It was mid-February 2020, when Hukum’s co-founder, Ranto Sibarani, noticed something odd. On any given day, as he scrolled through his Facebook page which connects him to over 5,000 friends, people seemed to be dying. More than usual.
“Look Aisyah,” he would say, from across the shared desk in the Hukum office in Medan, North Sumatra. “There are more and more of them. This isn’t normal.”
Ranto’s Facebook page suddenly seemed swamped with death notices. Go well Father one read, with pictures of the deceased photo-shopped on top of a background of fluffy clouds and Bible verses.
Ranto couldn’t shake the feeling that something was amiss.
All the obituaries were for people over the age of 50, but this was in the early days of the Coronavirus outbreak and information was still in its infancy, particularly as Indonesia was still faffing around trying to procure Covid-19 test kits. There were no official cases of Covid-19 in the country according to the government, and no sign that the virus had reached Indonesia’s shores.
But Ranto’s Facebook page was becoming darker by the day, and plans to investigate the deaths were quickly made. Unfortunately, these plans were scuppered almost before they could begin.
As Ranto called each of the families to offer his condolences, he would gently inquire about the cause of death, only to receive a barrage of either misleading or unhelpful answers. The deceased had a prior health condition, like diabetes or high blood pressure or a heart problem, and that’s probably what killed them, the families would say.
The “probably” hung in the humid Medan air, because none of the dead had been autopsied, something which is almost impossible to do in Indonesia unless there is suspicion of foul play and a police certificate is issued. Private autopsies, at the request of an individual’s family, do not exist. This is coupled with a general acceptance around death in Indonesia—at odds with other parts of the world where cause of death equals closure. “It was their time, it was God’s will,” is a common refrain when someone dies here.
A few of the families cited the cause of death as “pneumonia,” but were always keen to clarify the point. It was “real pneumonia and not ‘the virus’”, they insisted, while admitting that the deceased had not been tested for Covid-19.
The death spike via Facebook did not abate, and it seemed to spare no one. Lawyers, judges, doctors, lecturers and politicians were dying. The deaths continued through February and into March and then April, by which time Ranto’s frustration had been steadily building. “You have to write about this, Aisyah,” he said. “Look at this, look at my phone.”
As far back as February, with Wuhan under lockdown, Ranto had made the connection between the strange virus in China and rising, unexplained deaths posted on Facebook in Indonesia.
But journalism has no interest in speculation. And there seemed no way to prove that anything was afoot without exhuming the dead and testing them.
But then something happened. Something which did not confirm Ranto’s hunch, but certainly added weight to it. In April, when Indonesia had over to 200 recorded Covid-19 deaths, the Governor of Jakarta, Anies Baswedan, stated publicly that the city had actually buried over 600 people in recent months in line with Covid-19 protocols, even though they had not tested positive for the virus.
Someone else had noticed that people were dying in greater numbers than usual.
“It is extremely disturbing,” the governor told Reuters, which had obtained public records that stated that over 4,000 funerals had taken place in Jakarta in March, a marked increase compared to recent months. “I’m struggling to find another reason than unreported COVID-19 deaths.”
The beginning
Indonesia resisted Covid-19 for many weeks.
While countries across Southeast Asia and across the world declared that the disease had breached their shores, Indonesia stood firm. There were no cases. The power of prayer had kept the country safe. People only needed to keep praying and all would be well, according to Indonesia’s Health Minister, Terawan Agus Putranto.
And all was well, until it wasn’t. On 2 March, facing mounting pressure both nationally and internationally to confess that the power of prayer was not the salve it had hoped it would be, Indonesia finally had to admit the truth. It was not immune to Coronavirus.
No one is.
The world first heard about Coronavirus in December 2019 when it popped up clustered around a seafood market in Wuhan in China. By January, it had begun to spread internationally, even to Indonesia where a Dutch national was taken ill.
As it was, Joey Schouten only found out that he had had the virus in Indonesia two months later, when an Indonesian doctor informed him via text message. At the time, both Schouten and the general public were oblivious to the possibility that Coronavirus could have infiltrated the country. But it seems as if not everyone was in the dark.
Either the government openly lied to its people, or, as Indonesian President Joko “Jokowi” Widodo told the media in March, “Indeed, we did not deliver certain information to the public because we did not want to stir panic.”
Not only did this lack of information allow the virus to get a foothold in Indonesia and spread, it also set the tone for how the government would handle the coming days and months of the Coronavirus outbreak.
In a word: badly.
The first two cases, a mother and daughter in the satellite town of Depok on the outskirts of Jakarta, were officially declared on 2 March. Indonesia only declared a state of civil emergency on 1 April after receiving a letter from the World Health Organisation (WHO) dated 10 March, urging the country to activate emergency protocols. “I am counting on your personal leadership and political will, which not only reflects strong partnership with WHO, but also demonstrates the Republic of Indonesia’s commitment to global health security,” WHO director general Tedros Adhanom Ghebreyesus wrote to President Joko “Jokowi” Widodo.
One month later, there are over 3,000 confirmed cases and 240 deaths.
There are not enough tests kits and wide scale tracing and testing does not exist. There are not enough beds and the healthcare system is already shaky at best.
For every projected case, there are three beds for every 100,000 people. The Jakarta Globe reported that there are just over 8,000 ventilators in the whole country, which has a population of some 270 million people. There are 11 isolation rooms in the city of Medan for over 2 million people. There are 60 ventilators and seven lung specialists for the whole of West Papua. As the spokesman for the Papuan Covid-19 task force said, “If you come to Papua, you’ll die.”
The numbers indicate that not only are we nowhere near the end of the Coronavirus outbreak in Indonesia, we are not even at the beginning.
If you live in Indonesia and have already caught the virus, you are lucky. The glory days of infection were the initial few weeks when there were enough isolation rooms and equipment to go round.
Those days are long gone.
For the vast majority, hoping to be spared by the virus is the best they can hope for, but an unrealistic dream. Some studies project that it may infect up to 80% of the population worldwide. The second best scenario is to become infected with a light dose of Covid-19. Anything more than that and your chances look bleak. Indonesia has one of the highest mortality rates in the world, hovering at around 9%—behind Italy and above Spain.
Indonesia could be the next Italy.
The future
If the government continues to take a minimalist approach to Coronavirus, then Indonesia must surely crumble under the weight of this pandemic.
But still the excuses come and they are myriad in form—united only by a lack of any coherent scientific evidence. Luhut Pandjaitan, the Maritime and Investment Minister, claimed that Indonesia’s position in the tropics meant that it would be safe from the virus. President Jokowi extolled the virtues of a traditional medicinal drink called jamu. Vice-President Ma’ruf Amin urged everyone to keep praying. Social media is full of suggestions for the many things that can apparently spare you from this sickness: garlic, ginger, prayers, amulets, steam, tea, warm weather, turmeric.
Indonesia must lock down its people. Yet the government has said that it will do no such thing, even in the face of opposition.
Across the country, turf wars have broken out as provincial and regional administrations have started to plough their own furrows, issuing lockdowns and enacting social distancing measures including shutting down roads and businesses.
Some have risen to the occasion where the majority have failed. “I would rather be hated than have people die,” said the Mayor of Tegal in Central Java when locking down his city. Unfortunately, the initiative was short-lived as people complained and openly flouted the lockdown order, leading to Tegal opening up again several days after the order was made.
Governor Anies Baswedan has tried and failed to lock down Jakarta, while the mood from the presidential palace is one of fear. A fear of riots on the streets as people, afraid of losing their livelihoods; panicked at the prospect of being caged; and fearful of the unravelling of the social fabric that binds Indonesia together, rebel en masse against what they see as the collective enemy: the government.
In 1998, Indonesia bore the brunt of the Asian Financial Crisis, which led to the fall of Suharto after 30 years in power and widespread civil unrest, riots, rapes, looting and deaths. Mindful of the ghosts of 1998, the Indonesian government dithered in the precious early days of this pandemic and continues to do so now. Like the United Kingdom, Indonesia has been lax about social distancing and appears to be enacting an open experiment in herd immunity.
If this continues, the sickness will rip through the population, killing thousands if not millions. Special graveyards will have to be built to handle the strain. In Medan, the digging of mass graves has already begun, and residents complain about possible infection from these modern-day plague victims.
As the government stumbles, there is an even more pressing spectre on the horizon: the coming of the Muslim fasting month of Ramadan and the Eid ul Fitri holiday that marks its end.
Millions will mudik or return to their hometowns and home villages, and to isolated and remote parts of the country with little access to comprehensive healthcare. Many will visit elderly relatives. They will gather in mosques and at home. They will visit friends and neighbours, taking the virus with them wherever they go.
How do you stop one of the largest mass exoduses in the world which involves some 20 million people?
Imagine the logistics and public messaging that would be needed to cancel Christmas in the United Kingdom, a celebration that for many now lacks any kind of serious religious overtones. Now add the fact that over 87% of the population is Muslim in Indonesia and that faith is the cornerstone of many households. Imagine telling those 220 million people that they need to stay at home. Some 14,000 souls in Jakarta have already anticipated as much and left. Who knows who they have infected along the way and where they have distributed the virus?
The precedent for this is all too real. The outbreak in Wuhan in China coincided with the Lunar New Year holiday, and millions of people streamed around the country, incubating and carrying Covid-19 with them.
It is madness not to cancel mudik.
Back in time
There is no way to know what would have happened if Ranto could have somehow proven that Facebook was one of the earliest portents of Coronavirus in Indonesia.
As it is, with what little data is available, it is projected that some 140,000 Indonesians may die by the end of April, according to a study by the University of Indonesia. Other studies quote different figures ranging from 70,000 to upwards of two million deaths by May.
On 6 April, the spokesperson for the National Disaster Mitigation Agency (BNPB) openly stated that the number of confirmed COVID-19 cases that the central government had been publishing did not match the figures from regional administrations.
In short, the numbers are and always have been wrong.
If we could go back in time and had noticed the spikes in unexplained deaths, perhaps we could have tested people who died before 2 March on a widespread basis. Perhaps the true facts of the possible scale of the outbreak would have been uncovered. Perhaps if the country had had more information sooner, the numbers could have been more adequately analysed to project the scale of the problem, and action taken accordingly.
That didn’t happen.
Who knows what will happen to Indonesia now.
If you enjoyed reading this then please consider subscribing to Hukum. Our Covid-19 coverage is free, but we need your support to keep reporting in Indonesia. Hukum publishes long-form, investigative journalism at least once a month.
Sources; Resources; Further Reading:
BNPB confirms COVID-19 data discrepancy between central, regional govts - Jakarta Post
Exclusive: Jump in Jakarta funerals raises fears of unreported coronavirus deaths - Reuters
Months after returning home, Dutchman learns he had COVID-19 in Indonesia - Jakarta Post
Disastrous: Joko under pressure to stop villagers taking virus home - the Sydney Morning Herald
How the virus got out - New York Times
This is massively massively overreacting. There will be nowhere near even 70,000 deaths. You can't keep saying these things. Look at all the figures in Europe and the USA, all the projections are not coming true, the numbers are way way less. There is no studies that are showing an 80% infection rate in the population. And death rates are way less than 1% IF you catch it. That is less than Dengue.