The Silence That Enshrines Abuse in Indonesia’s Islamic Schools

The case of Yusron Azzahidi and his friends is a stark reminder that, in some parts of the world, silence can be a currency that buys protection from predators rather than justice for their victims. Allegations against Ahmad Imanuddin Sumar, also known as “Abah,” the head teacher at an Islamic boarding school on Lombok island in Indonesia, are not isolated incidents. They represent a disturbing pattern of abuse and cover-ups that have flourished under the guise of piety.

Sexual abuse has long been a problem within Indonesia’s vast network of Islamic schools, or pondok pesantren. The country’s National Commission on Violence Against Women has labeled it a “national emergency.” When victims come forward, they often face intimidation and pressure to drop their allegations – not just in Lombok but also in other parts of the country.

The response from the Nahdlatul Wathan Diniyah Islamiyah (NWDI), which runs Abah’s school and many others like it, raises questions about its commitment to protecting students. NWDI representatives met with Yusron and his friends, promising to help them take their case to the police. However, these promises appear to have been empty, as Yusron’s written documents were passed on to Abah, who used them to try and silence his accusers.

The attempts by Abah and possibly others in positions of power within NWDI to intimidate and coerce victims into silence are a stark reminder of the systemic issues at play. These individuals have used their influence to shield themselves from accountability, relying on cultural norms that prioritize protecting institutional reputations over the well-being of those they serve.

This case is not just about Abah; it’s about the broader culture of impunity within Indonesia’s Islamic schools. It’s a system that perpetuates abuse by allowing perpetrators to operate with relative freedom, secure in the knowledge that their actions will be covered up rather than confronted. Victims like Zia and Sukma have had to gather evidence and coordinate their own investigations because they don’t trust the authorities.

The pressure exerted on Sukma by Abah’s wife, Hurmiati, is particularly telling. Her warning that speaking out could “haunt [Sukma] for the rest of her life” and damage her chances of getting married underscores how societal expectations can be used to silence victims. This dynamic is not unique to Indonesia; it’s a phenomenon observed in many cultures where women’s experiences are seen as secondary to maintaining social order.

As this case continues to unfold, several questions arise about what happens next. Will the authorities finally take action against Abah and those responsible for covering up his crimes? How will NWDI respond to the allegations against its representatives? And what steps can be taken to prevent similar abuses from occurring in the future?

The response of Indonesian society as a whole will be critical. It’s clear that more than just policy changes are needed; there must be a cultural shift towards prioritizing victims’ voices and experiences over institutional reputations. Only then can Indonesia begin to address the deep-seated issues driving this problem, rather than just treating its symptoms.

The courage of Yusron, Zia, Sukma, and others who have come forward is an inspiration to those fighting for justice in similar situations around the world. Their story serves as a stark reminder that silence can be broken, and speaking truth to power is never easy but always necessary.