John Souisa had spent five days at sea when relief washed over him – the Australian navy was approaching their boat, which was carrying 54 asylum seekers. After dodging Indonesian patrols, battling rough seas, and warding off hunger, the group had finally made it.
And just off the coast of Darwin, a huge warship was there to guide them safely to shore.
It was the year 2000 and behind them, John and his son Paul had left a terrible conflict in a remote and rarely visited part of Indonesia, one that led to more than 5,000 deaths and the displacement of 700,000 people.
On 16 January this year, John, 78, became one of the 42 South Australians to die from Covid that day.
He chose not to get vaccinated and deteriorated so rapidly after going to hospital that his son did not get to say a proper goodbye.
“He was a great man,” says Paul.
“He was brave and always encouraged others. He cared about the human rights issues of his country.”
Paul thinks his father died from medical negligence after doctors refused to treat John with ivermectin – an antiparasitic drug that has been widely debunked as a treatment for Covid.
“I advised the doctor, I would like to hold his hand. The doctor said you cannot do that. We won’t allow you to do that.”
The Australia that John and Paul encountered when they arrived in the year 2000 was a much more welcoming place than refugees find today.
The Howard government had not started playing the “tough on border” politics that would dominate national discussion for the decade to come. The Tampa crisis, where a Norwegian cargo ship carrying 433 asylum seekers it had rescued was denied permission to enter Australian waters, was still more than a year away.
John’s boat would be highlighted in cabinet two months after its arrival when then-immigration minister Philip Ruddock noted it. His submission began: “A boat carrying 54 Christians from Maluku province, Indonesia, was intercepted on 22 January 2000.”
Cabinet historian Chris Wallace would later write: “This opening sentence from immigration and multicultural affairs minister Philip Ruddock’s cabinet submission to cabinet’s national security committee quietly foreshadowed a new era of Australian politics which would explode the following year in the Tampa crisis.”
The Maluku Islands are known for their abundance of clove and nutmeg. The spices have sat at the heart of the centuries-old colonial struggle for ownership of the archipelago.
The islands, which had a population of 1.7 million in 2019, were ruled by Indonesia in the 1990s when tensions broke out between the Muslim and Christian communities.
“It was a holy war,” Paul says.
“Before the war, it was a beautiful island, there was peace and harmony between Christians and Muslims.
“There was no help from other nations. Everyone was silent. Even Australia was silent and Indonesia thought they had control.”
The Indonesian military claims to have stayed neutral throughout the conflict, but some records show it fired 80% of the ammunition expended. Paul accuses the government of wanting to destroy the islands’ Pela Gandong culture – where people live as equals despite differences in belief or ethnicity.
John found himself in the middle of this conflict.
A skilled mariner, John grew up on the island of Java before joining the Indonesian defence force at 17. He was sent to Russia for training and rose through the ranks to work on the KRI Samadikun destroyer – Indonesia’s best warship at the time.
A sergeant living on a naval base with his young son, who was not born on the islands, was not the typical recruit for the independence movement.
But through a family connection, by chance John met the first president of independent Maluku, Johanis Hermanus Manuhutu, just before he died in 1983, and during their meeting was recruited to their cause.
“He was chosen to become part of the high command for freedom fighters,” Paul says.
The late 90s was a troubled time for the area, with the fall of Indonesian president Suharto, who was widely acknowledged as a dictator, and the wider Asian financial crisis flaring tensions across the archipelago.
In 1998, Maluku was about to descend into a brutal armed conflict. The navy became suspicious of John’s allegiances and held him as a political prisoner.
“He was beaten, he was tortured. We would visit him to bring food, they didn’t give him enough food [to survive],” Paul says.
After a year his case was investigated. There was no evidence John had received financial help from the Maluku government in the Netherlands so they released him just as fighting between Christians and Muslims broke out.
The fighting was brutal, with religious militia from both sides waging attacks on homes, schools, places of worship and markets. Rumours fuelled the conflict, with mobs burning houses to the ground and murdering children in broad daylight.
Residents of both faiths tried to stop the fighting, but the violence spread to the surrounding islands.
“They were targeting us. We were not safe,” Paul, who was 18 at the time, says.
“I asked my father to bring us to Australia, and my father said yes. We were waiting for money from the Netherlands because our family boats were broken, we needed to fix it so we could go.
“The villages around us were burning, people were dying.”
At the harbour one day Paul met another Christian who had gathered a group together and was planning to flee.
“They had a boat but they didn’t have a captain. Our group had a captain but no boat. It was a good match,” Paul says.
“Because my father had travelled a lot with the navy, he knew the routes of their patrols, so he could avoid them.
“He read the stars, he only used a compass and map. We made a tent at the front of the fishing boat to cover our heads to sit under.”
On the second day, the boat had run out of food so they stopped at Wetar Island near Timor. At first the locals were apprehensive, but one person who could speak the dialect explained they were leaving for Australia.
“They came to pick us up in a traditional canoe and take us to shore. They welcomed us, they climbed the coconut tree to give us food and sukun, a tropical fruit, to take with us to Darwin.”
Word travels fast on a small island and soon the police arrived. The younger men from the boat wanted to fight them off, and John knew if the police caught on to where they were going they might be killed.
John told the asylum seekers to turn out their pockets and used the money to bribe the police into leaving for the night.
“In the middle of the night at full speed, he took off,” Paul says.
The elation of escape was short-lived. In the morning, a huge storm descended on them, snapping the chain that connected the steering wheel to the engine.
“There were huge waves, it was smashing our boat,” says Paul. “People were panicked and crying. Some of them even said we have to throw our gold or rings in the water, just to pay it off.
“I was praying, I was scared, I thought this was the end of our life.”
Using a piece of twine, John managed to fix the chain. By the morning, he could steer again, and the waters were completely still.
“For us, we thought we were going in circles. The fishing boats don’t go fast, but my father knew exactly where he was heading.”
After five days at sea, an aeroplane appeared in the sky. Excited, the group unravelled an SOS banner they had made before leaving.
They watched the aeroplane fly away, and for an excruciating moment, the boat was completely alone again in the vast expanse of ocean – until the line on the horizon was interrupted by a small black dot.
An Australian warship had arrived to help them navigate the reef around the coastline and get them safely to Darwin.
The asylum seekers were taken to Port Hedland, where they stayed for a total of 10 weeks. Afraid to set up a new life in a foreign country, 39 of them decided to return to Indonesia while the other 15 relocated to Adelaide, Paul says.
The difference in experience to how modern asylum seekers – who are now locked up indefinitely for years – are treated is stark.
Paul knows they were “very lucky with the timing” of their arrival.
“The Australian government needs to change the policy, it’s not fair for human rights,” he says of the situation now.
With help from the government and the Uniting Church, Paul and his father made a new life for themselves. Paul worked in various jobs to support John, who never stopped campaigning for Moluccan independence.
“He fought his whole life for independence,” Paul says.
“He was a political prisoner, he was chosen by his underground government to become a high commander for the freedom movement, he met with Alexander Downer and sent letters to John Howard.”
John’s greatest wish – to see a free and independent Maluku – is far from reality, but now Paul will take up the mantle.
“I am grateful for the Australian government and I was thankful they protected us,” he says.
“But still, not enough has been done for what we are asking for. We are asking the government to help the Maluku Islands.”
