0:00 Peace be upon you, amazing students. I hope you are always in good health and happiness. I am very happy that I can meet you again in this 11 th-grade Indonesian language learning video. In this video, I will invite all students to understand a narrative text in the form of a short story with the theme of getting to know the history of the Indonesian nation. After following my explanation to the end, students will be invited to discuss the characteristics of literary works in the form of short stories compared to other prose works such as novels, serial stories, and romances. Stay with me until the end. Like other literary
0:54 works, writing short stories usually takes ideas from events that have occurred in human life. Events that occurred within a community group or historical events of a nation. These events are then woven into a fictional story in the form of a short story. Therefore, we can see how the history of a nation is, one of which is through its literary works. This shows that literature is a reflection of society's life concerning humans and the problems they face. Understanding short stories with the background of several historical events in Indonesia.
1:42 Literary works in the form of prose can be presented as novels, serial stories, and romances. According to the Great Dictionary of the Indonesian Language, a short story or cerpen is a short narrative of less than 10,000 words that provides a dominant singular impression and focuses on one character in one situation at a time. Based on that definition, a short story can be finished in less than 10 minutes and is often called a story that can be read in one sitting. Another characteristic of a short story can be seen from its content. In terms of content, a short
2:27 story focuses only on one main character by telling one important event experienced by that character. Those are some characteristics of short stories. Before we go any further, let's do the following activities to identify the characteristics of short stories. Activity one, find information on the historical events that serve as the background of a short story. To understand the content of a short story with a historical background, the reader must know the background of the events behind the story. Below is an example of a short story that has a historical background during the
3:12 independence period in the South Sulawesi region titled "Why They Pray to the Tree" by Faisal Oddang. To understand it, there are six questions for which we need to know the answers. Allow me to share some suggested answers. First question, who is Andi Makassau? The answer is, Andi Makassau Paren Rengi was a figure from Parepare, an Indonesian independence fighter in the former Ajat Tapareng region, now Parepare City, Pinrang Regency, Sidenreng Rappang Regency, Barru Regency, and Enrekang Regency. He was a
3:58 nobleman of the Supa Kingdom. Second question, what did he do for the effort to fight for Indonesia's independence, especially in South Sulawesi? The answer is, Andi Makassau's role before independence was forming and pioneering social and political organizations aimed at achieving Indonesia's independence. These social organizations include the Islamic Union Party in Parepare formed in 1927 and the People's Blood Source, abbreviated as Sudara, formed in 1944. After independence, Andi Makassau declared
4:44 his support for Indonesian independence . However, in 1946, Westerling, who carried out a massacre of approximately 40,000 South Sulawesi people, was valiantly confronted by militias under the leadership of Andi Makassau. Due to inferior weapons and other facilities, the struggle was ultimately defeated. Andi Makassau was thrown into the middle of the sea while bound. Third question, who was Westerling? The answer is Raymond Pierre Paul Westerling, or known as Westerling, born in Istanbul, Ottoman Empire, on August 31, 1919, and died in Purmerend,
5:30 Netherlands, on November 26, 1987, at the age of 68. Westerling was a Dutch military commander famous for leading the Westerling massacre from 1946 to 1947 in South Sulawesi and the APRA coup attempt in Bandung, West Java. Fourth question, why is he called a perpetrator of genocide in South Sulawesi? The answer is, Westerling is called a perpetrator of genocide in South Sulawesi because he and the Dutch special forces unit called the DST wiped out around 40,000 South Sulawesi
6:17 residents from 1946 to 1947. This began with the killing of 1,000 pro-Dutch Indonesians by Indonesian independence fighters under the leadership of Andi Makassau. Then the Dutch retaliated by bringing in the DST troops, which were KNIL special forces under Westerling. Without hesitation, Westerling conducted cleansing operations that resembled mass murder. Fifth question, what is meant by the Depot Speciale Troepen (DST) KNIL troops? The answer is, the DST under the KNIL was a special unit relied upon by the Dutch
7:05 military that was involved in the massacres in South Sulawesi. The DST were more often called the Green Berets , who were usually sent to conflict areas requiring special operations, such as in South Sulawesi led by Westerling. Sixth question, why are the Depot Speciale Troepen (DST) KNIL troops considered a force full of cruelty? The answer is, the DST was a force full of cruelty. Because this force was ruthless in killing without being equipped with sufficient intelligence data. Its operations were indiscriminate and known to be brutal when assigned to fight the enemy. Great
7:51 students, that is the background of the short story titled "Why They Pray to the Tree" by Faisal Oddang. After understanding the historical events that form the background of this short story, we will proceed to the second activity, which is reading and listening to the story. Students can see the text of the story in the textbook on pages 57 to 62. Why do they pray to the tree? A short story by Faisal Oddang. I grew into a tree. The people in our village will still believe it, even if they have to argue until their mouths foam. They began to believe it since 1947. Now the tamarind tree is big and
8:39 getting older. It can roughly be measured by five adults linking their arms to be able to hug its trunk. Almost every day, people crowd there, whispering prayers of all sorts of kinds. Then they tie cloths of various colors and promise to untie them once their prayers are answered. So don't be surprised when on the twigs, branches, or trunk—it’s no exaggeration to say almost every part of the tree is covered in tied fabric. There are many prayers there. To protect my body, there is a chest-high moss-green concrete fence surrounding the tree trunk. It was the worshipers who built it. When war broke out again in early 1947, what people found was certainly not a tamarind tree, but something roughly like this. We were herded
9:27 together like water buffalo. Our hands and feet were restrained by ropes made of twisted pandan leaves. Dutch rifles guided us with their muzzles and occasionally hastened our steps with rifle butts landing on our necks or shins. We knew that in a few moments, our lives would be taken one by one. December 1946 had just begun when news arrived at the small prayer house where I taught children to recite the Quran every day. I signaled to Rahing. Don't let the children hear. I said, lowering my voice as I stood up to head behind the prayer house, followed closely by him. My children asked to continue their reading. I will be back, I promised them. They have arrived in Makassar. Rahing’s voice had never sounded so grim. Reinforcements. A lot
10:15 of reinforcements, he added, trembling. I tried to appear as calm as possible, even though my chest was once again in turmoil. From Makassar, I had just heard news that they wanted to seize control of the resistance hubs in South Sulawesi once again. That news arrived a few weeks before Rahing brought word about the arrival of the special Depot Speciale Troepen KNIL troops, who had begun moving toward our village here in Bacukiki, the heart of the Parepare Afdeling. Together with Rahing and other Andi Makasso militia members, I had fought before independence. And just when we had reclaimed everything, those accursed colonizers returned. Before leaving, Rahing asked how the prayer house was, how the children were , and complained a little that he was tired of escorting villagers in and out
11:00 of the forest. I patted his shoulder before saying, "God willing, everything will be fine.""I must take my leave."" Peace be upon you, Ustaz." I returned Rahing’s greeting and then fulfilled my promise to the children. Faintly, I heard them reciting in the Bugis language, which made my eyes feel warm. "Yasena le'ba nakke da, Yasena le'ba male'ba nakke da," remembering my young child who had fallen earlier. And I could no longer stop the tears from streaking down my cheeks. News from Rahing, followed by news arriving from one militia member to another. Like the whistling sound of bullets years ago, sorrowful news from Makassar struck incessantly. The first news arrived
11:46 from Borong and Batua. Both were suspected of being hideouts for rebels and various other nonsensical excuses. That was followed by other areas in Gowa and Takalar. And of course, that bad news never arrived without including the death toll. They will be heading here soon. That was the report from one of the militia members one night at the prayer house, when there were no more Quran lessons since the Dutch government issued a circular and a declaration of war emergency. Children, Father will call you again when it is time to recite. It's a holiday now, so just study at home for the time being. Yes, I worry about them , and my anxiety grows deeper with each passing day. Like a sailor who never
12:32 stops fearing the changing winds. We held meetings almost every night before Isha, often lasting until dawn broke. These meetings were not just ordinary meetings, actually. I stood guard as the leader of the Bacukiki militia, under the Andi Makassal troop, the center of the Pare-pare people's struggle. I was the one who prepared the place, and I was always the one leading the meetings. That was my reason for asking the children to study elsewhere, as I didn't want to endanger them. We must be realistic, Ustaz. A long silence. I could even hear the rhythm of my own breathing. Still silent, no one responded to what Rahing meant by being realistic. But then he explained, even though no one had asked for his explanation. We are outnumbered
13:18 , outgunned, we are losing in every way . It was very clear that Rahing could not hide his anxiety. He had just gotten married. I knew because I was the one who officiated the wedding. I also knew he wasn't worried about himself. There was a wife, and perhaps a child, that he was concerned about. That was what made me just stay silent and nod occasionally. The doves are sleepy. Shadows of the pre-independence struggle, images of my wife Fatimah, my five-year-old son Akbar, and other memories warmed my eyes once more. Akbar’s cry for help, Fatimah’s cry of "Allahu Akbar," and their final screams after the grenade destroyed our stilt house that night. I was accused of training children to be rebels just
14:04 because I taught them to recite the Quran. And after losing everything, I truly decided to rebel, led a militia, and successfully won our independence. When I felt everything was over, I gathered the children again. They went back to sounding out Alif and Ba, stumbling through, and now they must stop once more. Mid-January, a month after news from Rahing, they headed toward our village. At that time, the rainy season had just arrived, but no one dared to work the fields. Everyone was afraid, though some others gathered the courage, including me. The sun will not set anywhere but at the edge of the sky. Likewise, life will not end except by death. I convinced myself repeatedly while staring at my reflection in the
14:50 mirror, searching to see if any body parts were missing. Everything was intact, and that is how the Bugis people assure themselves before going to war. My beard is thick. Gray hair has started to grow there. In my hair as well. Though it is natural for a man in his 50s to have gray hair. My eyes are very weary and my cheekbones are increasingly prominent. The reflection also reveals a large scar on my temple. A mark from a grenade splinter that night. Ya Hayyu ya Qayyum. O Ever-Living. O Self-Subsisting. I recited it in my heart over and over until I felt truly ready. Though I stopped many times because my cough worsened and I routinely coughed up blood. It is narrated that the Prophet recited it repeatedly during the Battle of Badr. When he stayed awake all night
15:38 waiting for the Quraysh. The door was hammered hard by someone who seemed in a rush. Sure enough, when I opened it, I found Rahing looking pale before stammering that the butcher from Turkey was already at the border and being held back by the militia. He then continued with, "I must secure my wife first, Ustaz.""Forgive me." The first second after his sentence finished, my anger nearly peaked. So selfish. However, a memory forced me to submit. I did not want to place the same wound on Rahing's shoulders. "As soon as you finish, join us immediately." I retorted, nearly shouting, following his hurried footsteps. I headed to the border with about 20 other members of the Bacukiki militia amidst the heavy rain that had not stopped since
16:23 yesterday afternoon. However, like death whose arrival we cannot predict, the situation changed. The defense at the border fell. We were pushed to hide inside the residents 'houses. That is the thing I regret. The residents who sheltered us at that time were also herded like cattle to the middle of the field. As the afternoon was nearly over . It didn't matter if they were women or children, old or young. We lined up in the field with our knees on the ground and our hands restrained behind our backs. Hundreds of people were silent, unable to evade, let alone fight back. My chest felt like it was freezing, realizing it all. Someone who appeared to be the DSD leader headed toward the crowd. He observed our faces one by one in the twilight. Who was he
17:09 looking for? I wondered to myself. His gaze was cold. Yes, unlike the others who grinned mockingly at us. His face was almost expressionless. Perhaps he was the one Rahing called the butcher from Turkey. Sterling, who is cursed by God. My chest grew hotter, but now I was like a bird with broken wings and a broken beak. He was still examining our faces one by one in silence. His hand held a Browning 35, which he occasionally used the tip of to lift our chins if any of us looked down. Suddenly, the pistol went off. The sound deafened my ears, and the smell of gunpowder instantly emerged, followed by the body of a woman falling in front of me. "She is a rebel's wife. " That was all I caught from his
17:56 chaotic and slow Indonesian. The atmosphere became chaotic. Some people tried to escape before their bodies fell to the ground with blood mixing with the rainwater. Dozens of lives were discarded instantly in less than 5 minutes. If the troops in the DST managed to calm the situation, the interrogation continued, and their rifles sent innocent bodies one by one toward death. The night grew late as the rain intensified, with lightning striking several times accompanied by a storm. That made some of the DST soldiers troubled, and of course, the situation became chaotic again. It was in that darkness that they fired at us without mercy. Screams and moans echoed back and forth. The scent of fresh blood wafted together with gunpowder. The next day the rain stopped and
18:41 hundreds of corpses lay scattered in the middle of the field. My body was not lost because I was considered sacred by the people of Bacukiki. This was Ustaz Syamsuri during his lifetime. Like a tamarind tree. Its fruit becomes a cooking spice. Its leaves become vegetables, its branches firewood, and its trunk can be boards or house pillars. Rahing’s tears fell as he told all this to the residents crowding the middle of the field. Watching the tamarind tree that began to grow there a few months after the Dutch left Pare-Pare, "The best of humans are those who are useful to others.""Jutet, " Rahim sobbed. Ustaz Syamsuri's spirit has grown into a tamarind tree in this field, a tree full of benefits. His body ascended to the heavens. I regret not achieving martyrdom with him. Let
19:29 us pray for him. Al-Fatihah. Since that day, people have come and become more diligent in praying there until now. Dozens of years later. Even though that night I managed to escape to Underring Wajo and died there because of tuberculosis that I could no longer fight. I died shortly after General Simon Spoor, as the leader of the Dutch military aggression, ended the state of war in South Sulawesi in the second month of 1947. Makassar 2015, Kompas February 21, 2016 edition. Great students, we have finished watching activity one, understanding the historical background of the short story "Why They Pray to the Tree," and
20:15 activity two, reading and listening to the short story. To strengthen everyone's understanding, the teacher will provide a conclusion. First, according to the Great Dictionary of the Indonesian Language, a short story is a brief narrative of less than 10,000 words that leaves a dominant single impression and focuses on one character in one situation or at one time. Second, the characteristics of a short story are that it has fewer than 10,000 words, takes less than 10 minutes to read, centers on only one character, and contains only one
21:01 important event. The third conclusion, what is the historical background of the short story "Why They Pray to the Tree"? It tells an excerpt of the resistance of the people of South Sulawesi led by Ustaz Syamsuri under Andi Makassau's forces against the Dutch colonizers commanded by Raymond Pierre Paul Westerling. This short story also depicts the cruelty of his Depot Speciale Troepen forces toward the natives. In closing, the teacher advises, "Tell the history of your nation." That is one way to nurture love for your country. "Thank you for
21:48 watching." I hope it is useful. Wasalamualaikum warahmatullahi wabarakatuh.
