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Just off the coast of Ambon lies an unassuming island known as Pulau Saparua. But can the same be said when a visitor gets to know this corner of Indonesia?

(2026 reassessment: The story’s fine, but also clunky and wordy, and it rambles on a bit. In fact, it loses its way at more than one point. If you’re planning to read it, please go ahead; just don’t expect anything groundbreaking. Decent but not definitive, we’d say.)

There are many beautiful islands in Indonesia, and each has its own distinct shape. Many have commented on the distinct form of Sulawesi, for instance, which has a chitinous border that brings to mind the fever dream rendering of a turtle infected by cordyceps. The aggressive outline, though, does not disguise that the region has many pretty places to see, plenty of graceful, vibrant traditions, and a thriving culture.

Further east, Maluku has less of an intense shape. Thinner and less jagged than its western neighbour, the region is nevertheless home to an equally beguiling mix of beauty, tradition and history, that reaches all the way from Sopi in the north to the Banda Islands in the south.

One of the most intriguing places is Pulau Saparua, which bears the graceful shape of a butterfly. And although the island is as active and busy as its neighbours, from a tourism perspective, it lies dormant, and very much on the outskirts of interest.

Saparua is one of the Lease [lay-a-say] Islands. Its siblings in this chain comprise Haruku, Saparua Timur and Nusa Laut. A visitor heading east from Tulehu port in Ambon can reach Pulau Saparua singular in around an hour or so by sea.

Many arrivals dock at the coastal village of Haria, and proceed across the island by motorbike. On their way, they pass beaches and coral reefs, each made pretty by clear blue water.

The open roads and expansive countryside creates a feeling of excitement, that reflects the sense of having reached a place somewhat less well-known than others in Indonesia. There is also a thrilling buzz, of the kind that comes from not knowing what to expect.

And each step across the island brings an unexpected thing: an abandoned dive centre, perhaps on Jl. Raya Saparua-Nolot; a magnificent gereja, or church, in the same area; a remote stretch of beach at Pantai Potalae Paperu.

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First impressions of Pulau Saparua

Eventually, many visitors reach Kota Saparua, the island’s capital. It is easy to call this place ‘sleepy’ thanks to an easy pace and lack of surface noise. But like many centres, Kota comes to life on market days. Sellers and buyers from across the four islands descend upon the marketplace, where fresh and smoked fish, in particular, encourage a roaring trade.

Looking further afield, there is Booi, a district with many farms, and reachable only by a large staircase. To the southeast lies the village of Ouw, where artisans make fine pottery by hand. Ouw also has a resident fort, now semi-overgrown and claimed by villagers as their home.

But it is only when settling on Kota Saparua that the true weight of history becomes clear. Skirting around the bay, that has clear views to Nusa Laut, and passing by a sports field that sits under the auspices of the tower-like Pattimura Monument, the visitor will find, on the water’s edge, a historic Dutch fort called Benteng Duurstede. More will be made of this site later.

Further research will reveal that Maluku suffered political unrest in 1999. This chaos quickly escalated and became violent. The ensuing bedlam cast a drape over this corner of Indonesia and left it very much isolated, certainly from a tourism perspective, for a good many years.

The roots of the conflict run deep. For now, it is worth understanding the constituent parts of Pulau Saparua, an island of 17 villages and around 35,000 residents. The prominence of churches indicates that this is a mainly Christian island, but the smattering of masjids shows that Islam, too, has a presence.

There are many cases across Indonesia of the followers of different beliefs living side by side. In Maluku, the Pela Gandong system crosses religious and social rifts. It is a bond that calls for unity between communities, and takes many forms, such as sharing resources and providing mutual aid. Pela Gandong teaches tolerance and provides a framework for healing divides and keeping the peace.

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Clashes in Maluku

External pressures, though, can cause enormous fractures that slice apart harmonious bonds. Such a tragedy occurred in Maluku at the end of the twentieth century, when sectarian violence claimed 5,000 lives. This conflict, from 1999 to 2002, drew a marked religious divide and spread over Ambon and Halmahera.

At the time, Indonesia struggled with economic and political instability. The value of the Rupiah fell sharply after the fall of Suharto, compounded by the wider financial crisis in Southeast Asia. And the archipelago’s regions faced great change as well.

The province of Maluku was about to split into Maluku and North Maluku, which heightened extant political discord. And since this friction had a religious aspect, fighting soon broke out between Christian and Muslim communities. Indonesian government forces stepped in to quell the violence, to little effect.

On 19 January 1999, there was a flashpoint in Ambon. A Christian minivan driver and a Muslim youth became embroiled in an argument over money. The tension, already made febrile by social and economic instability, escalated and quickly grew out of control. Soon enough, hostilities spread through Maluku, with much loss of life and reports of forced conversion and forced circumcision. Rioting, mass displacement and wanton destruction had become commonplace.

By June of that year, many people had died on Pulau Saparua: one clash between Christian and Muslim youths in Sirisori left around ten fighters dead, and in the same village, six died after a row over damaged clove plants became violent.

Officially, the signing of the Malino II Accord on 13 February 2002 brought the fighting to an end. But the agreement was more of a truce, and it was months before peace gained a secure footing. On Pulau Saparua, as in many places, informal boundaries partitioned Christian and Muslim communities. Reconciliation has been a slow process, and it still continues today. The trauma of the conflict runs deep, but through the efforts of the Malukan people and Pela Gendong’s emphasis on cooperation, the sense of fragile peace has grown gradually stronger.

Pulau Saparua and the spice trade

As devastating as the 1999 conflict was, it was not the first time that Saparua had become entangled in violence. The island has legacy of resistance that stretches back centuries, and encompasses European involvement in the spice trade from the early 1500s to the early 1800s. At the time, Malukan spice like cloves and nutmegs commanded a high price on the global market. The region gained so much renown that for a while, the nearby Banda islands were more valuable than Manhattan.

Colonisers take advantage

The Portuguese seized Maluku in 1511 and established a presence there, initially in the north of the region. Explorers landed to the south, in Ambon, the year after, and by 1521, they had set up a factory there to collect cloves, which gave them a stronghold in the lucrative spice market. The colonisers strengthened this claim through an alliance with the Sultan of Ternate in 1522.

But the Portuguese could not establish a lasting peace. They faced frequent attacks from Muslim communities, culminating in 1570 in a region-wide anti-Portuguese holy war after the assassination of Sultan Khairun of Ternate by a Portuguese captain. By 1575, the colonists were defeated and expelled from North Maluku. They shifted their efforts to Ambon, where they established the stronghold of Fortaleza Nossa Senhora da Anunciada in 1576.

In 1578, the Portuguese tried to reestablish their footing in the north, building a new fort on Pulau Tidore. But they never held the same influence, and by the time the first Dutch merchant fleets arrived in 1599, anti-Portuguese sentiment was strong. The newcomers quickly forged treaties with the Muslim rulers. In 1605, the Dutch ousted the depleted Portuguese without a fight and claimed the fort in Ambon for themselves.

Dutch take control

with the Dutch and British not far behind. Each felt their claim to the spice trade was stronger than the others; conflict and death soon followed as the colonial outsiders vied for control of the region.

There, perhaps the first Dutch arrivals would have been struck by the island’s small size and quiet demeanour. Their keen senses of smell would also have quickly found the clove, nutmeg and sago palm plantations.

And from a commercial perspective, the people who care about such things would have noted that the harvest season lasted from August until January.

It stands to reason, then, that an invading colonial force, keen to establish dominance, would seek to show their power. And thus, the colonists from Europe, having come to rule in Indonesia, and certainly Maluku, built great forts to remind everyone who was in charge.

On Saparua, the Dutch East Indies company built Fort Duurstede in 1691. The fortress went up in Kota Saparua, and there it still stands, a martial husk on the waterfront.

And there the fort stood for over a hundred years, nominally to ‘protect’ the island. But protection is a broad term: protect what from whom and why, one may ask about the same thing, and they shall receive vastly different answers.

Either way, it would seem that the Dutch failed to ingratiate themselves, nor did they quell uproarious feelings from those under their yoke.

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Pattimura

The call for freedom soon amplified across the archipelago. Many heard the call, not least Thomas Matulessy, the famed Ambonese soldier who came to embody the struggle for independence. Nowadays, he goes by a more well-known name: Pattimura. And it was he who led a revolt in Maluku against the Dutch forces in 1817.

Pattimura was born on Ceram in 1873. He joined the British Colonial Auxiliary Forces after they claimed Maluku from the French. In British employ he stayed until around 1816, when the British returned the region to the Dutch.

But this turn of events did not end well. Soon enough, the Dutch, in a show of power, discharged Pattimura and his fellow soldiers to their hometowns.

Cause for conflict

But Pattimura did not fall for it, and his fears grew that, like the French in 1810, the Dutch would stop paying Indonesian Christian teachers. This lack of respect for the pious irked Pattimura: the planned switch to paper currency – rather than coins – would mean the Malukans could not give alms. And in turn, the church could not help the poor.

The rebels faced a long struggle. Upon returning to power in what is now Indonesia, the Dutch overhauled the colonial system. This they achieved with the aid of force: the Royal Netherlands East Indies Army, or the KNIL. The army sought to bolster its ranks with Malukan fighters.

Colonialism, by its very nature, breeds confrontation. Outsiders move into a place and mine its resources and people, who, often resentful, and rightfully so, decide they will not stand for this unwarranted intrusion. Some colonists may have more benevolent, helpful goals than others, but rarely is there no friction. More likely, it is an outside group taking advantage of the land they have colonised.

The Dutch occupation bred such oppression, so much so that the people of Saparua anointed Pattimura as ‘Kapitan’ and, on 14 May 1817, charged him with leading a rebellion.

The Saparua rebels made their move the next day, led by Pattimaura and his lieutenants. And the day after that, they captured the fort. But not without cost: 19 Dutch soldiers died in the fighting, as did Van der Berg, their commander.

The sole survivor was Jean Lubbert, the commander’s son. This incident gave rise to the naming of Matulessy: ‘Pattimura’ translates into ‘big of heart’, suggesting that he had spared the child’s life. Adding further strength to this notion, the boy later called himself ‘Van der Berg from Saparua’.

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The following months saw further Dutch losses, including Major Beetjes, sent to reclaim Duurstede. At the end of May, the rebel leaders issued the Haria Proclamation. They named Pattimura the leader of the Malukans and set forth the offences committed by the Dutch. This edict saw the governor of Ambon lose his job in response to the wrongs suffered by many citizens.

By August 1817, rebellious fervour had reached other corners of Saparua. This feeling fermented, and Indonesian resolve strengthened, even as the Dutch took back the fort. And thus, the endgame closed in.

Pati Akoon, the king of Booi, betrayed Pattimura and his group. Pattimura was captured in Sirisori in November. As is the way of such things, the authorities, with wounded pride, sought to assert their weakened power. They sentenced the insurgents to death; Pattimura and other rebels were hanged in Ambon, in front of Fort Victoria.

A place of death then, the fort now serves as the headquarters of the Pattimura Military Command, symbolising Maulessy’s lasting impact. The conflict had come to symbolise Malukan independence and Indonesian patriotism. The Kapitan was recognised for his courage and tenacity.

In 1973, President Suharto declared Pattimura a national hero. Visitors to many places in the archipelago may note that streets bear Pattimura’s name, as do the university and airport in Ambon. Many celebrate 15 May as Pattimura Day in the Kapitan’s honour, and his visage appeared on the 1,000 rupiah banknote.

Such is the legacy of Pattimura, and such is the role that Saparua played in his prestige. And such is the shape of tumult in Indonesia.