presence had become known to embassy officials some three years earlier when she had pleaded for The Hague’s intervention on behalf of her Papuan husband, Johannes. He had been arrested following the September 1965 failed Communist takeover, falsely accused of participating in Left Wing subversive activities and, along with some twenty-thousand other political detainees, incarcerated without trial at the infamous Nusa Kambangan prison.
‘I’m sorry, Mister Hoffman,’ she had refused adamantly. ‘I would not be comfortable doing so. My work as a missionary for the Council of Churches cannot be compromised.’
Sanders, disguising his disappointment persisted. ‘I cannot give you any guarantees, Jeanne, but your support in this matter might encourage our government to reconsider your husband’s situation.’
A year had passed and yet Jeanne Heynneman’s response still reverberated in his ears.
‘Then you haven’t heard?’ was her accusatory response. ‘My husband Johannes was transported to Buru Island Prison.’ Sander recalled the pit forming in his stomach as she rose, preparing to leave. ‘Where he survived only a few weeks.’ Hesitating at the doorway she turned, fire in her eyes. ‘You will forgive my being bitter. All I have left now Mister Hoffman is God’s work and my son, Julius. Please do not approach me on this matter, again.’
Sander returned to the present reminded that Jeanne had a child. He rifled through the dossier photographs but found nothing except a file annotation referring to one Julius Heynneman whose birth had been recorded with the consular section. The First Secretary was not surprised that the boy’s mother had registered Julius with her maiden name, concluding that the father, Johannes, as was the custom in Indonesia, most likely never used his family surname.
A telephone rang interrupting his introspective mood.
‘Ambassador has summoned everyone to his office,’ the Consul alerted. ‘The demonstration appears to be getting out of hand.’ Sander filled his lungs slowly, initialed the report and closed the file, clearing his desk of all sensitive material which he then had locked away in the central registry’s vault, the fugacious thought of Julius Heynneman’s whereabouts lost to more pressing priorities.
* * * *
Australian Embassy
“Our aim is not to be impartial (with respect to Indonesia) for the sake of impartiality but to have the appearance of impartiality so that the message we want to deliver will be delivered successfully.”
Paul Hasluck, Australian Minister for External Affairs, during the period known as The Years of Living Dangerously.
‘Selamat datang, tuan.’ The seemingly ageless Indonesian security guard known as Pak Ali welcomed the frequent visitor. Holding the pale blue Holden sedan’s rear door open with one hand and saluting with the other he enquired, courteously, ‘Kapan datang tuan?’
Special envoy Jonathan Meyers’ limited Bahasa Indonesia vocabulary let him down. Although he understood the question asking when he had arrived, the Canberra intelligence bureaucrat reached into a trouser pocket and passed an unopened packet of Camel cigarettes to the beaming seventy-year old.
‘Terima kasih, tuan.’ Pak Ali’s head bobbed with gratitude as he thanked the dwarfing figure, leading Meyers up the embassy steps to the lobby.
Meyers approached the reception desk manned by a Commonwealth Police officer.
‘The Counsellor is expecting you, Sir.’ The guard’s rehearsed one-sided working smile jacked a lower cheek as he rotated the visitor’s book around for signature.
‘Ah, you’re here,’ Meyers was greeted by the Counsellor, who ranked directly below the ambassador in seniority. ‘Perfect timing.’
They shook hands, the Counsellor nodding perfunctorily in the guard’s direction before escorting the envoy through yet another security door to the unmanned elevator. The Counsellor pressed the button for the second floor, the pair rising in silence as the four-passenger lift which resembled an oversized dumbwaiter, carried them slowly upstairs.
Jonathan Meyers was taken to the Counsellor’s office and asked to wait there until the others assembled. Alone, he eased his corpulent frame into an executive chair and angled his head to enable a clear view of protocol avenue, Jalan Thamrin where children frolicked, splashing vehicles playfully, as they ploughed along the partially flooded thoroughfare. Meyers had seen the capital’s roads inundated before, never ceasing to be amazed how the street urchins survived exposure to raw sewage that eructed from inadequate and overflowing canals.
Two hundred metres further up the street and adjacent to an open kali stood the Soviet-styled monument depicting a youthful couple, hands held in welcoming gesture, their statue centered in the roundabout’s neglected fountain. To the left he could see the British Embassy, dwarfed by the skeleton-like outline of the abandoned Wisma Nusantara skyscraper. He mulled sadly; the structure reflected the demise of the Indonesian economy in every way. The project had been poorly conceived, badly designed and now, with the funding misappropriated by corrupt officials, destined to remain an incongruous marker of how business was done in this country.
His thoughts returned to matters at hand. The weekly “prayers meeting” with the Ambassador and department heads had been postponed to permit the special envoy the opportunity to brief senior embassy officials regarding Canberra’s policy shift in respect to the forthcoming West Papuan vote. Meyers was all too familiar with the historical references that predicated Australia’s current dilemma. Subsequent to the cessation of hostilities following the ousting of President Sukarno, with relations between Jakarta and Canberra on the mend, Australian bureaucrats and the business community now advocated nurturing relationships with Suharto’s New Order elements; even if this resulted in West Papuans losing sovereignty to Indonesia.
Just months before, the newly appointed Australian External Affairs Minister, Gordon Freeth signalled Australia would accept the results of an act of self-determination in West Irian even though only one thousand representatives of the indigenous population would be selected to vote. Aware that the decision to support Indonesia’s proposed methodology in implementing the so-called Act of Free Choice would polarise many across the political and intelligence spectrum, Meyers, the Department of External Affairs SE Asian theatre special envoy, was there to discuss the ramifications of the revised policy.
Canberra was now confronted with how to accommodate Indonesia’s self-interest in moving to assume sovereignty over West Papua, whilst balancing the benefits of consolidating relationships with Suharto’s pro-Western “New Order”. Meyers accepted that this positioned Australia between two irreconcilable outcomes. Meyers knew that the Indonesian leadership, apart from any nationalist designs it held over the disputed territory, with General Suharto assuming power, the armed forces’ economic tentacles had already reached far into the area. Preempting the plebiscite’s outcome by issuing mining licenses two years before to the powerful American mining conglomerate, Summit Gold, the envoy understood why ABRI, the armed forces, were so profoundly opposed to West Papua’s separation.
The Counsellor returned to find Meyers deep in thought, gazing out through the double-glazed windows. ‘The ambassador and department heads are ready,’ he announced, one hand extended to usher the visitor down the passageway to the meeting. The envoy followed, nodding and smiling at familiar faces when he joined the gathering of the embassy’s most senior advisers.
Meyers had attended meetings in this inner sanctum before noting that nothing in the décor had changed since his most recent visit. An ornately carved desk separated the ambassador from the others, the attachés and others occupying a leather suite
