☀ Today's Poem: "Diorama of Ghosts" Jeddie Sophronius

1.

Do not say something happened; do not say nothing
happened. You visit the museum at Lubang Buaya

where your government decided: everything
that has to, will happen, in its own time. Everything

that had to, was there, since the beginning of time.
"This is what happened." An undisputed argument.

You circle the outside first, the lawn and garden. You see
the command post, the torturing verandah, the public kitchen,

and the well of death—from which the crocodile's pit
earned its name. This is the house the rebels used to plot

the kidnapping of your generals. This is the verandah
the rebels used to arrest and torture your generals.

This is the kitchen where the women prepared meals
for the rebels. And this is the well where the rebels dumped

your generals' bodies. Each site is filled with dummies.
The rebels: faces full of bloodlust. The generals: helpless,

stripped to briefs and bare chests. Each figure frozen
in time, forever remembered in fervor or fear. At the top

of the stairs, statues of the seven generals remain,
and on top of them stands the giant Garuda,

its wings spread, its chest donning the Pancasila shield,
its tridactyl feet resting on a scroll inscribed with the national

motto: Bhinneka Tunggal Ika, Unity in Diversity.

2.

You enter the museum, a static voice recorder on loop
greets you, its age probably twice yours.

The corridors are dim and cold, they showcase
the dioramas of communists, one next to another. Each

with a plaque explaining what they did, where,
when (but never why). Small figurines of men

torturing or killing other men in fields and streets,
while brown tropical trees, clear sky, and white colonial

houses decorate the scene. The said killers look similar
to their larger counterparts outside, furious, bloodthirsty,

ready to kill. After reaching the upper floor and crossing
the skywalk, you enter the next building, where the dioramas

grow large again. You read a sign that says: The threat
against the ideology of Pancasila is a matter of survival

to the nation and state of Indonesia. The museum is built
as one of the means to remind people of Indonesia

that there is a danger of latent communism. Behind each
glass is a room depicting how your generals were kidnapped

from their homes, still in their nightwear and sandals. This
is what Gestapu means, the kidnappings and subsequent murders

of your generals. This. Gerakan September Tiga Puluh,
the 30th September Movement. This. The killings.

3.

The generals, the generals—our revolutionary soldiers.
Not the massacre, not the millions murdered in retaliation,

not the mass starvations, mass sexual assaults, soldiers
shooting the masses, not the religious orators

advocating their congregation to kill their infidel neighbors
by the masses, not the millions more imprisoned without

charge or trial, all cramped in a tight space like chickens
in a coop, not the torturing of the masses, not the orphans

re-educated and forcibly moved into foster families
who killed their biological parents, not the rivers

massed with bodies, not the mountains and forest turned
into mass graves, not the masses of political prisoners

left to starve on Buru island, not the masses today
worshipping whiteness and money, because

the Westerners saved us from Communism, not
the income inequality that continues to sprawl after,

not the racial hatred that still soars to this day.
You can go on, but you're already at the museum's exit.

The exit sign says: Thank you for witnessing
the dioramas regarding this barbarous incident.

Do not let something like this happen again.
Enough blood and tears have fallen in our Motherland.

Therefore, guard and maintain our national unity.
Farewell and Merdeka! You exit, the sun greets your skin.