding the sentiments of caregivers is pertinent to overall policy making, and can have implications for all sectors from health to labor to transportation.

When participants were recruited for my interviews in Kolkata and Birbhum districts of West Bengal, I initially thought I would interview fifteen mothers and fifteen grandmothers affiliated with three different non-profits. I never thought I would actually be able to speak with fifty-five mothers and twenty-seven grandmothers affiliated with five non-profits! All of the non-profit programs were focused on young children and families, with some also providing additional health and vocational training services. The mothers and grandmothers involved in the care of young children were eager to share their perceptions in regards to the children’s’ health and well-being, safety, and education. A background on the purpose and theoretical foundations for my research can be seen in my previous blog post where I discuss my interviews with Santal families in Birbhum. Speaking with families at the different nonprofits in Kolkata was a departure from speaking to Santal families in Birbhum, mainly because the Birbhum families themselves were not only deeply familiar with each other, but a sizable amount of the mothers had been alums of the program themselves. In Kolkata, at the different nonprofits, many of the mothers and grandmothers alike had never received services that they had now enrolled their own children and grandchildren in, and the families were coming from various background to access these services. Most of the families were from low-income backgrounds but some came from middle class backgrounds. In addition to families from the state of West Bengal, families originally from the states of Bihar, Jharkhand, and Odisha who have relocated to West Bengal were interviewed. The families mainly came from Hindu and Muslim backgrounds, and included a combination of women who are homemakers and women who are working. The families represented a combination of joint families, nuclear families, and single mothers. While the families represented were diverse in the aforementioned ways, they all shared a common need to adapt to new settings and challenges and utilize local programs and services to be able to provide positive foundations for their young children’s physical, emotional, and academic development. The families all described how the services helped them to bridge a gap between what they did not know well about challenges for young children in Kolkata, and what they need to know in order to navigate those challenges and provide the best for those children.

As I have been reviewing the data from these interviews, the following initial takeaways have emerged. While they may change or be elaborated upon as I continue to examine the interviews, the following points appeared poignant to the Kolkata context:

• The awareness of and the determination in overcoming the limitations of poverty were predominant for mothers especially and were a major motivation for them to seek out the non-profit programs as a means of helping to grasp the educational landscape in the city. This finding was common for both mothers who had grown up in Kolkata and mothers who had grown up in other parts of the state and other states. One mother made a statement that summed up the sentiments of many of the mothers in “I am poor, I can’t teach my child very much but that is why I send my child to this program, because the teachers here know what my child will need to learn to be prepared for school. I want my child to learn what I could not learn.”

• In the Kolkata context, the involvement of grandmothers with the programs was often facilitated through parents. This was common both for families where the grandmother was the primary caregiver at home while the mother worked or both the grandmother and mother stayed at home. Grandmothers were in any case active in the lives of their grandchildren, whether they were more involved in monitoring the child’s diet, schedule, and studies directly or if they were assisting the parents in making these decisions for their child.

• For families who had relocated to Kolkata from other areas, they often are relocating from rural areas and are seeking access to educational, health, and economic resources not available in those areas. For example, one family came to Kolkata from a village in West Bengal so that their child with learning disabilities could receive appropriate instruction with teachers who were highly qualified in special education.

• There was also awareness in mothers and grandmothers of health and safety risks for young children, especially for those families living in slums, and the mothers and grandmothers would make every effort to teach their children protective habits regarding safety and well-being. For example, one mother remarked that “times these days are different” and was concerned about child kidnapping; as such she would make sure to have conversations even with her very young children about avoiding strangers and reporting to either a teacher or her about any incidents.

• Even for mothers and grandmothers who had not completed schooling or were not even literate, there was a desire to support their child’s home-to-program connection. Whether it was giving their child writing prompts, listening to their child’s stories and songs they had learned at school, or talking regularly to the program instructors, the mothers and grandmothers were invested in ensuring their child’s success and pathway to future school success. In addition to good health and academic building blocks, such as counting and letters, mothers and grandmothers did discuss character development and good reputation in the community as one learning objective they have for their children. In many ways, the mothers and grandmothers were knowledgeable about how home and program environments could influence their child’s growth and wanted to utilize that knowledge in a beneficial way.

Overall, the program instructors and leaders at each of the non-profits were seen as trusted resources that mothers and grandmothers could learn from to better support their young children. Given an increased focus in the early childhood space on issues for maternal well-being and family/community engagement, the presence of dynamic non-profits in Kolkata that are helping mothers and grandmothers appears to be crucial to assuring too that young children are well-nurtured. These women were amazing mothers and grandmothers reached out beyond the places and people they are familiar with – stepping outside their comfort zones – so they could provide better futures for their children; their collaboration with local non-profit organizations serves as a stepping stone to achieve their aims.

Ander Tebbutt, BAccy 2022

Sigur Center 2019 Asian Language Fellow

National Taiwan Normal University

Josh Pope, B.A. International Affairs 2021
Sigur Center 2019 Asian Language Fellow
National Chengchi University, Taiwan