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The governor said change must start with individuals, then spread outward to village, city and district. But on the front lines, members of the Christian resistance have a different perspective. Six militia leaders from Christian communities slipped into Ambon City by night to share their views. Self-described "field generals," each has hundreds of men and boys ready for battle.

"Religious leaders from both sides talk reconciliation and peace, but then the Muslims go back and organize more attacks," said one resistance leader. Out of concern for his safety, he refused to be identified for this article.

"It is true some of the jihad may do social work," one said, agreeing with the governor. "But as soon as the call to arms sounds, they pick up their guns."

The people of Ambon, Christians and Muslims, can usher peace back into their land, the militia leaders said—but only "if it's just us. The jihad must leave; the government force must leave. Let us work it out." If not, they added, then the international community must intervene.

On Sept. 25, the Christian community of Ambon City marched in peaceful demonstration to the governor's office, demanding that the Indonesian government—and the world—acknowledge the slaughter of Christians, most recently on the nearby island of Saparua Sept. 23. There, 170 homes were reported burned in an attack by Muslim jihad warriors, assisted by the military.

A reporter who witnessed the assault said it was well-planned. Navy gunboats lobbed shells onto the beach and sprayed cannon fire in the ocean, giving cover fire for craft carrying jihad fighters. Other forces, camped for days in the mountains behind, descended in a coordinated assault. Destruction was quick and thorough, the reporter said. The next night, angry Christians retaliated by attacking a Muslim village on a neighboring island, burning homes.

As Ambon City's Christian community mournfully sang "I Surrender All" beneath the governor's office Sept. 25, holding signs pleading for a peacekeeping force, Muslim forces attacked the village of Suli, killing more civilians.

Reconciliation must come, said Haji Abdullah Soulissa, president of the foundation for Al-Fattah Mosque, the largest mosque in Ambon.

"But it's hard," he said. "I've lost two relatives in this situation. My house, just 200 meters from the governor's office, was burned. A lot of people have 'sakit hati' [wounded hearts]. Because of that, reconciliation will be difficult."

On this small island, once-flourishing communities are now ghost towns—piles of rubble, charred beams and broken glass. Parts of Ambon City considered relatively safe are littered with post-mob destruction. An uneasy—and allegedly trigger-happy—government force patrols the streets of an empty "no man's land" in the town.

In the midst of the destruction and ashes, Baptist relief workers investigating avenues for work are putting faces to the conflict:

Delores, 78, fled as attackers rained artillery and mortar fire on her village. With only a crude walking stick, she climbed over a mountain to a safe location. She has lived for several months in a makeshift refugee camp among hundreds of others displaced by the violence. Delores wept as she pleaded for God's mercy.

"I just want the chance to worship God, like before. I don't understand why this has happened," she cried. "Please pray that God will give me the strength to face what has happened. We give thanks to God because he has not left us, even in our hard times of persecution."

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November 13 2000, Vol. 44, No. 13