Johana Sunarti Nasution, gender-unrelated.

So.
This morning I’d just been to the commemoration of my late Opa, who is a National Hero here in Indonesia. It was held in his former resident, which now has this huge statue up front with the sign “Museum Jend. A.H. Nasution” on it. It was the first time I’ve been to the place since it was turned to be a museum, and I was very curious to see how it was like.
The event was okay. A lot of people who are the witnesses of history went up to the stage and share some anecdotal stories about the great General. People were very passionate about it, and it kind of moved your soul too. They were no ordinary stories. It was stories that shaped the nation, and if a detail was changed, the whole future that we’re living in now might most probably be a lot different.

The most interesting part was when my Oma sat up front. She is very old now, in her 80s. She told me that her sight started to fail her, and that everything is gray from her eyes. It appears to be sad when she told you that, but when she started talking about history… she is a whole another woman.

One story of the PKI (Indonesian Communist Party) coup d’etat made me shiver all over.

It was the night the Cakrabirawa (President’s Private Army) came over to high-ranked Generals’ houses, bearing the name of President Soekarno, and killed almost every one of those Generals. And then they arrived at Opa’s house at Teuku Umar street no. 40. After killing all the guards up front, some of the Cakrabirawas slowly stepped into the house.
Oma narrated that she was inside her bedroom with Opa and Ade Irma, their youngest. When she heard a call for Opa from outside the door, she asked calmly: “Who is that?” “We are the Cakrabirawa,” the answer came. At this time, Ade Irma was carried by Ompung Mardiah, a relative of Opa. It was silent for a while until Oma opened the door a little.
BANG!!! A shot went through the small space and Oma directly close the door again. She looked back. Opa was lying on the floor, unhurt. Seeing that there would be no shot anymore, he got up and told Oma: “Let me go out and speak to them.” Oma said: “What, are you mad?! They are trying to kill you, Nas. Do you want to be dead?” “They won’t kill me,” Opa said. So, hesitantly, Oma went to the door again, and opened it a little.
BANG! BANG!! A couple of shots got in again. A state of panic was created. Oma told Opa to go out from back, climb the wall into the Iranian Ambassador’s house next door, and hide there. While Opa was running outside with his sarong, Ompung Mardiah screamed: “Ade’s been shot! Ade’s been shot!”
Oma took Ade Irma from her hand and ran out to see Opa. Opa was on the wall, just a jump away from the protection of Foreign Law, when he saw the blood from Ade’s body. In an instant, he inclined to move back to see Ade. Oma was angry. She said: “They are after you, not me, not Ade! Now go!!” After a series of shot to the wall, Opa jumped to the Iranian Ambassador place. Oma ran back inside.
When she reached the dining room, there, welcoming her, were five Cakrabirawa soldiers holding terrifying rifles directed at her. Ade’s blood was draining like a waterfall. Oma stayed in her place, unmoved, not intimidated. And she said: “You bastards. Pak Nas has gone to Bandung for two days now. You don’t believe me? You go to Bandung and see him for yourself there. Are you here just to kill Ade? Is that the reason you’re here, to kill an innocent child? You inhuman bastards.”

I was told that the Cakrabirawa was hesitant at that time, looking over each other, before they went out to go kill other Generals.

Do you know why this particular story stayed on my mind? It’s because Oma, as ordinary as she is, is the strongest woman I’ve ever seen. She is the proof that it does take a woman to make the strong, macho, cold-blooded highly-trained soldiers of Cakrabirawa to hesitate. And it takes a woman to decide what is best for the nation: she can die with one gunshot from one of the long rifles of Cakrabirawa, but she knows that whatever happens Opa has got to live because he is the brilliant mind, the patriot, and the Witness of History. It takes a woman to run out and see the Cakrabirawa off, and to decide that the place is secure.

When they buried Ade Irma Surjani, Oma was not hysterical. When we all buried Opa, my mother was more hysterical than her. When her own daughter, this morning, cried in front of her because of her decreasing health, she kept her calm face. When asked about her sickness, she said she was ready. When told about her declining disease, she just smiled jokingly and looked at me and said: “So how is your school life, Firce?”

All her life, Oma shows me that it is important to hold your ground, to be knowledgeable, and to give to others. She has foundations scattered all over the country.
Feminism is one movement, one train of thought. In this modern world, we are too focused with ideologies and thoughts and voices.

I have quite the feminist mind, but I account myself to never, ever be able to stay unmoved, unscattered when there are five rifles pointed at me, absent husband, no lights, and my youngest child bleeding severely in my arms, asking “What did Ade do wrong?”
Just thinking about it, I think I’d cry like a baby, with knees shivering like crazy and begging for mercy at the hand of the soldiers.

But not Oma. She is not just a feminist, peeps. She is one of those strongest soul ever appear on earth, gender-unrelated.

Yes. Gender-unrelated.