Bali bombing leads to unlikely friendship
The young Balinese widow stared across the courtroom at the man who had murdered her husband and 201 others, and longed to see him suffer. She tried to scramble over a table to hit Amrozi Nurhasyim, whose unrepentant grin throughout the trial over Indonesia’s worst terrorist attack had earned him the nickname ‘‘The Smiling Assassin’’.
What would happen a decade later between her and Amrozi’s brother – the man who had taught Amrozi how to make bombs – was unthinkable at the time.
Ni Luh Erniati had wanted everyone associated with the 2002 bombings to be executed by firing squad. And she wanted to be the one to pull the trigger.
The practice of reconciling former terrorists and their victims is rare and, to some, abhorrent. Yet it is gaining attention in Indonesia, the world’s largest Muslim-majority nation.
Indonesia embraces a so-called soft approach to counter-terrorism. Officials recruit former militants to try to change attitudes in their communities, and jailed terrorists go through deradicalisation programmes.
Last year, the government brought together dozens of former Islamist militants and victims for what was billed as a reconciliation conference. The results were mixed.
More quietly, over the past few years there has been a growing alliance of former terrorists and victims brought together under the guidance of a group founded by the victim of a terrorist attack.
Since 2013, 49 victims and six former extremists have reconciled through the Alliance for a Peaceful Indonesia (AIDA). They have visited about 150 schools in area known as hotbeds for extremist recruiters, sharing their stories with more than 8000 students.
The hope is that if former terrorists and victims can learn to see each other as human, they can stop the cycle of vengeance.
Around 11pm on October 12, 2002, Erniati had just settled into bed when a blast shattered the stillness. A suicide bomber had detonated himself inside Paddy’s
Pub, across the street from the Sari Club, where her husband Gede, the father of their two sons, worked.
Then a van carrying a massive bomb, parked in front of the club, exploded. She wouldn’t know until much later that her Gede had been standing near the van.
The bombings had been carried out by the al Qaeda-affiliated
Indonesian militant Jemaah Islamiyah, and mostly Western tourists.
More than 1000 kilometres away, on the island of Sulawesi, Ali Fauzi received word of the carnage. Though he was one of Jemaah Islamiyah’s most skilled bombmakers, and though three of his brothers had helped to orchestrate the attack, Fauzi says he knew nothing of the plot.
His brothers Mukhlas, Amrozi and Ali Imron, along with several other members of Jemaah Islamiyah, were charged with the attack. Fauzi fled to the Philippines, where he was jailed for three years before being extradited to Indonesia.
Fauzi was never charged with group killed the bombings, but he spent months in police detention in Jakarta. It was there that the kindness of a police officer who helped get him medical treatment began to chip away at his convictions about people he had long seen as the enemy.
He now works deradicalise Islamist across Indonesia.
For 12 years, Erniati had struggled to move beyond her anger. The executions of Amrozi, Mukhlas and another convicted perpetrator had brought her no relief. The prospect of sitting down with a former terrorist sounded crazy.
A few victims, however, agreed to meet Fauzi for AIDA’s pilot project. Afterward, their reviews were positive. Erniati warmed to the idea.
Maybe he could answer her questions. But she had no idea what to ask. Then she began to tell her story.
As Fauzi listened, his awkwardness morphed into anguish. The image of Erniati searching for Gede amid the smoking ruins, of her struggles to raise their sons alone, was unbearable.
He began to weep. ‘‘I’m sorry,’’ he said. ‘‘I’m very sorry.’’
Erniati looked at Fauzi and felt something shift within her. He was in pain, just as she was. What he said meant less to her than what he felt.
To Erniati, apologies are just words. But the ability to understand another person’s suffering, she says, goes to the core of who you are. to help militants
Since 2013, 49 victims and six former extremists have reconciled.