Global Journalist
Quarter three, 2003

By Eric Weiner

One more time," urged All Things Considered host Robert Siegel, "Where are you?"

"Aceh," (pronounced Ah-CHEH) I said, as the audio engineers prepared to record our conversation.

"Gazeunthite," replied Robert.

Siegel is National Public Radio's most worldly host, well versed in conflicts large and small, yet even he drew a blank when it came to this far-flung guerilla war simmering on the tip of Sumatra island.

Who can blame him? Aceh is a remote place, difficult to pronounce and even more diffi-cult to understand. Historically, this part of the world has held little interest for the U.S. public or, for that matter, U.S. policymakers. America's "national security interest" is not immediately apparent in Aceh. Unlike in Iraq, U.S. soldiers are not dying there nearly every day. Yes, Aceh has oil (and natural gas) but not enough to make a dent in Amer-ica's energy appetite. What's more, the conflict is complex, not easily summed up in 30 seconds; it pits Muslim rebels against a Muslim government, echoing grievances that date back centuries.

Yet the world's media would do well to take note of Aceh. It is, after all, part of Indone-sia, the world's largest Muslim nation and a crucial linchpin in the U.S. war against ter-rorism. It is also a laboratory for forces shaping the world, post-Iraq. The White House may have hoped that America's lightning-fast victory in Iraq sent a message to the rest of the world, but some leaders are divining the wrong message, or at least not the one Presi-dent Bush intended. Indonesia has now launched its own shock and awe campaign, a massive military assault intended to squash-once and for all-the festering rebellion in Aceh. It's even embedding journalists, Pentagon-style, calculating that what works for Washington will work for Jakarta as well.

Suharto, the Indonesian dictator who ruled for more than 30 years, took no mercy on the Achenese and had no interest in public relations. He no doubt would scoff at the notion of embedding reporters with military units. But this is the age of reformasi, and the Indone-sian military is eager to burnish its image. So 54 Indonesian journalists (no foreigners allowed) recently endured a four-day training course at a boot camp in the jungles of Java and have been deployed with military units in Aceh. This is Pentagon-style embedding but with a twist. The Indonesian reporters are being issued military uniforms. A rebel spokesman warned obliquely that reporters embedded with the military "would be viewed as not adhering to the principles of independent journalism."

"That sounds like a threat to me," says one of the embeds, Berni Moestafa, of The Jakarta Post. He's apprehensive about embedding because "once you're in the field, it's impossi-ble to distinguish a journalist from a soldier."

The latest offensive began on May 19, after peace talks broke down, abruptly ending a six-month ceasefire. The Indonesian military launched a made-for-TV offensive, com-plete with paratroopers and air strikes. I visited Aceh days before the offensive began. The atmosphere was foreboding. At my hotel, young men sporting blue jeans and auto-matic rifles roamed the corridors. They were karpasus, Indonesian special forces. "They don't like foreigners," my Achenese interpreter said, advising me not to linger in the lobby.

I met a young woman, a refugee, who told me how her house was burned down. "Who did it?" I asked. "Persons Unknown," was her reply. That's something you hear a lot in this war. Persons Unknown have burned down houses, raped women, killed children-and worse. Persons Unknown might be Indonesian soldiers or perhaps the rebels. No-body knows, or at least no one is willing to say.

These days, the picture in Aceh is even murkier. The Indonesian government has placed onerous restrictions on all journalists wishing to cover the conflict. Before traveling to Aceh, foreign journalists must secure written permission from both the Foreign Ministry and the Justice Department. Upon arrival they must register with the police and the mili-tary to receive further clearances. (Reporters say the process can take weeks.) Journalists traveling between districts within Aceh require a military or police escort.

Indonesian officials say the procedures are designed to protect journalists from harm, but it seems that it is Indonesia's international reputation that the government is keen to pro-tect. The Committee to Protect Journalists concludes that "learning anything of substance about the conflict….is almost impossible." In a letter to Indonesian President Megawati Sukharnoputri, the Committee's Executive Director Ann Cooper warned that the gov-ernment policies "put journalists covering the conflict at grave risk." She urged President Megawati to "direct military authorities in Aceh to respect press freedom and immedi-ately cease all efforts to curb the media."

The information blockade imposed on Aceh comes, ironically, during a time of unprece-dented press freedom in Indonesia. Since the dictator Suharto was toppled in 1998, doz-ens of feisty magazines and newspapers have sprouted. But the Indonesian military, not the civilian government, is in charge of Aceh, and that makes all of the difference in the world.

It's not so surprising that Indonesia has borrowed a page from Washington's playbook and is trying to control media coverage of its military campaign. Indonesia, like much of the world, has embraced American music and American fast food. Why not American media relations? The difference is that big stories like Iraq are going to be covered one way or another. The Bush Administration, understandably, wants to put a positive spin on that coverage. Places like Aceh, on the other hand, are optional stories, at best. If the story is compelling and accessible, then maybe it will get a few inches in the New York Times or a few seconds on the evening news. But put up a few bureaucratic hurdles, issue a few veiled threats, and most foreign news organizations will simply find another global hotspot to cover.

The Indonesian media is not happy with the new restrictions, either. Ati Nurbati, head of the Alliance of Independent Journalists, says the media controls have made it harder for the public to learn what is happening in Aceh. She attributes the new restrictions to the fact that "the Indonesian military realizes what public access can lead to-exposure out-side their control."

The Indonesian military has made it clear that, when it comes to Indonesian journalists, they are considered Indonesians first, journalists second. "I want all news published to contain the spirit of nationalism," Indonesia's military commander Major General En-dang Suwwarya told reporters. "Put the interests of the unitary state of Indonesia first." The country's information minister went a step further, warning the Indonesian press not to publish comments from the rebels or to share information with the foreign media.

Aceh is not only a difficult story to cover, it's dangerous. At least one journalist has been killed since fighting resumed in May, and many others have been injured. On June 17, Jamaluddin, a cameraman with state broadcaster TVRI, was found shot to death. The military blamed the GAM rebels for his death, a charge the rebels deny.

It is a truism that, to a large extent, the U.S. media follows The White House's lead, and the Bush Administration is reluctant to call attention to Indonesia's messy war in Aceh. That's because it desperately needs Indonesia's support in the war on terrorism. After a slow start, Indonesia is indeed providing that support. Police, for instance, have cracked down on the terrorist ring behind the bombing of two nightclubs in Bali last year.

All wars are brutal. The one in Aceh is lonely, too. Unlike Tibet and other fashionable causes, it has no cult following abroad. There are no Free Aceh T-shirts. No rallies in front of the White House. Perhaps that's because the conflict in Aceh seems so banal. It is a guerilla war cliché. There's the charismatic rebel leader (killed two years ago), the human rights abuses, the midnight raids, the broken promises, the orphans and the ampu-tees. The conflict has festered for nearly three decades, propelled by its own inertia. A guerilla war in motion tends to stay in motion unless acted upon by an outside force. But with the world's media looking the other way, and the Indonesian media effectively cowed, I can't help but wonder what outside force that might be.

Eric Weiner is a veteran foreign correspondent for National Public Radio. He's been based in New Delhi, Jerusalem and, most recently, Tokyo. He's currently a John S. Knight Fellow at Stanford University.