The Act of Killing, the acclaimed documentary about the slaughter of hundreds of thousands of communists and leftists in Indonesia, did not win favour in Hollywood. The systematic, activist-oriented promotion of the documentary, however, has helped it impact public discussion of the mass killings of 1965, writes Max Lane.

A single film by itself could never overthrow half a century of indoctrination, but it has – due to the guerrilla activism that has got it around the traps in Indonesia – punctured the ruling hegemony.

Activities and processes aimed at exposing the mass killings and repression – embodied in the scores of Indonesian and foreign books, articles and independent video documentaries about what happened in 1965 – have received an important boost.

It is worth reflecting on why The Act of Killing has reached a wider audience, either directly through viewing or through public discussion, than previous films. Films like Chris Hilton’s Shadow Play and Rob Lemelson’s 40 Years of Silence, for example, were both excellent films, exposing that reality.

Danial Indrakusuma’s prize-winning Kado Untuk Rakyat was also excellent and one of the most informative. John Pilger’s powerful New Rulers of the World, while not focusing on 1965, also made sure the truth was exposed. The Act of Killing’s ultimate political strength and, I think, the reason for it rapidly winning a profile, is that it contains something that no other work has contained, as far as I am aware.

It contains a confession. Indeed, the film is a series of confessions by Anwar Congo, his mates and his patrons, that they carried out the brutal and bloody murder of communists and leftists. In contemporary society a confession is always a thousand times more powerful and convincing than the testimonies of victims, especially where there are no “neutral” witnesses.

In many criminal jurisdictions, when an accused criminal confesses to a crime, a trial is not deemed necessary. The court will just hand down a sentence. Unlike victims’ testimonies, confessions also have an aura of indisputable authenticity. Why would anybody confess to such crimes, if they did not in fact commit them?

These confessions are an important victory for the victims as well. Any suspicions anybody had that they may have been exaggerating their sufferings are dispelled. It was probably worse than they have told us.

The confessions in this case are shocking in at least three ways. First, they are confessions told with no sense of shame or guilt – and indeed with a sick pleasure in the re-enactment of blood-thirsty actions. It is only as a result of the film makers’ prodding that minuscule inklings of guilt occasionally surface, and even then they are insignificant, resulting in no behavioural change at all. This is shocking for many viewers in that what is considered normal morality is doubly violated: no shame, but rather relishing the sadism.

A second way the confession is shocking is that as far as we know, it has been the only confession (or the only one to obtain any profile) in 50 years. In the aftermath of the release of the film, some Indonesian media sought out other confessions which had brief media coverage.

Nobody has regrets; no moral dilemmas were experienced by anybody over a 50-year period. Some commentators point to a moral void or numbness that the loneliness of this confession seems to reveal. It is probably true that there is numbness, but one must be wary of extrapolating that moral failing beyond the ruling elite and its servants.

The third shocking aspect of the confession was the way it was obtained. The film makers’ offer to help Congo and his gang make a film re-enacting what they did was entrapment. The film makers were not just acting as artists, but as underground agents who went behind enemy lines to get the information they needed.

Given the society that 1965 created, with its rigid ruler-ruled power structure, getting confessions would need undercover work. But this means again, that these entrapped confessions were not admissions of wrongdoing; rather, they were mad boasts.

Many – perhaps even the vast majority of Indonesia’s 240 million people – don’t know the true history of this period. This may even be true for many of the descendants of those who were killed and tortured. There has been systematic and deep indoctrination for 50 years through the schools, mosques, churches and media – 100 percent backed by the state and the combined authority of the country’s intellectual and political leadership.

For most of the 200 million people living in small and medium-sized towns, the truth of 1965 is still beyond their grasp. As more books, films and reports circulate, this ignorance is being eroded, especially as high school teachers become more critical. But the task is big.

There is very little that is moving in this film. The scene where Suryono, whose parents were killed in 1965, must help Congo and his gang re-enact their brutality is the one deeply emotional scene. The final scene where Congo retches is insignificant, and hardly meaningful given the scale and horror of his crimes.

But what hits you at the end of the film is very moving. As the credits roll down the screen, there’s a long list of credits for “Anonymous” – all the Indonesians involved in making the film. The puncturing of the hegemony in Indonesia, the successful foray onto the international stage, would not have been possible without “Anonymous”. It is moving because anonymity is still necessary. It is inspiring because being anonymous hasn’t stopped them.

Viva “Anonymous”!

[The Act of Killing will be screening, along with a link up with director Joshua Oppenheimer, at the Radical Reels film festival – part of the Marxism 2014 conference, Easter weekend, 17-20 April at Melbourne University. Visit marxismconference.org.]