YOGYAKARTA (Indonesia), Dec 25 : Twenty years have passed since the Aceh tsunami, leaving deep scars on Indonesia, especially for those directly affected. Aceh was also recovering from a three-decade armed conflict between the Free Aceh Movement and the national government
The Conversation Indonesia, in collaboration with academics, is publishing a special edition honouring the 20 years of efforts to rebuild Aceh, and hopes it preserves collective memory while inspiring reflection on the journey of recovery and peace in the land of ‘Serambi Makkah.’
Aceh Tsunami
In the aftermath of the 2004 Indian Ocean Tsunami, the Acehnese interpreted the disaster in various ways.
Initially, the tsunami was interpreted as a punishment or warning from God. Over time, a collective interpretation of the disaster emerged: “The tsunami as a test from God”.
This later narrative was compelling enough to accelerate the post-tsunami recovery process. People in Aceh moved past the tsunami trauma by believing their deceased family members were martyrs who deserved a place in heaven, while those who survived were given the opportunity by Allah to live better lives.
The process of forming this narrative is called memory canonisation. It occurs when the government and ruling elites impose a specific interpretation or narrative of a disaster, including what to remember and how to remember it.
Memory canonisation is evident in the creation of disaster monuments and commemoration events, including in Aceh. Unfortunately, many survivors feel detached from the monuments because they do not evoke personal memories of the tsunami.
Memory canonisation through monuments
Constructing permanent memorials after a disaster is a common trend in a modern society. Many tsunami monuments exist in Aceh, and some have even become tourist destinations.
Tsunami monuments can be divided into two categories based on the construction.
First, monuments built from tsunami debris that are deliberately maintained, modified, or enhanced with certain elements. Examples include the stranded electric-generator ship (the PLTD Apung), the ship on the top of a house in Lampulo, and the tsunami debris at the Rahmatullah Mosque in Lampuuk.
Second, monuments intentionally designed and constructed as new buildings after the tsunami, such as the Aceh Tsunami Museum and the Tsunami Poles erected in over 50 locations across Banda Aceh and Aceh Besar.
The establishment of disaster memorials is always political. Disaster monuments represent how governments and elites promote specific interpretations as dominant. This is achieved through specific architectural designs or curated narratives in the monument.
However, the memory canonisation process is never final. Once established, each disaster monument becomes a place to form, strengthen, modify, alter, and revise the interpretation of the disaster.
How monuments affect Acehnese memory – or not
In a post-disaster situation, the affected community faces ‘push and pull’ between remembering and forgetting the disaster. They must let go of trauma to move forward while preserving disaster memories to honour victims and enhance future preparedness.
The memory of the disaster resides in the back of their mind, but not constantly remembered in everyday life. It will move to the surface as an active memory only when triggered by certain factors, such as a place, object, or event. This memory closely relates to how the survivors give meaning to the disaster.
In everyday life, survivors interact with disaster monuments in various contexts – for instance, as a source of income or a place for leisure. Thus, the meaning of a disaster monument can vary, even becoming completely unrelated to its creators’ narratives and original goals.
Preliminary findings from my ongoing research in Aceh show that among survivors, tsunami memories are often triggered by specific places associated with their experiences. These include the house where they found safety, the coastal area that swept them away, or the ruins of their homes. I refer to these as “the forgotten memories of the tsunami.”
Since many tsunami monuments were erected without involving local residents, they feel barely connected, let alone have a sense of ownership, towards the monuments. For survivors, the established monuments do not trigger their memories of the tsunami.
Disaster monument for disaster education
Today, 20 years after the tsunami, we can still meet survivors who offer valuable and insightful stories about starting over, rebuilding their homes and villages, and cultivating cultural awareness about tsunamis while embracing vulnerability.
However, once these survivors pass away, future generations will lose access to primary sources of learning about the tsunami. This includes new inhabitants who moved to Aceh after the tsunami and rent houses in coastal areas.
They will, therefore, depend on the tsunami memorials around them, though many have been neglected.
To address these risks, I recommend two measures.
First, we can document the “forgotten tsunami memories” creatively through formats like documentary videos, comics, photos, social media content, or other mediums that highlight stories offering insights into disaster risk reduction and education for younger generations.
Second, we must encourage sustainable and meaningful interactions between locals and tsunami monuments. Disaster memorials serve their purpose best — preserving the memory of the disaster and educating younger generations — when they remain relevant to residents’ daily activities.
Locals’ active participation is essential in Aceh, including school visits and involvement in preservation and curation efforts.
These measures aim to foster a sense of ownership among residents of the tsunami monuments in their neighbourhoods. They encourage voluntary maintenance of the monuments and make them integral to disaster risk reduction efforts. (The Conversation)
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