ON MECCA'S 'FRONT PORCH'

SULAMAH'S HISTORY IS ACEH'S. The 65-year-old woman has seen a revolution and three rebellions. She lost her husband in one revolt and her two sons in another. Her husband participated in a committee that worked to prepare Indonesia's Independence. Yet in 1953 he joined an Islamic revolt in Aceh. In 1977 he rebelled again, this time for the Free Aceh Movement. His reason was that the land he had been given after his first surrender was taken back by officials and divided among others. Sulamah recalls him telling her: "They say, 'We are free.' But in reality, the freedom is non-existent." After the army shot him dead in 1982, she buried him on the plot of land for which he had struggled.

When the Free Aceh Movement reappeared in the late 1980s, soldiers detained her to ask if her husband was still alive and leading the renewed conflict. No, she replied, I can show you where he is buried. But she does not know the fate of her two sons, who vanished at the same time the military was engaged in "Operation Red Net," a no-holds-barred campaign that began a decade ago to wipe out Acehnese separatism. Her sons, who were supposed to be in Jakarta for schooling, might well be among the corpses buried in over a dozen mass graves that have recently been excavated. Activists believe over 30,000 Acehnese were killed by the military since 1989, though a National Human Rights Commission fact-finding team confirms fewer than 800 victims. Whatever the true figure, the emotional pain is unquantifiable. Acehnese tell of families fleeing to nearby Malaysia in terror, of detainees burned alive in their cells, of men executed in front of their families by the military, and of rapes.

Red Net succeeded, but it also deepened Aceh's trauma. This province on the western tip of Sumatra had once been Indonesia's most loyal territory. During the revolution against the Dutch, ordinary Acehnese, who had fought colonizers for centuries, sold their gold and possessions to buy the threatened young republic its first airplanes. At least four Acehnese belong to Indonesia's pantheon of national heroes. Yet one word characterizes the Acehnese experience with Indonesia: disappointment. Promised special status by founding father Sukarno, they were nonetheless subjected to ever-increasing control from Jakarta. The country they had joined was not the one they had fought for. Now, at a time when Jakarta's policies and practices no longer go unquestioned, Aceh is stirring unprecedented debate throughout the archipelago. Its experience resonates in areas such as wooded East Kalimantan and mineral-rich Irian Jaya, which also share its deep-seated suspicion that Dutch colonialism was only replaced by a dominion based in Java.

The military appeared at first to be listening. On Aug. 7, military supremo Gen. Wiranto asked for Acehnese forgiveness for army excesses. He announced that Aceh would no longer be a "military operations area" and ordered the phased withdrawal of about 900 combat troops. The last batch left the town of Lhokseumawe in North Aceh on Aug. 31, amid a hail of stones and abuse by locals. They then proceeded to riot for two days (also targeting ethnic Chinese businesses), prompting Wiranto to send back troops to restore order. On Sept. 3 a local legislator said the unrest was masterminded.

UNEARTHING THE PAST

The recent discovery of mass graves in parts of Aceh has sparked debate over the number of people the military killed over the decades. Whatever the figure, the emotional pain is unquantifiable.