The Life of a Martyr

An elderly woman wearing a black khimar walked feebly out of her bedroom then sat on a wheelchair with the help of her daughter. I reached out and shook her quivering hand. Her eyes dimmed once I started the conversation and mentioned a name. She paused for a few seconds.

“What do you wish to know about Aman, child?” she asked with a faint, almost inaudible voice.

The question about Aman, her younger brother, reminded Nursima (84) of the incident that happened way back in 1966 amid the heated national political situation. That day, one of her neighbors showed up at her parents’ house in Alang-Alang Lawas, Padang, West Sumatra.

“Sima, what is Aman’s full name?” her neighbor asked.

“Arief Rachman Hakim. What’s the matter?” Nursima replied.

There was a brief silence.

“Sima. Something happened to your brother in Jakarta. You and your family have to be strong.”

‍

THURSDAY, 24 February 1966. The sizzling sun didn’t hinder those thousands of students from marching their way to the State Palace. Coming from two opposite directions: Jalan M. H. Thamrin and Jalan Merdeka Timur (Gambir area), they walked slowly while holding posters that displayed their demands and chanting anti-government slogans.

Ismail Tukimin (79), student at the Faculty of Medicine University of Indonesia (FKUI) marched on the right side of the road among the mass that came from Gambir. As a member of FKUI’s Student Health Services, he should be prepared any time a demonstrator might faint or be involved in an accident.

Just a few seconds after passing the Army Headquarters Building, a barrage of deafening shots were released into the air, pushing the crowd, including Ismail, to take cover on the ground.

“After waiting for quite some time, I was about to stand again, but suddenly came the second and third barrage of shots,” recalled Ismail.

<div class="quotes-center font-g text-align-center">“I was aghast. That body turned out to be of my friend from the same faculty in UI, and I could vaguely recognize his face.”<br>–Ismail Tukimin</div>

Sjarief Wasitaatmadja (77), FKUI’s student class of 1962, was one of the demonstrators arriving from Jalan M.H. Thamrin. That day, aside from taking part in the demonstration, he was also covering the news for Mangle, a Sundanese magazine based in Bandung, where he worked as a correspondent.

Sjarief and the other students were walking forward to Jalan Merdeka Utara when abrupt noises of gunshots forced them to lie in a prone position. The atmosphere turned tense.

“Someone’s shot! Someone’s shot!” a muffled exclamation heard from the crowd which came as soon as the series of gunshots which quickly dispersed the protesters into a chaotic mess.

Almost at the same time, Hakim Sorimuda Pohan (77), the chairman of the FKUI’s senate and the architect of the demonstration, was monitoring the march on a BMW motorcycle. “The one who’s riding the motorcycle was Liem Bian Koen, my colleague in KAMI,” said Hakim.

KAMI (Kesatuan Aksi Mahasiswa Indonesia or Indonesian Students Action Union) was an anti-Sukarno student organization, and Liem Bian Koen was the Chinese name of Sofjan Wanandi, who is now an entrepreneur.

Hakim heard several gunshots and at once, everything around him went into a complete chaos. The panicked cluster of demonstrators coming from Gambir and Jalan M.H. Thamrin ran back to the initial direction they came from. Some of the students cried out of fear. A few seconds later, Hakim could hear a shout among the crowd: someone was shot!

Hakim and Liem Bian Koen stayed in front of the headquarters of Kostrad (Army Strategic Reserves Command) to look for some information, but they couldn’t get any reliable report regarding the situation. Ultimately, they both decided to return to their campus in Salemba.

Amid the disarray, there was no better choice for the demonstrators than to retreat. Ismail Tukimin, however, crawled forward bravely to check if there’s any of his colleagues that got injured by the gunshots.

“I was a member of Menwa (Student Regiment) so I was trained to crawl quickly,” Ismail explained.

After moving several feet forward, Ismail found a man lying on the ground with blood covering his body and his hands held up as if he had surrendered. He was wearing white trousers and a yellow jacket, their university’s coat. Ismail checked on the man’s pulse and found out he was still alive. He then dived into the man’s pockets and found a wallet with a student card, on which was written: Arief Rachman Hakim, student of FKUI.

“I was aghast. That body turned out to be of my friend from the same faculty in UI, and I could vaguely recognize his face,” said Ismail.

‍

PADANG, 1952. It was an exceptionally busy day at SDN II Padang. There was a monument about to be built in the city, so the teachers asked the students to get some stones from the river to contribute.

That day, Attaurachman or Aman, a fourth grade student, was also immersed in the excitement. He and his friends were on their way to the river when the truck they were traveling in was overturned, resulting in all of the passengers being injured. Aman, who got the most serious wound, was rushed to Megawati Hospital (now RSUP M. Jamil Padang).

The terrible news eventually came to Haji Syair, who had a hard time accepting it. His thoughts were scattered as he couldn’t stop imagining horrible things that could happen to his sixth child. Moreover, Aman, who was born in Padang on 24 February 1942, was just a little child.

Haji Syair along with his wife Hakimah and their children hurriedly went to the hospital where they met dr. Atos, Aman’s treating doctor.

Dr. Atos explained that Aman’s skull was fractured, causing him to have a severe concussion. To the family’s distress, the doctor revealed the slim chance of Aman to survive from the injury. Even if by some miracle he survived, there was a possibility of his brain nerves being damaged.

Haji Syair and his wife were distraught. They couldn’t do anything except pray for their child’s safety.

“Our father said it’s alright if fate decides that Aman won’t survive. We have to let him go. But if he survives, we shall hope that he will grow to a smarter and brighter kid,” said Nursima, Haji Syair and Hakimah’s second child.

Aman’s family awaited his recovery patiently. As the clock struck past midnight, dr. Atos went out of the treatment room and told the family that Aman was finally out of his critical state. He miraculously survived, although he must still receive treatment for an indefinite period.

The news exhilarated the family. Since then, they performed a tahajjud prayer almost every night to wish for Aman’s complete and fast recovery. After a whole three months of treatment, Aman was finally healed and released from the hospital.

Aman returned to his normal life as a little boy. He was still the same diligent and obedient child who gladly helped his mother sell cake every day. Very early in the morning, he would get up, help his mother in the kitchen making cake, and deliver it to small shops just before he went to school.

“As a modest family, we must have another stream of income by selling cakes,” recalled Nursima.

To everyone’s surprise, after his accident, Aman showed signs of incredible development. He was noticeably smarter and his achievement at school was stellar, to the point of getting the first rank in his class consecutively.

“He never fell out of the first rank in his class,” said Nurbaety (72), one of Aman’s younger siblings.

Aman remained the top of his class even after continuing his study in SMP 3 Padang and SMA Bunda Kandung Padang.

Just before the third grade of senior high, Aman moved to Jakarta and lived with Aswir, his older brother. Aswir, who was born in 1938, lived at Gang Arimbi, Tanah Tinggi, Central Jakarta and worked as an employee in an insurance company. There, Aman decided to continue his study at SMA Negeri 7 Jakarta.

“He knew very well that living in Jakarta would be harder. He even slept on a worn mat,” said Nursima.

In 1962, Aman was accepted into FKUI. Inspired by dr. Atos who had saved his life, Aman wanted to pursue his dream to be a doctor.

Before the campus initiation, Aman wrote a letter to his mother in Padang, asking her permission to change his name. A reply came several days later along with his mother’s approval. Since then, Aman was registered in FKUI as Arief Rachman Hakim. Arief means wise, Rachman is his real name, and Hakim is taken from his mother’s name.

‍

AMONG his friends, Arief Rachman Hakim was known as a quiet student. As he didn’t really stand out at his campus, everyone saw him as nothing more than an ordinary student.

“We were in the same university year, but I didn’t know him very well. As a student from West Java, I rarely interacted with students coming from other provinces,” said Sjarif.

As his older sister, Nursima knew Arief very well. Since young, Arief was good-natured and never got into a conflict with his friends. He also rarely talked. The tough life he was living in had shaped him into a simple and mature man.

Arief’s modesty was evident from his daily life as a student. According to Nursima, Arief never indulged himself in delicious food. He also always awaited clothes to be passed down from his older siblings, and didn't even mind wearing torn clothes.

“He slept on a thin mat and wore a sarong to warm his body. That place he lived in was also filled with mosquitos,” said Nursima.

Nursima remembers how Arief only had one notebook to be used for all of his courses. “Every day, he went to campus on foot from Tanah Tinggi to Salemba.”

After finishing the last class of the day, Arief dedicated his time to study and read books in the campus library from afternoon until past maghrib time.

Amid the turbulent political situation at that time, was it not possible for Arief to participate in a campus organization?

Regarding that, Hakim assumed that Arief might be a part of Himpunan Mahasiswa Islam (Muslim Students’ Association or HMI). However, Yozar Anwar, one of the chairmen of KAMI Presidium, mentioned Arief in his journal as a member of Gerakan Pemuda Marhaen (GPM). On the other hand, Firman Lubis, FKUI student class of 1962 recalled in his memory book about his time as a student that Arief was an activist of Gerakan Mahasiswa Nasional Indonesia (GMNI).

However, Arief’s family doubts all of those narratives. According to Nursimah, Arief wasn’t familiar with politics, as the closest involvement of his with the political world was his association with Khudamul Ahmadiyah, a youth organization of the Ahmadiyah Congregation.

“Our family has become a part of the (Ahmadiyah) Congregation ever since we started living in Padang. Even our mother was one of the most active members,” said Nursima.

Nursima was convinced that the involvement of Arief in the student demonstration was just his way of showing his solidarity towards his friends.

‍

THE sun had just risen in Jakarta. The damp air from last night’s rain was blowing in Tanah Tinggi. Arief had just finished preparing for campus when he walked out of his room. As per usual, he drank a glass of water before greeting Aswir, his brother.

“You won’t participate in the demonstration, will you?” asked Aswir.

“Yes, Uda (Minang language for older brother). I would probably just distribute drinking water for my friends there.”

“Don’t do it, Man,” replied Aswir, calling Arief by his little name. “We are poor, let’s not cause more problems.”

Arief smiled and nodded. “I’m leaving now, Da…”

“Be careful, Man!”

Following the 30th September 1965 Movement (G30S), student demonstrations were increasingly frequent in Jakarta. Students, who were grouped into different movement units, demanded President Sukarno to dissolve the Indonesian Communist Party (PKI) along with its community organizations that were suspected to be behind the G30S incident. They also demanded to reduce the price and to reshuffle the cabinet; three demands that were known as Tritura.

Not surprisingly, the government turned a blind eye to the protest. Despite the reshuffle of the cabinet later known as Dwikora Cabinet, Sukarno still included several PKI figures in it, angering the students who arranged more protests and demonstrations as a response.

That day, 24 February 1966, the students boycotted the inauguration of the new ministers and marched towards the State Palace. The sounds of AK-47, the Soviet Union’s automatic weapon, besieged the area.

Sitting inside his house, Aswir could faintly hear the gunshots coming from where the demonstration took place. It was expected, as he had predicted the demonstration would turn into a riot, even possibly causing casualties among the students. He could picture in his mind the unfortunate fate of those kids who might get shot by those bullets. Aswir quietly prayed that everything would turn out to be alright.

‍

Not far from the State Palace, Ismail still fixed his eyes on Arief’s body as his mind was calculating every possible way to save his friend’s life. He realized that he couldn’t carry Arief by himself. The scene around him was almost like a stampede where everyone was running towards Gambir in panic, too focused on their own safety to notice that someone was in need of help.

Ismail finally came up with a crazy idea that might work. Without much thinking, he reached for the leg of a demonstrator who was running near him. That fellow demonstrator fell to the ground, but before he could say anything, Ismail shouted with all his might: “Please help our friend here, he got shot! Come on!”. The man understood and immediately helped Ismail carry Arief’s body across Jalan Merdeka Utara until they reached Pemuda Building (now Supreme Court Building).

As they got closer to the building, they were welcomed by several health workers and civilians who helped carry Arief’s body to the building’s lawn. An army health officer came forward and checked on Arief.

There was a tense, long silence filling the air. A few seconds later, the officer shook his head. Arief was already gone.

“If that’s the case, I need to bring his body to FKUI,” said Ismail.

“You can’t! He must be registered first in RSPAD (Central Army Hospital) before you can bring him to FKUI,” exclaimed another officer.

“Alright then. I’m coming with you to RSPAD,” said Ismail.

Arief’s body was transported by the army ambulance jeep, with Ismail sitting on the front passenger seat. The loud siren was echoing on that gloomy night as they drove along the vacant road in the Gambir complex. Ismail could see some remaining demonstrators wandering on the street. From the car’s window, he made a cross with his hands, telling the others that they had lost a fellow friend.

After completing necessary procedures in RSPAD, Ismail immediately went to FKUI’s senate office in UI campus in Salemba. His hands clutched a wallet, a watch, and a bloodstained yellow jacket previously worn by Arief. “My intuition told me to hand over all of Arief’s belongings to FKUI,” said Ismail.

At the senate office, Ismail met Hakim. Still shaken by the recent incident he witnessed, Ismail tried to recount the story to Hakim.

“So where’s Arief now?” Hakim asked.

“He’s died, his body is now in RSPAD. These are his belongings that I managed to take, please keep them safe with you.”

‍

GANG Arimbi, Tanah Tinggi. It was almost dusk when someone knocked at Aswir’s door. He came outside and faced an army officer standing before him.

“Mr. Aswir?”

“Yes, sir!”

“You have to come with me to RSPAD. Your brother, Arief Rachman Hakim, got shot at his arm.”

That sudden news shocked Aswir, but he tried to calm himself.

After getting dressed, he followed the officer into a car that was going straight to RSPAD. At the hospital, Aswir saw many students had been waiting, and in a sudden, he could feel a heavy weight lingering on his chest.

Aswir was then ushered to the mortuary. He couldn’t hold his tears anymore when the bitter truth was lying before his eyes. Only by then he realized that Arief, his little brother, had gone forever.

‍

IT was more crowded at Jalan Salemba No. 6 Jakarta. The students who just left the demonstration they participated in several hours ago were gathering and sitting in small groups.

Ismid Hadad (79), a member of central KAMI presidium and the deputy editor-in-chief of Harian KAMI, had just walked out of the central KAMI’s secretariat when three students came up to him informing that an FKUI student named Arief Rachman Hakim had died after being shot by Tjakrabirawa Regiment, and that the body was currently laid in RSPAD.

“They handed me an identity card, a student card that was stained by blood, and a watch,” said Ismid. After that, those three students left.

Struck with great sadness, Ismid went up to the second floor to meet Sjahriar Rasad, FKUI’s dean. Instead of finding Rasad, Ismid encountered a young doctor whom he was acquainted with. Together, they rushed to RSPAD with a borrowed car.

“While the young doctor drove the car, I was busy with my mind. Honestly I was worried, because it was my first time handling someone’s death,” recalled Ismid.

Upon arriving, they saw a squad of Tjakrabirawa guarding the gate of RSPAD. To avoid any problem, they entered the building and went to the mortuary quietly. There, they found Arief’s body laid on a brancard, covered with a blackish green tarp.

“When we opened the tarp, it seemed like they hadn't done anything to him. His forehead was still swollen and his face was still covered with dried blood. There was also a crust of blood on his left chest,” said Ismid.

Ismid decided to move Arief’s body to somewhere else. He was thinking of bringing Arief to RSUP (now Cipto Mangunkusumo Hospital), but the doctors in RSPAD told him that there was no available ambulance to transport him at that time.

Ismid and the young doctor decided to go to RSUP to fetch an ambulance. They had to part ways in the middle because the car couldn’t get through Jalan Kramat-Jalan Salemba Raya, as the road was blocked by the demonstrators. Through Gang Kenari, Ismid walked by himself on foot to RSUP, but he couldn’t find an ambulance there. By a rickshaw, Ismid then headed to St. Carolus Hospital. Still no luck.

Desperate, Ismid asked the rickshaw driver to go to Jalan Kramat VII where he planned to meet Eri Soedewo, a senior military doctor. Eri apparently wasn’t home, but his wife lent Ismid a GAZ, a jeep produced by the Soviet Union. With that jeep, Ismid hurriedly went back to RSPAD.

“Even though the area was strictly guarded, I managed to get in because they might have mistaken me for a military officer,” said Ismid.

When he arrived, the mortuary was packed with FKUI students. Among the crowd, Ismid saw dean Sjahriar Rasad and Arief Rachman Hakim’s siblings: Nurmainar, Aswir and his wife, and Zuraida. There was a thick air of grief present in the room. Nurmainar and Zuraida couldn’t stop crying. Ismid was saddened as he looked at Arief’s body and realized that his friend’s condition was still the same as when he left him a while ago.

“I asked my FKUI friends to clean Arief’s body. Sjahriar also promised to handle Arief’s funeral,” said Ismid.

Arief’s body could finally be brought home to Gang Arimbi, Tanah Tinggi with the GAZ jeep, as there was no ambulance provided by the hospital.

On that cold rainy evening, the jeep, driven by Ismid, left the hospital with a total of five passengers on board: Aswir, Zuraida, Nurmainar, an FKUI student, and Arief.

“Since the back part of the GAZ wasn’t that spacious, Arief’s legs had to be stretched out of the car, despite it being raining outside,” Ismid recalled his memory that night.

On their way, they met several members of Djakarta Raya Student Regiment (Mahadjaya Regiment) who were looking for Arief because they heard a rumor that a group of soldiers was trying to “kidnap” Arief’s body in order to destroy the evidence.

“I was relieved and felt safe because we were guarded by our friends from Mahadjaya Regiment, who were also in a car,” said Ismid.

The road towards Tanah Tinggi was heavily rugged. As the GAZ jeep ran out of gas, they had to stop before reaching Aswir’s house. There was no other choice for them than to push the car. “The people in the neighborhood had also gathered to help us,” recalled Ismid.

When they finally arrived, another problem arose, as the family didn’t have any money to buy a shroud and camphor to prepare the body for the funeral. Seeing this, Ismid willingly emptied his whole wallet to buy the burial equipment. Meanwhile, to cover the shroud, a woman among the mourners handed over a piece of batik cloth she owned.

“There is no way I could forget that moment,” said Ismid.

‍

THE assumption that the bullet that struck Arief Rachman Hakim’s chest was coming from the State Palace was popularly believed by the student activists involved in the 1966 demonstration. This claim inherently pointed fingers to Tjakrabirawa Regiment, President Sukarno’s guard unit, as the one responsible for Arief’s death.

This accusation, however, was denied by the Tjakrabirawa soldiers. When I confirmed the truth of the incident to several former Tjakrabirawa soldiers who were on duty at the State Palace on that eventful day, each had their own version of the story. 

Colonel (Retired) H.W. Sriyono (89) still remembers how the situation at that time turned awfully chaotic. When the mass was gathering around Jalan Merdeka Utara, he could hear a barrage of shots, which he was very sure was not coming from his unit.

“There was no order at all to shoot the demonstrators. We were trained to act with discipline: if we’re ordered to shoot we’ll shoot, but if we’re ordered to stay put, we’ll stay put,” said Sriyono firmly.

Sriyono was a member of Tjakrabirawa Regiment from Detasemen Pengamanan Chusus (Special Security Detachment or DPC), and a part of Corps Polisi Militer (Military Police Corps or CPM).

The discipline of Tjakrabirawa was proven after they handled a reckless attack from a group of students who sneaked into the State Palace courtyard to lower the Red-and-White flag and replace it with a bloodstained yellow jacket. Instead of creating more commotion, the students were just asked to leave the palace peacefully.

“But since at first they persisted, we had to fire a bullet as a warning. Only by then they backed down and left,” recalled Sriyono.

Sriyono’s account was supported by Colonel CPM (Retired) Maulwi Saelan, former deputy commander of Tjakrabirawa Regiment. In his autobiography Kesaksian Wakil Komandan Tjakrabirawa: Dari Revolusi 45 sampai Kudeta 66, Maulwi mentioned that the death of Arief Rachman Hakim was purposely alleged to his unit as the one that bears the responsibility.

Maulwi remembers how, a few hours after the incident, hundreds of students were encircling the State Palace on army trucks on which they held a bloodstained yellow jacket and shouted: “Tjakra is a murderer! Tjakra is a murderer!”

In no time, the rumor spread that Arief Rachman Hakim had been shot dead by a Tjakrabirawa soldier in front of Pemuda Building right across the headquarter of Tjakrabirawa Regiment of Detasemen Kawal Pribadi (Private Escort Detachment or DKP) unit.

Upon hearing those accusatory shouts from the demonstrators, Captain KKO AL Edi Hidrosin, the company commander in Detasemen Kawal Kehormatan (Honor Guard Detachment) of Tjakrabirawa Regiment, summoned each soldier from the on-duty unit that day to check their guns one by one.

<div class="quotes-center font-g text-align-center">There was no order at all to shoot the demonstrators. We were trained to act with discipline: if we’re ordered to shoot we’ll shoot, but if we're ordered to stay put, we’ll stay put.<br>– Kolonel (Purn.) H.W. Sriyono</div>

“Hidrosin found out that none of the guns released a bullet. The gun barrel was perfectly clean,” said Maulwi.

So who was actually responsible for Arief’s death?

Maulwi has his own version based on the story he got a year following the incident. At that time, Maulwi had been transferred from Tjakrabirawa Regiment to Military Police Headquarters. There, he heard a story from several officers of Regional Military Police Command V Jakarta Raya (POMDAM V JAYA) that the one who shot Arief was a soldier from POMDAM V JAYA who was assigned to the garrison unit of the capital city of Jakarta.

“I have requested Brigadier General TNI dr. Rubiono, a commissioned officer who was also my close friend, to promptly arrange a visum et repertum for Arief Rachman Hakim and to report the result to President Sukarno,” said Maulwi.

However, the visum et repertum was never conducted even after the disbandment of Tjakrabirawa Regiment. The notion that the murderer of Arief Rachman Hakim was one of Tjakrabirawa Regiment soldiers was still collectively believed until this day.

‍

NURSIMA couldn’t hold her tears when the death news of her brother, Arief Rachman Hakim, came to her family. Arief’s death was a painful addition to the family’s grief after Haji Syair passed away three months earlier. Their mother, Hakimah, was drowned in unutterable sorrow. 

With the help of the local government, all family members of Haji Syair departed to Jakarta on Koan Maru ship on that very same day. As the sea travel took several days, the family couldn’t make it to Arief’s funeral.

Meanwhile in Tanah Tinggi, many people had come to mourn Arief’s death. From Aswir’s house, Arief’s body was brought to and laid in the auditorium of University of Indonesia. The mourners conducted a funeral prayer right after the Friday prayer, with Ustaz Ahmad Nuruddin from Ahmadiyah Congregation as the imam. After that, Arief was brought into his final resting place in Blok P Cemetery Kebayoran, South Jakarta (later moved to Tanah Kusir Cemetery due to the construction project of South Jakarta Mayor’s Office in the 1970s).

It was a little cramped at the funeral as many people wanted to pay their last respects to the young brave student. His bloodstained yellow jacket was held high in the front row of the mass along with flags from various campuses. A black ribbon was tied onto the arm of each student as a sign of mourning.

“Imagine, his body was already in Blok P, but his legacy and memory were still present in Salemba,” recalled Hakim. 

Hakimah, Nursima, and the other family members arrived in Jakarta in early March 1966. They were escorted by the UI students to Arief’s grave. Seeing her beloved son’s tomb in front of her for the first time, Hakimah bursted into tears.

“Since that moment, my mother has always been so quiet. The loss of Arief that she loved dearly profoundly affected her until her passing in 1983,” said Nurbaety.

Arief Rachman Hakim was subsequently hailed as a martyr who influenced the history of the nation. Sukarno fell while Soeharto rose to power. Arief was honored as one of the Ampera Heroes. No one has ever imagined in their wildest dreams that a quiet student who slept on a worn rug would be regarded as a hero.

“When he left, it was only three months of him enjoying the new mattress that I bought. I’m always heartbroken anytime I remember that,” said Nursima, her eyes brimming with tears.*