EVERY September 30 and October 1 we recall murder. In 1965-1966 it was first a group of generals, followed by the slaughter, or torture, of tens of thousands of innocent Indonesians who were not generals.

Ever since then, here in the land where “my blood is spilt” as our national anthem has it, that savagery has left us afraid, bitter, and ashamed to admit wrong. We tuck it all away in a single word “Gestapu”—an acronym of Gerakan Sep