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The Asia Pacific Journal of Anthropology

ISSN: 1444-2213 (Print) 1740-9314 (Online) Journal homepage: http://www.tandfonline.com/loi/rtap20

Coexistence not Reconciliation: From Communal


Violence to Non-Violence in North Maluku, Eastern
Indonesia
Christopher R. Duncan
To cite this article: Christopher R. Duncan (2016) Coexistence not Reconciliation: From
Communal Violence to Non-Violence in North Maluku, Eastern Indonesia, The Asia Pacific
Journal of Anthropology, 17:5, 460-474, DOI: 10.1080/14442213.2016.1206615
To link to this article: http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/14442213.2016.1206615

Published online: 20 Oct 2016.

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Date: 26 October 2016, At: 03:23

The Asia Pacic Journal of Anthropology, 2016


Vol. 17, No. 5, pp. 460474, http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/14442213.2016.1206615

Coexistence not Reconciliation: From


Communal Violence to Non-Violence in
North Maluku, Eastern Indonesia
Christopher R. Duncan

Cultural approaches to reconciliation, those based on traditional practices for


peacemaking, have attracted the attention of scholars looking at post-conict regions
in Indonesia. Numerous observers have pointed to the revitalisation of the Tobelo
adat notion of hibualamo in the province of North Maluku as a successful example of
this approach. This paper disputes those conclusions and explores local strategies for
peacebuilding and reactions to these strategies in post-conict North Halmahera. I
compare grassroots understandings of reconciliation with those of the local elite
behind this revitalisation effort. I also debate the concept of reconciliation as it has
been applied to the region. Applying the concept of reconciliation, with its
connotations of a positive peace, to the post-conict situation in North Maluku is
more of an idealistic view of the potentialities for peace than an actual reection of
reality. I suggest it is more appropriate to describe the situation as one of coexistence
or negative peace.
Keywords: Peacebuilding; Reconciliation; Coexistence; Religious Violence; Indonesia

Cultural approaches to reconciliation, those that are perceived to be based on indigenous or traditional practices for peacemaking, have received increased attention since
the turn of the century (see, for example, Baines 2010; Allen & Macdonald 2013;
Branch 2014; Zartman 2000). One argument in favour of these approaches is that
they are seen as coming from the grassroots as opposed to being implemented by
the state or other outside actors (Bloomeld 2006, 2428). Some proponents also consider these bottom-up approaches as better alternatives to the top-down cookie cutter
Christopher R. Duncan is Associate Professor in the Department of Sociology and Anthropology at Rutgers UniversityNewark. Correspondence to: Christopher R. Duncan, Department of Sociology and Anthropology
Rutgers UniversityNewark, 360 Martin L. King. Jr Blvd, Hill Hall Rm. 603, Newark, NJ 07102-1801, USA.
Email: chris.duncan@rutgers.edu
2016 The Australian National University

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461

approaches to peace and reconciliation put forth by many international NGOs (Lambourne 2009; Mac Ginty 2008; Richmond 2010). Cultural approaches to reconciliation
have been much discussed in work on the post-conict regions of Indonesia and East
Timor, particularly those focused on adat, whether it is the idea of peusijuek in Aceh
(Avonius 2009), pela gandong in Maluku (Bruchler 2009a) or nahe biti in East Timor
(Babo-Soares 2004; Loch & Prueller 2011).1 In this paper, I will explore adat-based
efforts at reconciliation in North Maluku that are focused on the Tobelo idea of hibualamo. These efforts have been hailed as a successful example of reconciliation by government ofcials, by the media and by scholars, based in large part on the idea that
they came from the grassroots (Barron et al. 2009, 328; Braithwaite et al. 2010, 216
221; Sinar Harapan 2012; Tempo 2012; Majalah G-Priority 2014).2 I examine these
assumptions by asking two questions. First, are cultural approaches to peacebuilding
necessarily evidence of a desire for reconciliation from the general public? I come to
this question from a particular slant that I see in the literature on reconciliation in
Indonesia where the focus has been on those who want to reconcile in the aftermath
of violence and particularly on those who attempt to rebuild or create institutions
aimed at that goal.3 Less has been written about those who have no desire to do so
or who remain ambivalent about issues of reconciliation after the ghting has
stopped. Second, despite this positive reception, what exactly are we talking about
when we talk about reconciliation in North Maluku and has it been achieved? Is the
absence of violence the only metric? Although analysts of reconciliation are quick
to hold up certain locales in Indonesia as examples of reconciliation how they are
measuring it often goes unstated, other than references to the return of forced
migrants, or participation in reconciliation ceremonies.
Those who study the subject of reconciliation have long struggled to dene exactly
what it means and a large amount of ink has been spilt addressing the haziness of the
concept.4 Harvey Weinstein (2011, 7), the former co-editor of the International
Journal of Transitional Justice, a journal that focuses on transitional justice and reconciliation, argues that the amount of writing on what constitutes reconciliation
reinforces the view that we are searching for a concept that dees clarity. If those
who make a living writing about reconciliation cannot agree exactly on what they
mean by the term, we should not be surprised that North Moluccans were often
less than eager to embrace this fuzzy concept presented to them as rekonsiliasi, a
term that had little meaning for most of them prior to the end of the communal conict. North Moluccans outside elite circles have been reluctant to embrace the idea of
reconciliation. In contrast, outside observers have demonstrated less reluctance to
apply this concept to describe what has happened in North Maluku, and in particular
in North Halmahera where the institution of the hibualamo has been noted as a successful practice of reconciliation.
Many approaches to reconciliation, regardless of the unit of analysis (that is, communities, states, individuals) often, but not always, include the concepts of healing,
truth, justice, reparations, accountability or forgiveness. Conict resolution expert
John Paul Lederach (1997, 29) describes reconciliation as the process through

462

C. R. Duncan

which truth, mercy, justice and peace meet. Bloomeld (2003, 12) describes it as an
umbrella term that refers to an over-arching process which includes the search for
truth, justice, forgiveness, healing and so on. Even those that focus on reconciliation
as a process of repairing or restoring relationships between former antagonists call
attention to the issues of justice and accountability (such as Bar-Tal 2013; Kelman
2008). For example, Bar-Tal and Cehajic-Clancy (2013, 131) describe reconciliation
as the
socio-psychological restructuring of the relations between past rivals that allows for
the healing of past wounds caused by the conict. To achieve this healing process
the parties must recognise and accept their crimes, freely discuss the past conict
and take responsibility for past injustices and wrongdoing.

A close examination of what is happening in North Maluku, and more specically in


North Halmahera, shows that several of these key aspects of reconciliationtruthtelling, forgiveness, justice, accountability or agreeing upon a shared version of the
pastare notably absent.
I suggest it is more helpful to look at the post-violence period in North Maluku as an
example of coexistence rather than reconciliation. In using the term coexistence, I am
using Galtungs (2001, 3) denition of the term which he describes as an agreement
between parties to proceed on parallel tracks, each within its own dialectic.5 This term
seems more appropriate to describe what has taken place thus far in North Maluku. As
Michael Ignatieff (2003, 327) has noted, coexistence can exist without reconciliation,
but not the other way around. Former enemies can live alongside each other without
admitting to any wrongdoing, without forgiving those who have wronged them,
without agreeing on a shared history of the conict and without rebuilding positive
social relationships with the other side. The idea of coexistence allows people to live
in what Galtung (1969, 183) calls a state of negative peace and forgo (whether by
choice or resignation) their demands for justice and accountability. Rather than reconcile with their former enemies, they tolerate their presence. Coexistence seems a more
apt description for the situation in North Maluku where the peace and subsequent
return of forced migrants was largely based on agreements between local elites,
rather than efforts by local communities to bring back displaced populations. Furthermore many of these agreements to return or accept the return of forced migrants were
based on political motives (Duncan 2013, 112113) or were essentially done without
consultation by the provincial government in order to meet central government objectives (Duncan 2008, 219221).

A Brief History of the North Moluccan Conict6


Peacebuilding efforts in North Halmahera have been focused on rebuilding communities torn apart by a period of communal violence that lasted from August 1999
until June 2000 and the tensions that persisted in its aftermath. One of the longest
running conicts in turn-of-the-century Indonesia began in the Moluccan capital of

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463

Ambon in January 1999 when a dispute between a Christian bus driver and a Muslim
passenger quickly escalated into large-scale violence between Christians and Muslims
(Al Qurtuby 2013, 122130). As the ghting spread outward from the city and to
neighbouring islands, the northern parts of the provincewhat would soon become
the separate province of North Malukuremained fairly peaceful.7 The situation
changed in mid-August 1999 when disagreements over a government redistricting
plan broke out into violence between Makianese migrants and indigenous groups in
the subdistrict of Kao on the island of Halmahera. The Makianese had been moved
to the region in 1975 to avoid a volcanic eruption on their home island of Makian.
The government resettled them on empty land claimed by the indigenous Pagu
people. Over the course of the next twenty-ve years relations between the migrants
and indigenous communities were strained as the latter resented the loss of their
land and were frustrated by the privileged treatment that the Makianese received
from the local government. The new subdistrict would contain all the Makianese villages settled in 1975, as well as numerous Pagu villages. The Pagu were not pleased
with this decision and did not want to be placed in a Makianese-dominated subdistrict
or to be separated from their indigenous brethren with whom they share traditional
ties. Other indigenous people in Kao, including the Modole, the Tobelo Boeng and
the Toliliku, which includes the small Muslim community known as the Kao Islam,
shared this displeasure and protested the redistricting. The Makianese, however,
were determined to have their own subdistrict. Tensions between the two groups festered over the course of June and July. Eventually, violence broke out between the two
sides in August 1999 on the day the new subdistrict was to be inaugurated.
These clashes, seen by both outside observers and participants as a dispute between
ethnic groups over redistricting, lasted several days, but broke out again in October
forcing approximately 15,000 Makianese to ee to the nearby islands of Ternate
and Tidore. Riots then broke out in the towns of Soa-Sio on Tidore and in Ternate
City following the appearance of a suspicious letter that contained information
about a Christian plot to control the region (Duncan 2013, 5861). The letter highlighted the religious differences between the adversaries in the earlier violence.
Almost 100 per cent of the Makianese are Muslim, while approximately 90 per cent
of the indigenous people of Kao are Christian. These riots forced around 13,000
people, mainly Christians, to ee. The conict, now seen as one between Muslims
and Christians, spread across the province with several large massacres taking place
in the Tobelo and Galela regions. By the time this widespread violence came to an
end, several thousand people were dead and over 230,000 people had been displaced.
After the violence came to an end, North Maluku was ooded with calls for reconciliation from a variety of external sources. Trauma experts arrived from Java to
lecture people on the importance of forgiveness and reconciliation as part of the
healing process. International NGOs held peace workshops and talked about peace
education for adults and funded reconciliation parties for school children. Finally,
civil servants and community leaders talked about the importance of reconciliation
for the regions future and politicians mentioned it in speeches during public

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C. R. Duncan

ceremonies. In many of these events, however, the nature of reconciliation, and what
was being asked of people, was largely undened other than a focus on preventing
future violence. Ofcials and practitioners primarily talked about the concept
using the English cognate rekonsiliasi, thus at times those involved in seminars
and workshops or listening to speeches were unsure of what rekonsiliasi meant.
Local communities were less interested in this new concept of rekonsiliasi and
were more concerned with preventing the outbreak of new violence (Duncan
2013, 105106).
Elite Views on Peace and Reconciliation
In contrast to Poso (Central Sulawesi) and Maluku, the Indonesian government never
implemented any conict resolution strategies in North Maluku. This lack of involvement stemmed in part from the way the North Moluccan violence died down largely
on its own. Without government mediators, local communities were left to work on
peace without any support from Jakarta. As a result a number of reconciliation initiatives sprang up in various parts of the province aimed at peacebuilding in particular
districts (CPRU/UNDP 2004; Tindage 2006). In this paper, I will focus on the
peace and reconciliation process in northern Halmahera in the former subdistricts
of Tobelo and Galela where some of the worst violence occurred.
The rst serious local attempts at reconciliation in Tobelo and Galela began in
October 2000 several months after large-scale hostilities appeared to have come to
an end. A handful of regional leaders undertook this initiative despite the large
number of people on both sides who remained unready or unwilling to discuss
peace or conict resolution. Ongoing Muslim-Christian violence to the south in
Maluku and to the west in Central Sulawesi hindered their efforts. Many North Moluccans feared the violence could start again at any moment. Despite these challenges,
some elite pressed ahead with their efforts. Two main considerations motivated
these leaders: the desire of Tobelo Muslims to return home, and the aspiration of
elites on both sides of the conict that Tobelo town would become the capital of
the newly created district of North Halmahera.8 The provincial government had
informed local bureaucrats in Tobelo that if they did not stabilise Tobelo town and
facilitate the return of forced migrants, the capital of North Halmahera would be
placed somewhere else. These elite-led efforts resulted in a series of three meetings
held at the end of 2000 to discuss peacebuilding and the return of displaced people
(Tindage 2006). When the agreements reached at these meetings failed to signicantly
ease tensions among the general public, some of the same leaders decided to hold a
large adat ceremony in Tobelo town in April 2001 during which Tobelo Muslims
and Tobelo Christians signed a declaration of peace and took a customary oath
(Duncan 2013, 112115).
This adat ceremony represented the initial step in local attempts to revitalise adat
as a tool of reconciliation and violence prevention. Certain political leaders, highranking civil servants and customary law experts (tokoh adat)9 argued that recent

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465

history had shown that agreements brokered by government ofcials or the armed
forces were ineffective at preventing violence. They believed that a revitalisation of
adat would shift peoples locus of identication from their religion (Christianity or
Islam) to their ethnicity (Tobelo). They argued that this change would facilitate
reconciliation, or at least peaceful coexistence, between the two religious communities. The people involved in these attempts to revitalise adat wanted to undo the
damage done by religious policies of the Indonesian government and its disregard
for local culture. In the last half of the twentieth century, religion became an important aspect of identity for Indonesians as all citizens were required to adhere to one
of ve ofcially recognised faiths. This policy, as well as other factors (for example,
government fears of communism, state patronage networks), created a situation in
which religious identity played a signicant role in the daily lives of Indonesians,
as well as in politics at all levels. In some parts of North Maluku, the emphasis
placed on religion led to a prioritisation of religious identity over ethnic or regional
ones during the second half of the twentieth century (Duncan 2013, 3040). Some
community leaders and their supporters wanted to change this state of affairs with
their attempts to revitalise tradition and culture, which they believed would reduce
tensions created by religious differences.
The cornerstone of these efforts in North Halmahera has been the revitalisation of
the Tobelo adat notion of hibualamo. According to local history, the Tobelo term
hibualamo, which translates as big house, refers to the traditional meeting houses
that used to be the centre of Tobelo villages.10 Tobelo villages throughout Halmahera
had these meeting houses that served as spaces for the mediation of inter-community
conict, conict between villages or people of different religions. The hibualamo supposedly integrated different segments of Tobelo society. Over the course of the twentieth century, the colonial government, followed by the Indonesian state, took over this
role and the hibualamo became places for community celebrations rather than
mediation. Eventually, the structures themselves disappeared and only the idea persisted with its focus on unity; by the end of the twentieth century as communal conict
swept the region, even that had faded.11 The proponents of this revitalisation of adat
argued that a return to this idealistic philosophy of unity and conict resolution would
prevent the Tobelo (and by extension neighbouring ethnic groups) from succumbing
to violence in the future. They hoped that in times of trouble, Muslim and Christian
Tobelo would coalesce around their shared ethnic and cultural identity rather than
look to religious differences.
One of the leaders in this effort was the district head (bupati) of North Halmahera,
Hein Namotemo (Duncan 2009a, 10921094). He was part of the original peace discussions in October 2000, helped arrange the April 2001 ceremony for the peace declaration
and oversaw the governments focus on the revitalisation of adat, in particular the idea
of hibualamo. He made adat and its role as a tool of reconciliation an integral part of his
two terms in ofce. For example, in one published interview he noted the importance he
placed on adat: After becoming bupati my only goal was to infuse the foundations of
government and public life with adat. I am certain of the veracity and importance of

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C. R. Duncan

adat as a tool for unication (BeritaSatu.com 2012). Along these lines during his time in
ofce he added adat ourishes to most government ceremonies, instituted a policy
requiring civil servants to wear traditional clothing (pakaian adat) to the ofce once
a week and even suggested that Tobelo become the language of bureaucracy in North
Halmahera.12 This focus on adat and his reconciliation efforts have gained Namotemo
a certain amount of national publicity, particularly when in 2012, at his suggestion,
Tobelo town served as the host for the Fourth Congress of the Indigenous Peoples Alliance of the Archipelago (Aliansi Masyarakat Adat Nusantara, or AMAN), Indonesias
largest indigenous rights group.13 Based in part on his reputation, Tobelo has been held
up as an example of how customary law and tradition can function as a tool of reconciliation and conict resolution.
One could argue, however, that the idea of hibualamo is no different than other
idealised and localised notions of reconciliation and adat put forth in eastern Indonesia. The concept itself, although holding great sway with the regional government
at the time, is arguably tied to one particular individual, Hein Namotemo, and his
administration. Whether or not the predominance of the hibualamo and various ceremonies surrounding it remain an active part of Tobelo cultural and political life
now that Namotemo has left ofce remains open to question. Namotemos emphasis
on adat and his claim to adat expertise did not go uncontested in North Halmaheran
politics or in general discussions amongst people in the district. For example, several
detractors criticised his attempts to incorporate adat into politics, arguing that if
adat was supposed to unite the people of North Halmahera, it should be kept out
of the political realm. As for the idea of hibualamo put forth by Namotemo and
his supporters, it appears to be more of an abstract idea, rather than an actual practice in which various factions or individuals meet to discuss their differences or to
reconcile. To the best of my knowledge, ritual celebrations of the hibualamo have
only taken place at the district level in ceremonies funded by the bupati and on
the small island of Kakara arranged by one of the bupatis cultural advisers and
main supporters. In the former case, the local administration staged a large-scale ceremony to celebrate the opening of the large hibualamo in the centre of Tobelo in
2007 and subsequently staged annual commemorations. Although often described
by its proponents as a ritual practice, one could argue that it is actually more of a
spectacle, similar to the cultural performances of the New Order period discussed
by Acciaioli (1985) rather than to Tobelo adat practices that are (or were previously)
part of the cultural life of the Tobelo. The idea of hibualamo, so often touted as an
example of successful reconciliation, is more an example of reconciliation as spectacle than reconciliation as a practice that serves to bring former enemies together
in peace and understanding. In other words, unlike adat practices associated with
Tobelo wedding ceremonies or the annual rice harvest festivals held by Sahu communities, practices surrounding the hibualamo only take place in ofcial capacities.14
While the former are an integral part of community life and happen organically in
local communities, hibualamo-related rituals or festivities appear to only take place
when planned and sponsored by the regional government. In this way, they are little

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467

different than the widely derided adat feasts (which had little to do with adat) sponsored by the armed forces that took place across North Maluku in the aftermath of
the violence (Duncan 2013, 106107). The main difference appears to be that since
hibualamo rituals are sponsored by the district-level government and related to adat,
observers see them as more efcacious than those sponsored by outsiders and more
indicative of the local communitys inclinations towards reconciliation.
Grassroots Ambivalence about Reconciliation
Most post-violence analysis of Maluku and North Maluku has focused on the desire of
local elites and particular communities for reconciliation as they were voiced in public
ceremonies or formal interviews. Another way of thinking about reconciliation is to
compare the public rhetoric about reconciliation with the way people talk about the
subject in more private settings (Thomson 2013; Zorbas 2009). Although people
focused on the importance of repairing inter-religious social relations in public discussions of reconciliation in North Maluku, in private conversations they were far more
ambivalent, even those who frequently supported the idea in public forums. Another
difference has been about exactly what reconciliation means or entails. Elite concerns
voiced in public were focused on moving forward and forgetting about the violence.
Their stance was at odds with the views of the people who had lived through the violence, particularly those who saw themselves as victims. These individuals tended to
focus more on remembering the violence and their continuing mistrust of the religious
other.15
A common criticism of these efforts at adat revitalisation as a tool of reconciliation
is that they are little more than public displays stage-managed by a handful of elites.
Some in Tobelo argue that these cultural displays have little to do with peoples actual
views on inter-faith relations or issues of reconciliation. This view stems in part from
the emphasis on forgetting in these activities. One feature of peacebuilding efforts in
North Maluku has been the local governments focus on convincing people to put the
communal violence in the past and not assign blame to individuals or groups. A precondition for the beginning of the peace process in late 2000 was that the issue of culpability would not be discussed. Along similar lines, in the peace declaration signed by
both communities to nalise the peace process they agreed not to bring up the past in
order to justify or blame a particular party, but [only] to remember the past so it never
repeats itself (Duncan 2013, 114). Government ofcials argued that any discussion of
the violence or accountability would foster feelings of revenge and impede peacebuilding. Unfortunately, for the elite, their disinterest solidied understandings among
many in North Halmahera that the government was not concerned about them or
their suffering.
Understandings of peace (perdamaian) and reconciliation (rekonsiliasi) and how
they could be achieved differed throughout North Maluku. For some the terms were
interchangeable: they thought achieving reconciliation was simple and only required
the end of violence, much in the same way they understood peace. Others saw it is

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C. R. Duncan

as a far more difcult goal. In 2010, during an informal discussion about the meaning
of reconciliation over dinner with a group of Christian ministers, one minister argued
that peace was easy, but reconciliation was nearly unachievable. He used the analogy of
a torn piece of tissue paper:
If you tear off a corner of tissue, it is easy enough to stick it back together. That is like
peace: when you take two pieces and put them back together. However, the tear is
still there. You can still see it. Reconciliation is what happens when you can no
longer see the tear. That is very difcult.

Local leaders could declare that reconciliation had occurred in their speeches or
hold large public spectacles, such as hibualamo ceremonies, and claim success, but
North Moluccans outside these elite circles argued that reconciliation required a commitment that many did not have. It was, to borrow a phrase from the political theorist
Rajeev Bhargava (2012, 371), an achievement concept that had to be actively pursued.
Although some were simply ambivalent, others continued to mistrust and dislike
the religious other and no amount of discussion about the importance of reconciliation
or participation in staged adat rituals was going to change their view. Others were not
interested in talking about the topic. These people were weary of the never-ending
meetings and appeals for reconciliation. Some communities that did take part in
reconciliation ceremonies had little interest in improving or repairing inter-group
relationships. Often, taking part in these elite-managed efforts at reconciliation was
the only economically viable option available to displaced communities. They
needed to return to their previous homes where they had gardens or access to other
livelihoods. If that meant they had to live with Muslims or with Christians that they
did not fully trust, that was a risk they would take for economic security. They
would take part in welcoming ceremonies with local ofcials or in adat feasts upon
their return if their participation was required so they could move back into their
homes. This ambivalence towards reconciliation could also be seen in the number
of forced migrants who chose not to return to particular places, such as Soa-Sio,
Tidore. The reasons behind those decisions were numerous and complex, but internally displaced persons (IDPs) often cited fears for their future safety if they returned to
a region in which they were an unwelcome religious minority (Duncan 2008, 222). In
several locations on Halmahera and on the island of Obi, returning IDPs established
new single faith villages near their gardens rather than return and live as a minority in
a larger multi-faith community.

Conclusion
The original questions that sparked this essay were whether or not the adat-based
reconciliation efforts among the Tobelo reected a grassroots desire for reconciliation
and whether or not reconciliation had occurred in the district of North Halmahera.
The answer to the former question seems rather straightforward: local efforts in
North Halmahera to use adat to achieve some sort of reconciliation, while generally

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469

supported in so far as they helped bring an end to the violence, have largely been the
domain of a certain segment of the regional elite. One challenge to answering this
question lies in how one denes the grassroots. As noted earlier the literature on
reconciliation often makes a distinction between bottom-up approaches to reconciliation coming from local communities versus top-down ones coming from the state, and
international or national NGOs. One problem with this dichotomy is that what exactly
constitutes the top and the bottom depends on your vantage point. Many government ofcials from Jakarta, INGO workers and academics look at the hibualamo
example and see a grassroots effort at reconciliation emblematic of bottom-up
approaches. They see how some North Halmaherans turned to the adat idea of hibualamo as a tool for conict resolution and reconciliation. In contrast, I would argue that
most North Halmaherans see these efforts, if they pay any attention to them at all, as
another example of a top-down initiative that largely ignores their concerns. The idea
of hibualamo, at least in its current manifestation, has been designed and promoted by
an elite circle of North Halmaherans and their supporters. The elite version of rekonsiliasi is a reconciliation that ignores issues that were important to local communities
in the aftermath of the violence, such as truth and accountability. It is rekonsiliasi
focused on forgetting what happened during the violence, which most North Halmaherans do not want to do, and putting forth an idealised version of the future about
which many North Halmaherans remain ambivalent.
The answer to the second question, regarding whether reconciliation has been
achieved in North Halmahera, depends in part on whether one looks at reconciliation
as an outcome or a process (Bar-Tal & Bennink 2004). The North Halmaheran elite
with their practice of reconciliation as spectacle see it as an outcome; one that they
claim has been achieved. In contrast, local communities tend to see it as a much
longer process; one that ultimately, if not inevitably, may be unsuccessful. Although
North Halmaheran leaders point out that the region has stayed largely peaceful
since the end of the peace process and the few violent incidents that have occurred
were quickly brought under control, it is difcult to prove a causative link between
adat-based peace efforts and the lack of violence. Other parts of North Maluku that
have not seen such developments have also remained peaceful in the decade since
the violence ended. If reconciliation is seen as a return to a pre-violence status quo,
then some may argue that many parts of North Maluku have achieved this goal. A
large number of forced migrants have returned to their places of origin. The
regions economy is prospering due to the recent inux of wealth from a mining
boom. Several highly controversial elections, including a long-contested gubernatorial
election that saw protests and rioting in the provinces largest city, did not cross over
into religious or ethnic conict. Although Maluku has often been referred to in a rather
clichd way as a place noted for its religious harmony prior to the outbreak of violence
in 1999, tensions over religious differenceswhether in the form of religious patronage in politics, fears of Islamisation or Christianisation or simple identity politics
have long been a fact of life in North Maluku and continue in the aftermath of the violence. Most people continue to live in religiously segregated communities. Local

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C. R. Duncan

politics and development are still often thought of in terms of the religious divide and
as a zero sum game.
Although it appears on the surface that the region has returned to the pre-violence status
quo, if one looks one can still nd remnants of the conict. Monuments to those who died
in the ghting due to their religious faith dot the landscape in certain parts of the province,
reminding people of the fault lines and their losses (Duncan 2009a). A large number of
forced migrants have returned (albeit some against their will), but a sizeable number
did not, particularly to certain Muslim majority areas. Fears of the religious other
remain strong in the region. For example, parents take into account the religious makeup of an area when they send their children to university. Christian families are reluctant
to send their children to school in predominantly Muslim Ternate City where the provincial university is located. They choose instead to send their children to Tobelo or to the
neighbouring province of North Sulawesi with its Christian majority. Their concerns
are about where their children will ee if religious conict breaks out again. This continuing lack of trust can also be seen in how local people react to religiously motivated violence
elsewhere in Indonesia. Many people in North Maluku still fear the outbreak of religious
violence and prepare for the worst. After the Jakarta bombing in January 2016, the chief of
police in North Maluku felt it necessary to issue warnings about guarding the peace, and
some families in North Halmahera made sure their important paperwork was packed and
ready to go should they need to ee religious violence again.
For these reasons, as well as others noted above, I nd the term coexistence more
appropriate to describe the situation in North Halmahera, and North Maluku as a
whole. If we return to Galtungs (2001, 3) denition of coexistence mentioned
earlier, an agreement between parties to proceed on parallel tracks, each within its
own dialectic, we can see that this is a more apt description of the situation in
post-conict North Maluku. After reconciliation ceremonies held by the government
or welcoming festivities for returning IDPs, each side went back to their largely religiously segregated spheres. Christians continue to primarily afliate with Christians
and Muslims with Muslims. Each side has its own perception of the violence, who
was the aggressor, who were the primary victims and the role that religion played
in the conict. Although the regional elite like to claim that reconciliation has taken
hold and many outside observers seem to agree with them, these conclusions seem
more idealistic than descriptive.16 As Michael Ignatieff (2003, 325) notes: When we
fail to distinguish clearly between coexistence and reconciliation, we end up sentimentalizing and depoliticizing the processes we are trying to understand. Describing
the current state of affairs in North Maluku as one of reconciliation obscures more
than claries. It ignores the continuing tensions, and in some cases fear, that still
exists in the region and continues to play a signicant role in inter-religious relations.
It overlooks the mistrust that still exists between the two groups. From a peacebuilding
perspective it intimates that signicant progress has been made in restoring a positive
peace that will help prevent future outbreaks of violence, when in actuality this is not
the case. To end on a positive note, however, many peacebuilding practitioners see
coexistence as a step in a much longer process of reconciliation.

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471

Notes
[1]
[2]

[3]

[4]
[5]

[6]
[7]

[8]

[9]
[10]

[11]

[12]
[13]
[14]
[15]

[16]

The term adat, often glossed as customary law, generally refers to the local practices and
institutions found among the various ethnic groups in Indonesia.
The Indonesian Minister of Religion even cited the success of hibualamo in maintaining
peaceful inter-faith relations when he named North Halmahera a Model of Religious
Harmony (Antaranews.com 2016).
A number of scholars and NGOs have written about reconciliation in Indonesia. Braithwaite
et al. (2010) and Bruchler (2009b) explore the topic throughout the country. Tindage (2006),
Sitohang et al. (2003), Lakawa (2011) and Putjutju (2012) have written about North Maluku.
Al Qurtuby (2013), Bruchler (2009b), Thorburn (2008) and Laksono and Topatimasang
(2003), among others, have looked at Maluku.
Bloomeld (2006) provides an in-depth exploration of the various ways that different authors
have attempted to dene or explain the concept of reconciliation.
Although also a fuzzy concept, the idea of coexistence carries none of the religious overtones,
or peacebuilding implications of reconciliation (Bloomeld 2006, 13). For discussions of the
concept coexistence see Kriesberg (2001) and Chayes and Minow (2003).
I have explored this violence in more detail elsewhere (Duncan 2013).
The Indonesian government split the province of Maluku into two new provinces in 1999. The
southern two thirds of the original province retained its previous name. This new province of
Maluku consists of the large islands of Seram, Buru, Ambon and the southeastern parts of the
old province, including the Tanimbar, Kai and Aru Archipelagos. The northern third, including Ternate, Tidore, Halmahera and surrounding islands, as well as the Sula Archipelago,
became the new province of North Maluku.
When the province of North Maluku was created in 1999 it consisted of only two districts
(kabupaten). One of the rst priorities of the provincial government in post-conict North
Maluku was to establish new districts throughout the province. This process initially
created eight new districts, some of which have been subsequently subdivided. Each of
these new districts then needed to decide upon a district capital.
Bracketed translations in this paper represent the Indonesian language, unless otherwise
indicated.
The concept of hibualamo has been explored in depth elsewhere by scholars (Duncan 2009b;
Nanuru 2011), as well as in local government-sponsored publications (Duan 2009; Papilaya
2012; Pemerintah Daerah Halmahera Utara & Dinas Pariwisata Halmahera Utara n.d.).
Although traditional communal houses (rumah adat) disappeared from Tobelo villages in
North Halmahera, they were still present in Modole and Sahu villages elsewhere on the
island at the end of the twentieth century (Visser & Mursid 1983).
Namotemo also holds several titles derived from adat, albeit contested, including Jiko ma
Kolano (Ruler of the Bay), which he received in 2001.
During this congress Namotemo was chosen to be chair of AMANs National Board (Ketua
Dewan AMAN Nasional) for a period of ve years, increasing his national reputation.
Platenkamp (1988, 190224) has written at length on the wedding rituals of the Tobelo, while
Visser (1989, 145168) has written about the Sahu rice harvest ceremony.
Initial concerns with accountability and justice that I noted in an earlier publication (Duncan
2013, 119124) appear to have faded in the decade or so since the end of the violence as individuals and communities have come to accept that it will not happen.
There also seems to be an implicit (one could argue normative) assumption in some of the
writing on reconciliation that communities should want reconciliation. In the case of

472

C. R. Duncan
North Maluku authors often point back to pre-conict images of the region as one of religious
harmony that the reconciliation process can recapture, an image that others, such as Duncan
(2013, 3040) and Al Qurtuby (2013, 99117) have shown to be rather idealistic.

Funding
This work was supported by John D. and Catherine T. MacArthur Foundation; Anthropologists
Fund for Urgent Anthropological Fieldwork in coordination with the Royal Anthropological Institute and Goldsmiths College of the University of London.

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