Wayan Windra was born in Beringkit village in Bali in 1952. When I told him my intention about writing the stories of the victims’ families, he was very enthusiastic and was willing to support me as much as he could. He stated that it was always his desire to have his story published, so that more people could find out the truth, but he also understands that many victims’ families are still not willing to do this for fear of the repercussions.

Dad often said to me: ‘I really hope you can be a fighter pilot one day.’ That was of course a mere dream. We were poor villagers, and father's only inheritance was a Dutch bike, which was quite a luxury in our village then. I have many beautiful memories of riding with father on this bike. He often took me to town to buy books, pens or dictionaries. We would often eat meatballs together. Sometimes, we watched a movie in town, or attended a carnival to welcome international visitors who came to Bali. In the 1960s, not many village children were like me, as many of them had never been to town. I had special experiences with my father, because he was active in the PKI. We often went to ceremonies held by the PKI or organisations linked to the PKI. Although they were often quite far away, father still biked there with me. We usually sat at the front, maybe because father was quite an important figure in the farmer's movement [BTI]. If we went to visit farmers from other villages, we usually brought some boiled cassavas or sweet potatoes and coffee for them. We often shared a simple meal with the members of mass organisations like the PKI, Partindo and Pemuda Rakyat, and this spirit of togetherness I will never forget. This is what I always remember from my father: his enthusiasm of community spirit.

But because of this enthusiasm, father was slaughtered in our small village in Bali. I vividly recall that moment: Sunday, 5 December 1965, about 10:30 am. My mother had an asthma attack that morning, and I went by bike to buy an aspirin in the next village. But at the border of the village, I saw a line of men holding weapons, such as swords, batons, machetes, sickles and many other sharp things.