So much for the suit. Despite the 10-month-old ceasefire and peace talks that have shown a sputtering promise, Aceh is once again a place for fighting words. On March 9 rebel threats forced American oil giant ExxonMobil to close down its vast natural-gas fields in the province. Jakarta responded by formally branding the Free Aceh Movement (known by its Indonesian acronym, GAM) as “separatists” and dispatching elite combat troops to the region. Both sides seem to welcome the conflict: the military, which has seen its role and reputation diminished by fiascoes in East Timor, Borneo and the Moluccas, is anxious to reassert its power. GAM, for its part, thrives on chaos. “We don’t need a long-term strategy because Indonesia is broken,” says Syafi. “When it falls apart, we will have our freedom.”

That kind of rhetoric is familiar from decades of conflict in Aceh. What’s different this time is the closure of the ExxonMobil fields, which produce all of the province’s gas. Company representatives say they cannot calculate how much money they’re losing each day. But Jakarta normally receives $100 million per month in taxes and revenues from the plant, and the shutdown has disrupted operations at the state-owned refinery that processes and ships the gas to countries like Japan and South Korea. “The government is seemingly unable to give protection to investors operating in difficult areas,” says Roger Machmud, retired president of U.S. subsidiary Arco Indonesia. “This is a major problem.”

For many Acehnese, the massive ExxonMobil plant near Lhokseumawe has served as an unshakable symbol of Javanese imperialism: nearly all of its production and profits leaves Aceh. Moreover, the company reportedly paid the hated Indonesian military $500,000 a month to protect its facilities. Last year GAM rebels kidnapped several company employees. They fought pitched battles with the Army guards. They even shot at a company plane as it taxied on the local airstrip, piercing its fuselage and injuring one Indonesian employee. Last week gunmen attacked a convoy of company vehicles, shattering the windows but miraculously injuring no one. “GAM really raised the stakes,” says a Western analyst in Jakarta. “They said, ‘Either you work with us, or you may not work at all’.”

By choosing the second option, ExxonMobil has sent shock waves through the Indonesian economy. After the company evacuated 120 staff members, including 20 Americans, the Indonesian stock market fell 17 percent in two days. The sudden closure spooked foreign investors and budget analysts, who worried about the lost revenue, and prompted several other gas-related companies to halt operations as well. The shutdown, which ExxonMobil says is indefinite, will also hurt Aceh. Thousands of workers have already lost their jobs. At least one Japanese company has already decided to turn to Malaysia for its liquefied natural gas. So far, the Acehnese don’t seem to blame GAM. “Jakarta’s responsible for this mess,” says Buchori Idris, 36, a laid-off subcontractor for ExxonMobil in Lhokseumawe, who was tortured two years ago by Indonesian troops during an interrogation. “They’ve treated us like dogs for years.”

But what may prove most dangerous is that the shutdown gives the military, which has eased its repression somewhat in Aceh in the past year, an excuse to return wearing jackboots. Within hours of ExxonMobil’s announcement, the Army quickly claimed a broader role in the fight against GAM. “Our police are not adequately trained to quell [guerrilla] activities,” says Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono, coordinating minister for political, social and security affairs. “That duty belongs to the TNI [the Indonesian military].” Since the fall of Suharto, the military has had to relinquish much of its political role and hand over many internal security matters to the police. But trouble spots like Aceh still give the Army a taste of the omnipotence it once enjoyed across the country. Over the past two months, more Jeeps, trucks and armored personnel carriers have been sent to the province. Late last week Jakarta dispatched three battalions of combat troops to Lhokseumawe to launch “limited security operations” against the rebels. All told, there are now 36,000 Army and police troops in the province, compared with about 5,000 rebels.

In fact, the eagerness with which the Army greeted the new assignment is leading many to wonder if the military may welcome the turmoil. With Indonesian President Abdurrahman Wahid crippled by corruption allegations and daily protests against his rule, generals may see an opportunity to reassert a greater influence within the political arena, particularly given close ties between the military and the heir apparent, Vice President Megawati Sukarnoputri. According to one Western political analyst, Indonesian military officials have been discussing for weeks a scenario in which ExxonMobil’s departure would force other companies to shut down, creating a domino effect that would bring Aceh’s economy to its knees. With unemployment rampant and the blame for ExxonMobil’s closure resting on GAM, the theory goes, the guerrillas and their quest for independence would quickly lose any sympathy they might have earned. “The military hopes it can present itself as Aceh’s savior, riding in on white horses, driving out the GAM and restoring the economy and stability,” says the analyst.

In Aceh, the fear is already palpable. This year more than 200 people have been killed in the province. Last week, after GAM rebels occupied the town of Idi Cut, in east Aceh, the Army stormed in and burned down 1,800 homes and stores, turning 8,000 Acehnese into instant refugees. Then, according to several human-rights groups, Army soldiers came into their camps and shot dead five people. (The Army blamed the deaths on the GAM, while the local police chief said the victims were GAM members who were killed when they tried to ambush a police patrol.) In the town of Bireun last week, Indonesian Army troops looted stores and fired their guns in the air as they conducted a building-to-building search for rebels. Out in the street, soldiers held about 20 young Acehnese men–all stripped to the waist in the blazing sun–at gunpoint.

Lhokseumawe, a once bustling coastal town dominated by the nearby ExxonMobil operation, is now a ghost town at night. “People are more afraid than ever,” says Tunku Hana Geunta, a teacher who favors independence. “I don’t go out after dark, and I’m afraid to be seen with foreigners.” If the renewed battle in Aceh serves anyone, it’s certainly not the people of the traumatized province.