“If individuals must navigate a maze to seek tangible justice, does this not signal a failure in the system?”
~ Rouzel Soeb ~
Sambora Police Station, West Jakarta, May 14, 1998, 09:00 AM
“What’s your daughter’s name again?” asked a police officer, while Warih remained seated, appearing unsteady and disoriented.
The atmosphere at Sambora Police Station that morning was dense with a multitude of individuals reporting losses, assaults, or incidents of sexual harassment. Conversations had to be conducted at higher volumes to overcome the noise and ensure clear communication between individuals and officers.
Nearly all the individuals who arrived were male. This tendency emerged because women in the West Jakarta area were still gripped by fear, hesitant to venture outside their homes. The recent attacks on the ethnic Chinese community the previous night at various locations had instilled a sense of apprehension among them.
“Mr. Warih, sorry… what was your daughter’s name again?” the police officer, a Second Police Brigadier, asked, still holding a pen to record Warih’s complaint.
“Mala, her name is Fatimah Kemala,” replied Warih, his body trembling as he observed nearly everyone present, each seemingly burdened with the weight of concern for their own family members.
“Is she truly only eleven years old?”
“Y-yes, sir. My daughter is eleven years old… still in sixth grade,” Warih replied with trembling vocal cords. “I heard there was an attack on the Chinese last night. I’m worried that my daughter might also be a victim because she looks a bit like a Chinese.”
The policeman chuckled. “Ah, you must be making this up! Since when have there been reports of attacks on ethnic Chinese last night? By the way, where did you come from?”
“I’m a native Indonesian, sir,” Warih replied nervously. “I’m from Bogor, and my late wife was from Palembang. My daughter resembles her mother, sir. She has fair skin and small eyes. So perhaps she’s—”
“Don’t overthink it, sir!” the policeman interrupted. “As I mentioned earlier, the attack on the ethnic Chinese is merely an issue blown out of proportion by activists to criticize the current government.”
“Those who got injured last night were unfortunately in the wrong place at the wrong time, encountering a group of repeat offenders on the streets who were attempting to cause trouble against the government.”
The policeman then redirected his attention to the sheet of paper on his desk. “Are you certain that your daughter has been missing since the 12th?”
Warih wrinkled his forehead. “I never said since the 12th, sir. My child has been missing since last night, the 13th.”
“Last night…?” repeated the policeman, now with furrowed brows.
“Yes, sir, since last night.”
The policeman then cleared his throat. “Our office is currently overflowing with reports. Many of our personnel are still busy securing the chaotic conditions—and the looting that is still going on out there. In fact, many police stations have been attacked, sir!”
“Since your daughter hasn’t been missing for a full 24 hours, I’ll just take down your report first,” he continued suddenly in a quieter voice. “Your daughter might be stuck in an area and not be able to return home right away. Let us know again if she hasn’t returned by tomorrow—”
“My daughter is only eleven years old,” Warih interjected, his eyes now glazed over. “She’s just a little girl. If she’s trapped out there, she needs to be rescued immediately. She has to get home right away, sir. It’s too dangerous for a girl to be in the middle of a riot like this.”
“If you were aware of that, why didn’t you keep your daughter from going out?” said the policeman with an exasperated look.
“Parents should stay alert and protect their children in chaotic situations to prevent any danger. If parents neglect this responsibility, it creates more trouble for us policemen in the end!”
“I’m not in good health, sir,” Warih replied with a swallowed voice, because he felt the policeman’s words to him were not entirely wrong.
“I … was sick and asleep when my daughter disappeared. Her mother passed away a long time ago, so it’s just the two of us now. That’s why there’s no one else to watch over her when I’m not able to do so.”
The policeman then exhaled with some compassion. “Has your daughter been going out without your permission all this time?”
Warih shook his head as he wiped the corners of his eyes that were already starting to get wet. “She’s not a child who likes to go out of the house as she pleases. She’s usually very obedient when I tell her not to do something wrong.”
“Are there people in your neighborhood who often take her out?”
“Mala never wants to be invited by anyone to go out, except by one or two of her peers near our house.”
“Yesterday,” Warih continued, “all of Mala’s friends were also not allowed to leave the house by their respective families. So, my daughter wouldn’t have come out of the blue unless she had been forced… or something really big had happened to her.”
“Maybe one of your neighbors…?”
Warih shook his head again. “Except for the troublesome young guys in our area, none of my other neighbors were eager to leave the house yesterday. Mala is not that close to the troublesome young guys in our area. She wouldn’t have gone with anyone she wasn’t close to.”
“Did you really search for her before coming here?” the policeman asked again.
“I’ve been searching for her non-stop since last night,” Warih replied quickly. “As soon as I heard from my neighbors that Chinese women were being attacked on the streets, I immediately went to various places to look for my daughter. I even went to the fire and riot areas near my neighborhood last night.”
The policeman briefly glanced at the cane beside Warih’s leg when he heard the man’s remark, but he did not comment or ask further about it.
“Right now, my next-door neighbor is guarding my house, waiting for my daughter to return. I’ve only been home twice since my daughter disappeared, but… she hasn’t returned yet, sir.”
The policeman nodded. “Can you recall what your daughter was wearing before she disappeared?”
“She was wearing a gray short-sleeved T-shirt… and dark red cloth shorts,” Warih replied. “I didn’t see any sign that she had showered that afternoon, so most likely… she left still looking like that. Her blue flip-flops weren’t at the door either. Maybe she was wearing them too.”
“Apart from having fair skin and small eyes, are there any other physical characteristics that could help identify your daughter and make our search easier?” the policeman asked again.
“My daughter is beautiful and has deep dimples when she smiles,” said Warih, suddenly with a lump in his throat.
“She has straight shoulder-length hair and is about 135 centimeters tall. She is a little thin and has a black pox mark on her left shoulder. She had smallpox two years ago.”
“Did she… perhaps bring a bag, wallet, or something else?”
“I didn’t notice her bag missing from the house, but…” – Warih seemed to pause for a moment, as if he were contemplating something – “she… had a piggy bank that contained coins from me that she always collected.”
“Last night when I checked her room again, I saw that this piggy bank seemed to have been broken open by my daughter. If she was carrying her savings, then it should be quite heavy because it was all metal coins.”
“Did she intend to buy something last night, maybe… groceries or snacks?”
“I don’t know much about that,” Warih replied, looking downcast. “The situation at my house is difficult, but yesterday we still had side dishes from our neighbors. It’s a bit strange that she would force herself to buy food from outside, in such a dangerous situation. Mala is also not the type of child who often snacks, let alone… having to go out to do so.”
“If your daughter did leave the house, how come no one saw her in your neighborhood?”
Warih now catches his breath again. “None of the people I know well around my house have told me that they—or their families—saw Mala leave my house.”
“However,” he continued, “my neighborhood is still quite lively these days, with many problematic young guys casually wandering in and out of the alleys. It could be that people didn’t see Mala leave because many were busy passing by in the alleys near my house at the time.”
“Have you tried asking about your daughter to these people who are always busy passing by?”
“Not yet, sir. These problematic young guys are rarely staying long in their own homes these days. I myself am still looking for Mala outside. So….”
The policeman nodded. “Yes, sir. I have recorded all your details and your address. My suggestion is that you ask these young guys first. Who knows, they might have seen your daughter. If your daughter hasn’t come home by evening, I will immediately process your report and conduct a search for her.”
Warih nodded with some relief. The pale man with the cane then stood up from his chair with difficulty, taking the report receipt sheet from the policeman’s hand. After politely expressing his gratitude, the man walked out of the police station—to resume the search for his daughter amid the still very tense streets.
Buntek Alley, Bandengan, West Jakarta, May 15, 1998, 10:00 AM (two days after Mala disappeared)
“Oh my God, Warih, what happened?!”
Enyak Juri sprinted towards Warih, who appeared to have fallen down in the alleyway leading to his house—already looking weak after two days of searching for his daughter. The man was still wearing the same clothes he had been wearing since the 13th, so he now looked extremely shabby and disheveled.
The man looked even paler, dirtier, covered in black stains of unknown origin, and now there were wounds on several parts of his body. As soon as Enyak Juri helped lift Mala’s father’s body, Warih struggled to stand, his body swaying.
“Rih, are you so desperate that you went to the riotous area to look for Mala?” asked Enyak Juri while shouting for her husband – *Babe Rusdi – to immediately help her carry Warih’s body to his house.
“You’re already sick, Rih! I understand that you want to find Mala, but you can’t do it this way! You shouldn’t venture into an area that’s still chaotic, especially since you haven’t eaten since yesterday!”
Babe Rusdi, who was still inside the house, suddenly exclaimed in shock when he walked to the front and saw Warih being carried by his wife in a very bad and weak condition.
“Rih, if you continue like this… by the time Mala is found, you’ll already be dead!” snapped Babe Rusdi in a stern tone, as he helped carry the man to his own home.
“Warih, listen, the main thing is that you need to rest and eat first at your house! If you want to go out to find Mala again, I’ll accompany you!”
“Besides,” he continued, “my wife and I have also asked for help from the sub-district head and the village head to assist you in finding your daughter! When the volunteer team is gathered, the sub-district head and the village head will immediately instruct them to help you find Mala!”
Babe Rusdi then looked at Warih’s black-stained face and the multiple wounds on the man’s body with an increasingly frustrated expression.
“Did you get hit by a smoke bomb?” the man with the Muslim hat asked again as he opened the door to Warih’s house.
“It’s a good thing you weren’t shot dead, Rih! You know how many people died there, and you’re still desperate to go to places where there’s a riot. If you get arrested by the police and accused of being a provocateur, what will happen to Mala, Rih?”
“I also don’t understand; he’s sick but persistent,” commented Enyak Juri as she sat Warih on a chair in the front room of Warih’s narrow house.
“You wait here for me, okay! I’ll go to my house and get you some food, so you won’t feel so weak. After that, you can take a shower and then go to bed.”
“What I heard was that you didn’t want to leave the police station last night to ask the police for help in finding your daughter?” asked Babe Rusdi when she saw her wife leave Warih’s house.
“The police are busy, Rih. The hospitals and police stations are full, and many people are making reports. Many cases come in every minute. What can poor people like us do?”
“Do you know the case of Marwan who disappeared yesterday?” continued Babe Rusdi again.
“That guy was found earlier. He went to Bogor during the first riot and couldn’t come home for days, and his mother was stressed out thinking he had been kidnapped. Who knows, Rih, Mala will also be like Marwan who suddenly appears. Be patient, Rih!”
Just as Babe Rusdi spoke those words, suddenly someone appeared and stood in the alley in front of Warih’s house.
“Excuse me, is this the house of Mr. Warih whose daughter is reportedly missing?”
Warih, who had been silent with his body still limp, suddenly turned to the window behind him—and immediately grabbed his cane again to walk towards the door of his house. Seeing that, Babe Rusdi immediately prevented Warih’s steps.
“Wait… wait, where are you going, Rih?! You just came back here to rest!” said Babe Rusdi fiercely. “You wait here! Let me bring that person in!”
Warih could only remain silent. He then saw Babe Rusdi walking outside quickly to talk to the unknown guest. Not long after, Babe Rusdi and the unknown person immediately both stepped into Warih’s house.
“Rih, this is Mr. Endi, a resident of Kampung Kubur Koja,” said Babe Rusdi as he introduced the unknown guest to Warih in his seat. “He said he wanted to ask you about Mala’s physical characteristics.”
Warih looked at Mr. Endi expectantly. “Why, sir? Have you seen my daughter?”
Mr. Endi now also sat on the chair that Babe Rusdi had given him.
“So earlier, the neighborhood chief in my area told me that there was a girl from Buntek who was being searched for because she had been missing since the 13th. We were asked to be volunteers who would help in the search for the child.”
“The thing is, because of that, I remembered something on the evening of the 13th. I saw a girl who resembled the characteristics of your daughter, but… she was wearing a black headscarf.”
Both Warih and Babe Rusdi immediately looked confused.
“A black headscarf?” asked Warih with a hoarse voice and a furrowed forehead. “My daughter doesn’t wear a hijab and doesn’t have a headscarf.”
“Well, that makes me confused too. I could be wrong, but in that condition … it‘s rare to see a girl around eleven years old wandering around like that, especially on a motorcycle.”
“On a motorcycle?” Warih looked even more confused, let alone Babe Rusdi.
“Yes, the girl I saw that night was wearing a black headscarf, carrying a plastic bag in her hand, and was being carried by someone, but she was shouting all the while. Because it was a rather strange sight, I remember it well.”
“What do you mean?” snapped Babe Rusdi, starting to look curious and seemingly impatient. “How was this girl?”
“I don’t know exactly what was going on at the time, but the girl seemed to be scared and kept asking for help to get off the motorcycle,” Mr. Endi replied.
“Mr. Warih’s daughter was wearing red shorts and a gray T-shirt, right? Well, the girl on the motorcycle looked exactly like that. Only, she was wearing a black headscarf at the time – and was with someone else, a guy to be precise.”
Warih suddenly stood up from his chair with a look of shock on his face. Meanwhile, Babe Rusdi immediately clutched his chest in shock.
“Do you remember the man you are referring to? Can you describe him?” asked Warih, starting to get nervous.
“Not just his features… I also know his name and home address,” Mr. Endi replied quickly. “I know because he and his friends like to cause trouble in Kubur Koja – my neighborhood – and often drink with their fellow Kubur Koja young guys until they get drunk.”
“You know, they were a group of troublemaking young guys who liked to mess with people. Now, the one on the motorcycle was Fadli. He… happens to be a resident of Buntek here himself.”
AUTHOR’S NOTE:
Babe: a nickname from Betawi when a child addresses his father affectionately, similar to “Dad” or “Daddy” in English. Additionally, it serves as a term of respect when addressing someone who is older, similar to “Sir” or “Mister” in English. In Betawi culture, the word “babe” is pronounced as “bhaa-bhe” rather than “bayb“.
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