The Acehnese Diaspora: Hawks and Doves?: Conflict-Support, Peace-Finding and Political Opportunity Structures

The Acehnese Diaspora: Hawks and
Doves?
Conflict-Support, Peace-Finding and Political Opportunity
Structures
Antje Missbach
Missbach, Antje, 2009, 'The Acehnese Diaspora: Hawks and Doves?', Journal of Human Security, vol. 5, no. 3, pp. 22-43. DOI 10.3316/JHS0503022. This is a peer-reviewed article.
AUSTRALIAN NATIONAL UNIVERSITY
ABSTRACT
In the literature on diasporas and their role in homelands conflicts, most writers see diasporans as
conflict supporters, providing funds, logistics and ideological legitimisation to fighters in the
homelands while living relatively safely in their host countries. More recently, academics and practi-
tioners have pointed out that diasporans can also act as lobbyists for peace and mediators in peace
negotiations. Although it is now widely recognised that diasporans can act as both, and even at the
same time, the debate has not produced clearer analytical indications to determine the circumstances
in regard to why and when diasporans tend to be hawks or doves (or both).
The literature on the Aceh conflict has widely underestimated the role of the Acehnese diaspora.
My research on the impacts of the Acehnese diaspora on homeland politics provided evidence for
a significant participation in shaping Aceh’s politics, in particular regarding the transition from conflict-
support to peace-finding. This article sheds light on the conditions under which Acehnese diasporans
acted both as hawks and doves and examines factors responsible for their engagement.1 I argue
that: first, peace or war support by diasporans should not be understood as binary opposition, but
as part of a spectrum of responses exercised concomitantly by the same or different segments of
the diaspora. Second, diasporic support reacts to shifts in strategic thinking of internal and external
forces and makes use of the existing political opportunity structures. Third, different kinds of support
also result from the heterogeneous composition of the diaspora itself and internal skirmishes about
the legitimacy to represent ‘the Acehnese’.
Keywords: Acehnese diaspora, long-distance politics, diasporic involvement in homeland conflict,
peace-finding, conflict resolution.
TWO OPPOSING DEBATES?

In the literature on diasporas2 and their relationships with homelands involved in a conflict,
most writers concentrate on the ‘dark side of diaspora politics’ (Østergaard-Nielsen, 2006,
p. 1). By implicitly considering diasporas as homogeneous and their internal dynamics as
unchanging, those scholars see diasporans as conflict supporters, who provide funds, logistics
and ideological legitimisation to the fighters in the homelands to maintain or revive violence,
while living relatively safely in their host countries (Horowitz, 1986; Sheffer, 1995; Cohen,
1997; Shain & Sherman, 1998; Collier & Hoeffler, 2005). Diaspora support for conflict is
viewed in terms of economic interests by diasporic elites who act as ‘war entrepreneurs’, by
selling arms and ammunition to parties of conflict while being paid with the homeland’s
valuable natural resources or extorting the wider diaspora. Among the Tamil diaspora in
Europe and Canada, cases were reported in which henchmen of the Liberation Tigers of
Tamil Eelam (LTTE) came to people’s private houses and demanded money for support of
© RMIT Publishing, http://www.rmitpublishing.com.au/jhs.html

Antje Missbach,'The Acehnese Diaspora: Hawks and Doves?' | 23
the conflict in Sri Lanka. People who refused to pay risked their own security and the lives
of their relatives in the homeland (Gunaratna, 2003; Human Rights Watch, 2006).
A second explanation for conflict support focuses on the political and moral outlooks of
diasporas. Katrin Radke (2005) applies the concept of ‘moral economy’, to explain the mo-
bilisation of the Tamil and the Eritrean diasporas and their financial contributions to separ-
atist leaders. According to Radke, voluntary remittances and contributions were often not
as freely given as seemed at first glance. Within diasporas there are developed forms of social
control: not contributing can result in a loss of honour within a community, even shaming
of those who are incapable of contributing more or who do not want to donate at all.
Nevertheless, beyond extortion and moral pressure, it remains the case that there is an
enormous amount of voluntary provision of financial and material support by diasporans
for conflict actors and homeland conflict. Pnina Werbner (2002) speaks of ‘a shared sense
of moral co-responsibility’ in order to exceed more common evocations such as solidarity
or loyalty. Voluntariness is commonly explained by means of diasporans’ nostalgic views
about the homeland and/or hopes of restoring former (but now lost) greatness and independ-
ence with the help of political or armed struggle. Such viewpoints can be rather disconnected
from the political reality in the homeland. In fact, geographic distance and time lag can
cause some diasporans to develop more radical political views compared to people who remain
in the homeland and who are affected by the daily realities of conflict (Safran, 2005; Lyons,
2004; Shain & Barth, 2003). Benedict Anderson (1998, p. 74), who named this phenomenon
‘long-distance nationalism’, explained:
he [the long-distance nationalist] need not fear prison, torture, or death, nor need his imme-
diate family. But, well and safely positioned in the First World, he can send money and guns,
circulate propaganda, and build intercontinental computer information circuits, all of which
can have incalculable consequences in the zones of their ultimate destinations. (Anderson,
1998, p. 74)
Diasporic networks can thus become a factor that complicates conflict resolution. Yossi
Shain (2002, p. 121) noted that ‘diaspora hardliners are said to care less about the homeland’s
present and future than about the past’s dead’. Or as Safran (2005, p. 42) put it, members
of diasporas can be ‘more maximalist in their territorial claims or visions than the residents
and leaders of the homeland, and less forgiving to historic enemies’.
As we have seen, the explanation scholars provide for diasporans being interested in
maintaining or prolonging homeland conflict are wide-ranging. However, if all diasporans
are primarily viewed as long-distance nationalists it is not surprising that diaspora groups
appear less likely to support compromises for peaceful solutions, since they see every retreat
from maximal demands as sacrificing their ideals for their hallowed homeland.
Ignoring the socio-political diversity of diasporas and, moreover, ignoring internal devel-
opments as well as tensions and skirmishes over who may represent the diaspora, results in
rather monolithic assumptions regarding their political aspirations and behaviour. Some
diaspora members—maybe not the most prominent or most established, but rather ‘second-
ranking elites’—might have profound political and economic interests in promoting peace,
launching humanitarian programs, providing relief and assisting post-conflict recovery and
reconciliation. A number of more recent publications stress such positive and constructive
potentials of diasporas, and point to diasporas promoting peace instead of fuelling conflict
(Zunzer, 2004; Lyons, 2004, 2006; Weiss Fagen & Bump, 2006).
24 | Journal of Human Security, vol. 5, no. 3, 2009
Summarising from their findings we can note that, while primary responsibility for
overcoming conflict remains with the domestic population of the countries, diasporas can
act as ‘go-betweens’ and complement local initiatives for peace. However, often diasporas
themselves do not initiate engagement in peace-seeking activities; rather, third parties such
as host-land policy makers, think tanks and peace activists have identified, approached and
empowered diasporas. In the cases of the conflicts in Palestine, Northern Ireland and Afgh-
anistan, third parties selected diaspora leaders and groups they believed would be more open
to peace negotiations and more willing to function as negotiators, brokers or gate-keepers
than were national leaders in the homeland who lacked the will and/or capacity to act.
The advantages of including diasporans in negotiations are that they typically have contacts
with the conflict parties in the homeland, and they possess superior knowledge of the tensions,
the history and their people’s cultural particularities. These forms of empathy are often ig-
nored within research, since the prime focus is on diasporans who close their eyes to the
human costs of homeland conflict while pushing (ultra-) nationalist agendas. Beyond empathy
or philanthropy, an additional motif as to why diasporans can be interested in finding
peaceful solutions for a homeland conflict focuses on the possibility of return. Many diaspor-
ans cherish the idea of going back to their homeland once the conflict is over or their nation-
alist aims have been accomplished. Among scholars of diasporas, the wish for return is
commonly accepted as a defining characteristic of a diaspora. In fact, some diasporans—even
if they have spent more than half of their lives away from home—might view their stay
abroad as temporary and refuse to take up permanent employment or ‘settle down’ for good.
The prospect of return might therefore foster an interest in engaging in peace building for
a number of possible reasons. For example, if the social and political situation in the post-
conflict homeland appears more promising than in the host country, where social mobility
is often limited for diasporans, potential social advancement acts as an attractive incentive
for return. Moreover, even diasporans who do not intend to return home for good might
still have an interest in a peaceful homeland, because peace would at least allow them to
visit their family and friends regularly without having to give up their permanent residency
abroad. The possibility of being at home in two (or more) places, or even the option for
regular homeland tourism, can be very tantalising for many diasporans who may have been
prevented from visiting their homelands by protracted conflict and political persecution.3
As we have seen from this literature review, there are in fact a number of diametrically-
opposing but co-existing views on diaspora involvement in homeland conflicts. Although
the debate about the role of diasporas in homeland conflicts has produced a minimal con-
sensus and it is now widely recognised that diasporas can act as both, and even both at the
same time, the debate has not produced clearer analytical indications to determine why and
when diasporas tend to be hawks (conflict supporters) or doves (peace supporters) or both
(Smith & Stares, 2007; Østergaard-Nielsen, 2006). The literature also does not tell us much
about the reasons why diasporans choose one path or another at a particular time.
One major dilemma is that most writers’ analyses only concentrate on one or the other,
ignoring the fact that both tendencies co-exist. One possibility of reconciling these apparently
contrasting views about diasporans and their roles is to look for more empirical evidence
and follow the temporal development of diasporic political currents and tendencies over a
longer period of time. In doing so, it is necessary to also consider the changing political
conditions in the homeland conflict and the international arena, which both shape the be-
haviour of diasporas.
My research on the impacts of the Acehnese diaspora on homeland politics provided

evidence for a significant participation in shaping Aceh’s politics, in particular regarding the
transition from conflict-support to peace-finding. In asking whether Acehnese abroad were
hawks or doves, due to the lack of space this article concentrates only on the conflict period
(1976–2005) rather than on the period following the Helsinki Memorandum of Understand-
ing (MoU) of August 2005, which ended the conflict in Aceh.
In the literature on the Aceh conflict, the focus was directed to the exiled leadership of
the separatist movement. The broader Acehnese diaspora was commonly either taken for
granted or overlooked, and the efforts of its members underestimated. In this article, I analyse
the example of the Acehnese diaspora to shed light on a transition process, which started off
in favour of diasporic conflict support but in the course of time became more refined. On
the one hand, a number of human rights activists from Aceh, focusing on human rights vi-
olations and inspired by ideas about non-violent protest, came to the diaspora because Aceh
was no longer safe. On the other, internal fractionalisation due to a leadership crisis among
the exiled separatists challenged—even though not very successfully—the undisputed rep-
resentatives of ‘the Acehnese’ abroad.
Studying the Acehnese diaspora’s role in homeland conflict in Aceh provides an excellent
example in better understanding human security issues, in particular diaspora politics, which
focus on transnational relations between state and non-state actors. Though the article cannot
answer all the questions it poses, it hopes to stimulate further research on the impact of dia-
sporas on homeland politics, taking into consideration: a) the non-binary nature of the debate
as such; b) internal and external opportunity structures available to diasporas; and c) the
heterogeneous composition of diasporas which results in diverse political views and offers
options for peace-seeking third parties to collaborate.
THE ACEHNESE DIASPORA

Before analysing Acehnese diaspora activities, which supported conflict maintenance as well
as conflict resolution, a few general points need to be made about the evolution and the
distribution of the Acehnese diaspora.
In 2004, at the height of the conflict in Aceh, the Acehnese diaspora consisted of an es-
timated 80,000 people.4 Malaysia, which is relatively easy to reach from Aceh by boat across
the Straits of Malacca, received most Acehnese refugees. Smaller communities of several
hundreds of Acehnese exist in the USA, Canada, Denmark, Sweden, Norway and Australia;
most Acehnese had been resettled with the help of the UN High Commissioner for Refugees
(UNHCR), but some had migrated individually.5 In most host countries, the newly arrived
Acehnese founded Acehnese associations, most of which were very loyal to the separatist
movement (GAM) leadership in exile.
Although there had always been transnational economic and, to some extent, political
connections between Aceh/Indonesia and Malaysia, due to the Acehnese tradition of meran-
tau,6 I argue that the creation of the Acehnese diaspora was largely due to the conflict in
Aceh between the years 1976 and 2005 (Kell, 1995; Aspinall, 2002, 2003; Reid, 2006). As
I explain below, the conflict triggered a new awareness of shared fate among the Acehnese
living abroad and politicised this sense of togetherness.
The conflict in Aceh was triggered by Hasan Tiro, a descendant of one of Aceh’s most
prominent families who, having spent 25 years studying and working in the USA, returned
to Aceh in 1976. Upon his return he founded the Free Aceh Movement (Gerakan Aceh
Merdeka, or GAM), which sought separation from the Republic of Indonesia. An independent
Aceh, it was hoped, would bring economic and political justice for the Acehnese. The
guerrillas’ ‘hit-and run’ assaults on police and military posts resulted in massive counter-in-
surgency operations by the Indonesian military and put thousands of civilians to flight, es-
pecially in the early 1990s and onwards (Amnesty International, 1993). The Indonesian
military response was very harsh. Aceh was declared a Special Military Operation Zone
(Daerah Operasi Militer, or DOM), following renewed insurgency by GAM, after several
hundred Acehnese men who had been trained in Libya returned to take up the cause in
1989.
Most refugees were men, who left behind their families and possessions. Passages cost
up to US$100 and were perilous, because of Indonesian navy patrols, weather hazards and
also dishonest boat owners who sometimes dumped their passengers on tiny islands off-
shore. Malaysia did not welcome these refugees. Acehnese, like other refugees or undocu-
mented migrants, faced daily hardship, such as persecution, arrest and deportation (Suaram,
1998). In addition, there were already substantial numbers of Acehnese economic migrants
in Malaysia, who then became refugees sur place—meaning they became refugees because,
after having left their homeland as migrants, they then could not return to Aceh without
seriously risking their lives. As well as the civilian refugees, a number of GAM commanders
also sought a safe haven in Malaysia, especially when they were defeated by the Indonesian
military. Malaysia was not safe enough for the top leaders of GAM, however; by the early
1980s they had found asylum in Sweden.
Although the guerrillas in Aceh were defeated, the movement was never extinguished.
GAM leaders continued their struggle for an independent Aceh as ‘armchair warriors’ from
their living rooms in Stockholm and the busy trading hubs in Malaysia. Messengers and
messages travelled back and forth between these places, even at times when airfares and
modern telecommunications were far more expensive than they are today.
To my understanding, the conflict in the homeland acted as a catalyst for the creation
of an Acehnese diaspora. Before the conflict, the Acehnese living in Malaysia did not share
a strong sense of having a common fate and were more eager to integrate into Malaysian
society. With active awareness of the conflict, the common ethnic background of Acehnese
exiles (despite their different social statuses) crystallised a collective consciousness of togeth-
erness and feelings of shared destiny (‘diasporicity’). These ideas materialised in solidarity
and co-responsibility. Diasporicity was also strengthened by the hardships the Acehnese ex-
perienced when trying to make a living in Malaysia, since most of them did not have legal
papers (Human Rights Watch, 2004). The following statement by an Acehnese man who
currently resides in Sweden illustrates these findings:
The [feeling of] solidarity in Malaysia was stronger since we were all foreigners there (perantau)
escaping the conflict. We had all shared the sadness of the conflict in our own land before,
and then we left but without getting a proper status as refugees and therefore we again shared
the same destinies as illegal immigrants in a foreign land. The solidarity in Malaysia was
stronger, because in Aceh, even if you do not work, you can still live in your parents’ house,
there are lots of friends and family. Abroad, if you cannot work, you will be hungry. You must
be hard-working and support each other. (Personal correspondence, 5 March 2008)
Interestingly, in the Acehnese case even short-term stayers such as students joined in the
diaspora at least partially. Many participated in meetings within the Acehnese diaspora or
engaged in wider activist circles that worked, for example, with Acehnese refugees.
As we will see in the next paragraph, the creation of a feeling of togetherness among
Acehnese refugees, migrants and guerrillas was essential for any action directed towards the
homeland. Incoming refugees refreshed homeland ties by providing news of the conflict
process and intensifying the urge to engage. Although not every Acehnese was in favour of
GAM’s ideology and approaches, many were drawn into the activities of GAM. Being
Acehnese in Malaysia but opposing GAM openly was possible, but not easy.
ACEHNESE DIASPORA ACTIVITIES SUPPORTING CONFLICT

The political strength and influence of a diaspora relies heavily on its agents, meaning the
organisations and institutions that attempt to represent it, and the leaders who claim to
speak on its behalf. The better equipped and more prosperous the organisations become,
and the more legitimate and respected the leaders are, the more likely it is that the diaspora
will be able to exercise influence on a homeland conflict. Since the leadership of GAM in
Sweden dominated most of the conflict-directed activities, I concentrate mainly on this
group. For the sake of a concentrated analysis, I proceed thematically and cross-nationally
rather than chronologically when analysing diaspora activities during the conflict years. In
this analysis I divide Acehnese long-distance involvement in support of the homeland conflict
into five categories, focusing on financial, material, ideological and diplomatic support and
on human resources.
Financial Support
Maintaining low-scale conflict over almost three decades requires considerable financial
backing. Although the operational costs for guerrilla war are lower than for the conventional
armies that oppose them, GAM needed considerable funding. Although most of the money
GAM raised was from within Aceh (Schulze, 2004), the contributions of the Acehnese dia-
spora should not be underestimated.
Diaspora funding was probably one of the main income sources for GAM especially in
the early 1990s, when it did not yet have the capacity to raise money within Aceh through
extortion (pajak nanggroe, literally ‘state tax’ levied by GAM) or ‘illegal’ business, which
became more of an alternative from 1999 onwards.7
Many diasporans made voluntary contributions to the separatist movement and its
leaders. A few individuals I interviewed in Malaysia during the course of my fieldwork ad-
mitted donating up to MYR 100,000 (US$30,000) over the course of the conflict, even
though these individuals were only convenience shop owners and hence not especially
wealthy. Voluntary donors earned the highest respect within the community, but GAM
leaders demanded that almost all Acehnese in Malaysia pay a monthly contribution to the
movement, which ranged between MYR 20 (US$6) in the early 1990s and MYR 30 (US$8)
in the mid-1990s. Although the individual sums do not seem excessive, this becomes a large
sum when taking into account that there were 80,000 Acehnese at peak times living in
Malaysia. Money was collected at regular diaspora meetings and during special visits from
Acehnese elders and GAM sympathisers either coming from Aceh or from overseas, who
then provided motivational speeches (ceramah). In rare cases these guests were also taken
to the homes of rich Acehnese businesspeople in order to encourage them to donate large
sums.
On the question of whether or not giving was voluntary, Acehnese informants commented
that donating money to GAM was not a matter of ‘liking or disliking, but a necessity’ (suka,
tak suka—harus); one said that it was not ‘forced’, but ‘obligatory’ (bukan dana paksa tapi
kewajiban). Compulsory donations in Scandinavia were much higher; they typically ranged
around US$70–90 per month in the late 1990s, and after the Declaration of Martial Law
in Aceh even more. Those who forgot to pay once or twice were given a ‘gentle reminder’,
according to one informant in Norway. Those who refused to pay were taken to task over
whether they ‘still loved their homeland’ or whether they had already ‘turned ignorant’ (sudah
tidak berduli lagi).
For a number of payments, receipts were issued. According to some informants, the
money was used to purchase weapons, ammunition and other equipment for GAM fighters,
but also to finance the travels and expenses of the leadership.8 Most informants, however,
would say that their money was used for medicines and medical treatment only.
How much money might have been diverted from collective use into the private pockets
of GAM leaders or community elders remains unclear. Among diasporans, rumours about
misuse of funding were widespread. Several informants also reported that their requests for
more transparency were put off, by comments of diaspora leaders such as: ‘this is not allowed
by the wali nanggroe’ (tidak boleh dengan wali nanggroe), referring to Hasan Tiro and his
claimed function as ‘head of state’.
Material Contributions
Most diasporans preferred to send their contributions to Aceh in monetary form for practical
reasons. However, not everything was easily purchasable in Aceh (and other parts of Indone-
sia) or if it was, it was more expensive or more difficult to obtain there—for example,
walkie-talkies, mobile telephones and medicine. By far the most important item, however,
was ammunition and arms. Many arms used by GAM fighters had been purchased on
Jakarta’s black-market or also directly from Indonesian soldiers. A substantial proportion of
the weapons and ammunition used by GAM in Aceh was purchased outside Indonesia,
mainly in Thailand (originating from former conflict areas such as Cambodia) and transferred
to Aceh directly or via Malaysia with the help of diaspora members (Chalk, 2001; Capie,
2002). A well-known arms smuggler was Zakaria Saman (alias Karim Bangkok), who not
only coordinated the clandestine transfers but is said to have monopolised the weapons trade
from overseas. Since the topic of arms smuggling remains a very delicate area to discuss with
former GAM members, it is difficult to collect precise data on the amounts, prices and routes
of the weapons traded. It is also not clear whether certain diasporans were benefiting privately
from the arms sales and whether this therefore also could have given them a direct material
interest in the protracted conflict.
Human Resources
The most important aspects of this kind of support are the recruitment and training of new
fighters from the diaspora—very important in the second half of the 1980s—and their de-
ployment in Aceh in the late 1980s and again in 1998.
A significant number of diasporans joined with the volunteers who came directly from
Aceh in order to receive military training in Libya under the regime of Muammar al-Gadhafi.9
Hasan Tiro enjoyed a close personal relationship with Gadhafi.10 In terms of the numbers
of Acehnese who were sent to Libya, Tiro asserted that between 1986 and 1989 5000 GAM
guerrillas were trained. In Tiro’s words:
Thousands of Acehnese, as well as others, went to schools in Libya for many years. The edu-
cation they received was not restricted to non-military sciences. Our movement must not be
seen as ‘contaminated’ because my men have gone to military schools in foreign countries,
just like the Javanese have gone to Dutch military academy at Breda or others to Sandhurst.
When my men returned home, they themselves have trained thousands of others. Where they
originally received their education is no longer relevant. Now I have ten-thousands (sic) of
trained men in Aceh (NRC Handelsblad, 1 June 1991).
The numbers offered by other GAM leaders were lower; they ranged from only 700 to
1500 (Schulze 2003). Next to military training, Acehnese recruits also received ideological
tuition in Libya. Hasan Tiro himself went regularly to the training camps to teach. Moreover,
Gadhafi was interested in promoting his Green Book.11
After training, Acehnese returned to Aceh in the late 1980s and early 1990s and re-ignited
the conflict with the help of ‘hit-and run’ ambushes and similar guerrilla techniques. They
had a major impact on the resurgence of the GAM struggle in 1989. However, due to harsh
counter-insurgency, many then took off to Malaysia once more, followed by larger groups
of civilian refugees, and kept supporting the homeland conflict from there.
Human resources became a factor in the re-ignition of conflict for the second time in
March 1998. Following the Asian financial crisis, Malaysia started repatriating large numbers
of Indonesian ‘illegal’ migrants, which included a substantial number who had previously
been spared from deportation. Among the deportees were several hundred Acehnese, including
known supporters of GAM. Their return to Aceh was one factor that helped to re-ignite
conflict for a second time. As the conflict gained in intensity, more Acehnese from Malaysia
decided to return to Aceh in order to fight, which they saw as a patriotic obligation. Following
these forced repatriations, in April 1998, a number of Acehnese men, who had escaped from
the camps in order to avoid deportation, occupied several Western embassies and the com-
pound of the UNHCR in Kuala Lumpur, seeking both refuge from deportation and media
attention for the Aceh case in general (Utusan Malaysia, 31 March 1998). Although this
was not the first time that GAM in Stockholm had instigated the occupation of embassies
by its Malaysia-based supporters, GAM in general did not place much emphasis on protests
outside of Aceh. On the one hand they were concerned with the image of Acehnese, they
did not want to be seen as ‘trouble-makers’ and therefore challenge the clemency many
Acehnese refugees had experienced while staying ‘irregularly’ in Malaysia. On the other
hand, Malaysia would not have tolerated any such form of action. Furthermore, as we will
see in one of the next sections, GAM followed a rather elite-based approach, reaching out
to levels of international diplomacy rather than mass-based grass-roots protests overseas.
Nevertheless as we have seen, for the maintenance of fighting in Aceh, GAM was dependent
on infantry, which was also recruited in the Acehnese communities in Malaysia.
Ideological support: this refers, firstly, to the creation of GAM’s ideology in the diaspora;
secondly, to the production and distribution of GAM propaganda items, aimed at providing
the combatants with an underlying sense of moral conviction in the rightness of their actions;
and thirdly, to the utilisation of non-GAM produced media material for GAM’s own inten-
tions. As noted at the start of the paper, some authors have argued that conflict support by
diasporas is often driven by utopian and nostalgic long-distance nationalists, who develop
views of the homeland while being physically disconnected from the developments in the
homeland. The case of GAM illustrates this point very well.
In diaspora, Hasan Tiro developed the bulk of his ideas for an independent Aceh, which
were based on rather obstinate perspectives on Acehnese history. While living abroad, he
dedicated his time to researching archives, collecting materials serving his viewpoints of an
Aceh never defeated by any intruding power, and publishing pamphlets, booklets and appeals.
Over a period of more than two decades, his views became the dominating views within
GAM, serving as the prime ideological basis for the guerrilla insurgency.
When analysing these publications, we can see that Hasan Tiro had his own distinctive
way of looking at Acehnese history. He linked his separatist struggle to the anti-colonial
resistance in the late 19th century when the Dutch tried to conquer Aceh as one of the last
remaining uncolonised areas in the archipelago, by claiming that GAM was carrying on the
struggle against the ‘neo-colonial Javanese (sic)’, who had incorporated Aceh into the territory
of the Unitary State of the Republic of Indonesia (Negara Kesatuan Republik Indonesia,
NKRI) without Acehnese consent. He completely ignored the Acehnese defence of the young
republic of Indonesia in the late 1940s, when the Dutch tried to re-claim their former colo-
nial possession (Reid, 1979; Sjamsuddin, 1985). By completely omitting Aceh’s pro-republic
stance, Tiro maintained a false premise in Aceh, a premise which underlay his statements
throughout the years of the independence struggle.
Tiro and his supporters were very flexible in adapting to the global political trends of the
time (Lindorf Nielsen, 2002). Whereas in the late 1970s Tiro located his struggle within
anti-Western and anti-capitalist views common to other liberation movements, in the 1980s
his thinking shifted towards an Islamic bent, because his previous views did not draw him
closer to any important allies. Tiro stated his Islamic convictions for example by claiming
that ‘if the Dutch had turned Acheh Sumatra over to the Acehnese it would have become
the first Islamic State to re-emerge in Southeast Asia’ (Tiro, 1986, p. 16). Anti-Western
sentiments were gradually abandoned, because Tiro sensed that opposing the West would
deprive him of any sympathy for his struggle. Consequently, after having acknowledged the
disadvantages of a too outspoken Islamic discourse, GAM began to emphasise human rights
rhetoric (Aspinall, 2000). During the period of reform (reformasi), that followed President
Suharto’s resignation in May 1998, GAM experienced a third revival, this time more
powerful than ever before.
Hasan Tiro’s writings were used to approach Western governments and non-governmental
activists and were also distributed in the diaspora. Even more widely distributed were tran-
scribed, reprinted or recorded speeches by Hasan Tiro and extracts from his diary.12 The
main propaganda tools in Malaysia were trilingual GAM magazines, such as Agam or Suara
Acheh Merdeka (‘Voice of Free Aceh’), which were sold regularly in the diaspora. The prime
objective of these journals was the education of their readers about Tiro’s interpretation of
history, rather than providing the latest news from Aceh. However, these magazines also
updated the Acehnese overseas on GAM activities in the West on behalf of the Acehnese
freedom struggle. Often the contents of these magazines were highly repetitive. Sales from
these magazines contributed to revenues. Later, when GAM started using the internet, its
homepage also became a portal for news updates from Aceh.
Another important propaganda tool was a series of portraits of Hasan Tiro taken from
either newspapers or private photographs (with the second being rarer and of much greater
value). When exhibited in private, the photo provided the owner with respect and authority,
because having those images was perceived as proof of closeness to Hasan Tiro. Pictures of
Hasan Tiro were commonly displayed on mobile phones or in wallets. Other visual propa-
ganda items were photographs of victims of violence and torture back in the homeland.
Such pictures displayed GAM fighters and civilians maltreated by Indonesian soldiers—some-
times during but mostly after the abuse. The origin of such pictures often remained unclear.
Nevertheless, diasporans, not just GAM supporters, used these photographs as evidence to
outsiders of the ongoing violence in the homeland, but also to remind themselves that their
homeland was in jeopardy and needed their help.
As the conflict spread, GAM started to address a Western, English-speaking audience in
order to expose Indonesian military human rights violations in Aceh. GAM not only used
their own reports, but also incorporated other publications into their own rhetoric. Since
GAM had neither the capacity nor the resources to produce enough material, they also
passed on images, pictures and reports by human rights organisations and academics. For
example, Nur Djuli, an Acehnese who lived many years in Malaysia and later became a ne-
gotiator for GAM, stated at a conference in Boston in 2007 where a documentary by Aryo
Danusiri (Village Goat Takes the Beating) was screened:
We used that film in Malaysia for fundraising, I don’t know whether this was the intention
of the filmmaker and whether it was supposed to be like that, but we used it as propaganda
and it worked well.
Diplomatic Support
Last and probably least, the diaspora—or, to be more precise, mostly Hasan Tiro him-
self—supported the prolongation of the conflict through networking and cooperation with
other separatist groups or potential allies. Being situated in the West allowed them more
easily to attend conferences and lobby at all kinds of meetings.
Hasan Tiro—at least as long as he was still healthy—attended a number of academic
conferences and political congresses in order to seek allies for his cause by focusing on
broader topics as connecting points, for example the liberation of former colonies such as
Namibia (Madjallah Atjeh Meurdehka, May/June 1989). Tiro claimed that his foreign
support was not just limited to Libya, but that he had good relations with many statesmen
in Africa and Asia (NRC Handelsblad, 1 June 1991). This may have been the case, given
the fact that he participated in a number of international conferences sponsored by Libya.
However, these acquaintances were actually less beneficial to GAM than anticipated.
Moreover, Hasan Tiro engaged in international forums to look for international support
from other discriminated minorities. For example, GAM was a member of the Unrepresented
Nations and Peoples Organisation (UNPO), at whose annual meetings Tiro regularly
complained about transmigration policies under which Javanese settlers were moved to Aceh,
which according to him violated the self-determination of the indigenous people in Aceh
(UNPO, 1992).
Tiro and his associates in Sweden also maintained close contact with other separatist or-
ganisations from Indonesia, such as the Republic of South Moluccas (Republik Maluku
Selatan, RMS) and the Free Papua Organisation (Organisasi Papua Merdeka, OPM)
(Hegarty, 1987). Diplomatic cooperation with other Indonesian separatist groups involved
attending UN Human Rights Commission meetings together in Geneva each year or issuing
joint statements about the atrocities committed by the Indonesian military. One of the most
colourful episodes of collaboration was the opening of a joint embassy in the Republic of
Vanuatu in August 2003, which was supposed to represent the Acehnese, the West Papuans
and the Moluccans (Jakarta Post, 20 August 2003). Nevertheless, compared to other Indone-
sian diasporas such as the East Timorese, which enjoyed a great deal of international sym-
pathy, no national government favoured Acehnese independence.
Having illustrated these five pillars of diaspora support for the Acehnese struggle, we can
conclude that without the diaspora support, GAM would not have been able to maintain
the armed struggle in Aceh for almost 29 years. The diaspora provided the guerrillas, and
to a certain extent even the civilian population, with essential impulses to uphold their
combativeness and the spirit of resistance while facing fierce repression by the Indonesian
military. Metaphorically the diaspora became the straw to grasp for the people in the
homeland hoping that those overseas would somehow help and act as advocates for their
brethren in Aceh.
GAM’s motivation in launching this long-lasting conflict was apparently driven more
by ideological conviction than by economic interest. Although economic considerations
might have provided a strong incentive when Hasan Tiro first launched the separatist
movement, overall the economic benefits obtained by diaspora elites during the conflict
appear to have been small.13 The core leaders in Sweden did not live in splendid luxury,
most resided in council flats. The financial gains for GAM leaders in Malaysia might have
been higher, but not primarily decisive for their political engagement. Rather than accumu-
lating wealth they re-invested these gains to strengthen their position within GAM. Ideolo-
gical motives prevailed; GAM was supremely confident in its struggle and deeply believed
that ‘independence was just a cigarette away’ (sibak rukok teuk ka meurdeka). Its leaders
were successful at making its followers believe in this outcome, since this slogan could be
heard everywhere in and out of Aceh.
However, as we will see in the next section, the diaspora and GAM elites were also
central to the peace solution in the Aceh conflict. Although Indonesia had announced the
death of Hasan Tiro several times, and refused for a long time to recognise GAM fighters
in Aceh as anything but ‘bandits and security disturbers’ (Robinson 1998), in the end it was
the GAM elites in the diaspora who became the only negotiating partner during the peace
talks in Europe from 2000 onwards. Being overseas for such a long time and having attracted
media attention in the West added to GAM’s authority and made them exclusive negotiating
partners.
ACEHNESE DIASPORA ACTIVITIES SUPPORTING PEACE

As pointed out earlier in this paper, diasporans can contribute to peace-making in different
ways and do so for various reasons. In this section I shed light on several forms of Acehnese
diasporan political engagement that contributed to peace. In order to discuss the diaspora’s
impact on resolving the conflict, it is necessary to broaden our view to include non-GAM
diaspora organisations. Peace-supporting activities concentrated on: firstly, raising awareness,
for example by attending conferences or staging demonstrations; and secondly, diplomatic
activities, such as networking, lobbying and taking part in negotiations. Many diasporic
peace activities appeared as intertwined efforts, making analytical separation difficult. In
what follows, I focus on non-GAM activities first and then discuss several rounds of peace
negotiations in which GAM participated as the sole voice of the Acehnese. Thus, in this
section we also see in which ways the internal fractionalisation of the Acehnese diaspora
benefited peace-finding.
When examining the Acehnese diaspora’s activities supporting peace, we find that in the
1980s and early 1990s there were—consonant with what most diaspora scholars would ex-
pect—hardly any peace-driven activities, and additionally, hardly any international attention
paid to the conflict in Aceh. Although many Acehnese inside and outside Aceh demanded
an end to the conflict, their demands did not translate into the foundation of groups or action
forums for peace overseas. At that time there were only a handful of international NGOs
reporting the violence in Aceh—such as Tapol, a non-governmental organisation for Indone-
sian political prisoners, Human Rights Watch and Amnesty International. Most of these
international human rights groups maintained contact with Hasan Tiro and his associates,
to obtain information about developments in Aceh and also about the situation of Acehnese
in Malaysia. An outstanding example of an individual contributor was Lord Avebury, vice-
chair of the British Parliamentary Human Rights Group, who campaigned on behalf of de-
tained Acehnese refugees in Malaysia by addressing the UNHCR and other international
institutions. Due to his good relations with Hasan Tiro, Avebury introduced the Aceh case
to a wider range of circles in Europe.
Nevertheless, until the late 1990s there was no international support network for Aceh.
This emerged only when Acehnese activists started going overseas to campaign and search
for help among the international civil society organisations. Human rights activists and
student leaders, such as Otto Syamsuddin Ishak, Aguswandi and Suraya Kamaruzzaman,
travelled to Europe, the USA, and Australia, not only to attend international conferences
and symposiums, but also to give testimony at UN meetings and hearings of national gov-
ernments. Alongside these travelling activists, there were also an increasing number of
Acehnese students overseas who around the same time started to found Aceh-related student
groups, such as the International Forum for Aceh (IFA) in the USA in 1998, Acheh Solid-
arity (ACHSO) in Germany in 1999 or Aceh Student Club (ASC) in Malaysia in 2002
(Barter 2004). Among them were well-known activists who had had to leave Aceh due to
the security risks they faced there. However, not all Acehnese students overseas had political
activist backgrounds. Many in fact became politicised abroad, where information was more
freely available, where they enjoyed access to wider networks of activists, scholars and lobbyists
and where they were influenced by the political dynamics of diasporisation.
These groups contributed to public awareness of the Aceh conflict and especially of the
human rights violations, although their contributions differed due to the political obstacles
in host countries. For instance IFA—under the leadership of Jafar Siddiq Hamzah—organised
several conferences, lobbied the US Congress, published reports on Aceh and organised
street protests (Siegel, 2000; Robinson, 2000).14 ACHSO helped to translate reports from
Aceh for distribution in German speaking countries and cooperated with other Indonesia-
focused groups by organising NGO meetings and speaking tours. ASC members were more
careful, since Malaysian campus authorities did not tolerate students’ political engagement.
However, they held awareness action days to call attention to the introduction of martial
law in Aceh in 2003. More generally, they also helped Acehnese refugees, participated in
Aceh-related conferences and student meetings, and published reports on Aceh in Malaysian
newspapers. Without empowerment by non-Acehnese facilitators in the background, such
as NGO activists and academics, Acehnese students’ activities would often have been less
effective.
The main international civil society Aceh network was the Support Committee for Human
Rights in Aceh (SCHRA), founded in 1999 after a two-day human rights training-conference
in Bangkok, which comprised about 60 members, individuals and international NGO rep-
resentatives, such as Forum Asia, Eye on Aceh, Tapol and Suaram (Suara Rakyat Malaysia,
Voice of the Malaysian People). SCHRA’s main emphases included assistance and relief.
Despite its intentions, SCHRA never had much impact.
Overall, compared to the East Timorese diaspora, which was small but successful in
campaigning for East Timor’s separation from Indonesia, the extent and the intensity of
non-GAM affiliated Acehnese diaspora activism remained limited (McCulloch, 2005). To
comprehend why broader international support for the Acehnese was not forthcoming, re-
searchers refer to Aceh’s popular image as a staunchly Muslim area. This explanation holds
true to some extent, especially after 9/11 when anti-Muslim sentiments rose, but it does not
explain why prior to 9/11 Aceh had no strong foreign support networks—as, for example,
the East Timorese did with the Catholic Church (Smith, forthcoming). Another reason
might be that Acehnese civil society groups and peace activists did not enjoy the same access
to international negotiation tables as did GAM leaders, since foreign think tanks and nego-
tiators had always focused more on the longer established GAM rather than on new activists.
The only negotiation partners during the 1999–2003 ceasefire talks in Geneva were therefore
from GAM. The same holds true for the Helsinki negotiations from January until August
2005, and is explained more in detail below.
We have seen that in the beginning peace-supporting activities were dependent upon
the emergence of an alternative network of diaspora activism; however, these non-GAM
activists lacked the popularity and authority to move forward. Nevertheless, pro-peace civil
society activists laid the necessary foundations to take up negotiations. However, GAM also
started to move forward to peace-making activities, especially negotiations, while at the same
time still supporting conflict in Aceh.
Although GAM had been lobbying UN institutions and national governments for the
separation of Aceh from Indonesia, it was never interested in negotiating with the Indonesian
government. GAM had high expectations in regard to receiving support from the interna-
tional community, but did not expect anything from Jakarta. The Indonesian governments
under Presidents Suharto and Jusuf Habibie had never even considered pursuing talks with
a rebel group, because that would have implied overcoming the asymmetric power relation
insofar as acknowledging GAM as a political actor, not just as a cause of regional instability.
Although this nationalist stance was widespread among Indonesian politicians, negotiations
between GAM and the Indonesian government became inevitable, as the conflict in Aceh
‘flared up’ again in 1999, causing death rates to increase.15
The first Indonesian President to open negotiations with GAM was Abdurrahman Wahid.
In late 1999 he approached—for practical reasons—GAM representatives in Malaysia, as-
suming that they would act as gate openers to the GAM leaders in Stockholm. He ignored
the intense internal animosities within GAM that had led to a split over issues of succession
in the early 1990s. On the one hand, there was the old GAM leadership in Sweden. On the
other hand there was a new group, which labelled itself Majelis Pemerintahan Gerakan Aceh
Merdeka (Government Council of the Free Aceh Movement, MP-GAM), which consisted
of several former GAM leaders residing in Malaysia and Sweden and also claiming to represent
the Acehnese (Klinken, 1999). This latter group’s self-proclaimed secretary-general was
Teuku Don Zulfahri, who claimed to have taken over after Hasan Tiro fell ill (and who was
later murdered). In a number of press statements and radio interviews, Teuku Don Zulfahri
declared his readiness for peace negotiations with the Indonesian government (e.g. Indonesian
Observer, 13 March 2000). Despite his claims of transitional leadership, MP-GAM did not
have any power over the guerrillas in Aceh, because promises to provide them with arms
remained unfulfilled due to a lack of funding.
Nonetheless, members of MP-GAM in Sweden had already made contact with the then
Finnish and EU President Marti Ahtisaari in November 1999, in order to explore possibil-
ities for Finnish mediation (Kivimäki & Gorman, 2008). This approach coincided with
approaches by the Henry Dunant Centre (HDC)—a fairly new NGO without any experience
in this field—to the alternative, mainstream GAM leadership in Stockholm. GAM leaders
themselves had never actively sought negotiations.
However, despite the short skirmish over legitimate representation, GAM had enough
bargaining power to insist on being the sole representative on the Acehnese side in the talks
that ensued. Not only did Malik Mahmud, who had taken over from Hasan Tiro, refuse to
include any MP-GAM representative, but it also seemed that the Indonesian government
felt more comfortable negotiating with a small, unknown and low profile NGO rather a
high-profile diplomat like Ahtisaari (Griffiths, 2006). Confusion over representation prior
to the negotiations had a positive impact on their start and, taking a long-term perspective,
laid the ground for more efficient future negotiations. As Kivimäki and Gorman, who intro-
duced the MP-GAM group to the Finns, concluded:
the fact that President Ahtisaari’s office had been introduced to a splinter group of GAM
made the real GAM anxious to step in front: negotiations with MP-GAM (GAM Leadership
Council, Majelis Pimpinan (sic.), Gerakan Aceh Merdeka) led by Dr. Husaini Hasan, who
was expelled from GAM by its leader, Hasan di Tiro ten years prior to the beginning of nego-
tiations, would have placed the international limelight on the wrong people and might have
challenged the perceived GAM representation. (Kivimäki and Gorman, 2008, p. 8)
Fearing a loss of accession, the mainstream GAM came under pressure and they had to
agree to participate in negotiations, otherwise they might have given way to MP-GAM.
When it came to peacemaking, GAM pursued an exclusive approach. The GAM leadership
never made full use of prominent diasporans or political actors back in Aceh. This was the
case especially during the early peace process under the premise of the Humanitarian Pause,
as well as the Cessation of Hostilities (COHA) from 1999–2002, which both had been fa-
cilitated by the HDC and sponsored by several international governments. Although inter-
national facilitators would have welcomed broader participation by other Acehnese interest
groups during the talks, GAM leaders refused to cooperate openly with other Acehnese civil
society organisations. Instead, they insisted on playing an exclusive role, preserving a position
as the sole official representatives of all Acehnese while employing, for example, civil society
activists in the background as input providers. Maybe it could be argued that the interna-
tional facilitators should have pushed harder to open the negotiation process to others, but
in the end, it was GAM that could make the violence in Aceh stop because it commanded
the guerrillas on the ground. Through the negotiations the exiled leadership of GAM 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. Other politically active diasporans had to remain in the background.
Despite several rounds of negotiations and two short-lived ceasefires, the situation in
Aceh worsened. The negotiations collapsed eventually in May 2003, after GAM refused to
accept the Special Autonomy Law as a basis for any further talks. President Megawati, who
had succeeded Abdurrahman Wahid in July 2001, declared martial law in Aceh, which led
to Indonesia’s second largest armed operation after the occupation of East Timor in 1975.
Explanations for the failure of negotiations draw on a combination of reasons. However,
one reason I want to emphasise is the double strategy applied by GAM of pursuing peace
and conflict support at the same time. Although the GAM negotiators had agreed to join
the talks on finding a peaceful solution to the conflict, it was during the so-called ceasefire
that GAM achieved its greatest territorial control in Aceh (Schulze, 2004). Moreover, during
the Humanitarian Pause of 1999, GAM had also recruited and trained new fighters, and
purchased more weapons (Schulze, 2004). Such behaviour is not unique. From the literature
on diasporan engagement in homeland conflicts we know that while diaspora leaders may
pursue peaceful goals in public they can still continue war activities clandestinely. Basically,
even when participating in peace talks they can, for example, still coordinate arms procure-
ment or command fighters via their mobile phones (Smith & Stares, 2007). In fact, one
GAM representative stated, ‘recruitment and training are perfectly compatible with the
current political dialogue’ (Schulze, 2001, p. 29).
However, due to the increased severity of the conflict and the greater loss of lives in Aceh
after the declaration of martial law, GAM did not have the capacity to continue such a
double strategy endlessly.16 Claiming to be the leader of the Acehnese, not only in diaspora
but also of those back in the homeland, implies also a moral obligation for the wellbeing of
the people. The conflict resulted in rising numbers of civilian deaths and GAM fighters being
pushed to the brink without bringing Aceh any closer to independence. Therefore, the GAM
leaders, living safely and relatively comfortably in Sweden, were under pressure to rethink
their strategy. And so too was the Indonesian government, which might have been able to
defeat GAM once more, but not to ‘win the hearts and minds’ of the Acehnese. In order to
save lives, both had to prove the sincerity of their desire to stop the violence.
It is commonly assumed that the devastating tsunami that hit Aceh on 26 December
2004 was the trigger for the reactivation of the peace negotiations. In fact, secret meetings
and consultations had taken place well before the tsunami (Morfit, 2006). The Indonesian
government was interested in finding alternative ways to stop that expensive war in Aceh.
Members of the Indonesian government—such as Vice President Jusuf Kalla and Deputy
Coordinating Minister for People’s Welfare Farid Husain—in their private capacities tried
to re-create a willingness to negotiate with GAM and started a secret shuttle diplomacy.
First they approached GAM field-commanders directly. However, these commanders proved
to be loyal and reported back to the leadership in Stockholm, urging them to make a move
towards new negotiations (International Crisis Group 2005). GAM leaders in Stockholm
did not trust Indonesian politicians very much; rather, they preferred Western ‘layman
diplomats’ to transfer messages back and forth. Juha Christensen, a Finnish businessman
who had been working in Indonesia since 1985 and had good networking skills and excellent
contacts in Indonesia and Europe, was almost the only person allowed to meet GAM in
Stockholm to discuss peace diplomacy prior to the official resumption of the peace talks.
Although the HDC had hoped to be involved in the negotiations once more, the new nego-
tiations were conducted on a monthly basis under former Finnish President Martti Ahtisaari
and his Crisis Management Initiative (CMI), a new organisation with a much stronger
standing than the HDC and which complied with GAM’s wish for a more accredited and
authoritative facilitator (Huber, 2004). Eventually, in late January 2005, new official peace
negotiations took place in Helsinki under the auspices of Martti Ahtisaari.
GAM agreed to new negotiations, and rather than continuing to pursue independence
it accepted ‘self-governance’ for Aceh—a new term for a package of autonomy offers, which
resembled in many ways the Special Autonomy Law that had been granted to Aceh in 2001
but rejected by GAM. GAM needed that new terminology to sell the peace agreement to
its followers in Sweden and Malaysia, with whom the GAM negotiators regularly met after
each round of negotiation.
During the first half of 2005, GAM also included more civil society members, to inform
them of the talks and strategies it was pursuing. At first, GAM leaders had difficulty selling
the idea of ‘self-governance’ to the diasporans. However, the role of the broader diaspora in
these talks was marginal: rather than providing input to the GAM negotiators they were
merely receiving information afterwards. Although some people were very disappointed that
GAM settled for something less than independence, the majority remained loyal to GAM
and agreed with the peace efforts. Most people had suffered from the extended war, and for
too long had wished to return home. To illustrate these widespread notions among the dia-
spora, I quote from an Acehnese man in Malaysia, who had migrated to Norway in 2004
and continued to be an important figure within the Acehnese community there:
After the tsunami, I wanted to go back to Aceh and fight, but then again, what would happen
to my family? When I lived in Malaysia, I had two stores and one lorry, and I dedicated 70
percent of my income to GAM, for years. So in a way I was happy about the MOU. I have
seven children and now I can provide better for them. (Interview conducted by author, 30
June 2007)
As noted earlier, the wish to return, or at least the possibility of return, is an important
motivation for diasporic engagement in peacemaking efforts. Return prospects had even
more significance to ordinary diasporans than to GAM leaders, some of whom were not
even born in Aceh but in Singapore.
So why did GAM agree to peace at this point in time? While GAM’s political will for
peace might not have been serious enough in previous negotiations, it had become aware
that it could not risk another failure. I agree with Edward Aspinall (2005), that the decisive
incentive for GAM leadership was to prevent a loss of face. Although they had continuously
tried to convince the people in Aceh that Indonesia would eventually fall apart and Aceh
would then become free, they came to realise that this was not going to happen. More
drastically, it also dawned on them that GAM fighters on the ground would never succeed
militarily against the Indonesian armed forces, who basically fought at a ratio of ten Indone-
sian soldiers to each GAM guerrilla. Finding peace through negotiation was the only face-
saving option; otherwise the war costs in Aceh would have become unjustifiable in the eyes
of the homeland, where the population was demanding peace. It was the work of Acehnese
and international peace activists, academics and policy advisers that helped GAM leaders
abroad come to a more realistic assessment of their situation. The quote from an interview
with a human rights activist from the Netherlands, who was also one of the initiators of
SCHRA, illustrates how NGOs and activists influenced GAM in subtle ways:
When we organised that SCHRA conference in Kuala Lumpur, we also invited Nur Djuli
[an important GAM figure in Malaysia]. He refused to join, because there was too much focus
on human rights, but then every night he would come to the venue and discuss with the
other Acehnese participants from Australia and the USA, which were also from GAM, but
more open. In general, we preferred to deal with these civil components of GAM, because we
tried to promote civil society and also a good, a non-violent image of Aceh that we could
present to the West.
In this section I have described peace-supporting activities in the Acehnese diaspora,

which were possible due to new ‘political opportunity structures’.17 As Østergaard-Nielsen
(2006, p. 7) put it, diasporas operate in a political national and international context, which
constrains and facilitates their activities. On the one hand we have seen newly emerged civil
society activists and students going overseas in order to campaign and lobby for human
rights issues in Aceh. They were very active in organising conferences, spreading information
and establishing transnational networks and links. On the other hand, we saw that even
GAM, the ‘long-distance nationalists’ who had been directing the conflict for a long time
from abroad, underwent drastic changes of strategy towards the conflict in Aceh as it
gradually took more and more victims without offering much progress towards independence.
These notions reflected on the wider diaspora. In sum, the most crucial part of the Acehnese
diaspora was not inherently oriented toward peace, but the options for continuing war had
decreased drastically.
CONCLUSION
After analysing the Acehnese diaspora engagements, which indicated both conflict support
and peace support, what can we learn about the political involvement of conflict-generated
diasporas in homeland politics more generally?
First of all, we have seen that diaspora involvements broadened over time, adapting to
different ‘political opportunity structures’ which were available to them in the host countries
and beyond. During the developing process of the Acehnese diaspora and due to the circum-
stances in which the diaspora was formed—as reaction to the ongoing conflict in
Aceh—conflict support dominated. These conflict-related activities were almost exclusively
steered by the GAM leadership in Stockholm and with the help of a strong GAM network
within the diaspora. Only when a younger generation of student and human rights activists
started informing the world about what was happening in Aceh did a diasporic stream in
favour of peace-finding develop. To be effective these peace groups needed to be empowered
and assisted by international institutions to give them credibility and authority.
Moreover, as time passed, it became obvious to many diasporans and also to the GAM
leadership that they would never win the military battle. Irrespective of how much financial
support they donated to the struggle, Indonesia would not let go of Aceh. Additionally, the
‘internationalisation’ of the Aceh conflict, meaning diplomatic efforts in search of allies, did
not lead to more international sympathy for their armed struggle. It became increasingly
difficult for the GAM leadership in exile to justify the loss of civilian lives in Aceh. Agreeing
to negotiations was therefore a face-saving option compared to full military defeat. Compared
to previous negotiations in which there was a lack of commitment on both sides—GAM
and the Indonesian military—GAM became more serious about pursuing peace after the
tsunami. Seizing a favourable opportunity—international support for facilitating peace ne-
gotiations was available—GAM could then accept what Acehnese non-GAM activists had
long been demanding: a compromise solution to the conflict.
Second, we have seen that the Acehnese diaspora—despite the strong GAM domin-
ance—never acted as a ‘natural political unit’. On the contrary, it was heterogeneous and
included diverging and even contradictory political engagements. These different attitudes
reflected the diverse composition of the Acehnese diaspora. Although the escalation of the
conflict in Aceh had a significant impact on Acehnese abroad—in the sense of creating a
collective consciousness of togetherness and feelings of shared destinies that resulted in a
great deal of solidarity and co-responsibility—this did not necessarily lead to similar political
engagements. Diasporans made use of whatever means were accessible to them: students
sought support within academia or related fields; human rights activists worked with their
professional contacts in the NGO fields; Acehnese with contacts to arms dealers bought
weapons, and so forth. I do not suggest that diasporic political engagement abroad was
purely a matter of choice. Being part of the diasporic core was limited: most crucially, access
to the GAM leadership depended on kinship relations, seniority principles and reputation.
GAM’s exclusivity, however, did not prevent other diasporans from at least trying to challenge
the firm GAM hierarchy. Among a number of other important factors on the Indonesian
side, the internal skirmishes between GAM and its challenger MP-GAM about the legitimacy
to represent ‘the Acehnese’ accelerated the commencement of peace negotiations.
Finally and most importantly, we can learn from this case study that viewing ‘support
for war’ and ‘support for peace’ as a basic binary opposition, in a black and white mode,
ignores the many grey tones, which serve as bridges between these two positions. Diasporans
themselves might not see peace and war as antithetic, in the way that most observers do.
When they talk about peace, they might have in mind a peace achieved by military victory
or a peace reached once favourable political conditions are attained (such as independence
achieved via a public referendum). Bearing this in mind, it is not surprising that diasporans
can be conflict supportive and peace supportive at the same time. What can easily be separated
in theory is in practice not so easily distinguishable. Parallel strategies, short-term or long-
term intentions, outcomes or side effects can all blur the boundaries between support for
conflict and support for peace.
This conclusion suggests that rather than just asking about the nature of diasporic long-
distance political engagement, political analysts should dedicate more research to external
and internal developments of the diaspora in regard to the conflict in the homeland, including
political opportunity structures. Political decision-makers who are interested in including
diasporas in peace-making processes, however, should focus additionally on the internal
dynamics and structural power shift within diasporas because these too can influence diaspora
attitudes to conflict and peace. This focus will help them identify diaspora groups that may
be more open to negotiations than others. Even though they might not have the capacities
or a fair chance to interact, as in the case of MP-GAM, they can still help to accelerate the
initiation of a peace process.
NOTES
1 I am grateful to Edward Aspinall, Annett Fleischer, Eva Gerharz, Allison Ley, Marcus Mietzner, Frieda
Sinanu, Nicholas Tapp, Ingrid Wessel, Paul Zeccola and an anonymous reviewer from the Journal of
Human Security for their critical comments. However, all mistakes remain my sole responsibility.
2 Many scholars have tried to define ‘diaspora’. Most of them produced their definitions according to
and/or by enhancing the one provided by William Safran (1991, pp. 83–84), who proposed six criteria
that constitute a group of people as a diaspora: Firstly, the members of the group in question or their
ancestors have been dispersed from a specific area of origin. Secondly, they retain a collective memory,
which includes myths of their history, collective achievements and the precise location of the homeland
that they long for. Thirdly, members of a diaspora share feelings of alienation since they do not want to
be, or cannot be, fully accepted by the host society. Fourthly, they therefore foster hopes of return.
Fifthly, there is a collective commitment among them to restore their homeland, accompanied by expect-
ations of prosperity and welfare should return be achieved. Sixthly and finally, they maintain individual
and joint contacts with the ‘remainders’ (co-ethnics back in the homeland) to feed their ethno-communal
consciousness. In this article I apply ‘diaspora’ more loosely to Acehnese migrants, refugees and descend-
ants who share a particular interest directed at their homeland.
3 In fact, for some conflict-generated diasporas homeland is not solely the sheer point of reference for a
place that is desired and imagined as a familiar site, but has already become a ‘real’ holiday destination
or an additional temporary residence or even place of employment (Carruthers, 2002).
4 According to UN High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) Kuala Lumpur, more than 35,000
Acehnese were registered with them in 2004 (interview, 6 April 2007). However, Acehnese diaspora
elders estimated the numbers of unregistered cases to be at least twice as high. During the Aceh conflict
more than 15,000 people lost their lives and more than 100,000 people were internally displaced (Barron,
2008).
5 Fieldwork for this research was conducted between 2006 and 2008 in Malaysia, because it is the oldest
section and the hotbed of the Acehnese diaspora. In addition I conducted interviews in the USA, Den-
mark, Norway and Sweden, the latter is the domicile of the self-proclaimed Acehnese government in
exile. In this paper I concentrate on the impacts of the Acehnese diasporans in Malaysia and Scandinavia,
because they were the most influential.
6 Rantau literally means ‘the other shore of the sea’, so merantau means going overseas, though the phrase
is used more broadly to explain a form of wandering abroad involving accumulation of knowledge and
education which is later brought back home.
7 It is well known that both GAM and the Indonesian military were involved in semi-legal and illegal
business in Aceh, such as marijuana sales, timber-felling and the bird nest trade. However, the leaders
of GAM in exile were not involved in orchestrating these internal money-raising methods; this was more
the task of local leaders (McCulloch, 2003).
8 For example, some members of the GAM Information Office (Biro Penerangan), the basic organ for
producing and distributing GAM publications, were paid wages.
9 The initial contacts with Libya were gained through Papuan leaders also residing in Sweden. However,
GAM soon took matters into its own hands. Malik Mahmud (the current ‘Prime Minister’ of GAM),
who in the 1980s and 1990s was residing in Singapore, played an important role in organising these
travels. The travelling routes to Libya were via Pakistan, Yugoslavia, Greece or the Netherlands, the return
via Egypt, Singapore and again Malaysia (Pacific Islands Monthly, 1988).
10 Tiro was made the chairman of Gadhafi’s ‘Mathaba against Imperialism, Racism, Zionism and Fascism’.
This organisation, founded in 1982, was also known as the Anti-Imperialism Center (AIC), and sponsored
several liberation movements from all around the world, and anti-imperialist/anti-Western conferences
in Tripoli, in the 1980s (Kell, 1995). Beginning in the early 1990s, Tiro sought to distance his movement
from Libya in order to prevent GAM from being seen as a terrorist organisation; the training for GAM
in Libya stopped, as did the training of all other movements previously supported by Libya.
11 This consists of three parts, entitled ‘Solution to the problem of democracy’ (1975), ‘Solution of the
economic problem: socialism’ (1977) and ‘Social basis of the Third International Theory’ (1979). Though
the Green Book is not overtly Islamic, its content is similar to the ideas found in Islamic reform move-
ments from the eighteenth and nineteenth century (Esposito, 1984).
12 While living in the jungle in Aceh, he even wrote a play about the Acehnese resistance against the Dutch
from the point of his own family, which had been very active in resisting the Dutch.
13 After liquid gas was discovered in Aceh in 1971, Hasan Tiro handed in an offer for a joint venture for
building a pipeline, which was refused (Sjamsuddin, 1985).
14 At the time, Jafar Siddiq Hamzah was a student in New York. He and his colleagues took Mobil
Oil/Exxon Mobil to court in regard to human rights abuses that had happened in the operating area of
the company in Aceh. On a return trip from Medan to Aceh in August 2000, Jafar was kidnapped and
murdered. His death caused an outcry among Acehnese and international activists.
15 For a detailed account of atrocities in Aceh in 1999, see Tapol (2000).
16 Between May 2003 and August 2004, at least 2200 Acehnese lost their lives due to the conflict in Aceh
(Jakarta Post, 22 August 2004).
17 Herbert Kitschelt (1986, p. 58) defined political opportunity structures as ‘specific configurations of
resources, institutional arrangements, and historical precedents for social mobilization, which facilitate
the developments of protest movements in some instances and constrain them in others’.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Antje Missbach’s research focuses on long-distance politics in transition; in particular, she has been
studying the Acehnese diaspora in Malaysia and Scandinavia during and after the homeland conflict
in Aceh. Further research interests include maritime politics in Southeast Asia and urban migration
in Indonesia and Malaysia.
Antje Missbach
The Australian National University
College of Asia and the Pacific
Research School of Pacific and Asian Studies
Department for Political and Social Change
Hedley Bull Building
0200 Canberra, ACT
Australia
Tel: + 61 (0)2 6125 4790
Fax: + 61 (0)2 6125 5523
Email: antje.missbach@anu.edu.au

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The Acehnese Diaspora: Hawks and

AUSTRALIAN NATIONAL UNIVERSITY

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© RMIT Publishing, http://www.rmitpublishing.com.au/jhs.html

My research on the impacts of the Acehnese diaspora on homeland politics provided

THE ACEHNESE DIASPORA

ACEHNESE DIASPORA ACTIVITIES SUPPORTING CONFLICT

ACEHNESE DIASPORA ACTIVITIES SUPPORTING PEACE

In this section I have described peace-supporting activities in the Acehnese diaspora,

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

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