Bali’s Buried Past - Blood on the Island of the Gods

Beyond the Rice Fields - A History Written in Blood

One of the most horrific and largely unspoken chapters in Balinese history unfolded during the anti communist purges that swept across Indonesia in the mid 1960s. Tens of thousands were killed, yet the silence that followed was just as chilling. To this day, many Balinese families do not speak of what happened. Names were erased, mass graves were left unmarked and trauma was passed down in whispers. In the years leading up to the massacre, Bali was already a fractured island, mirroring the rising political tension and ideological rifts spreading across the archipelago. Loyalties shifted, neighbours turned on neighbours and centuries of cultural cohesion began to crack beneath the pressure of national upheaval. What followed was not just violence, it was a systematic unraveling of a society from the inside out.

Sacred Order vs Social Revolution

Conflict simmered between a growing base of farmers, labourers and landless workers who had aligned themselves with the Indonesian Communist Party (PKI) and supporters of Bali’s entrenched Hindu caste system, particularly the landowning elites, local nobility and conservative religious leaders. The PKI, gaining popularity in rural areas, championed radical land reform, workers’ rights and “unilateral actions” that involved the occupation or redistribution of land from wealthy landowners to the poor. These actions directly threatened the island’s traditional social order, where power and privilege were concentrated among the upper castes. Tensions escalated as PKI-backed groups staged demonstrations, seized properties and challenged the authority of village heads and religious figures. To the conservative elite, this wasn't just political agitation, it was a revolutionary assault on the spiritual and cultural foundations of Balinese society, deepening the ideological divide and setting the stage for violence.

Bali’s Descent into Violence

The killings were sparked when General Suharto, then a rising figure in the Indonesian military, seized control and launched a brutal nationwide purge against communists following a failed coup attempt. By early October 1965, tensions in Bali had reached a breaking point and longstanding disputes over land rights quickly turned violent. The military, determined to eradicate leftist influence, stoked widespread fear that communist sympathisers would not only dismantle political order but also desecrate Bali’s deeply sacred Hindu culture. The PKI was portrayed as an existential threat, one that endangered both the island’s social fabric and its spiritual harmony. Even the highest religious authorities joined the fervour, calling for spiritual “sacrifices” and rituals meant to restore the cosmic balance believed to have been shattered by the social upheaval. This potent mix of political paranoia and religious vehemence fanned the flames of violence, unleashing a wave of killings that would scar Bali for generations.

A Purge That Devoured a People

Despite its deeply spiritual and community oriented culture, Bali experienced an especially brutal campaign of killing and sexual violence during the purges. By the time the violence ended, up to 100,000 people had been slaughtered in just a few months. The bloodshed was particularly intense and localised, with villages around Ubud and Gianyar witnessing neighbours turning on neighbours, many accused, often without evidence, of being communists. Unlike other regions, the killings in Bali were not directly led by Javanese military commanders, instead, community leaders often organised the violence, which was carried out by militia death squads made up of the villagers themselves.

The Brutality of Collective Punishment

Humiliated before their own communities, victims were dragged away to mass graves or thrown into the dark waters of the Ayung and Petanu rivers. The killings were brutal, systematic and swift. Entire families were branded as communists and mercilessly annihilated. Everyday farming tools, sickles, machetes, bamboo spears, even sharpened coconut husks, were twisted into instruments of horror. Throats were slit, skulls crushed and bodies mutilated amid rice paddies, riverbanks and forest ravines. Unlike in Central Java, where the military incited violence against “Gestapo” suspects, Bali’s ferocity was so extreme and unrestrained that the Army itself was forced to intervene to halt a descent into all out civil war.

The Long Shadow of Suharto’s Regime

After the killings, countless victims were buried in unmarked mass graves, their final resting places lost to time and secrecy. Many families remain haunted by the absence of answers, never knowing where their loved ones were taken or buried. For decades, under Suharto’s authoritarian regime, any mention of the purge or the PKI was branded as treason, enforcing a suffocating silence across the nation. This imposed taboo outlasted Suharto’s fall in 1998, leaving a lingering shadow over collective memory. Even now, many Balinese elders remain unwilling to speak of the horrors, while younger generations grow up with only fragments of a brutal history too painful to confront.

Spiritual Aftermath of Violence

Bali is a land of balance, sekala and niskala, the seen and the unseen. What happened in 1965 didn’t just disrupt society, it ripped the spiritual fabric of the island to shreds and left a long lasting imprint on the land. Mass graves and areas where the killings took place are still considered spiritually unclean and locals avoid these sites, especially after dark. In certain villages, a ritual silence surrounds fields and rivers believed to hold the remains of the dead, while cleansing ceremonies like melukat and ngaben are quietly performed to appease restless spirits.

Healing the Seen and Unseen Wounds

Some Balinese spiritual leaders and trance mediums believe that the land itself remains scarred, still carrying the heavy, restless energy of the violence that tore through it decades ago. These priests and shamans often detect subtle signs of spiritual unrest, unexplained disturbances, uneasy spirits or shifts in the natural balance, especially around the sites of mass graves and battlegrounds. To confront this lingering darkness, purification rituals are regularly performed, aimed at healing both the wounded land and the souls of its people. These ceremonies become especially vital during anniversaries of the tragedy or whenever strange occurrences remind the community that the past, though buried, has never fully disappeared.

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Bali’s buried past, marked by blood on the island of the gods, reveals a dark chapter of history often left unspoken