Introduction
In early December 2004, just weeks before the devastating tsunami hit Aceh, I was wandering the gloomy streets of the wintry Stockholm suburbs, waiting for an appointment with the exiled leaders of the Gerakan Aceh Merdeka (Free Aceh Movement, which is generally referred to as ‘GAM’) that I had arranged via the internet a couple of weeks before. Feeling the icy winds in my face and condemning the darkness made me wonder why these Acehnese freedom fighters had left behind their tropical homeland, situated at the northernmost tip of Sumatra Island. While waiting at the agreed venue, a black car stopped next to me. Three Acehnese men briefly introduced themselves and invited me to visit their headquarters in Norsborg, a southern Stockholm suburb. The movement's command centre was a neat flat and also home to Hasan Tiro, the man who, along with his associates, had instigated the struggle for Aceh's independence from Indonesia in October 1976. The causes of the outbreak of the separatist struggle, which have been analysed by other scholars in detail, can be traced back to economic dissatisfaction with central government policies as well as to Jakarta's political and cultural paternalism.Footnote 1 In the course of the confrontation, additional reasons such as revenge and lack of trust emerged. The hostilities between the GAM guerrillas and the Indonesian military fluctuated over the years, and counterinsurgency measures followed each guerrilla uprising until August 2005.
From his flat Tiro struggled for an independent Aceh. His work was aimed at preventing the movement from vanishing after it was defeated by the Indonesian military in the early 1980s, after he had left Aceh, and again in the late 1980s and 1990s. Tiro provided his followers with recorded speeches and writings, despite the authorities in Jakarta pronouncing him dead several times.Footnote 2 Tiro organized people and built networks in different countries, which included establishing offices in Malaysia, Australia, and the United States. Before he fell ill in 1997 Tiro managed GAM's diplomatic activities, public relations, and the strategic supreme command. Only after his health deteriorated did his ministers become more powerful. From this flat he and his staff operated relatively unmolested by Swedish or other state authorities.
We spent hours in Tiro's flat discussing the situation in Aceh, which was very severe as martial law had just been extended. The number of violent incidents between the separatists and the Indonesian security forces was high and the civilian fatalities, alarming. While answering my questions Tiro's closest associates, Malik Mahmud, Zaini Abdullah, and Bakhtiar Abdullah were busy sending text messages to Aceh or talking to people in Aceh and around the world on the telephone. Years later, when I met Bakhtiar again, he proudly claimed, ‘GAM was the first group that led a war via SMS.’ Though Bakhtiar's boast was not necessarily accurate, it was true that it was the movement's leaders abroad who kept the conflict in Aceh going for more than two decades.
In recent years, academic publications on the topic of the Aceh conflict have helped provide a very clear picture of the different phases and processes of the violent conflict.Footnote 3 However, many studies have ignored or just superficially mentioned the more than 80,000 Acehnese who lived overseas at the peak of the conflict. While attention was mostly paid to the exiled GAM leadership, the material and structural basis of its intervention in Aceh remained unquestioned. By contributing another view of the Aceh conflict, which stresses the significance of the Acehnese population overseas, my findings will add another dimension to the Aceh conflict, which so far has mostly been treated as a purely Indonesian affair.
This paper is divided into four parts: after explaining the key terms and introducing the debate about the nature of diaspora politics, I summarize the evolution of the Acehnese diaspora as a political agent. Then, after outlining examples of a few highlights of Acehnese diaspora politics and explaining the peculiarities of their engagement, I shed light on the post-conflict transformation of the Acehnese diaspora. Drawing some conclusions about the constitution of the Acehnese diaspora until recently will not only sum up some specifics of the Acehnese diaspora but will also point out future potential scenarios for the involvement of the Acehnese diaspora in homeland politics.
Diasporas, long-distance politics, and the debate about the nature of diasporic homeland engagement
Before elaborating on the specifics of the Acehnese diaspora's intervention in homeland developments, a few key terms deserve explanation. Since attention directed at diasporas and diasporic politics has increased tremendously over the last two decades, it is necessary to define my usage of the term and concept. Rather than situating my research about the Acehnese overseas within refugee or migrant studies or studies of transnational communities, I was convinced of the explicative potential of ‘diaspora’. This was the case because, when studying the causes and the distinct means by which these people became involved in collective long-distance politics, it was not primarily the reasons for migration that mattered. Far more important were their post-migration adjustments away from home. Compared to other theoretical group constellations, diaspora conceptualizations served to elucidate the uncertainty of long-distance engagements and also the shifting affiliations of individuals. Moreover, given the diverse localities in which Acehnese resided all over the globe, ‘diaspora’ helped to explain the multi-centredness of Acehnese away from home.Footnote 4
A diaspora's focal point is about collective performances and ideas. Since the Acehnese abroad established notions of group cohesion and mutual responsibility, they cannot be understood merely as exiles. When compared to migrants, the special characteristic of members of the diaspora lies in their extraordinary sense of togetherness, shared fate, and collective identity. These people—even though they spend a long time away from home—do not wish to assimilate into the society of their host country, which makes them ‘sojourners rather than permanent settlers’.Footnote 5 Instead they consciously opt to maintain bonds with their homeland and with co-ethnics in their host countries, and their (self-) isolation from the host country's society reinforces such a desire. What makes members of a diaspora different from (im)migrants is, according to William Safran, their ‘refusal to relinquish their collective identities’.Footnote 6 In contrast, according to Milton Esman, ‘migrant communities may feel no compelling interest to bind them together; they may blend into the host society as individuals and cease to function as separate communities’.Footnote 7
Relying on Sheffer's definition of diaspora, I base my understanding of diaspora on the following six premises: first, a voluntary and/or involuntary emigration; second, the inability and/or refusal to assimilate into the host country's society; third, the collective aspiration to return to the homeland (Heimkehrillusion); fourth, a collective consciousness of belonging together (Zusammengehörigkeitsgefühl) due to sharing the same ethnic origins, histories (defeat, resistance or former glory), a common language and/or religion; fifth, a shared commitment to restore their homeland together with expectations of prosperity and welfare; and sixth, formal and/or informal alignments with co-ethnics in loose group formations, transcending kinship and business networks, which are organized within host countries and across state borders.Footnote 8
Outlining some necessary preconditions for being or becoming a diaspora, however, does not explain why some diasporas develop a notion of long-distance nationalism in the sense of action-oriented patriotism nurtured by nostalgic desires to recreate a (lost) home that drives them to become involved in homeland politics. For this reason I argue that, in order to understand the practice of diasporic long-distance politics, attention has to be paid to the circumstances that facilitate them. According to Safran, ‘diasporic activism depends not only on pressures from homeland but also on the policies and pressures put upon members of a diaspora by the host land’.Footnote 9 Whereas some scholars define opportunities and/or constraints as external influences and independent from the diaspora's internal capabilities, Rachel Paul suggests that internal diaspora institutions or networks such as religious institutions are exploited for diasporic mobilization, and I draw on her definition when I argue that diasporic effectiveness also depends on sufficient internal capacities.Footnote 10
Generally speaking, long-distance politics can range from civilian and ideational forms—such as raising awareness, lobbying, giving to charity and developing human resources, offering shelter to refugees, sending remittances to relatives and war victims—to military and physical forms which include financial, material, and logistical help for the struggle, participation in the conflict or even involvement in terrorist acts. Lacking the space to elaborate on long-distance nationalism more extensively, I simply point out a few of the, in my opinion, essential prerequisites of long-distance politics: in order to engage in diasporic long-distance politics, it is essential to have access to a safe third country or countries, from where it is feasible to operate on behalf of the homeland. In doing so, ethnic networking across borders—between the homeland and the host countries as well as between host countries—is extended and political actions become possible in multiple localities at the same time. Through providing multiple lines of communication, diasporic communication becomes less vulnerable. Communication in long-distance politics stands for more than just exchanging news and ideas, it also acts in a material sense, as co-ethnic contacts are also used to transfer remittances, donations, and arms. Such tight ethnic networks can also exert pressure on individual members for help, especially in difficult times. The case of the Acehnese overseas illustrates such a correlation very vividly. Also relevant is that, over time, long-distance politics must be at least minimally effective. It is not enough that ethnic networking exists, it has to be successful in achieving common goals. Help must reach its destination and have a noticeable impact. For example, it is not enough for diasporic groups to regularly collect donations in the host country if the money never arrives in the homeland due to corruption or other obstacles on the way. Furthermore, the voices of those overseas must be heard in the homeland and diasporic directives must be appreciated.
Within recent decades, interest in diasporas has increased continuously, not only due to the growing number of such communities resulting from greater migration flows around the world, but also due to their more acknowledged role in global politics.Footnote 11 Research on political behaviour and the impact of diasporas has also expanded rapidly, with case-studies conducted all over the world, first and foremost relating to concerns about the Tamil diaspora,Footnote 12 but also the Kurdish diasporaFootnote 13 and Armenian diaspora.Footnote 14
When it comes to evaluating the role of diasporas in global politics, opinions differ. In fact, the debate about whether diasporas are peace-wreckers or peace-builders is not yet over.Footnote 15 While most scholars see diasporas as ‘the key source of resources, ideas and leadership’ which are predominantly supportive in secession movements and therefore engage merely in the revival or maintenance of violence,Footnote 16 some scholars also stress the positive and constructive potential of diasporas.Footnote 17 As well as fuelling conflict, diasporas can promote peace, launch humanitarian programmes, provide relief, and assist post-conflict recovery and reconciliation. While primary responsibility for overcoming conflict remains with the home country government (or, if that does not exist any longer, with the domestic population of that country), members of a diaspora can act as ‘go-betweens’ and complement local initiatives for peace.Footnote 18 However, often they do not initiate engagement in peace-seeking activities themselves; rather, third parties, such as host-land policy-makers, think-tanks, and peace activists, have to identify, approach, and empower diasporas. Rather than falling into the trap of pigeonholing the Acehnese diaspora's intrinsic nature as a peace-wrecker or peace-builder, I agree with Denise Natali and others who assert that diasporas can act as both—consecutively and contemporaneously—and to varying degrees.Footnote 19 As outlined below, the activities of the Acehnese diaspora to support the fight for independence included both military activities (military training, provision of weapons, conflict-related funding) and civil actions (international diplomacy, lobbying, networking, distribution of propaganda). In contrast, Acehnese diaspora activities for peace included raising awareness about human rights violations, providing humanitarian aid, and lobbying for peace.
The evolution of the Acehnese diaspora: born out of conflict
Long before Hasan Tiro initiated the struggle for Aceh's independence in 1976, there were Acehnese migrants living and working in neighbouring Malaysia. Although some parts of the Acehnese population were organized into informal business and trade associations, I argue that the making of the Acehnese diaspora only took off in the 1980s, when more and more Acehnese poured into Malaysia due to the increased levels of violence and fewer economic opportunities that resulted at home.
The creation of an Acehnese diaspora in Malaysia, defined as the activation of connectivity among a group of people who not only have the same ethnic background and collective memories but also share contemporary experiences of adversity, resembles what Pnina Werbner labelled a ‘community of suffering’.Footnote 20 The group cohesion and co-responsibility among Acehnese evolved from the two-fold hardship experienced in Aceh and Malaysia. The homeland conflict not only resulted in an enormous increase in the number of refugees, it also created a sense of emotional connection among those affected by the conflict in Aceh and the violence they had experienced either directly or indirectly. For many, their suffering did not end after they left Aceh, as conditions for refugees from Aceh in Malaysia were not favourable. In the 1980s and 1990s, as Malaysia experienced economic boom years, both legal and illegal migrant workers served the construction industry and were also employed in plantations, factories, and domestic service.Footnote 21 The severe economic crisis from 1997 onwards resulted in Malaysia seeking to remove these labourers. Whereas Acehnese were spared from deportation at first, large numbers of them also suffered maltreatment, arrest, detention, and eventually even deportation.Footnote 22 As the conflict in Aceh became more violent in mid-1999, the numbers of Acehnese refugees in Malaysia grew, exacerbating the overall situation there. Official numbers reported about 40,000 Acehnese living mostly in the urban centres of West Malaysia; however, diaspora leaders claimed that the real numbers were most likely to be twice or three times as high.
Facing massive collective pressure and deprivation, Acehnese in Malaysia reacted to defend themselves, but they also directed their attentions to the other source of their collective hardship—the homeland conflict. From afar, members of the Acehnese diaspora observed the developments in Aceh as best they could, often relying on the reports of newly arrived refugees or the propaganda spread by GAM followers who had started to organize themselves in Malaysia as well. As the Acehnese struggled with life as undocumented economic migrants and/or unprotected refugees, they became increasingly politicized. In particular, the collective hardship experienced in detention made Acehnese prisoners open to the movement's propaganda. According to a leading official from the movement, ‘detention camps got a new function: rather than being transit places for people waiting to be deported, they turned into ideological education camps for Free Aceh (Aceh Merdeka)’.Footnote 23 Maltreatment and deportation created solidarity among the Acehnese detainees but also fostered disobedience towards the Malaysian authorities. Disobedience and resistance were multi-faceted, and included break-outs and hunger strikes. Probably the most dramatic protest action of Acehnese refugees in Malaysian prisons was what became known as the Tragedi Semenyih (Semenyih Tragedy).Footnote 24
Once the foundations of an Acehnese diaspora in Malaysia were created, branches could also be set up in other countries where Acehnese were resettled with the help of the United Nations High Commission for Refugees. Some applied for asylum directly in the host countries or followed their family members abroad through family reunification programmes. In 2006, there were approximately 700 Acehnese living in Denmark, Sweden, and Norway; 300 in the United States; 100 in Canada; and 250 in Australia. At the peak of the conflict in Aceh, more than 80,000 Acehnese lived overseas, representing approximately 2.5 per cent of Aceh's total population of about 4.2 million people.
Long-distance interventions during the homeland conflict
The role of the Acehnese diaspora was crucial to the progress of the conflict in Aceh. In fact, the conflict would not have lasted for almost three decades without their support. Moreover, the Acehnese overseas then played a part in finding a peaceful resolution for the conflict. But how could a relatively small diaspora become so influential in homeland politics?
Despite the fact that the Acehnese diaspora was relatively small and poor compared to other large, conflict-generated diasporas, such as the Tamil diaspora, which numbered more than 800,000 across the globe and could afford to send millions of dollars home each year to support the Tamil independence struggle,Footnote 25 the Acehnese diaspora still proved very influential in homeland politics. However, they provided moral and ideological support rather than financial and material contributions. Although moral support was often based on illusionary assumptions and the romanticization of exile, it proved to be more meaningful than financial and material help.
The prime overseas agents pushing the separatist agenda and dominating conflict-directed activities were the leadership in Sweden and their subordinate networks in Malaysia and the United States. It was by far the best-organized institution in the diaspora. Nevertheless, in order to challenge the prevalent depictions in the literature on the Aceh conflict, it is especially important to provide evidence that diaspora politics were not solely centred on the movement. Although identifying Acehnese diasporic agents for peace is more challenging because they were organized in more than one group and were therefore less apparent, I argue that the activities of students and activists abroad helped attract more international—both political and academic—attention to Aceh by organizing conferences, distributing information, and establishing transnational networks. Moreover, Acehnese activists overseas influenced the movement's rhetoric and diplomatic strategies during the last phase of the conflict. Starting with an overview of its networks and activities directed at the diaspora and the homeland, I will analyse the contributions of non-GAM actors residing overseas.
GAM overseas as main driver of conflict
Although the top GAM leaders did not consider Malaysia to be a safe enough place, for many of their sympathisers it was relatively secure. Nevertheless, all activities related to the movement in Malaysia had to be carried out clandestinely. In the early 1980s, Acehnese sympathetic to the movement avoided holding open political meetings in Malaysia; instead they gathered for regular religious events (pengajian) and social occasions (kenduri) to discuss politics. Starting in 1986, a small group of sympathisers in Kuala Lumpur met at least once a month to consider more concrete action. In the beginning, the number of people present did not exceed more than 10 or 15, but increased steadily over time. Organizational structures in Malaysia were refined and consolidated. Relations with the leadership in Sweden and other important leaders in Singapore were regulated. In 1988, on Hasan Tiro's orders, the Majelis Nasional (National Assembly) was founded and became the movement's command centre in Malaysia in the years to come. Its main tasks were to organize meetings among the movement's supporters in Malaysia, maintain communication with the leadership in Sweden, and, most importantly, raise funds and organize supplies from abroad. Moreover, members of this network started recruiting young Acehnese men for military training in Libya: between 700 and 1,500 Acehnese men received military training and ideological indoctrination there.Footnote 26 Although some trainees complained about the deficient quality of the training in Libya, which served more to keep up the pretence of ‘international support than provide genuine military instruction’, the training gained the alumni enormous respect and helped them to implement a commando structure both in the diaspora and in the homeland. Moreover, the return of those trainees to Aceh reignited the conflict there. In this sense, the Acehnese diaspora in Malaysia served as a breeding-ground, because many guerrillas were recruited and politicized there and then trained overseas. Without them, the repeated revival of the Aceh conflict could not have happened. Furthermore, without Malaysia providing a retreat from Indonesian counter-insurgency, where guerrillas could become civilians and work as traders or labourers, GAM would not have survived for long.
Maintaining low-level conflict over almost three decades requires considerable financial backing. Although the operational costs of guerrilla warfare are generally lower than those of conventional wars, GAM still needed substantial funding to keep fighting. Unlike other Libyan-supported nationalist movements, it did not receive funding or arms because it was not part of the broader Arab socialist revolutionary project in the Middle East.Footnote 27 Presumably, most of the money the movement raised for its struggle was received from within Aceh.Footnote 28 However, the contributions of the Acehnese diaspora, especially in Malaysia, should not be underestimated. Relying on diaspora funding was one of the movement's main sources of income, especially in the early 1990s, when it did not yet have extensive territorial control and hence the capacity to raise money within Aceh. The Acehnese diaspora's financial contributions fell into two categories: voluntary and obligatory contributions. Many members of the diaspora made voluntary donations to the separatist movement, because they were convinced of the righteousness of the independence struggle. The better established they were, the more money they donated. According to informants, private donations by individuals in Malaysia occasionally reached as much as MYR 100,000 (US$ 28,000) or even MYR 400,000 (US$ 112,000), even though the donors were only owners of convenience shops (kedai rumit) and therefore not especially wealthy.Footnote 29 The more money a single person donated, the more respect he earned (membesarkan nama) within the community. Some claimed to have delayed starting a family because they wanted to earn enough money to support GAM.
Independent of such one-off donations by established Acehnese, the movement's leaders demanded monthly contributions and emergency payments from Acehnese migrants in Malaysia.Footnote 30 In the early 1990s, monthly payments were MYR 20 (US$ 6); they rose to MYR 30 (US$ 8) by the mid-1990s. Although these individual sums were not excessive, they amounted to a substantial sum given that there were more than 80,000 Acehnese living in Malaysia at the peak of the conflict. According to cautious estimates, GAM raised at least US$ 10,000 per month during this time. During the martial law period, single collectors in Kuala Lumpur claimed to have collected up to MYR 40,000 (US$ 12,445) per month.Footnote 31
The movement relied on special treasurers, often community elders, to collect money (peng nanggroe) at both regular and special diaspora meetings. As the conflict worsened, everybody attending community meetings had to provide ‘whatever was in his wallet on that day’. Acehnese guests coming to Malaysia also collected donations while providing news on the situation back home. Some Acehnese in Malaysia complained that the Acehnese in Aceh considered them to be ‘money factories’ (pabrik duit). Visiting leaders either from Aceh or overseas gave motivational speeches (ceramah) in semi-public locations to raise funds or sometimes made house-to-house visits, especially to rich Acehnese business people, to ask for larger donations or donations for a specific purpose. The pressure to contribute was strong; some informants said that they were bullied (ditakuti). One informant in Kuala Lumpur reported that collectors from the movement threatened him by saying that, ‘If you do not want to contribute, we can no longer be responsible for the wellbeing of your family in Aceh.’ Generally, it was expected that well-to-do Acehnese in Malaysia would contribute more than migrants working in construction or on plantations. When asked how the level of donations was determined, informants explained that their incomes could often not be kept secret, because ‘GAM would have spies everywhere.’ For example, if an Acehnese shop owner employed other Acehnese they would know how much they earned on average and pass this knowledge on to the movement's elders who would then make demands for a specific sum. Another informant explained that shop owners had to provide funds to buy at least one pistol (costing MYR 3,000 or US$ 930). Those who could afford to do so would even provide money for an automatic weapon (costing US$ 3,000).Footnote 32
Some scholars have argued that GAM only purchased a small number of arms overseas.Footnote 33 However, one local commander, Kamaruddin Abu Bakar, claimed that at least a third of the movement's weapons came from abroad. According to Irwandi Yusuf, the senior GAM representative to the Aceh Monitoring Mission which observed the decommissioning of the movement's arms in late 2005, 80 per cent of its weapons were purchased overseas and the remaining 20 per cent were bought or stolen from Indonesian soldiers.Footnote 34 However, operating with weapons from overseas made the replenishment of ammunition problematic, because these weapons did not use the same bullets used by Indonesian soldiers. Whatever the exact statistics are, the fact is that a substantial proportion of the weapons used by the movement in Aceh came from Thailand and hailed from former war zones in Southeast Asia, such as Cambodia. The purchased weapons were either transferred directly from Thailand to Aceh or via Malaysia (especially Penang), with the help of its members there.Footnote 35 So far, the quantity of weapons smuggled into Aceh remains unclear. Border controls by the Indonesian Navy were scarce, and the Malaysian and Thai border police only intercepted small numbers of weapons.
To put it in a nutshell, the donations collected from the diaspora provided a stable, although not large, source of income and, presumably, some of the diaspora donations ‘went astray’.Footnote 36 Despite help from the Acehnese overseas, who organized the purchase and transport of arms, the lack of equipment, especially ammunition, remained a chronic problem throughout all phases of the insurgency. The constant shortage of material help and the inability to raise more funds led to some disappointment among Acehnese. One of the main causes of GAM's failure was that Hasan Tiro could not provide what he had promised. Rather than receiving funds from the leadership in Sweden, the diaspora had to pay for their diplomatic efforts and travel.
Nevertheless, despite the movement's failure to win meaningful allies and to organize public actions overseas as well as their ongoing inability to provide sufficient aid to those in Aceh, homelanders kept on regarding the diaspora in general and GAM leaders in particular as a ‘nursery of hope’. In fact, for Acehnese—who had little left to lose—hope might have been stronger than reason. For many years, homelanders counted on the diaspora's influence and expected that the Acehnese overseas would somehow help and act as advocates for them. The diaspora became a straw grasped at by many in Aceh. Hope made homelanders accept discrepancies between wishful thinking and knowing better, insofar as remaining hopeful sometimes seemed almost preposterous. There were widespread myths in Aceh about clandestine helicopter airfields in the jungle that served as regular entry points for the leaders from Sweden on their visits to the guerrillas. Some Acehnese even believed that the movement's leaders could organize foreign military interventions. Even though GAM did not meet many of their expectations, people did not abandon hope. Living far away, the leadership handled such hopes well, mostly by procrastinating. For example, Zaini Abdullah (the ‘Minister of Health’) explained in an interview:
We continue our lobby efforts in several countries to get support. We have brought the Aceh case already several times to the UN. The outcome is quite good (cukup baik). Their support is already coming, including from Britain, Norway, and other European countries. We are very confident that at some moment in time our struggle will be granted success.Footnote 37
Upholding these—often unrealistic—hopes for support from outside kept the conflict going and meant people in Aceh kept on enduring conflict-related burdens. While demanding patience, the leadership always acted as if they were supremely confident about the struggle, claiming that, ‘Independence is just a cigarette puff away.’ This slogan was heard everywhere inside and outside Aceh. The movement's leaders were extremely successful in making their followers believe in a ‘happy ending’. Retrospectively, one member of the diaspora realized that:
GAM gave us sweet dreams (mimpi manis), for example, they told us that they had already approached sixty countries for support, and this raised people's spirits to struggle. Maybe it was true that they had approached sixty countries, but their real responses or non-responses were not forwarded to us.
Apparently, the leadership relied on misinformation. Often their subordinates were not in the know. For example, members in Malaysia, even those relatively close to the leadership in Sweden, believed that ‘Prime Minister’ Malik Mahmud enjoyed good links with the American Democrats. When asked why they thought so, one replied that Malik had given him that impression. It was not considered appropriate to scrutinize the leadership. In a joking manner, he added that, ‘Maybe it was true, that he had met one some day, but how did that help?’ (in other words, if they had met, there was no outcome).
Secrecy was a significant component of GAM's success in maintaining the hopes of the Acehnese both overseas and in Aceh, in particular about its leader Hasan Tiro. Tiro based his legitimacy on his lineage: the Tiro clan was a family well known for its anti-Dutch resistance. Tiro claimed extra credibility since the last Sultan of Aceh had temporarily equipped his great-grandfather with the royal seal, thereby reinforcing the family's standing within Acehnese society.Footnote 38 Whereas vertical family links (descent) helped Tiro to justify his claim to leadership, horizontal family connections (kinship, marriage) provided him with many supporters. Although people in Aceh and in the diaspora commonly knew about Tiro's family background and early life, the years he spent in the United States and later in Sweden remained concealed from them. During his life overseas he was unreachable. Although members of the diaspora in Scandinavia tried to visit him, many were refused access or were only given a short and supervised audience, limiting opportunities for in-depth conversation. As long as he was still in charge, Tiro controlled in large part the knowledge disseminated about him. After he fell ill, his confidantes in Stockholm disclosed inconvenient details, such as the status of his health and his resultant inability to remain leader. For GAM leaders, the lack of transparency and the scarcity of news about Tiro were beneficial: because people lacked real information about Tiro, it was difficult to criticize him or his ideas. Everything seemed to be kept vague on purpose, because it encouraged fantasies about him. Driven by their hope for a better Aceh, people directed their expectations at these fantasies. Many such expectations were illusory. For example, some Acehnese were waiting for Tiro to return to Aceh and fight again side-by-side with his people, since back in the 1970s he had promised to leave only briefly to find help overseas. Others were convinced that Tiro was so rich that he owned several houses all over the world and travelled in his private aircraft to speak to top politicians about Aceh's independence. Although not at all true, these fantasies sustained the wali myth.Footnote 39 Tiro's critics noted that his continuing absence from Aceh, and his reticence in the diaspora, exaggerated the ‘myths and mysteries about his personality’.Footnote 40 Or, in the words of an informant: ‘the further away, the more this [wali myth] developed’.
Another aspect of the movement's propaganda was to suggest that Acehnese in Malaysia received special treatment and enjoyed special conditions and sympathies for their case. Even though some homelanders might have been aware of the difficult situation that the Acehnese faced in Malaysia (including arrest, detention, and deportation) and knew how hard it was for them to provide more support, they chose to believe otherwise. Many homelanders rather assumed that all Acehnese overseas, especially in the West, were intensively engaged in lobbying and campaigning, ignoring that many were just workers trying to make ends meet. An Acehnese man in Denmark explained that, ‘The people back home directed their hope to us; after all we knew about their situation and would make known what they had experienced.’
Members of the diaspora were aware of the high expectations that homelanders had of them, as ‘common people in Aceh think people abroad are always involved in politics and know everything’. Simply living abroad provided them with a certain amount of respect. However, some tended to believe that merely being overseas and having the potential to become active was enough to meet these expectations. One informant stated that, ‘no matter where you go, you must also always do something for the sake of Aceh (untuk kepentingan Aceh), something that suits your capabilities’. This ‘something’, however, could be very vague at times.
In fact, not many members of the diaspora had the means and capability to make a significant individual contribution to the struggle back home. Even so, most of them still claim that they did provide significant support: if not material or financial, at least ‘moral support’ (dukungan moral). As one Acehnese in Malaysia explained, ‘We encouraged them to fight and resist Indonesia (kasih semangat supaya mereka berperang dan melawan RI).’ Others added similar abstract forms of support, such as contributing ideas (kasih pikiran) or ideology (kasih ideologi) or demonstrating patriotic solidarity (solidaritas kebangsaan) with those back home. At times, the moral support provided by members of the diaspora to the homelanders was one of the diaspora's biggest assets. Overall, Acehnese in Aceh had immense expectations of their fellow countrymen overseas. Whether these hopes were realistic or not, the hope for aid from abroad was omnipresent and GAM knew how to harness it.
Members of the diaspora as drivers of conflict resolution
When analysing the impacts of Acehnese human rights activists and students overseas who were not associated with GAM, it seems that they also benefited from what could be called the homelanders’ romanticization of exile. People in Aceh often imagined everybody in Europe to be close to UN institutions or the specific bodies of the host country governments, for example. Lacking the knowledge about the sometimes precarious and underprivileged living conditions overseas Acehnese faced, homelanders pinned their hopes on their fellow countrymen, imagining that their presence overseas alone would make a difference. However, in the 1980s and early 1990s, neither explicit peace activities took place among the diaspora nor was much international attention paid to the conflict in Aceh. Just a handful of international NGOs reported on the violence in Aceh, including Tapol, Human Rights Watch, and Amnesty International.Footnote 41 Only in the late 1990s did an international support network for Aceh begin to emerge when young Acehnese human rights activists and students overseas started to campaign for help from international civil society organizations, attended international conferences, and gave testimonies at hearings held by national governments.Footnote 42 Acehnese students overseas founded groups in support of conflict resolution, such as the International Forum for Aceh in the United States in 1998. The Forum tried to raise public awareness, especially with regard to the severe human rights violations in Aceh, and also lobbied the American Congress, published press statements, and organized demonstrations as well as a number of international conferences to discuss the political dynamics in Aceh. Moreover, together with Forum Asia, they co-sponsored a conference in Bangkok, which was a milestone on the path to negotiations because it led to one of the first meetings between GAM and the Indonesian government.Footnote 43 However, as they lacked direct contact with the guerrillas in Aceh, Acehnese peace activists did not enjoy the same access to international negotiation tables as did the movement's leaders, which foreign think-tanks and negotiators saw as the key to peace. The only active Acehnese negotiators during the 1999–2003 ceasefire talks were therefore from GAM; the same holds true for the Helsinki negotiations in 2005.
Lacking the space here to elaborate on the peace process more extensively, a few summarizing remarks have to suffice to underline the role of the Acehnese diaspora in finding peace.Footnote 44 Although GAM was the only partner at the negotiating table, along with representatives of the Indonesian government and a number of international mediators, during the negotiations for the Cessation of Hostilities Agreement in Geneva in December 2002, a dozen civil society members were allowed to be present.Footnote 45 Although these civil society activists did not have their own voice, they were still involved. For example, they helped the movement's negotiators draft statements in more diplomatic language because ‘they [GAM leaders] were only able to talk in militaristic terms’, as one Acehnese student activist stated.
Nevertheless, through the negotiations the leadership overseas gained uncontested authority on behalf of the Acehnese—it asserted itself as the leading voice of the Acehnese and dominated Acehnese human rights activists, academics, and civil society leaders. As its local commanders faced massive problems leaving Aceh for the international meetings, GAM increasingly relied on foreign academics, activists, and journalists as advisers while sidelining politically active members of the diaspora. In fact, except for a few overseas activists close to the movement, the diaspora's role became passive, receiving information rather than providing active input and they were usually informed only after the peace talks about the decisions made and the strategies chosen. In the end, finding peace through negotiations was the only face-saving option for GAM: the cost of war in Aceh would have become unjustifiable in the eyes of those at home, where the population was demanding an end to the violence.
The diaspora's post-conflict disintegration and reduced interference
Although the conflict in Aceh ended with the Helsinki Memorandum of Understanding on 15 August 2005, not everybody who had left Aceh due to the conflict returned home immediately, as might be assumed. In fact, the return of Acehnese refugees proceeded slowly, with half of the diaspora preferring to remain overseas and follow the post-conflict homeland developments from afar. Hasan Tiro, the now elderly and infirm founder of GAM who had devoted a large part of his life to the idea of Aceh's independence, returned only in October 2008, three years after the end of the conflict. Although his return was celebrated in Aceh, at first he only returned temporarily, commuting between Stockholm, Kuala Lumpur, and Banda Aceh. Not being able to fill any political position due to his poor health and also his status as a Swedish citizen, Hasan Tiro was more a symbol or a living legend than an active politician. On 3 June 2010 he died in Aceh, just one day after his Indonesian citizenship was reissued.Footnote 46
Hasan Tiro never succeeded in bringing independence to Aceh; in fact, after the peace deal in 2005, independence was further out of reach than ever. Nevertheless, the peace agreement marked a watershed for diasporic homeland involvement by initiating a process of a partial unmaking of it (dediasporization). Not only was the Acehnese diaspora reduced in size as a result of the return of many of its members, cohesion suffered also, as a result of a process of political fragmentation. During the conflict, the concept of ‘the enemy’ was clear, but post-conflict, political stances multiplied among Acehnese overseas who could hardly keep up with the rapid developments in their homeland.
Those Acehnese who decided to return to Aceh faced different challenges with regard to reintegration. Compared to the small numbers of privileged returnees who were easily absorbed by the local administration, reconstruction industry, and business networks, ordinary returnees faced problems reintegrating into everyday life in Aceh. Rather than being cheerfully welcomed like some of the prominent leaders, they were resented and regarded as cowards by those who had remained in Aceh during the war. Even the return of some of the most senior of the diasporic leaders was marked by half-heartedness. Only a few took up administrative positions in local government.Footnote 47 For example, Nurdin Abdur Rahman, who had lived in Australia for many years and was part of the movement's negotiation team in Helsinki, returned to Aceh to run as bupati (district head) in Bireuen. In contrast, many of the movement's key figures opted for semi-return. Rather than dedicating all their time and energy to staying in Aceh, Malik Mahmud and Zaini Abdullah preferred to travel between Aceh and their overseas homes. Instead of taking up Indonesian citizenship, they kept their Western passports. Despite such incomplete reintegration, visiting GAM leaders preserved their right to a say in contemporary politics. In fact, in the first four years after the end of the conflict, senior members of the elite from Stockholm played an important background role, which became obvious in the 2006 gubernatorial and local elections (pilkada), the establishment of the movement's political successor Partai Aceh (Aceh Party), and the 2009 regional elections.Footnote 48
The regular absence of key GAM leaders from the diaspora and also the return of many members of the diaspora left gaps in the diaspora communities which required profound readjustments to be made. Exploring post-conflict activities among the Acehnese overseas revealed several divergent developments responsible for the diaspora's loss of its previously strong cohesion. Not only did a number of them retreat from collective activities due to their disappointment with homeland developments and/or the lack of diasporic leadership, but some opted for more assimilation into their host society. More importantly, the focus of collective activities changed from long-distance politics to identity politics in the host country, such as preserving a sense of being Acehnese and communal welfare. From 2006 onwards members of the Acehnese diaspora started to devote more time to social, religious, and cultural activities in public and in private in order to strengthen feelings of togetherness, and created new forms of self-representation such as dancing and cultural groups. Therefore previous diaspora structures that centred on the primacy of homeland politics weakened. However, although its remaining members lost ground, the diaspora was far from becoming extinct.
Some felt the need to restructure their communities and transform diaspora engagement according to new priorities. Depending on their views, they opted either to support or oppose the peace process in Aceh. Yet, given their nostalgic underpinnings, diasporic views on peace often appeared to be disproportionate or anachronistic. To a large extent, public online commentary substituted for other forms of political action, such as street demonstrations and public petitions. One Acehnese man, who decided to withdraw from the Acehnese community in his Scandinavian home town but still observes their activities, critically described the new form of involvement as ‘no action—talk only’.
Lacking support and feasible agendas, the statements made by members of the diaspora on security, peace, and development in Aceh had only a limited impact there. Even though some diaspora spokespeople exaggerated diasporic activism through repetitive PR campaigns and by representing the diaspora as a united voice, the gap between the diaspora and the homeland population widened and the ties that connected them became weaker. Whereas in times of conflict the population in Aceh depended on the Acehnese abroad for support, in peacetime they took matters into their own hands. Homeland politicians did not consult what remained of the diaspora or include them in political decision-making. They occasionally utilized the diaspora's endorsement—in a quasi-decorative manner—to strengthen their local political standing. For example, before the local elections in Aceh in December 2006 some political candidates in Aceh asked diaspora reporters to ‘write something positive’ about them to endorse their candidature. Informants from the diaspora also reported that some candidates asked members of the diaspora to convince people back in Aceh to vote for them, assuming homelanders ‘would take advice from overseas more seriously’ because of their ‘superior societal ranking, their neutral stance and their better knowledge’. In the 2009 elections, homeland politicians again saw the diaspora as a source of endorsement. However, it remains unclear how significant support from the diaspora had really been. Whether the Acehnese diaspora as a political force continues to be of little influence or (re)gains greater impact depends on homeland developments and the necessity for political guidance or leadership from abroad.
Conclusion
This paper has analysed both the increase and decrease of diasporic collective action and political connections between the Acehnese overseas and those in Aceh during the almost 30 years of conflict and beyond. In particular, it has demonstrated the various means members of the diaspora used to influence homeland politics from afar, including financial, material, and ideological input. The homeland conflict and conflict-related suffering triggered the need for long-distance politics, but these original drivers of Acehnese nationalism abroad also prompted the search for opportunities to resolve the conflict. The degree of impact that members of the Acehnese diaspora had on their homeland did not remain steady, and the methods they used to exercise influence changed substantially over time. Members of the Acehnese diaspora themselves underwent decisive metamorphoses over the last three decades. The number of people who felt drawn into diasporic activism and behaviour waxed and waned, as did their long-distance politics.
Despite changing circumstances in the homeland and the host countries, which caused the transformation of the Acehnese diaspora and its long-distance politics, there were two particularly noteworthy aspects of the diaspora and its collective homeland involvement over time. First, unlike other diasporas that accommodate multiple political organizations under their ethnic umbrella, the political impact of the Acehnese diaspora was made possible by the construction of a tight organizational structure. Driven by ethno-nationalist ideology to fight for an independent state, an initially small number of Acehnese associated with the GAM leadership in Stockholm managed to establish resilient structures and functional networks overseas. Indeed, the leadership in Sweden acted as the brain, while its followers in Kuala Lumpur were the most important diasporic hub, coordinating material and financial support for the fighters in Aceh. The key driver of diasporic cohesion and hence of the diaspora's ability to exercise a political role derived from twofold collective suffering: on the one hand, the members of the diaspora's immediate experiences of conflict in Aceh and second-hand accounts of arbitrary violence that reached Malaysia, and, on the other hand, ongoing socio-economic marginalization and political hardship while seeking refuge in Malaysia.
Secondly, a striking characteristic of Acehnese long-distance politics was the enormous symbolic leadership exercised by the movement's leaders over the Acehnese in the diaspora and in the homeland, despite the relatively minor material contribution they made to the struggle back home. This symbolic weight arose partly because of the weakness of its fighters on the ground. Their repeated defeats caused a deep yearning for external help on the part of nationalists within Aceh—they knew that efforts inside Aceh alone would not be sufficient to achieve independence. Equipped with an ethno-nationalist ideology that they propagated throughout the diaspora and at home, the leaders managed to bridge the gap between the real world of disappointment and defeats and the political longing that they had helped to create. GAM's dominant position can also be explained by the way its leaders used their distance from Aceh to create a myth of influence, power, and prominence to give rise to hopes that help from overseas was always imminent. The lack of accountability and transparency in decision-making granted the leadership an aura of invulnerability. One-way political control in the form of commands issued from Stockholm characterized the relationship between the diasporic political elite and the homeland. However, it was not only the movement's associates who enjoyed substantial authority in the eyes of the Acehnese in the homeland—even ordinary members of the diaspora received a certain amount of prestige arising from the homelanders’ romanticization of exile. The fact that they lived overseas in places that homelanders considered to be more modern than Aceh and were potentially influential in determining Aceh's fate, granted members of the diaspora a strategic advantage and a say in homeland politics.
Having analysed the past and the present of the Acehnese diaspora, some attention must be directed to the future. The likely scenarios depend primarily on what happens in Aceh. The best-case scenario would see Aceh rebuilding itself and sustainable peace emerging, while the worst would see the re-emergence of armed conflict between GAM and the Indonesian state or some other form of violent conflict. If the peace process in Aceh continues and is accompanied by significant economic and security improvements, it is most likely that we will see more returnees coming back to Aceh, if not permanently at least temporarily. Those who remain overseas, because they feel that they will not prosper back home in Aceh, will have to learn to live with their feelings of longing, knowing that at least there are no more immediate and daily life-threatening risks to friends and relatives back home. They might merge more with their host country populations and/or with other migrant communities and give up their rather narrow-minded and ethno-centric diasporic identities. Even if they do not immediately assimilate into the host country societies but continue to cherish their diasporic status, a peaceful Aceh is likely to see long-distance activism by Acehnese overseas become dormant. Most likely we will see the emergence of more folklorically inclined ethnic organizations concentrating on preserving their cultural roots and fewer political activists who engage in daily politics in Aceh. Some might delve more into nostalgic or utopian ideas.
Should violent conflict in Aceh flare up again, the diaspora might be re-energized to reformulate its goal for Acehnese independence and again become an important transnational player. In such circumstances it is most likely we will also see an increase in the number of members of the diaspora and a revival of political ties between the homeland and the diaspora communities, with a restrengthening of the perception of being a member of the diaspora among Acehnese overseas. As an Acehnese man in Malaysia put it succinctly, ‘If there is war again, we will send them money again.’
According to Gabriel Sheffer, other more established diasporas reveal that they are fairly persistent; they can experience less active periods or even become ‘dormant’ for some time without losing the potential to reawaken.Footnote 49 If the latter occurs, it can be a response to developments affecting the group itself, the host society or the homeland, and can happen even after several generations of diasporic dormancy.Footnote 50 Should collective hardship reappear and both external and internal political circumstances allow for it, a more politically radical Acehnese diaspora could emerge. However, this is a worst-case scenario. As things currently stand, there is only a slim chance that in the future members of the Acehnese diaspora might achieve more influence among Acehnese homelanders, especially among those who are disappointed by the current transition. It appears most likely that the remaining Acehnese overseas will continue to keep a low political profile and will have to struggle to preserve even basic network structures, while nurturing their socio-cultural distinctiveness and cherishing the dream of an independent Aceh.
